For a destination that I seldom visit despite being somewhat local, our ahgabond brought me back.
Adamantly against dining at an overpriced chain restaurant, I strode upon the path less travelled: a longstanding Japanese restaurant whose name literally translated to "snow country".
The topmost sheet was adorned with weekday lunch specials, though it wasn't clear whether the items could still be requested outside of the specified times.
It wasn't until much later that we discovered higher price points on the bill.
At this, we flagged the man down to ask for tea. An ornate teapot and two handle-less mugs were brought over; no words were uttered in this process - not even a gentle reminder than hot tea was an additional $3.50.
My dining partner uttered not a word of agreement, and took to silently consuming the remainder of her meal. I, on the other hand, was flabbergasted that such disappointing quality had managed to attract - and maintain! - diners for the past thirty years
Washrooms were located towards the back of the restaurant, behind a set of tarnished, yellow curtains. Facilities were ancient, but functional.
An open Wi-Fi network was supposedly available too, but few details were provided by the middle-aged man with the exception of a hurried grunt.
Summoning our remaining energy to hike uphill to the asphalt lot of Skylon Tower, then whizzing by local roads in a frenzy for ice cream, we somehow managed to burst through the doors of the ice cream shop a mere four minute before closure.