9 posts tagged “travel”

Oh my god the airport is so huge.  Or not huge, really, but long.  I had to walk at least 8 moving sidewalks to get out of the place. It’s concrete and what looks like thai silk and glass – not as pretty as the Kuala Lumpur airport, but all lit up from the outside.  The taxis here, lined up outside the airport, are all different colors, fuchsia and green and yellow and blue, and when one of the drivers takes my bag to put it in the trunk I notice the tank in the back that I’m pretty sure is NO2.  

Seeing so many hijabis in Malaysia was surprising, but then it occurred to me that it is a Muslim country.  What was more surprising to me was that, in order to go thru immigration at BKK, you have to pass a thermo-scan camera; the sign requests that glasses, hats, and hijabs be removed, and I wonder how that works exactly.   I guess they don’t have the same religious freedom rules here as in the states.

I went out exploring near my hotel – I’m really not that far away from the busy Pratunam market area, and farther from the skytrain than I would like, but it’s not bad.  It’s so very different from Korea – no ubiquitous apartments, coffee shops, bakeries, pharmacies.  It’s hot and there are so many cars and it’s smoky and there are no mountains and so many overpasses and broken, dirty sidewalks.  I’m reminded of Marie’s comment about China – that she couldn’t wait to get back to the quiet and cleanliness of Seoul.  I feel the same way about Bangkok.   And I miss cool weather, even after a couple days – I was so looking forward to fall. 

A surprise: the Thais seem to be obsessed with Japan.  Or there’s a large Japanese population and influence here.  I saw Japanese manga in the 7-11 here, and there are so many signs written in Japanese, and Japanese restaurants.  Of course, many of them seem to be as much ‘Japanese’ as Chinese restaurants in America, but it still says something.  I’m eating at a ramen shop now, in a mall with at least 4 Japanese restaurants, not counting the Mister Donut.  They sell sushi at the street food stalls here, 1 piece of tamago or crab for 10 baht or so.  I look at them and cringe a bit, because  I certainly wouldn’t want to eat sushi that’s been sitting out in the heat of the day…  I certainly didn’t expect to be hearing Dong Bang Shin Ki in this ramen restaurant.  I started laughing uncontrollably when I realized that they were, in fact, playing ‘Gee.’

There seem to be many bookstores.  They serve bottled water at restaurants.  I’m not sure I believe the tourist line that Thais smile more than other people, but they seem nice enough.  Mostly what I have noticed is that they all look different.   I mean, compared to Koreans, at least.  Not that all Koreans look the same, but Thais seems to be a bit more heterogeneous.  Perhaps this is because of all the inter-marriage here, between Thais and Chinese and other foreigners.  More people seem to speak English, maybe this is because there are so many tourists.  I haven’t been on the Metro here yet, but the Skytrain is nothing compared to Seoul.  The skytrain map makes the city looks so small – there’s maybe 20 stations, max, on 2 lines.

I haven’t seen as many homeless people on the streets, but some of the homes here are pretty far from the American idea of ‘house.’  Perhaps it’s just because I seem to be in a poorer area, but there are so many houses that are just two rooms, which were obviously intended to be stores or garages, with the large roll-up gates in front, or tarps to block the rain.  I was tempted to take pictures but I thought that would be rude.  It reminds me of some of the poorer, older areas of north or central or Florida – a bit sleazy and rundown and sad.  There are dogs everywhere here.  Most of them have collars or seem to belong to someone, but they wander the streets looking at you hopefully for food.

well, here we are again.  i'm fairly certain 2 months is not the longest time i've gone without posting a blog entry, but it sure feels like it.  then again, i dont suppose that much has really happened, in the grand scheme of things.  my life still goes on, chill as ever.  the only really big deal that's going on is me getting ready for thailand, and leaving korea, and even that just requires a bunch of sorting and packing and other planning. 

the year has really gone quickly though, as all years seem to do, i've recently noticed.  you go to a place and say you're going to be there for a year, and a year feels like a long time, but it goes so quickly, too fast for you to be ready to leave and to have all your photos edited - though that last bit might just because i'm a horrible procrastinator. i'm not really sure that i'm ready to leave korea, as in leave and not come back - i feel like there are still things for me to do here, and the city hasn't become so full of memories that i feel the need to run away yet.  still, i'm looking forward to going home, to spending time with my family and the people who aren't quite family but may as well be.  of course, going home means that i will be leaving again, which brings up other thoughts on how quickly time passes and how much of it i spend away from people i love... but i've been through those enough times in my head, and the answer is always the same. 

i'm on a bit of a melodramatic streak tonight, aren't i? more later, when im not eating.

Well, I think that it’s Tuesday.  I’m not really sure actually, but that’s how crossing the Dateline works.  Right now I’m not doing much – been on a plane for the last 14 hours or so, and now I’m chilling in Narita, munching on a Kit-Kat McFlurry, and waiting for my plane to Seoul to board.  I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed being in Japan till I got here.  Not that I missed paying 200 yen for a bottle of Coke, but I’m going to chalk some of that up to airport prices.  The McDonald’s special right now is a Blueberry Oreo, but I missed the Kit-Kat.  And I’ve managed to talk to pretty much anyone I have come across without making myself look an idiot, which is heartening, considering I haven’t spoken Japanese in 4 months. 

The plane ride was pretty standard – an hour late getting out cause someone breached security in Detroit and then the bridge had to be manually removed from the plane, but I’m not late for my connection, which is the most important thing.  Other than that, 14 hours of cramped boredom and dozing.  I started Snow Crash again, and have gotten farther through it than last time.  I have to say that Northwest is not as good as flying United. For one thing, the food is shitty!  Oh my god the breakfast that they gave us was bad.  I was in the middle of trying to sleep, too, when the flight attendant woke me up to give me the choice of eggs or fried rice.  I opted for the egg, but it was gross, and according to my neighbors, so was the rice.  I was kinda glad we would be at Narita soon, cause I was looking forward to getting some cha-han while I was here, but I’ve had to settle for McDonald’s, since this terminal seems to be lacking in food places. 

And now they’re announcing that my plane is being delayed due to maintenance.  I’m supposed to call the people picking me up if something happens, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that with no working phone.  Might go try to find one of those internet hookups for 100yen, since the wireless demands a credit card.  My battery’s about to die, so I’ll write some more later, probably tonight when I can’t sleep for jet lag. 

I didn't know that Narita had an origami museum.  Here are pics...

Well, here I am sitting on a train somewhere in North Carolina, I think. I’m not really sure, cause the platforms here aren’t marked clearly like they are in Japan, so I’m just guessing.  Amtrak is definitely chigau from the Japanese train system, but it’s not bad.  The bathrooms are pretty nice, at least; though I never used a bathroom on a Japanese train, so I can’t make a comparison.

Things have been so crazy for the last week or so, and I haven’t updated anything in a long time, and since I have and electrical outlet right here next to me (a definite point over Japanese trains) I can feel free to type away without the computer dying on me.  Hey, if I’m up for it, I might even watch some Torchwood later. 

Working backwards might be the easiest way to go about this.  So, today I am on a train to Boston to see Nick and his family before I leave to go to Korea.  I haven’t gotten my visa officially yet, but my appointment with the consulate is on Wednesday, and as soon as they give me the go-ahead, I can ask for my plane tickets to be bought. 

For the last week or so, I haven’t really been doing much – mostly getting ready to go and hanging out with Lauren, Matthew, Kaylie, Jessica, Amanda and Caity.  Christina came in town to be with me for a few days before I went, since she had the long weekend.  I was working a temp job, but … well, I changed my mind. I’ll start at the beginning.

The craziness has been going on for a few months now, I think – it has just intensified recently, within the last month.  I was in Atlanta till July 15^th, then I came home and decided to work some temp while I was waiting on my Korea stuff to come through.  On July 23^rd, I was having lunch with my grandmother, Sharon and Am at Panera, when my car got hit in the parking lot.  The Panera lady came up to us and asked if that was our car in the parking lot:  “A silver Impala?  I just stopped someone from leaving who hit you.”  Well, I was annoyed, because my original (obviously delayed) plans had been to leave for Korea on the 25^th of August – a car wreck is so not on my list of things I wanted to deal with.  I went out to look at it, and the girl was still there, and there wasn’t much damage.  She accepted full responsibility for it (damn straight, since I wasn’t even in the car), and her insurance promised to pay to get my car fixed.  But there were issues, of course.  When aren’t there?

The first thing was that she was from Arkansas. So she had some insurance I had never heard of, though it turned out to be pretty good, on my end anyway.  Their closest branch was in Atlanta, so they had to send an independent adjustor out to come take pictures of my car, and then send them to the person it Atlanta.  For the next three weeks, I tried to get in touch with this woman, and she never returned my calls, until Friday, August 16.  She called to tell me that she had (finally) process my claim and that I would be receiving the information in the mail soon.  I got an estimate and a check on Monday, and took an hour off from the job I was temping at to go out to the body shop and have them do their own estimate of the costs.  As it turns out, theirs was about $300 different from the insurance figures.  It was going to take 8 days to fix my car; did I have another, or had they given me a rental car, the body shop guy asked.  I told him I hadn’t known to ask for a rental, and that the adjustor had just mailed me this stuff, I had never talked to her.   I took my lunch break the next day to call around and try to talk to someone who could help me get a rental.  I finally got in touch with my adjustor’s supervisor, told him all my grievances with his employee, and explained my dilemma.  So he got me a rental and told me not to worry about the discrepancy in the estimates, and sounded a bit peeved that my adjustor had not been returning my calls.  She called me later that afternoon, and I told her I no longer needed to talk to her, since I’d already spoken with her supervisor, and she ended the conversation suitably quickly. 

So they gave me a Malibu, and I went to the hospital to see my grandfather.  This was his 3^rd week there – he’d been admitted on Aug 4^th to get a triple bypass done, since his arteries were so clogged.  The operation went fine, but he developed pneumonia in the hospital, and they had to go back in two more times because his coughing cracked the wires they had used to close his ribcage.  Am did the surgery, and she cried – she had to pick pieces of his rib bones out of his chest cavity where they had broken.  On Saturday the 23^rd, after the second repair surgery, he developed problems breathing around 2 am.  The hospital called us, but by the time we got there, he was already gone. 

We stayed at the hospital till 4 am, then went home, joined by Sharon, Amber, Stephanie, and her mother.  I’d cried hysterically in my car, but managed to not do more than tear up a bit in front of everyone else.  I asked my grandmother for the blender and made a milkshake, then went to bed around 6.

For the next three days, it was crazy.  The phone was always ringing, when Mamaw wasn’t calling people to tell them the news.  People kept coming over, and our fridge was stuffed.  My older uncle flew in from Kentucky during his calving season; my younger one and his wife helped put the funeral together, and even though Stephanie has only been part of the family for a few months, she was just as torn up as everyone else, though she channeled it by being busy.  I took my mom, sister and Randy shopping for funeral clothes with the $500 worth of gift cards that had been Pops’ gift for working 50 years at the roofing plant; his anniversary was the day I graduated college.

Shopping with my mother is always interesting.  My sister has fairly good taste in clothes, for the most part, but there’s nothing for it when it comes to my mother.  She’s just satisfied with wearing the cheapest, frumpiest things and doesn’t understand why the rest of us think she’s crazy.  She went to help Randy find a shirt and jacket, and I took Christina to the dresses.  I looked for one for mom while my sister changed, finally settling on two for her to try.  Of course, the final decision was going to be mine, but I thought either one might work.  One was shorter dress, with cap sleeves and a leather belt around the waist.  It even had pockets; I knew she would like it.  The other was a calf-length, black and flowy with ¾ sleeves, but light enough that she wouldn’t roast in the sun.  It was a $90 dress, but I figured it was on sale, and it would be the best. 

She tried on the cheaper one first, like I knew she would, and loved it.  It looked like a sack of potatoes.  The darts in the hip were the wrong shape, and the little belt made it look cheap.  And while pockets may be a novelty, they surely aren’t appropriate for a funeral.  “This is the one,” she said.  I shook my head at her, backed up by Randy and Christina.  “Go try on the other,” I told her.  “Just try it.”  It was much better, and even though she worried about the price, I told her it was fine.  Then I got myself a dress, by the same designer (but strangely, for half the price), and we went our way. 

When we got home, Ken was there with Stephanie and Mamaw, and they asked how our shopping had gone.  “Did you find something?” he said, pausing as he turned to leave. 

“Yes, we did.  I mean, they got me a dress, and I don’t really like it, but everyone else does,” my mom explained. 

“Good then,” he said.  “Wear that.”  Everyone laughed, except my mother, who tried her best to look peeved. 

The wake was Sunday night, and the funeral on Monday.  As sad as it was that Pops was gone, I still found ways to smile.  It was the closest our family had been in a long time.  Pops’ brother, Uncle Jack, was unfriendly as always, but Matthew and Jessica had come down for the weekend to be with me.  Jessica took Monday off work to come to the funeral, and Grandma Chris made a roast for us.  There wasn’t really much to do, except talk to people I rarely see.  Stephanie likes scrapbooking, and had put together a few boards with pictures of all of us on them.  There were so many funny things I had forgotten, and new things I learned that night.  I had been thinking to myself for a while, off and on, that there were so many things I didn’t know about Pops, but then, I also realized that knowing the things I did know were more important that stuff like what his middle name was and exactly what year he was born.

There were stories, of course – everyone had them to tell.  One of my favorites was from Aunt Earlene, one of Pops’ sisters-in-law.  He used to live with them, for a bit after her and Uncle Jesse were married, before he met Mamaw.  Pops always loved desserts, but he was very picky about his food sometimes.  Am and I made jokes about that – he had wanted to go out to a steak dinner when he got out of the hospital, and we laughed, saying that the tea would be too sweet, or not sweet enough, the steak not cooked properly… something was always off.  It was one of the things we loved teasing him about, but sometimes it was annoying.  Before I went to Japan last year, we had been talking about going out to dinner, just the two of us.  When the day finally came, it was a disaster, or just about normal.  The first place we went to was full, and then we ended up at Applebee’s, not his favorite place.  He didn’t want to drive further into town though, so there was no help for it.  But everything was wrong, and it upset me so much I almost started crying at the table, because I had just wanted us to have a good time before I left, and he just couldn’t find anything right. 

 To get back to Aunt Earlene, though.  One of Pops’ favorite things was banana pudding, and one night for dessert, Aunt Earlene made some other kind of pudding… I think she said it was pineapple or something.  Anyway, Pops said it was too rich for him, and he didn’t want any.  So Aunt Earlene put it in the fridge, and she, Uncle Jesse, and Aunt Ouida, Pops’ other sister, went out to the movies, thinking they would eat it when they got back and it was cold.  So they get back from the movie, and they’re all excited – Aunt Earlene sends Ouida to get the pudding from the fridge, and she gets some bowls and spoons.  But Aunt Ouida has a problem.  “Earlene,” she called from the kitchen, “There’s no pudding in the fridge.”

“Well maybe I left it out on the table,” Aunt Earlene replied.

“No, not there either.”  So they look everywhere for the missing pudding.  I think it was Uncle Jesse who finally found the pudding bowl in the sink, filled with nothing but water.  The entire thing was gone.  Pops had eaten it all, despite it being ‘too rich’ for him. 

There’s so many of these stories I have… I keep thinking I should write them down, so I don’t forget them, since I won’t have him to remind me anymore. 

It’s 1 am now, so I think I might get something to drink and then try to sleep a bit.  I’ll finish this later, ‘cause you know there’s more.  I haven’t even told you about the funeral yet.

i'm on a train to Nara and i have stuff brewing in my head so i thought to write it down before it goes away.

it's been an interesting couple days.  yesterday, i met Martin, a taiwanese guy who's been skyping me recently.  he was living in kyoto but doesn't like japan, so he's going back today.  anyway, he wanted to meet me before he left, so last night we have dinner at isetan in kyoto eki.  since he's leaving he gave me his train pass - it's a 3-day kansai ticket that can be used anytime.  i didnt realize that until this afternoon when 橋本先生 explained it to me. 

at any rate, i had already made my plan - i don't have class on tuesday afternoons, so i decided to go somewhere.  my first idea was nara, but when i told my kaasan that, she looked at me like i was a bit touched in the head.  nara is 20 minutes away!  you can go there anytime!  you can go anywhere in kansai, go some place farther and more interesting than nara.  how about kobe?

i got my first proposition ever tonight - but that was in osaka, not kobe.  aren't you proud of me, mom? i'm wearing the most modest outfit i own - my long purple velvet skirt and my furry silver sweater.  okay, my wrists weren't covered, so if i had gone to jordan with julie-chan i could understand the confusion.  i wasn't actually even sure what had happened either - i was looking at the map in Namba walk attempting to find a mcdonald's, and this ojiisan (well, he was probably late 40s-early 50s) said something to me.  i didn't hear him at first.
    "what?" i said.  he was standing in from of me by this point, staring at my chest.  mind you, i wasn't wearing heels, but he still only came up to my shoulders.  he gestured to me, and said again,
    "Asobi?" (Play?) It took me a second to realize what he meant.  of course, you're thinking, you told him off, right? something to the effect of "go home to your wife, you perverted bastard," in flawless, if rudely otoko-poi nihongo.  sadly, no.  it sometimes takes the sarcastic bitchy part of my my mind time to catch up with the inherently naive "all people are nice if you give them a chance" default.
    i said no, gave him what i hoped was a disgusted look (but was probably still confused), and walked off towards my destination.

note to self - i hate kintetsu. never EVER ride a limited express - ugh. i got off at saidaiji to switch trains, and saw look! a tokyuu! leaving in 3 minutes!  so i rushed to the next platform, and got on the train.  i found myself a spot and sat down to continue writing.  i was slightly surprised when the conductor came through and asked for my ticket.  what ticket? the ticket to ride the limited express. oh. i didn't know i needed one. He just looked at me. Sigh. How much is it? i finally asked, and just paid the man his 500 yen.

TO BE CONTINUED. when i have time to write the rest of it...

Hmm… well I haven’t had a chance to update this in a while, and a moving bus is not exactly the easiest place to type, especially since my arms have limited movement because of seat restrictions.  But, it’s probably the only time I will have for a bit to record my thoughts and god knows I’m not going to get any work done while on this ride, although I have to admit that listening to Ken sing karaoke over the bus mike is rather interesting.  So right now I have my ipod turned up, cause he’s kinda loud, listening to Tori Amos with Nick staring over my shoulder.

So this weekend – how was it? Pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.  I didn’t do as many things as some of the other people, but it was still pretty cool and I definitely hope to be able to go back and visit in the winter, when my family says there will be snow. 

This weekend I did quite a few things I have never done before, and most of it was good.  I was slightly late getting to the Kaikan on Friday morning because I woke up late and then I got stuck with local trains, although it was much easier for me to walk thanks to wearing flip flops – I have a rather large hole in the heel of my right foot due to wearing my hot school-marm shoes for about 15 minutes on Thursday.  I definitely need to stretch them a bit; so, unfortunately I was late and didn’t get to take the kanji quiz, but Liz didn’t get to take it either, so maybe Ueda-sensei will take pity on us.  If not, well, that kinda sucks. (at this point, Nick has tapped me on the shoulder and informed me that he is not, in fact reading, merely glancing sporadically to see if it’s anything to do with him.)

When we got on the bus, we realized that save for a sheet of paper that Fabian had managed to find in his mailbox about going to a high school for activities, we had no idea what was going on, because we hadn’t received any information.  Friday afternoon we showed up at this high school at about the time that class ended for the day, much to the delight of various koukousei (high school students) who stared at the tall and funny-looking gaijin (foreigners) as we filed into their school.  There were speeches and introductions, and then we dispersed to visit some of the different clubs: kendo, English club, and shoudo (calligraphy), which I decided to try.  It was fun, and more difficult than I thought it would be, compounded by the fact that that I am hidarikiki (left-handed), and calligraphy is traditionally done with the right hand.  Evee, Emily and Fabian, who also did shoudo actually managed to something that looked relatively not bad, but I want to practice more and hopefully get better.  But, as a side note that was good, the shoudo sensei showed me how to write my name in kanji.  It’s written with the character 者 sha, which means person, and 絆 kizuna which means bond (usually of friendship). So I am essentially a person who is the bond between others, who connects people, which seems pretty accurate, actually.  I asked the Fabian how the sensei came up with it, and he said she just put the sounds together, which you apparently have to be very good with kanji to do.  It seemed kinda random to me, but I guess the way people do English names isn’t any less so, as the large variety of spellings can account for.  Anyway, I think I would like to continue doing shoudo, because I really enjoyed it. 

After the activities, I met my host parents, the Kananagas, who were very nice, despite that they had no idea how to pronounce my name.  “Don’t you have a nickname?” my host father asked.  “Amari...”, I replied (“not really”).  They settled on calling me Shaba-chan, and thus I received my first Japanese nickname.

 My host father Yoshiaki is a Buddhist priest, and they live in a temple.  It was huge, compared to the other Japanese houses I have seen.  My host mother seemed a little bit nervous all the time, but she was very sweet.  I also met their son, Yo-chan (12), and Yoshiaki’s mother Obaasan, and later on in the evening, Ayako-chan, their 16 y/o daughter.  We all ate temakizushi (hand-roll sushi) on Friday, which was really fun – you basically make your own sushi.  I also tried natto (fermented soybeans), which I had been hearing about for ages but had not actually tried.  I didn’t like it – it was kinda slimy, which wouldn’t have bothered me except that it tasted fermented, which along with things that feel like jelly, is one of the things that I simply will not eat.  So, I’ve tried natto. I feel that a part of my Japanese experience is complete.

After dinner, Yo-chan, okaasan, and I went to the community center and met a bunch of her friends, and played and talked with them for about two hours.  One woman, Marutani-san, had brought her 3y/o daughter Miyu-chan, who was a little bit shy at first, but by the end of the night was calling me oneechan (big sister).  They asked me what I wanted to do, but I couldn’t really think of anything, so I just told them that anything was fine.  After that, we went home, I took a shower, and we watched some TV before bed. 

The next day I woke up around 11, and went downstairs, and everyone (and by that I mean about 5 of Okaasan’s friends, and more came by later) was already there, and discussing what to do that day.  We had tentatively decided the night before to cook something and go out and eat picnic style the night before, but it looked like rain, and was a bit cool, so we stayed in and cooked.  Everyone made something different, and they wanted me to make Amerika no tabemono (American food), so I made something akin to the sausage and cream cheese breakfast roll that Aunt June made over the summer when we visited her.  The only problem was, I couldn’t find any pastry at the grocery store, nor could I find any ground sausage, and I didn’t know the word for it (I later learned it was minus, like ‘minced’), so I settled for some ground pork that I seasoned with red pepper.  As for the pastry, I decided to use wonton wrappers, so instead of basked pastry, it was in agemono maki (deep fried rolls).  Of course, everyone was excited to try it, and instantly proclaimed it to be “Oishii!!” (delicious). 

One of the things that annoys me about the Japanese, even more so than them proclaiming me to be jouzu or pera-pera (good at Japanese, fluent) at my so much as uttering a sentence of Japanese (they as likely to do this almost immediately after they have corrected you on something, as when they first meet you), is their immediate assumption that no Americans speak Japanese, or that they are all completely ignorant of Japanese culture.  In some ways, this is beneficial; it gives you room when you screw up, or when you do things that are not considered rude in America (such as eating while walking). But the pronunciation of jouzu at anything you do bothers me, especially when I know it’s not true.  I know that it’s the Japanese tradition of being polite, but I genuinely do appreciate people correcting me when I mess something up, because then I can FIX IT.  So, anyway, the other thing that bothers me about the politeness thing was that – that you can’t actually tell what people think, or maybe my skills at picking up subtle signals from Japanese people have not yet reached the highest level.  For all I know, they could have thought what I made was exceedingly gross, but they were determined to be polite.  One of the guys there, Kurakura-san’s son, Shinji, actually ate 3 of my rolls, so I guess they weren’t bad. I liked them, anyway.  Although it occurred to me, rather cynically, that they wouldn’t have told me if they were… Ah well, perhaps I will get used to it eventually.

After dinner I was exceedingly tired, so I went upstairs to take a nap, and then missed saying goodbye to everyone, except Miyu-chan, who came up to my room to say bye to me.  I woke up around 11, and went to the living room and found Yo-chan watching TV – Kakka woke up and asked if we were hungry, since I had missed dinner, so we had some leftover sushi and cake.  After a while he went to bed, and I stayed up reading wikipedia and chatting with Nick.  I think my host family was slightly worried about me sleeping so long.

I finally went to bed around 6ish, and slept for a few hours before I got up to take a  shower, and Otousan and Obaasan showed me around the house and the temple before I left.  It was huge and amazing, and Otousan showed me these really old books in awesome bookshelves in the library.  Then there was the temple itself, with the altar. Obaasan does watercolor paintings, and ikebana, and she showed me some of her scrolls.  We took some pictures, and then it was time to leave for the party. 

The party was pretty fun – all of the people who had been in our part of Okayama and their host parents came – it was me, Yo-chan, and Kakka, and one of her friends who had cooked with us the day before.  We all introduced ourselves, and our parents talked about how wonderful we were, and I tried soumen for the first time – which is rice noodles, like angel hair, that you eat with water and soy sauce.  Unfortunately, I managed to spill mine in my lap, so I missed singing happy birthday to Ken with everyone.  His host mother was so cool – she pretty much ran the thing, and has christened him ‘Ken-chan’, which I fully intend to continue calling him. 

After that, and eating, we all piled onto the bus and left, waving all the time.  Ken’s host mother had given him a strawberry cake, since next week is his birthday, and he shared it with us – see the pics, which are rather hilarious.  The bus ride was pretty much uneventful – we told stories about our trips, Ken sang karaoke, I attempted to sleep, etc.  All in all, it was a good trip.

So here I am, on the plane to Tokyo.  Yep, you read that right... Tokyo.  It's a long story, one that's made for a frustrating day.  What matters is I'm on a plane to Japan, and I have a way to get to Kyoto. 

To start with, none of this is my fault.  I woke up on time, got to the airport early, and despite being fully searched at security, i was in time to grab a cup of hot water for tea and search desperately through my bag for some allergy meds and call my mom and grandmother one last time before they called my flight to San Francisco, where I was supposed to catch my plane to Kansai.

First, the plane was late - we didn't leave till 11:30, much later than our 10 am original departure.  My flight was scheduled to leave for Osaka at 12:31pm, so I was a bit nervous.  At one point, we thought we would leave early even though we would have to go a whole 54 min w/o drinks, but we missed the window of time.  Our flight attendants took that opportunity to heard people into the empty seats.  We got into SF at exactly 12:30, and I rushed off the plane hoping beyond reason that they might be just a few minutes late leaving.  No such luck for me.  At this point I felt like crying, esp. after running to my gate (which it turns out i had to take a bus to, so I never would have made it anyway). 

Did I mention that there's only 1flight per day to Kansai?  Fortunately the airline was prepared (sort of) and the immediately booked me for a flight to Tokyo, and then a domestic flight to Osaka from there.  There was a bit of confusion there - there originally had me staying in Tokyo for a day before my flight to Itami (the domestic Osaka airport) but they fixed that as well, and now here I am, in a comfy business-class seat, having eaten a lunch of curry chicken with chocolate frosted banana bread.  I'm going to be a bit late for my orientation, but there's not much I can do about that.  If all goes well, we will get to Narita around 5 pm tomorrow (the 5th, which is today for Japan) but the whole time difference just confuses me at this point.  From there I will fly to Itami, take a bus to Kyoto, and a taxi to the hotel.

So things haven't really gone according to plan, but I'm doing the best I can.  Hopefully my baggage is with me, and it looks like I'll get to at least see Tokyo sooner than I had planned.  Other than that, I have had some pretty neat conversations about the Baha'is with my fellow passengers.  Now, if only my allergies would stop bothering me, and I could figure out what's wrong with my computer, I would be just peachy.

Well, I'm half an hour from Narita.  I kinda want to go back to sleep, but that's not going to happen.  I'm most likely going to miss my domestic flight because I have to go through customs.

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It's slightly strange to me, the time difference - my watch says it's 1 am, but the sun hasn't set the entire time we have been flying.  I'm in the center aisle, about three seats away from the window but i could see the light under the shade.  t's slightly disconcerting. the frost on the window surprised me and made me smile.  the slouds outside look like snow, not freshly fallen and smooth, but played in, tossed about in irregular heaps after a snowball fights.  it reminded me that i'm going to a place that actually gets cold.  it's not supposed to snow in Kyoto, but it would be nice if it did.

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The man next to the window is reading a Japanese novel, and I desperately want to know what it is, but I am separated from him by the aisle, his wife (who has been wearing headphones and blue slippers the entire flight) and of course, that fact that I don't know him.

I am divided in this respect - my general curiosity and friendliness wants to talk to the man with the novel, the Japanese stewardess, the little girl who looks at me curiously as I come back from the bathroom, if only to prove to myself that I can, that my Japanese is not as bad as i think it is. 

but the other half of me knows better - why should these people want to speak to me, just because I am a curious gaijin?  they are shy, or cold, or disinterested - any one or all three suffice to keep me from talking to them, and some part of me thanks them for not letting me embarrass myself.

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10 hours ago I left the only country I have ever known.  "Well, this is it," I remarked to Yvonne, who works for Nokia and is on her way to Hong Kong.  "I'm not coming back for 9 months." She patted me lightly on the knee and smiled, "You'll be fine."  Of course I will, if only because everyone has been telling me that for the past month.  but still, i notice things like this.  the captain told the crew to prepare for landing.  in a few minutes, i will set foot in the country i was almost born in (that's another story).  it's strange - i'm not really excited anymore - just, expectant.  not in an ecstatic way, but in an assured, calm manner.  i know i will get to where i am going, no matter what.

Trip to Japan: Day 1 - Jax Airport. 

I am more disgusted with America/the Department of Homeland Security than I have been in a while.  And you know, I haven't even left the country yet.  Let me relate my story.

I always carry a water bottle with me. I know, by this point, you're shaking your head at my foolishness. But really - a water bottle?  It was in the side pocket of my backpack.  It WENT THROUGH THE X-RAY MACHINE.  Along with all the other things in my backpack. Like my sewing kit. Which contains multiple pairs of SCISSORS. and NEEDLES. and PINS.

Anyway, I figured, it's a water bottle, so I didn't take it out of its little pocket and put it in one of those gray plastic bins.  I was kinda grossed out by having to take off my shoes on the airport floor... I mean, I walk around outside barefoot all the time. But, in an airport? Ick, as Bethany would say.

They're calling my flight.  TO BE CONTINUED.

I’m writing this while sitting on the plane to ATL waiting for it to leave the gate.  I’m so tired – I only slept for about 3 hours, because I didn’t get back from Olga’s until 1 am, and then had to finish mailing things.   Still, it’s a 47 min flight and I’m at the back with 4 unaccompanied minors.   I’ll sleep on the plane to LA, I think…

Our stewardess Louise is young with short, red fluffy hair…I made a joke to the girl next to me that they must like her, since they put her in charge of the minors.  She looks like she hasn’t been doing this long – she still becomes annoyed at people who don’t follow her directions.  And she actually goes through the entire safety demonstration motions without looking completely bored.  She’s doing them now, and I should be watching her, but I’m writing instead.

The girl next to me is beautiful.  She’s tan and dark-haired – brown highlighted.  Her hair is pulled back but her bangs come straight down to her cheek-bones… she looks rather punkishly cute, with her 4 stud piercings and a ring through her upper ear, plastic rubber bracelets on her left wrist.  Her eyes are the most beautiful - the color of light coming through maple leaves in autumn.

Her short nails on short fingers are fuschia, but they don’t look bitten.  She wears her class ring on her right middle finger, like me, but the stone is amethyst.  On her ring finger is a cladough (sp) ring… she doesn’t wear a watch.  Her fingers fidget with the cheap black earphones that Louis gave us as she stretches up to see the safety demonstration, the blond hairs on her pert freckled nose seeming to glow softly.  She goes to school in Pittsburgh, she said, although we didn’t exchange names, just told each other where we were going.  She seemed impressed that I’m going to Japan, said she’s going to Spain to teach English next academic year.  Maybe I’ll offer her some gum – the plane’s taking off now.

She’s yawning as she listens to the radio in our armrests.

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“Aww, dang…” one of the little boys complained when he saw their seats – the very last row, with no window and a curmudgeonly man not too pleased to see them either… I don’t know, though, if curmudgeons wear red tropical print shirts.  He’s from New York, on his way home, he told the boys.  I think he said his name was Keith.

“Now,” admonished Louise, “we won’t have that kind of language on this plane.”

Noonish, I was back on my own turf, my ears aching from not chewing gum on the flight, just long enough to hit the bathroom and purchase a bottle of the sweet ambrosia that Atlanta is famous for and and which is my personal addiction.  By the time I walked to the gate, they were about to close it.

I looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the bathroom mirror – my hair is longer than it has been in 8 years, and “iridescent” as Christina called it – Olga just thought it was cool, the way the purple has washed out in places.

In 4 hours and 1 minute (from takeoff to touchdown, the flight attendant says), I will be farther from home than I have ever been.  As we went down the runway, I pulled up my window shade to see Atlanta one last time.  Though I couldn’t see much, I did manage to find spaghetti junction.  Even though I have managed so hard not to cry, I couldn’t stop my eyes from filling as I looked down at my city – although I wish I had been able to, because the tears didn’t help the cold Julie gave me as a parting gift.  My nose is all stuffy now.

Even as I was leaving, there was a reminder of where I am going – a Korean Air plane on the runway as we passed.  I’m not totally alone in Asia – one friend already there, and I’m sure to make more as soon as I get there.

I have a row of seats to myself, and the people across from me are already asleep, though the little girl is still trying to get comfortable while her parents are far gone.  Ther Persian guy behind me isn’t yet – I heard him messing with sunglasses.  He stared right back at me when I looked at him, which I found surprising – most people don’t.
 
Despite chewing gum, my ears still won’t stop popping.  I can see small clouds below us, even though we aren’t at cruising altitude yet.  The clouds on the horizon are amazing though – the blue of the sky doesn’t come all the way down to meet them – there’s a white glow, like a magic shield of translucent marshmallow fluff surrounding the scoops upon scoops of ice cream piled on top of each other.
 
Yepper, I definitely need more sleep.