An Oddity... (with no photos yet).

The photos are coming, honest! I’ve been showing them to all and sundry, though, and I still haven’t had the chance to show my folks yet.

Although I do have some Engrish ones on my PC here…

My flight to Japan was taken via Kuala Lumpur, so it involved a fair layover in the airport… a layover that was long enough to be arduous and tedious, yet not long enough to allow me a visitor pass to even garner a gander at a view of KL.

Needless to say, even before I boarded the flight to Tokyo, I was over the idea of traveling. I was grumpy, tired and fed up. I vowed that anyone who asserted to me that getting to the destination is “half the fun” would receive from me:

1 x Suitcase full of heroin

1 x Boarding pass for a flight to Malaysia

1000 x Doggie treats for sniffer dogs.

I landed at Narita airport at 7.05am. By the time the plane taxied to the terminal, it was 7.30am.

Having come from a small town like Adelaide, the idea that a plane spent so much time just rolling along the tarmac gave me the idea that the pilot was goofing off, and had decided to cruise along the main street of town, trying to pick up chicks.

But no. He was taking a dead straight line to the terminal. Fucking huge airport.

It was 35 degrees celcius when I left Adelaide. It was 1 whopping degree in Tokyo. I nearly passed out when I stepped outside.

The first week over there, I was studying in a little berg of Tokyo called Noda. I would liken the place to the outskirts of any major metropolitan centre in the world; urban, but not THAT urban.

It was busy. Not THAT busy though. People had good income, but not THAT good.

It was kinda like the Sydney suburb of Blacktown, but without the inbreeding. And much more condensed.

Let me put it this way: I’ve seen bike lanes in Adelaide that are wider than some of the two-way streets in Noda. On one particular street, the only thing I saw that prevented cars from toppling down an embankment and into someone’s house was a big wad of crisp Tokyo “air”.

But enough about that crap.

The idea that a group of Japanese schoolgirls haul you up in the street (yes, it’s a cliché, I know) with a chorus of “Hello, how are you?” is amusing and cute after the first twenty times. However, when their English is as good as my Japanese, the conversation that goes, “Hello-how-are-you?america?iie?oh-osutoraria! Kangaroo-Koala!Awwww-bye-preased-to-meet-you!” gets old quick.

Well, not that quick. It’s still kinda cute.

But being a unique oddity in a place like Noda does have perks. People are extra patient with you, and the fact that you can say “how do you do?”, can explain to them who you are, where you’re from, how old you are, along with the whole “being 6 foot tall” thing does seem to get you some brownie points.

Good thing I’m not blonde. I reckon that would’ve ruptured some vessel in their right frontal lobe.

But the people are curious about you. Not in a “Do I feed the animals in this zoo?” kinda way, either. It’s more like they’ve stumbled across an odd looking forest creature, and they tilt their head this way and that as they grasp with the idea that something a little left of centre has wandered into their lives for a short time.

However… to the guy who asked me which way to Dior and LV when I was in Harajuku, I have this to ask of you:

“Do I look like a fucking local?”

Perhaps a lone westerner in Japan isn’t perceived as a tourist...