Your shoes make squishing sounds when you walk. After a couple of days' use, your bath towel begins to smell like it recently emerged from an Egyptian sarcophagus. Rain hats and scarves, umbrellas and waterproofing sprays proliferate. But no matter what you do, you still don't feel dry.
From June, nature in Japan appears to turn malevolent. Not only does it rain incessantly for a month -- Tokyo gets an average of 185.2 mm in June alone -- but then the temperature insidiously begins to creep up. Before you realize it, the temperature-humidity index (formerly referred to as the discomfort index, and I'm damned if I know why use of this term was discontinued) soars above 80 -- at which point this overweight writer's flesh begins to melt.
With the exception of Tohoku and Hokkaido, virtually all of Japan's major cities sizzle and swelter. And to make matters worse, the eye often fails to notice certain problems until they are already well advanced.