On vacation and Japanese guys
Mes vacances…without surprise, was terrible. I believe part of the reason for my most inconvenient luck in traveling may be attributed to an unfortunate genetic mutation, in which the genes which control the adoration of migration simply did not bother to appear at the event of my sperm-egg creators creating me some fateful years ago. Therefore, I severely abhor the concept of traveling any more than the limit of two hundred miles within a day. However, it seems as if fate insists on submitting me to torturous travels-from China to France to the US to Canada to Spain to Japan to Korea to Jamaica to Italy and to Russia and a sundry of places most random and un-interesting.
And now for an utterly not-upbeat summary of my stays at the various places:
In Calgary, there was too much snow. I love snow, but I hate it when it’s almost up to your knees, and its presence seems so omnipresent that you would think it had gorged the concept of global warming. Otherwise, all went well-as in, I was locked up in a dungeon of a house for around six-or seven?-days.
During my brief six-minute sojourn in Denver International Airport, I managed to finish reading 2 pages out of Jane Eyre, in my great attempts to be literate. Why only two, you ask? Because technically I had only a minute to read, since I was confused as a goldfish in an ocean as to where to my carry-on bag went.
In San Francisco, I managed to buy a red-bean-paste-bun. It was rather good, unlike the terrible gale which would not stop entangling with my efforts to button my new jacket by continuously blowing my hair into my face.
And finally, in Kyoto, or rather I should say Kansai International Airport, I spent three very-productive hours glaring at the clock and warding off all Japanese people who thought I was of the same citizenship and culture-of which would be most appreciated, but alas, of which would only be an empty dream-and, managing my the providential aid of boredom, finishing 243 pages of Jane Eyre and the book in its entirety.
On a more positive note, I had a slightly amusing encounter with a Japanese man in KIX, which I will proceed to recount to you, dear reader:
As I had previously briefed, I had to wait for three solid hours for my ride in the KIX lounge. During the first hour of the stay, I had amused myself by pacing back and forth and attempting to resemble the rest of the sea of Swedish tourists who were infesting the lounge with me. It provided relative leverage against the torrid atmosphere of the room, until I smacked head-first into an Asian man. The fact that he uttered “Sorry!” in English surprised me. I had expected something that I couldn’t have possibly understood in Japanese, but instead he took me off guard by a word of fluent American-English. Therefore I relented to my curiosity, and voluntarily helped him straighten his suitcase, which had toppled over as I knocked him off balance, in order to strike a dialogue consisting of more than one-word responses.
“Do you speak English?” I had asked this out of sincere eagerness-it was found that not many spoke comprehensible English in the lounge, other than the Swedish, who were, by this point, beginning to leave.
“I was born in America. I came from the same flight as you.” I wasn’t surprised that I had not noticed his presence before. The flight from San Francisco was half-filled with Asians (if not more), and I didn’t take special pains to memorize all the Asian countenances.
“Oh you did!” I remarked, of good intention-and not a bit of sarcasm, as I am often subject to nowadays with Asian males.
“I sat across the aisle from you.” This definitely explained why he noticed me. But not so much why I didn’t notice him…perhaps my passivity and ignorance would explain that.
And the conversation sprung from that, during which I explained to him that I was not Japanese at all, while he agreed and told me that I did not dress like one (I am still not sure whether to be offended at his observation). I learned that he was Japanese by blood, and that he didn’t enjoy his name (which I found to be cool, as with all other Japanese names).
We shared half an hour, which provided ample entertainment. Our conversation topics also touched upon the subject of Liszt (and we were tossed into a turbulent debate of whether the man deserved to be called a virtuoso). Sadly, he was taken away by his parents, who for some moments mistook me for his non-existent date. The incidence proved quite odd (but nonetheless more amusing the sitting staring at the clock), and soon my companion was off. However! He did rush back, moments later, stating: “I forgot my backpack-and, by the way, I’d like to continue discussing Liszt with someone of considerable understanding.”
A complete idiot as I was, I thought he was referring to someone else, until he continued, “So-um” and I realized he was referring to me (to my great happiness). And thus, we exchanged email addresses. Nothing has happened as of yet other than a simple greeting I received, and at the moment I am obligated to head out for brunch-alors, so long, my friends!