Hello Asia: Part 1 (satu)
Since leaving Portland, fifteen days ago, I have been on nine planes and experienced three different countries. Having returned to Jakarta, I finally have a good internet connection and the time to catch up on all my travels. It has been a hectic and wonderful past couple of weeks, indeed. Allow me to fumble through my jet lagged memory…
August 22, 2010
|10:00 pm|
Headed to Beulahland to meet with some friends, have a few drinks and enjoy some videos. Of course, Drew made sure to call and ask us to put a request in for “Bossy” before he even got there. Little did he know, I already had it prepped. HA!
|1:30am|
Head home for some last minute packing. I blame my last minute packing extravaganza for how I managed to forget to pack my real camera. Seriously. Slapping myself in the face.
Monday August 23
Just for future reference, don’t fly international with Delta. I was really hopeful that Delta would ensure a somewhat comfortable plane for such a long flight (PDX to Tokyo). I defeatedly slumped into my tiny seat, fixating on the naked backside of the seat in front of me, getting lost in the midnight blue sea of indented lines that scoured the surface of the leather. I drifted off a bit, wondering how many years it took to fade this leather to its current state. This question was never answered, yet I figure it had been a long time. Well, at least long enough that personal entertainment displays hadn’t been invented yet. Seriously? Isn’t it safe to expect that international flights might feature a personal entertainment console? Maybe it was for the best, since my mission on the flight was to sleep through it’s duration and be alert and ready to party in Tokyo. However, it irked me nonetheless.
My next matter of interest shifted to who would be sharing my right arm rest with me. I always hope it will be someone interesting and funny or maybe some cute guy to flirt with, however I always end up with the opposite. If you like reading my travel stories, which I presume is why you care to read this, you might remember the Mr. Bean guy freaking out over the newspaper (at least, he was entertaining). Seriously though, it’s either a bitchy older woman, a really overweight person who actually should have just purchased two seats or the person who passes out and keeps nodding their head to rest on my shoulder. As soon as I realized that my seat buddy was a missionary, with two young sons (one seated in front of me and the other behind me), whom he strictly addressed each as “my son”, I frantically searched for the two ambiens I had stashed in my wallet (thank you, xela!) and popped one, eagerly awaiting impending rest. Why not call your child by their name here and there? You know, mix it up a bit. What happens when the two boys are standing right next to each other? How do they know which “son” he is referring to? Maybe they just don’t have names. What do I know? It just kind of creeped me out, I guess.
Neck pillow secured. Ipod set to Radiolab podcast. A crappy Jennifer Aniston movie on the overhead is enough to make anyone close their eyes. Well, except for the missionary guy who is thoroughly engrossed. Is that a tear? Before, I can figure it out, I’m drifting off into my usual dreams I experience on planes. I always dream that I am on a plane that is about to crash and then I wake up on a plane. Bummer.
Wednesday August 25
|4:45 pm|
Narita Airport, Japan. I somehow slept through ninety percent of my flight! This is great news! I’m freaking exhausted, though. How can this be? Waiting to get through immigration, there is a hint of panic that they won’t issue me a transit visa, leaving me stranded in the airport for seventeen hours. Hey! There’s a cute doggy in line behind me. Wearing a diaper. Hmmm, did I sleep through my flight and arrive back in Portland? Allow me to clarify. This isn’t really a diaper. This is a mess of paper towels, taped together in odd spots, loosely hanging from the dog’s lower half of its body. I can’t stop staring. It’s almost intoxicating. Am I stoned? I think the missionary might have rufied my drink. I make it through immigration with ease, granted permission to party it up in Tokyo for one evening. I arrive at the baggage carousel, just as it is stopping. I’m unsure of what to make of this and I convince myself that it will start back up again, as long as I stand there alone and wait. That missionary totally rufied my drink. I stand there, amused by the flat screen ahead of me that says “MDMA” in big letters, with an image of bags filled of the white powdery substance. After about ten minutes, some dude hollers over to me, asking if I am waiting for luggage. He points over to a pile of bags, one of which is mine, that had been siting there the whole time I was blissfully staring at the MDMA entertainment screen. I feel like a total douchebag as I collect my things and head through customs and out the door. I depart from the arrivals area, and in a sea of asian faces, I spot the lone caucasian face, smiling in my direction. Jeremy! We catch up over some noodles in the airport and embark on a search for luggage lockers, which are conveniently located just past Uniqlo, so I snapped a photo for KP.
After almost three and a half hours, we are on a train with beers in hand and off to Tokyo….(to be continued)
