I am in Narita International Airport.
The 8-hour flight to Japan was totally fine.
They made me re-pack my bags in Brisbane and check one of my carry-on pieces in. Was very annoying, but my father and I handled it well. Apparently Japan Airlines only allows 20kg each, and they are very strict about the one-piece carryon being 10kg. But I charmed my way through it. Got on with three, which probably total 20kg together. Completely Fine.
As I was saying, the flight was nice. Read half of Twilight (thanks Lauren), watched ‘The Day The Earth Stood Still’ and ‘Yes Man’. Continued writing my essay, ate two meals, and made everyone fall in love with me.
Overalls + Big Glasses + Holga + Innocent and Meek demeanor = ATTRACTIVE
Well, not in this photo per se, but you will have to believe me.
Food was good, got an exit row, asked for a rum and coke, you know, just for something fancy, and I got a coke with lemon in it. No Rum. It’s a sign. I am officially going to enjoy being an alcoholic on my 40th Birthday. Not day earlier. It is something I will look forward to. Like Roger and Coffee. You know?
Go to Narita no troubles, but my Confidant, yet Innocent and Meek demeanor eventually played against me. Specifically, when I tried to get through the security clearance for the international transfer, my Overalls set off the metal detectors. Four times. The poor Japanese girl had to swipe my entire body, and do a manual search. I offered to take them off. She giggled, but said it would be unnecessary.
Then, every single piece of electronic equipment I had stashed on my person had to go through the scanner one-by-one. No Joke. About 20 separate items in total. And my flutes got some airtime as well. Everyone was very interested in everything that I had. Lucky I had almost an hour to board my connecting flight. Needless to say, I am now very efficient at packing my briefcase in a hurry.
Got an exit row again on the connection. But it was one of those fancy double-decker planes, and I was right at the bottom of the stairwell. And there is no stowage for those seats, so I had to walk half-way down the cabin to find a place for all my stuff, and then had to surrender my flutes to a stewardess, who put them in the ‘cloakroom’. Which was fine. I settled into the final chapters of Twilight, and ate my Japanese snack. It was very ideal. Agebentto. Maybe? It was written in Japanese and Korean, and I really cannot remember what it was called, but it was v. v. Japan, and v. v. Tasty. Two kinds of cold rice, one with chicken curry, one with salmon and roe, a meat ball, some eggplant pickle and one of those shiny, gooey balls made of starch and beanpaste.
MMMmmmm…
The largest single debacle of the entire trip was me being far too efficient at the Korean end of things. I was mighty chuffed with myself at having being the last off of the plane, and first in the customs cue. It seems Incheon has opened a new section of the terminal that I have never seen before, and we needed to catch a train to connect to the main terminal. The thing is, I breezed through immigration, customs, picked up my bag, dismissed several enthusiastic cabbies, bought my bus ticket (W9,000), found the right stop, gave my luggage to the driver and found my seat… All in Korean. However, it wasn’t till I sat down in the bus with all my things that I remembered that I had checked in an additional backpack. And I didn’t have it with me. So.
Having very basic skills in Korean is fine when everything is going well, but when you almost die of a heart attack, you seem to realize that you are entirely inadequate. So, progressing in a hyperactive hybrid of English and bad Korean, I let the bus driver know what was going on, got all my stuff back off the bus, out of the luggage hold, sold my ticket to a little old ajuma (married lady) standing in line, ran back into the terminal, and conversed with the security guard at the exit gate, telling him that I am an idiot and left something on the carousel.
He sent me away to the airline desk, who didn’t really want to help me, and just sent me back to the security guard. He radioed inside, took my passport, made me leave my bags with him, and wait for a very awkward 10 minutes while a customs officer (in plain clothes) came out and escorted me in. She was very nice, but in my haste, I knocked all of her paperwork flying whilst she was swiping us back into the arrivals lounge. I apologized in Korean, and she assumed that I was fluent. Me, being the ridiculous person I am, didn’t correct her and so she continued to tell me what I had to do to retrieve my bag. In Korean.
So, naturally, I proceeded with the directions that I convinced myself were correct, but were, really, just wild stabs in the dark. It turns out that the universe did provide at this time me with total proficiency in bluffing Korean, and when I returned empty handed, she asked me what happened, and I mumbled something about the bag not being there, which is when I think she realized that I was an idiot.
She took me to the lost and found, and I got my bag back. We then conversed in English (she was more than fluent). She asked me if I was studying Korean, asked me why I had so many Korean visas in my passport… You know, chit chat.
The last thing to do was to have my backpack searched. The woman at the scanner was perplexed as to why all foreigners use cable ties on their baggage. (She was a bit annoyed that she had to find a knife to cut it off). My escort said something about it being a stupid idea for foreigners, they shrugged to one another, and I was waved through.
All done. On the bus now, about to review my directions to Nathan’s Apartment.
It’s rainy and a bit chilly, and it smells like Korea, and I love it.
It feels like home.
