The airport was small. To commute downtown, I had to use a vending machine that dispenses tickets for the limousine bus. There wasn’t much to see on my way to the hotel, but the imaginary, cold pins stayed erect on my skin. It was my birthday, the first of December, and I’ve descended on Japanese soil for the first time. Well, I was in Tokyo first, had a serene half-hour waiting time with my co-passengers -proper, business-attired folk- for the Kumamoto-bound flight. There was a fleet of students off to somewhere else. I was on my second water bottle, and handling new currency added to my heightened senses.
The cashier at the convenience store in front of my hotel looked like a foreigner, and I had a reluctant thought that maybe I should strike a conversation in English. No, I didn’t have to, so I didn’t. I had my snack at the hotel lobby, since it wasn’t check-in time yet. Around an hour later, I had my arms around Kumamon, the black bear mascot of the area, who has an “office” at a mall nearby. I bought postcards, went back, and slept.
Past eleven in the evening, I was in line with salarymen at a ramen shop, and had an emotional moment when I was handed a glass of icy water, along with my food. See, I’ve been based in Shanghai for some time, where, say, after hours of apartment hunting, back in their office, the real estate agent will hand you hot water in a plastic cup for refreshment. Every second consuming that bowl of noodles was immensely delightful, and I only had a photo to remember it.
