It was Kazam, a bandmate of mine from the university music club, who first introduced me to the delicious world of falafel. Even now, I occasionally look back on the day he took me to Falafel Garden in Demachiyanagi, back when I had only just moved to Kyoto from the countryside. As I munched on a pita pocket stuffed with falafel—which at the time I could only comprehend as "some kind of incredibly tasty croquette"—I watched people who were clearly not tourists, yet not Japanese either, going about their everyday Kyoto lives in the shop. Witnessing this scene, a sight I had never encountered before, I was struck by a massive wave of culture shock.

Since our student days, Kazam was a genius when it came to both languages and cooking. He used to regularly host "cooking classes" (which were actually just drinking parties) at my apartment. In the impossibly cramped kitchen of my cheap student flat, he would effortlessly whip up dishes from all over the world—couscous salad, German-style omelets, beet salad, and more. Having grown up in the countryside as a grandma's child, knowing next to nothing about the world, I learned the delights of global cuisine from Kazam; through his cooking, I discovered the cultures of the world. Watching Kazam speak multiple languages, navigate various culinary traditions, and connect with people of all different nationalities, I realized the true meaning of learning a language. It made me look back in sheer embarrassment at my younger self, who had once felt so smug about my English scores on the national university entrance exams.

Kyoto, being a student town, possesses a mysterious and welcoming depth. While steeped in deep history, it also harbors an experimental spirit and a breezy openness to embracing the new. Walking through the city, you stumble upon restaurants from all corners of the globe. Perhaps this is only possible because curious students never cease to gather in this town.