Thirty-five minutes

August 3, 2008
4:55pm JST
Seat 63H, TC Flight 677
Narita Airport, Tokyo, Japan

Thirty five minutes.

That’s my estimate. Thirty-five minutes from entering Tokyo’s Narita Airport departure gate waiting area, to culture shock setting in.

First little while, Narita just looks like a normal airport – and not a particularly visually-striking one, or a particularly well-designed one, either. There’s a large TV – though not ridiculously large, or ridiculously high quality. In fact, it was playing non-HD TV. And Japanese TV is known for batshit insane. You expect guys in black spandex simulating a Matrix-style ping pong game; or arbitrary torture in a library for comedic effect; or at the very least some human Tetris. What do you get? Baseball. Japanese baseball.

So you sit, watching baseball, thinking more and more the rumours were false, and Japan is just like Canada with more Asian people and less English on the signs. You even find the signs disappointing, containing no Engrish whatsoever.

Then, you have to go to the washroom. First thing you notice is that the urinals have covers about 1/4 of the way up, so you can’t see your pee – which is a little odd. More modest, I suppose. You also notice the row of toilets featuring icons of fountains of water shooting from the toilet, and back away slowly.

The duty free shop, meanwhile, contains – along with the usual collection of overpriced watches, alcohol, and perfume – many bizarre stuffed animals. Many, many of them. All different colours. Animals you’ve never seen. They vary from ‘slightly odd’ to ‘unconscionably disturbing.’

Then, it’s the coffee shop, at which you notice, on sale, hung up like a pack of sunflower seeds or Skittles would be at a Canadian convenience store, packages containing what look very much like vacuum-sealed pancakes of fake vomit. Jelly-like consistency, from the feeling. Grainy bits? Comes in many colours – flavours? Not a word of English on the package. I back away slowly (and later kind of regret it.)

Meanwhile, the vending machine satisfies my desire for Engrish. Fully.

I also notice the departure gate for my new plane (Thai Airways) is staffed by ten female attendants, all incredibly beautiful. In fact, among the attendants on the plane, I count exactly one male – and he is very flamboyant. I have never heard someone speak Thai effeminately, but it’s instantly recognizable. Meanwhile, the stewardesses on this plane, aside from also all being incredibly beautiful, wear outfits that are one-quarter pantsuit, one-quarter tasteful but generously-applied makeup, and one-half geisha. (It should be noted, the lone steward wears a relatively nondescript suit

Some day, I want to come back to Japan.

This is actually pretty close to what the stewardesses look like.