Last night was Chika-chan's birthday. We started out at Bowl Jumbo, a 30-lane-plus bowling complex. You can't miss it -- look for the two-story bowling pin stapled to the roof of the building. There's free parking in back. Make sure to save your receipt.

Kochi's finest were out in high style. My favourite was the rockabilly fella sliding whoopers in from left to right, demolishing everything in his path. Every once so often, though, he'd miss the strike and leave a trail of profanities to drown in the thunder of balls racing after pins. His mom wasn't such a bad bowler, either. I bet they clean house at the mother-son bowling tournies.

Nancy bowled a dismal 53 points in the first game. High score went to Antony with 116. Fastest ball went to the Japanese dude in the lane next to us -- 32 kilometers per hour. Sugoi!

Game two was for the money. Everyone threw 100 yen into an ashtray, top team to win a round of Pocari Sweat. Team Nancy and Jon and Ann and Vineeth a.k.a. Team Canada got off to a good start, with Nancy bowling two eights. Somehow our team cheer became, "Eight is respectable, two isn't." After each bowl we would chant, "Respectable!" It must have worked, because Team Nancy and Jon and Ann and Vineeth a.k.a. Team Canada walked away with the Pocari Sweat.

After bowling we headed to Toys, an amusement arcade similar to the one Scarlett Johansson's character from Lost in Translation wanders in to. We did our purikura and went outside to watch the breakdancers practicing in the street. Then a fight broke out. It was the strangest thing.

A would-be robber tried to snatch some girls phone and wallet from inside of Toys. The boyfriend saw what happened, though, and chased the guy down. A fight ensued, but without any punching, kicking, yelling, screaming, biting or hair-pulling. The boyfriend just kind of held the robber, who, in his struggle to get away, had his shirt pulled over his head. That, apparently, was enough. The robber ceded defeat, hung his head in shame and let himself be led back into the arcade to wait for the police. None of us had ever seen anything like it.

Talking about it afterward, we all agreed it would have happened differently at home. There would have been punching and kicking, or at the very least yelling. The robber wouldn't have let himself be led into custody -- dragged is probably the better word. There may have been weapons involved. The level of violence would have been much higher. Truly, we come from a different culture.

After the fight, we went to Surutu for drinks. It turned out to be funky jazz night. The folks at Surutu must have read our minds, because that was exactly the type of evening we'd just had --funky and jazzy and in need of some dancing.