Sons of Loki

It’s weird to think that my room’s still there.

Still the notches I cut in the fridge when slicing carrots. Still the ugly smudge on the window. Still the indentations in the lino from the fridge, right now, as I write these words.

It’s 8:39am in Tokyo right now, so the sun will very firmly be up and the light of dawn will be coming through the left-open curtains.

Packing seemed impossible, but somehow we halved the amount of crap left in the room, then halved it again, then halved it again until it was all either in the bin or in our bags. At some point it went from “stuff everywhere” to “a few things on the desk”. I moved the furniture back to where it had begun, then we scrubbed the floors.

We went to Musashi-sakai to cancel my phone. To my surprise, it was all very simple: three seconds on the computer, my credit card charged with my remaining bill, and I even got to keep my phone, no questions asked. We hunted for lunch and wound up at the nice little gyoza and ramen place. Seems strange that Chinese food has been my consistent favourite throughout the year, but Japanese food is sometimes just too fiddly when all you want is to fill up.

The last thing I packed was my speakers. I wonder if they’re still in the box where I left them downstairs? After a greatest hits package when we were packing, the final song I played – before bundling the speakers into their box and wheeling out the cases – was “Black Out Fall Out”, as hoped. I turned it up. I opened the windows and let the heady beats of youth flood the sports field where a few people were playing baseball. It sounded amazing.

音がない
なきやまない
ずっともうCRY OUT!
I know I know la la la la
もう止まらない!

And for some stupid reason we went the cheap way to Narita, which entailed lugging bags and bags and bags on a Chuo Line train, then a Sobu Line train, then a Keisei Line Local Train, then a Keisei Line Express, then another Express… Hot and sweaty it was, but luckily, it was a quiet Sunday night so the trains were pretty clear. I saw the beautiful towers of Shinjuku under a purple sky for the last time. We crossed the solemn river and left Tokyo for Chiba Prefecture; and the train kept going, and going, and – man, it took forever. I can’t believe how long it seemed to take to get to Narita Airport, but finally we got there … left the terminal and went to the bus stop for the hotel bus. I briefly panicked that we’d missed the last bus, but then it turned out I was reading the chart wrong. We waited as the big coaches for the Hyatt and Toyoko left … and then our titchy little Narita Skycourt Hotel minibus arrived. We squeezed on board and took the ten minute trip to our hotel.

The hotel was pretty cool. It was nothing special, but they had cup noodles and a funny shower and a machine that sold ready meals that you heated up by pulling a drawstring to activate a chemical reaction. We were thinking about staying up all night so that we’d sleep on the plane better, but after a few hours of snapping my Evangelion kit together (oh what a nerd am I) I was getting pretty sleepy, so in the end I got about six hours of sleep.

We had breakfast in the morning. I struggled with the Asahi newspaper. With little to no fanfare, we got the bus to the airport, entered Terminal 2, and checked our bags – despite all the anguish over weight limits and how many bags I could bring on no one, it seemed, gave a damn. (My checked luggage was 32kg, a full 12kg over the JAL limits.)

The others disappeared – Jade and I wandered around for a bit and then found Rob, who had brought his entourage along. Together we checked his bags and paid the date change fee (that’s 15,000 yen I’ll never see again). Jade had to go return her rental phone.


Our group sat around for a bit, not wanting to say our goodbyes quite yet. Rob led people individually away for a final chat – well, that’s Rob for you. I think it was easier for us going home than the others staying – well, as Michael Stipe sang, it’s easier to leave than to be left behind. I played mandolin. We chatted.

Security wasn’t too hard. I got my liquids through, which I was glad about. Our friends waited for us as we queued, and as we went through, and as we reassembled ourselves afterwards, and as long as it took for us to be out of sight entirely, and then that was the end.

Jade and I loaded up on souvenirs, coming back with a huge bag of matcha Kit Kats and assorted booze. They called our rows. We lined up, presented our passports, and with a “Hello” and a “Thank you” we were suddenly on the jetway and in the Triple-Seven and sticking our bags in the overhead storage compartments. I was next to Rob and our friend James (Jade had, somehow, been bumped up to Premium Economy) with a pretty decent window seat.

It occurred to me how my fear of flying was pretty much completely gone now, after fourteen-odd flights. No longer did I quiver when presenting my passport or going through customs. I laughed in the face of turbulence. I sensibly had brought some eye drops and nasal spray on, so desiccating wasn’t a problem even in the dry cabin air. I watched the Wire (aargh like crack it is), Darling wa Gaikokujin (the film adaptation of the popular manga series about a woman whose boyfriend is – shock horror! – a foreigner (is there any country in the world where this is still an issue, except for Japan?) which was sort of funny and sweet and had some nice views of gaijin culture, but was entirely predictable – Jonathan Sherr was great, though – actually let me just take offence at the English character who says how Japanese girls are all easy, and who thinks manga is just for kids, and is really rude to Saori – obviously those people exist in Japan (I’ve been unfortunate enough to meet them) but the character in the film is made out to be an ex-pat, fluent in Japanese, and let me tell you, no real Japan ex-pat could have such disdain and such a rude attitude towards Japan and still be tolerated by his fellows) and kept up the eyedrops and oh shit

It’s Monday. I’m flying back to England, so I get in at 4pm on Monday. Not the next day.

Booked my tickets back from London for Tuesday, didn’t I.

Ah well. Nothing I could do on the plane but catch a little sleep, watch Green Zone (dull, stopped watching it) and Toy Story 2 in Japanese. And take photos.

Brrckkk! We land! We disembark! And fuck, are Brits grumpy. All the Japanese JAL staff smiling and waving and thanking us, and then some grumpy-faced fuck in a florescent jacket looking like he wants to die and like he wants us to die too. No “hello” or “welcome to England” or even a smile, mate. God, I hate London.

You know, only if it had been raining could our reintroduction to Britain have been worse. No one came to pick me and Jade up from the airport, so we haul our baggage through dirty British corridors onto cramped, dirty British trains built in 1976 (christ, JR have been through about six different train classes since then). There’s a train stuck at Piccadilly Circus, please just stick with us for a few minutes. Oh, now there’s another train stuck, seems like someone pulled the emergency brake, we shouldn’t be here long. It’s weird not to hear a Japanese voice with an English translation. It’s weird that it’s just English on all the signs, no Japanese. I am worried about the train tickets and if I can change the date. Well, it shouldn’t be too hard, should it?

“Um, I booked the wrong date and is it possible to maybe change them?” (I know this is my fault, but maybe you could help me out?)
“How much did you pay for your tickets?”
“Um… about eight quid?” (Something like that.)
“Eight quid?”
“Yeah.”
“How much did you pay for your tickets?” (You stupid customer, you no-good pointless waste of my time, give me a straight answer!)
“About eight quid.”
“Well, there’s no point then. I’d have to charge you the cost of today’s tickets minus the price you paid plus a ten pounds admin fee.” (What a fool you are, not knowing this!)
“Oh. Thanks.” (Thanks for nothing, you miserable fuck.)

I walk outside and tell Jade and curse this motherfucking country and its stupid fucking monopoly train lines and tight-assed customer services and I know that if this was Japan the problem would be fucking sorted with a smile and an apology. But what can you fucking do? It’s London. Shit piles up so fast you need wings to stay above it. I go to the ticket machine and deposit sixty quid in National Express East Anglia’s coffers and buy two off-peak singles to Norwich.

Fuck you, National Express East Anglia.

What an awful country, I tap on my iPod. What a load of shit.

Well, we go for burger and chips in Burger King and finally escape awful London. The Gherkin recedes in the window. It’s eight-o-clock and it’s still so bright outside! I listen to music and can’t quite shake the feeling that I’ve finished the novel and now I’m just flipping through the blank pages at the end.

What do I feel? Nothing much. My rage recedes; the oddness of England dampens. Do I miss Japan? I don’t think so. I’ve already forgotten everything I learned there. I have so much to do. Just loads of things to do.

And money. I have no money. I owe a lot of money.

It’s always slightly weird, waking up in the morning and going someplace. Usually, if I’m going out for the day I only get into Tokyo about midday at the earliest. But today I was up at 7am, quick shower, and onwards to Nippori station to catch the Keisei Limited Express to Narita Airport to meet my sister Katie and her partner Chris, who were landing on a Virgin Atlantic flight at 9:55am. The weather today has, for a change, been actually warm, and they couldn’t have picked a nicer day to arrive (considering five days ago it was snowing).

I’ve never been to meet anyone at the airport… apart from once or twice to meet my sister home from her travels. So it was a little novel to be checking the flight times on my mobile as I sped through the weird countryside of Chiba. At Terminal 1, I had a quick wee before coming back out to the (almost empty) arrivals lounge to see Katie and Chris standing next to a ticket counter looking lost as if they’d just been plucked straight from Sheffield and somehow wandered into my life in Japan.

So much to explain! There were guffaws aplenty at “Pocari Sweat”, yappari. Down at the JR Pass counter they got their magic rail passes (truly envious of that, but as a resident I can’t buy one) from a very polite gentleman who spoke English to them and, realising that I knew Japanese, was entirely forthcoming in speaking Japanese to me. I found that really refreshing, that he didn’t balk at a foreigner speaking Japanese, and that he didn’t patronise me by switching to English.

On the way out we got stopped by the fuzz. I’ve heard about the duo who patrol Narita Airport; they only check foreigners. Well, foreign-looking foreigners. Even if you’re just waiting for somebody they’ll come by and check you out – and they’ll be very polite and friendly about it, of course.

My last encounter with the police fresh in my mind, I resisted flashing my gaijin card as my sister and Chris showed their passports. Ah, it’s only a small thing, but they had no reason to see my ID, and when they asked for it, I simply said “Passport ga motte imasen. Ai ni kimashita.” (“I don’t have my passport with me. I came to meet these guys.”) We had a brief chat and I explained that she was my sister and I was an exchange student and he only wound up asking for my phone number, which I couldn’t be bothered to argue about. (They were nice guys, the cops usually are.) But I didn’t show my ID. A tiny victory for civil rights!

Tickets in hand we boarded the Narita Express – very swish and very comfortable, although I’m not sure it’s worth the extra 2,000 yen over the 1,000 Keisei limited express.

In Shinjuku, I escorted them to the Hotel Rose Garden, which looks like a reasonably swish place (although the rooms are tiny).

I gave them the usual tour of Shinjuku; up the Tokyo Metropolitan Towers to the south observation deck, then over to Kabukicho and lunch in a little ramen joint, before a wander through a games arcade (where I pulverised “Train-Train” on Taiko no tatsujin and got like a billion points) and backstreets and to a Starbucks to plan the next day. I was amazed how tired I was, but I did get up at 7am. Tomorrow, one hopes, I shall awake refreshed for another day of tourguiding. It’s tough work.