Wanderlust

In my opinion, Siren is a beautiful word for describing such an insidious way to lure sailors to their ruin. I’ve often wondered if the Sirens were somehow rooted in reality like a natural current that tended to cause ships to wreck in a particular part of the Aegean – I suppose they were in the Aegean; my memory of the little Greek mythology I once studied is weak. In my more literal moods, I have also wondered what the Sirens had to gain from all those wrecked ships. Was it just a semi-cosmic power trip? If the Sirens sounded like Patty Griffin and I were a sailor, I might be lured to wreck my ship too. I doubt an ounce of beeswax prevention would stop me from steering poorly. Patty is the subject of my previous post, though…

I have been thinking today about the Sirens because my Siren song is, without a doubt, travel. Outside some isolated and relatively minor incidents, travel hasn’t led me to ruin. But it does distract me in the interim. There are places that call to me. Perhaps it’s the experiences I’ve had while at those places, but I believe the call is from the places themselves. If you love travel, you know what I mean….

Today, it’s the ocean. I would love to stand on the beach, any beach – rocks or sand or coral – and look out at the expanse of water, and know that God created it for reasons that I cannot even comprehend, but also know that he created it so I could look at it in awe.

Ashley once wrote a post about how she thought her wanderlust would never be cured, but something had, at least momentarily, cured it. I think it was travel through the desert. Maybe I need to go to the desert. I’d love to see the Gobi.

Patty Griffin

Does anyone know of another singer like Patty Griffin – able to tear your heart out and make it enjoyable?  I’m bewitched and baffled by her.  I like a wide variety of music, but have not found anyone to be as honest as Patty.  Nina Simone is close, but she scares me sometimes.

Stamps

When I go to the post office, I sometimes get really cool stamps.  Then, when I have to use them on bills, I’m always a bit disappointed that someone I know isn’t going to get to see them.

 I’ll finish the Japan posts sometime.  I’ve just not been in a blogging mood lately.

Approximately 68% of American Women wear shoes between the sizes 6.5 and 9.5

After a planned one hour nap that turned into three hours, we woke to find that it was dark outside. We took the opportunity to go to Shinjuku. If you have seen Lost in Translation, this is the area that, in the beginning of the movie, Bill Murray’s character is riding through in his cab when all the lighted signs are flashing by outside. It’s weird that such a beautiful scene was produced by things meant to further commercialism. While they aren’t as beautiful as Sofia Coppola’s shots, here are a couple of pictures I took:

We shopped a little while we were in the area. While shopping, we had an experience that was, in some ways, representative of things we experienced the whole week. We were at an indoor mall where Jennifer found some shoes she liked. She asked me what size she should ask for. I looked at the conversion chart in our guidebook and asked her if she wore a 9 or 9.5 in U.S. sizes. She told me 9.5 to be safe. I told her she should ask for a size 26.She took the display shoe over to a tiny, smiley clerk who greeted Jennifer with, “Yes, may I help you?” Jennifer asked, “Do you have this in size 26?” The clerk literally took a step backward and widened her eyes. I think she was thinking that no one on earth could possibly wear a shoe that large. Her physical reaction was quite enough, but she added, “We don’t have size 26 in any shoes.” All I could think is that Napoleon Dynamite would have said, “Like anyone could even wear a shoe that big!” I later shared my thought with Jennifer and we periodically still laugh about it.

As the clerk and Jennifer continued their conversation, they decided that a size 25 might fit. There were several styles in size 25 and the clerk brought each of them out for Jennifer to see and try on. She settled on two pairs and we were set.

As for the statistic in the title, I found it on some website that I didn’t even bother to write down. I suspect that it is not far from true. Obviously it is not true in Japan. If you know Jennifer, you know she loves shoes. Part of what she likes to do when we travel is buy shoes that she can’t get in the U.S. or over the internet. It was rather disheartening for her to be met with this problem almost everywhere we went. I wasn’t looking for shoes specifically, but I had similar issues with clothes. I generally wear large in almost anything I buy in the U.S. In Japan, I had to get XL. The problem I found was that XL often wasn’t carried.

In Honor of the Colonel

I heard yesterday on NPR that Kentucky Fried Chicken is undergoing a makeover of sorts.  They are going to reemphasize their signature product.  It seems, a few years ago, when they changed the name to KFC and tried to promote their more healthy foods (are there any at KFC?), they lost the novelty surrounding the company.  When I heard the story, I immediately thought of this picture I took while we were in Japan: And, when you started reading this post, you probably thought I was going to give the Japan posts a break for a while…

Don Quixote and Juan Valdez in Japan?

When we left the fish market, we went to an area of Tokyo called Roppongi Hills. It is a neighborhood with many businesses known to cater to people not from Japan. We try to stay out of tourist traps when we travel, but there was a discount department store called Don Quixote that I wanted to see.

When we got off the subway, I saw a 100 Yen store across the street. Much like $1 stores in the U.S., there was a lot of crap. Because of its novelty to us, we found this crap interesting – dried fish in cellophane packages, huge bundles of wooden chopsticks, etc. We bought a few things, but mostly just browsed.Because Don Quixote wasn’t open yet, we stopped at Starbucks where I had a couple of great cups of coffee. It’s sad to say that the instant coffee at the hotel was not satisfying my addiction. Because it was still raining, we sat at a bar in the front window of the store while I drank my coffee, Jennifer drank her ice tea (she despises coffee) and we watched the action on the street.

Don Quixote was crazy. The entrance was decorated with mechanical Halloween decorations. Just inside, they had every imaginable Halloween costume. After a visit to Don Quixote, you could become anything from a ninja to a French maid. The store is 8 floors and has something for every imaginable need – clothing (designer and designer knock offs), food, liquor, electronics, sporting goods, sex toys, cds and dvds, medicine, jewelry, furniture, and more. Imagine a Wal-Mart Supercenter turned on its side, divided into 8 floors, with about 1/3 of the display area but the same amount of merchandise, and you start to get an idea of the chaos that is Don Quixote. Some of the merchandise is much higher quality than that found at Wal-Mart, but much of it is comparable.

Following Don Quixote and after getting up so early, we decided to go back to the hotel to rest for a while. Before we did, we stopped at a Hawaiian restaurant. When we walked in, I asked the woman at the door if she had an English menu which we found common throughout Tokyo. She answered with, “I do not speak English.” I started to walk out and saw a menu sitting on the counter, next to the cash register. I reached for it and she said, “Buffet only for lunch.” I thought, “Sold!” I held my hand up with two fingers extended. She rang it up on the cash register and I held up a credit card. She shook her head and said, “Yen only.” I paid her and she showed us to a table. The food was excellent and, based on my experience, very close to traditional Hawaiian. The drinks were a little strange, though. While Jennifer visited the buffet, I went to the bar where the drinks were located. A row of glasses was on the front. Behind them sat a big bucket of ice with silver tongs to serve the ice. To the side of the glasses were several pitchers of unknown liquids. It reminded me of a banquet.The smiley bartender was kind enough to help me decipher the drinks. There were various flavored teas like peach and hibiscus. There was also a pitcher with a dark, almost black liquid that I thought was Coke. It was the last pitcher and when we got to it, the bartender struggled with the English word – how he remembered hibiscus I don’t know. I asked, “Is it Coke?” He looked at me blankly. Because of his reticence, I wasn’t convinced. Instead of using the term Coca-Cola or some other alternative term that might have helped the situation, I again asked, “Is it coke?” He thought for a minute, smiled, and then shook his head yes. I wasn’t convinced and not considering that the same question would be met with the same answer, I again asked, “Is it coke?” I’m sure the bartender was, by then, getting irritated with the ignorant American in Japan who didn’t speak a word of Japanese, but he smiled, and said, “Yes, yes.” I poured a glass for Jennifer and poured myself a glass of the hibiscus tea.

I dropped off the drinks at our table and quickly filled my plate. I sat down and was enjoying my chicken and rice when Jennifer took a drink of her Coke. She immediately spat the liquid back into her glass and slammed the glass onto the table as if she had just taken a drink of horse urine. Her face was contorted. I wasn’t sure what to say so I sheepishly asked, “Is it flat?” She looked at me as if I were crazy and said, “THAT. IS. COFFEE!!!” I immediately apologized, told her about my conversation with the bartender, and asked if she would like something else to drink. She settled on water.

The fish ate the cat

On day 2, we went to the Tsukiji (pronounced scujee) wholesale market. It is the site of the world’s largest fish market. Over 2,000 tons of marine products change hands there daily. All the action happens early in the morning, just after the huge tunas are auctioned off – some for tens of thousands of dollars.The market is housed in a huge building that has a roof but is open on the sides to allow for traffic, both pedestrians and various small vehicles transporting fish. There were many scooters, like this one:

But more prevalent, were these weird little trucks:

Both the scooters and the trucks were driving everywhere. There were literally thousands of them and they drove very fast in the narrow roads in between the stalls where the fishmongers were cutting, arranging, and selling any kind of seafood imaginable. It felt as if they were driving recklessly and that we needed to stay out of the way. In reality, though, I think they are very careful. Because of the nature of the market (people walking among the vehicles and action), I think they have to be careful.I saw many, many kinds of food I didn’t recognize. I also saw lobsters, crabs, eels, mussels, clams, octopus, and one huge pile of fish eggs. Here are a few pictures.

This one gives a bit of perspective of how crowded and cramped most of the market is:

The head of a freshly butchered tuna:

A box of squid:

A tuna cut into small enough pieces for sale to local restaurants:

Octopus:

After we explored the fish market, I ate a breakfast of what is probably the freshest sushi I will ever eat. It was great. The chef made the pieces and put them on a large banana leaf he placed on the counter in front of me. He only put a couple of pieces down at a time. After I ate them, he would put a couple of more down. It was served with miso soup, green tea, and pickled ginger but, unlike in the U.S., without a side of wasabi. There was plenty of wasabi under the fish, though.When I stepped inside the little restaurant, I saw someone’s shoes under a bench near the door. It’s customary to take off your shoes in some Japanese establishments. The presence of the shoes under the bench made me think that this was one of them. I started to slip off my shoes. The chef quickly blurted two or three sentences in Japanese and then laughed quickly. I will never know what he said but it was clear to me that I didn’t have to take off my shoes because, as he spoke, he pointed to my feet and shook his head no. After I slipped my half-removed shoe back on and stepped toward the counter, the chef turned to a Japanese man sitting on the other end of the counter and blurted three or four more sentences. They both laughed. Again, I’ll never know for certain, but I’m pretty sure they were laughing at my expense. They had such a good time with it that I didn’t care. Jennifer took this picture of me enjoying my breakfast:

Overall, the fish market was a great experience. It was an action packed few hours. If you get a chance to see it, I highly recommend it. Be aware, though, that you should wear appropriate footwear if possible. The day we went it was raining so it may have been a little messier than normal. I suspect, though, that it wasn’t that much messier than usual. With all the fish everywhere, the oils are pervasive and the stall owners use huge hoses to spray off the cement areas below their tables. I suspect they wouldn’t ever spray anyone on purpose, but it is a commercial area and they can’t be expected to make it tidy for American tourists. I noticed almost all of the Japanese there were wearing rubber boots. I, on the other hand, was wearing gray, suede Pumas. After we explored the fish market, they were black and gray. Here they are in all their fish oiled glory:

I love your wicked style

After we settled into the hotel a bit – mostly put our bags down and investigated the room, etc. – we walked down the hill to a shopping and restaurant area near the hotel. As we were both exhausted, we decided to just go to a convenience store, get some food, and take it back to the hotel room.The plan wasn’t quite as desperate as it sounds: Because of the crazy schedule kept by many Tokyo residents, most convenience stores are open 24 hours and all of them stock semi-high quality food. For instance, I got a prepackaged sushi plate. It had a tuna roll (6 pieces) and 4 huge, for lack of a better description, rice balls. The rice balls were entirely covered with fried egg and drizzled with something similar to honey. I say something similar because it tasted like honey but something was just a little different that makes me think it wasn’t honey. The rice balls may sound gross, but I loved them, and the tuna rolls. It was easily as high quality as any sushi I’ve had in the U.S. anywhere and relatively fresh. At the least, it tasted like it had been prepared sometime that day.The neighborhood was fairly ordinary. The most unusual thing we both noticed is that everyone was dressed really nicely. Most of the men were wearing suits, a few had on dress pants and a nice shirt. The women were wearing skirts or dresses. If it had been the middle of the day, I would have attributed it to people being dressed well for the office. At 10 p.m., though, I found it surprising. From some articles I read later in the week, I now believe that they were still dressed from work and were either just heading home or out for a few drinks with co-workers or friends.After we ate, we crashed. I don’t think I even moved until around 4:30 a.m. the next day. Every day, except one, while we were there, I awoke every morning at 4:30 or 5. A couple of days I was able to go back to sleep, but usually I was up for the day. In the end, it wasn’t too bad because we were so exhausted every night that we were going to sleep by 9 or 9:30.

We had breakfast at the hotel’s buffet. It was ridiculously overpriced, particularly Jennifer’s Diet Coke which was about $6 – for one very small glass. I’m glad we ate there, though. The view was tremendous and the buffet itself was interesting. It had much less selection than a breakfast buffet would in the U.S. The food, however, was, in my opinion, much higher quality even than that I have had at various tony Sunday brunches. I specifically liked the strips of grilled fish and the eggs which were fried perfectly round on what have must have been a spotless grill. The buffet included as much coffee and green tea as you cared to drink. Something I didn’t know to appreciate until later in the week.

After we ate, we went to Shibuya and Harajuku. It was a day that, with the exception of seeing Meiji Jingu (see my post of November 2), we had mostly set aside to shop and just experience the city a bit. It was, with the possible exception of me forgetting the camera’s memory card at the hotel, a good day. I realized that I had forgotten it when I took the camera out to take a picture of Hachiko (see below). We had a short, frantic search for some place that sold memory cards. After we found one, we were in business and took the following pictures.

This is Jennifer with a statue of Hachiko. Before his owner died, Hachiko used to meet his master every afternoon at Shibuya station. Supposedly, he continued to go to the station every day for 11 years after his owner’s death. Because the area is really crowded, the Hachiko statue is now a popular landmark to use as a meeting place:

Not far from Hachiko, we happened across this street cone. We couldn’t figure out what was being blocked off, but it is a serious cone:About 9:45 a.m., we saw these guys sitting outside the strip club, drinking beer, and waiting for the establishment to open:

Some Harajuku Girls:

The next one is a little girl on her way back from a traditional Shinto ceremony at Meiji Jingu (Jennifer asked the mother’s permission before we just started snapping pictures). A tour guide told us that it is traditional for children in Japan to dress up, go to a shrine, and participate in a ceremony on their, if I remember correctly, 1^st, 3^rd, and 7^th birthdays. When she was explaining it, there was quite a language barrier. I got the idea, though, that it is similar to a children’s baptism in the various Christian denominations that perform children’s baptisms. That said, I may be totally wrong; it’s just the idea I got. Anyway, I thought Jennifer was, following the picture, going to ask the mother if we could just go ahead and take the little girl home with us:

Jennifer purifying herself before we went in the shrine:

Japanese bride at the Shrine:

Later in the day, when we were in the most expensive area of Harajuku, we saw this fur protest. It was very orderly. The police escorted the protestors down the street while they chanted, presumably, anti-fur slogans. The signs are fairly graphic. Not sure what or who the big blue bear is leading the group?

If you go to Tokyo, stay at the Akasaka Prince

When we arrived at the hotel, the bus driver made an announcement in English that we had arrived. I recognized his statement as my native tongue but couldn’t comprehend him because of his heavy Japanese accent. Luckily, there was a monitor at the front of the bus that scrolled the location of the bus at all times, in both Japanese and English.

We got off the bus and were greeted by a woman wearing a skirt and blouse. She asked if we were checking in. I told her we were and started to pick up our luggage. The driver had already put them on the sidewalk in front of the bus. The woman, whose shirt had “Akasaka Prince” embroidered on the upper left, asked me if I had the claim ticket for our bags. She did it in such a way that I knew I shouldn’t pick my bags up without it, but not in a way that made me feel awkward for having already tried to do so. I reach into my jacket pocket and handed them to her. She, in turn, gave them to the bus driver. He looked at the numbers, compared each of them to the sticker on each bag and, only after being certain they matched, gave the bags to the woman. She loaded them on a rolling cart, pushed it toward the entrance, pointed, and said, “This way please.”

We walked through sliding glass doors into the hotel lobby. I was immediately impressed. The lobby was not ornate by any standards, but was sparkling white marble, stainless steel, and glass, all arranged in clean lines. It felt very open. The woman pointed me toward the reception and said, “I’m sorry. You will have to wait.”

About 30 seconds later, a young man looked up from a computer screen and asked, “May I help you?” “Sure,” I said, “I have reservations for David Lynch.” He asked, “David?” I said, “Yes, David Lynch.” He said, “I’m sorry for you wait. Let me see…Yes, I have Lynch David. King bed, no smoking.” I said, “Right. Do you have a room on the Akasaka side?” (When Mt. Fuji is visible, it can be seen from the Akasaka side of the hotel) He said, “I’m sorry.” I thought we were out of luck but he abruptly turned around and started looking through a wall of cubbyholes, some containing keys, some with notes and some with notes and keys. Each had either a red or green light. He pulled out the key and the note in one cubby, looked at the note, and frowned. He turned to me and said, “I’m sorry.” Then, quickly, he turned and started talking to another man. They spoke rapidly to one another for a couple of minutes. After their conversation, he turned back to me and said, “I’m sorry.” He continued, “Yes, we have a king, non-smoking on Akasaka side.”

He finished our check in and directed us to a bellman who was already walking toward the elevator. We followed him to the elevator and rode to the 34th floor. When the bellman opened the door to our room, he revealed a long hall that led from the door to the room proper. Near the door, there were two buttons – one to push that lit a do not disturb light on the outside of the room and one that lit a please clean the room sign. Also near the door was the main light switch for the whole room – if it was off, none of the other lights would work. I liked it because we could turn on lights to see to walk out and hit the master switch upon leaving to conserve energy. All the light switches were push button and, when off, had a small green light so that they could be easily found.

The furniture in the room, except the couch, was all surfaced with white lacquer. The couch, under huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Tokyo skyline and the elusive Mt. Fuji, was brown with dark brown stripes. It was the perfect color to offset the slightly gold tinted shades, made of a silk or silk-like material. The bedspread, covering a down comforter – much to Jennifer’s joy – was a muted purple with brown and gold swirls to match the couch and curtains. The three provided just enough color to break up the white and keep the room from feeling institutional.

The bathroom had a vanity with mirrors on three sides so that you could, when looking in the mirror, easily see any part of your body. There was also a soft stool, on a short pedestal, to sit on while using the mirror. The bath and the toilet were in a separate room that was entered by taking a step up. No door separated the two rooms but it was enough to permit one person to shower – because of the wall with no doorway – while the other used the sink and mirror.

All in all, it was probably my best hotel experience ever. It wasn’t the most luxurious hotel I have ever stayed in. The combination of things, though, was really great – as demonstrated by check in, they bent over backwards to meet your requests. The bed was comfortable, everything was immaculately clean and comfortable, it was spacious, and the view was probably the best of any hotel I’ve stayed in. That’s not even to mention the toilet. It was a high-tech machine.  Here is a picture of it:

See the controls on the right hand side, just above the trash can?  Here is a close up:

This is a picture of the sign that hung on the wall next to the toilet:

 

When I read the sign, I was curious what the emergency button on the phone might look like.  When I picked it up, I found that the only button on the handset was an orange button.  I presume it’s the emergency button but I never pushed it to see what would happen.

A picture out the window of our room (the base of Mt. Fuji is barely visible to the left of the rainbow):

 

Finally, here is the outside of the Akasaka Prince:

 

The name Limousine Bus is an oxymoron

Sorry there haven’t been many posts lately…

When I have had time to write, I have been filling in some blanks in my journal entries from Japan. I’m getting close to finished now and, so as not to miss anything, have decided to post our trip mostly chronologically – I’ll try to post only things that will be of some interest. I apologize now if I get too detailed. Many of the details, though, are what I found interesting.

When we arrived at the airport on 10/22/06, we were obviously worn out because of the flight. Narita, like everything I experienced in Japan, seems to me to be a very well organized airport. International arrivals, though, seemed about like any other international airport I have been through. There was a great deal of waiting and three mundane steps in the process, the first being passport control, moving to baggage claim, and finally to customs.

When we exited the plane and walked toward passport control, though, I was amused to see, at a couple of places along the way, signs written in both Japanese characters and English with an arrow directing people to “Walk this way” if they have recently experienced a loose bowel movement. The writing on the signs was accompanied by a cartoon-like picture of a man sitting on a western-style toilet (more about toilets later), his face painfully contorted. I think because I was exhausted, I didn’t think much about the signs. But Jennifer and I laughed about them later. We both wondered why anyone would actually admit to having had a loose bowel movement and possibly be subjected to days of quarantine.

After we went through customs and were free to roam about Japan – at least for 90 days – we made our way to the Limousine Bus ticket counter. We had decided to take the bus instead of a train because it was only 3000 Yen vs. 2000 Yen for the train and it drops you off at the hotel door. Jennifer said we were getting soft in our old age and that, on our first few international trips, the approximately $15 difference would have been worth a little walking. I told her we were just more wise. I honestly think it’s a little of both.

As we approached the Limo Bus counter, I prepared myself to ask the young lady standing behind the counter, in Japanese, if she spoke English. Before I could open my mouth, she said, “May I help you?” It was a relief because, unlike other countries I’ve visited, the language was nearly impossible for me to remember. Don’t misunderstand, I speak VERY little French, but, after having been there a few times, I have learned that the French are not very accommodating if you do not at least attempt to speak their language. As such and while I can’t spell it, the French phrase for “Do you speak English?” is forever emblazoned into my synapses. But the words in Japanese have no similarity to English words. They use a different alphabet for goodness sake. At any rate, it turned out that, almost everywhere we went, someone spoke at least a little English. Most places, someone spoke it fluently.

We got our bus ticket and went outside to wait for the next bus. It was about 40 minutes. When it arrived, 4 young attendants appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to put stickers on our bags. They moved swiftly to grab our bags, attach the stickers, and hand us a claim check. I moved to help one young lady put my suitcase under the bus. She acted surprised and wouldn’t hear of it. I absent mindedly put the claim tickets inside my jacket pocket and followed Jennifer onto the bus.

Being the Limousine Bus, I was excited for something special. Turns out it is just a regular bus with two seats on either side of the center aisle. The seats were comfortable and the bus was extremely clean, but still just a regular bus. The seats also had doilies on the headrests, which I found sort of weird. We didn’t take a cab during the whole trip, but we saw many. Most of them also had doilies on the headrests. I’m still not sure if it is for decoration or protection of the seats. Either way, it’s not attractive.

Narita is a long way from Tokyo – 53 minutes to Tokyo Station on the fastest train. The Limo Bus people told us to be prepared for an hour and forty minute bus ride, if traffic was not congested. I expected that, at almost 8 p.m., traffic wouldn’t be bad. Because of the distance from Tokyo, I was surprised to see, as soon as we left the airport, large buildings. They were easily as tall as any in Little Rock. Other than immediately realizing that all other cities I have visited are small in comparison to Tokyo and a small traffic jam, the ride to the hotel was uneventful.

Checking into the hotel next…

Tokyo is…

An enigma. Less than a day after Jennifer and I had been in Tokyo, I told her that I felt as if we were exploring the love child of Paris and Las Vegas. It was an over simplification and not really fair to any of the three cities. But even after spending almost a week there – which doesn’t make me, by anyone’s estimation, an expert – I still feel like there is some truth to my initial reaction.

Ultra modern buildings, covered in neon and housing the latest fashions, are literally found alongside ancient Buddhist and Shinto temples. For example, on the first day we began exploring the city, we spent most of the day in Shibuya and Harajuku, gawking at the latest fashions on display in the trendiest areas of the city. Among stores familiar to most Americans, like Gucci and Tiffany’s, there are boutiques owned by Japanese designers, who have become extremely popular over the last couple of decades, like Issey Miyake, Yohji Yamamoto and, Rei Kawakubo (Comme des Garcons).

But very near the high fashion area, is found the Meiji Jingu, a Shinto shrine dedicated to Emperor Meiji, the 122nd imperial ruler of Japan. Meiji ruled Japan during a time of great change in the country during which the shoguns’ power receded and Japan became a major world power. While Meiji Shrine is not one the ancient ones I reference above (the souls of the emperor and his wife were enshrined there in 1920), it is beautiful and, because of its close proximity to the fashion boutiques, is representative of the juxtaposition which so amazed me. Here is a picture of Shinto priests we saw while walking on the gravel road to the shrine:

Here is one of the shrine itself:

This picture, which Jennifer obviously took, is most representative of what I am trying to convey. She took it near the end of the week, in the oldest part of the city. I include it here because I love that the small Buddhist temple is visible in the foreground while the huge commercial buildings are in the background:

Don’t be fooled: Long plane flights are no fun

I have mixed feelings about writing about vacations; it seems a little self absorbed to subject others to the minutiae experienced during travel. With that caveat in mind, I plan, over the next few days, to post some stuff Jennifer and I experienced during our recent trip to Japan. I will start first with a word for word entry from my journal that I wrote while on the plane to Tokyo. I normally don’t post journal entries without some editing, but, in reading this one again, I found my ridiculousness particularly amusing. I apologize now for the colorful language, but I thought its inclusion important in context:

10/21/06 – 1333 (Japan Standard Time)

I’m so fucking pissed off right now that I can’t even see straight. The joker in front of me has his seat leaned back as far as it will go. I was sleeping really well until a few minutes ago when my leg got uncomfortable because it was jacked up sideways against his seat back. I couldn’t get it straight without sitting up straight enough so that I can’t lean my head back on my seat – sit up straight with leg room, or scrunch down to lean on my seat but have jacked up legs, those are the options. I chose sitting up and am now wide awake – not in Amercia. Looking around the corner of his seat, I can see his little, skinny, short legs. He has them crossed and he still has plenty of room to rest his head. Short fucker. He’s wearing white, fuzzy, slide-type house shoes. I hate him. Actually, I’m starting not to hate him because writing my frustrations down has calmed me considerably. Earlier, when I was flailing about, vainly hoping I could get comfortable and go back to sleep, Jennifer asked me, “Do you have to be such a drama queen about it?” Then, after I told her what was the matter, she said, “Take a sedative.”