When I tell people that I’m spending three months in Japan, it can be scary how clear a vision they have of what I should be doing with my time here: “You’ll have to hike to the peak of Mount Fuji and ski down!” (And ignore the total lack of suitable slopes?), “The clubbing scene must be AMAZING!” (You mean even better than Cindies?!), “Please taste all the Japan-only KitKat flavours!” I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint everyone, but in my first three weeks in Tokyo I haven’t exactly been the chic globetrotting cool girl that I’m apparently meant to be: instead of clubs, authentic sushi, and jetting off on superspeed trains, I have found a love for a different sort of cultural exploration – supermarkets.

I get it. When I could be taking in temples or blasting my nights away singing karaoke (or, indeed, collecting all that language data that I’m here for in terms of that sidenote that is my degree), why would I spend hours grazing the fluorescent-lit aisles of shops filled with household essentials? Before you file me permanently into your category for insufferably boring people, let me defend my new favourite pastime (or procrastination method, as you wish). Supermarkets, or konbinis (short for ‘convenience store’), as they’re known in Japan, are so intriguing precisely because they’re so inescapably everyday. This may come as a shock to you, but even in the capital of cool, people will finish work, do their shop for dinner and go home instead of dressing up as Sailor Moon and running away from Godzilla or what have you.

Konbinis are basically my sneak peek into plain, ordinary Japanese life, not least because I’m a firm believer that to understand anything about people or culture, you need to start with observing food. For all the hip, health conscious, and oh-look-how-multicultured-I-am types tucking into the health and happiness of the likes of Wasabi and Itsu, it may come as a bit of a shocker that these aren’t reflected much at all in the standard konbini pre-packed lunch range. Rather, the most popular food items span onigiris, or seaweed-wrapped triangles of rice with different fillings, instant ramen, very white bread with dubiously long sell-by dates, and deep-fried goodies.

It goes without saying that most of the time I’m very much lost in translation, both linguistically and culturally. When you’re still sadly stranded in square one of your linguistic journey with your communication limited to “Where is the toilet?” and “Mary is a foreign student”, complex product labels aren’t exactly your friend. Playing what-on-earth-is-this is made even more fun by the fact that many of the food combinations resemble a pregnant woman’s cravings (excuse my cultural ignorance): standard sandwich fillings include egg and fruit all in one, as well as noodles to ensure your daily carb intake. Oh, and of course there is the rather counterintuitively named mystery substance, Caloriemate, for helping you on your weight-loss journey.

But konbini-hopping instead of proper globetrotting is not just about me going around and chuckling at funny products like pre-teen boys in an adult entertainment shop: konbinis are simply on a totally different level than good ol’ Sainsbury’s. First, saying that konbinis are everywhere is not an exaggeration in the slightest. It’s been calculated that there is one konbini per 2,000 inhabitants, and my first-hand empirical evidence supports this very convincingly indeed (maybe I should be doing my degree on supermarket sociology rather than Japanese linguistics). On my five-minute walk from my accommodation to the underground, there are at least seven supermarkets. Better still, for someone let down so many times by the early closing hours of Sunday Sainsbury’s, it comes as a piece of heaven how most Tokyo supermarkets are open 24/7 – meaning that you can go and explore their wonders at any time of day! Can’t do that with clubbing or visiting temples, can you?

This omnipresence of konbinis reflects the rise of a culture where everything is increasingly expected to be available all the time; the clue is in the name (‘convenience’, if you’re a bit slow on the uptake). Many konbinis now incorporate things like ATMs, bill-paying facilities, and ­– a lifesaver for visitors like me without mobile data – free Wi-Fi. They’ve proved to be a lifesaver in a more literal sense as well. During the Kumamoto earthquakes this spring, it was konbinis that lead the relief efforts, with tons of everything from rice balls to baby wipes shipped into the affected areas. See, by exploring supermarkets I’m essentially supporting a humanitarian mission.

Preachers of the things-were-better-in-the-old-days denomination are, obviously, warning that doom is soon upon us when homes will abandon fridges and cooking equipment because of the ready availability of everything at konbinis. But I wouldn’t blame anyone for doing that, especially if they’re as lost in translation as I am; it’s always as delightful tucking into your lunch when you have no idea what it is. Egg and strawberry sandwich? Bring it on.