I'd already said ‘gracias’ seven times to seven different people until it hit me – why were they not appreciating my effort? Who cares that there was no accent and I looked firmly out of my depth saying it? I thought the very least I would get from someone would be a ‘oh look, he's trying his best’ smile – or at least a subtle nod – but nothing. I tried to forget about it but then every flight attendant gave me no notice, even with my over exaggerated smile accompanying to break the needless tension. And considering 95% of the passengers on board were Japanese, I thought I'd try and help the 12 hours go by a bit smoother with something they could relate to. And then I realised the one word I thought I could say confidently to them was Spanish, and I had only spoken to Italians – and I had to rightly hold my head in shame every time I heard that trolley shuffle past as I could feel their outraged faces peering over me in disgust. So I was seven hours into my world travels when I realised that I was probably not going to last even seven days…I needed my Japanese luck to roll in. And that it did.
Well, kind of. My sole name was called out over the tannoy at Heathrow and I couldn't wait for the first issue to arise. Instead, however, I had accidentally been mistaken for being a minor (this was even before my unforgivable childish language error). As an apology, I was upgraded to Sky Priority! I couldn't believe my luck! I thought, yes, finally, I'm about to get the respect I've earned and deserved. The tiniest piece of curtain separated me from the riffraff – I was livid – but I held it in.
Two hours later I was in Rome waiting for my transfer to Narita in Tokyo. My priority saved any queuing so I said ‘muchas gracias’ and skipped smugly on board. I balanced my film choices with Woody Allen’s wonderfully impressive 1979 romantic comedy Manhattan and – not actually accidentally I’m afraid – Horrible Bosses 2. And throw in the standard Gianfranco Zola documentary and the frustratingly sleepless flight was pretty much complete.
An incredibly kind Japanese customs officer had a peak in my bag and asked the standard questions before telling me to take care. After a previous difficulty with US Customs five years ago, I was thrilled. I can't wait to go through it all again next month…
A young resident saw me struggling and offered his help in buying my train ticket. The good-natured service in Japan was experienced instantly and hasn't dropped since. I spoke with German travellers on the train from Narita Airport to Chiba and realised how quiet and content the rest of the carriage looked, in silence. Always in silence.
I walked around Chiba as – what certainly looked like – the only tourist in town. I then met up with this guy from university who I was planning to stay with. It's difficult though, because something hasn't been right between us since the moment we first met. He tried making conversation on the first day of university, saw a glimmer on the desk and said ‘oh cool, you've got an iPad’ – I explained it was a mirror. He's a simple man. A simple man offering me free accommodation, however.
ahahah 'muchas gracias'
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