travel day – oct 12
OCT 12 LEAVING THE PACIFIC RIM TOUR
I get up early and sore from running and push-ups the day before. And heavy from the body requesting more after tour sleep. What happens is the mind keeps the body in check during a tour. Even at this age, the mind is able to keep the body preoccupied with the momentum of constant daily touring rigor. When the tour ends, the mind lets go almost involuntarily. The body then attempts to collapse for days, or at least before the advent of children. So I just try to sleep when I can and be there for them young’uns as much as can be. I get greyer by the second. But what is the alternative ? a dark isolation ?
So I opt to suspend my camera shopping instead to have a nice final meal with norioriororioririo and aki aki. A good choice.
First the packing commences. Hah ha ha ha. it is a puzzle. I load up 5 pair of shoes there for the family, lu lu’s little stuffed animals, luka’s Chinese rocket ship, sofie’s handcarved jade from new Zealand, Australian blundies and Japanese fabrics. And kimonos. Plus tons of cds folks have given me from all the amazing music being made out there on the planet, every one of them a shed of light against the intrepid cursing darkness of war and political poop.
Then off to lunch. We gather and hoo ha over the last weeks worth of yuks. The biggest laugh being me in the train from Nagoya, famous for it spiced chicked wings ( a fave of bob log’s I was told ) that we never managed to get a hold of until we were leaving for the train. So aki had gotten a pile in a ‘to go’ box along with rice bowls, which it is also famous for. Anyhow, my tray is piled high. The train takes off. And in a few moments my crotch is swimming in all of it. the whole ka-boodle slipped off my trey into my lap. Could not react because of the tears forming in my eyes. Hoo ha.
Then we amble off to attempt to make the train on time one last time, that’s headed to the airport. Uh oh. We gotta make a run for it. of course I jam the machine at the turn style and the guards have to come over at the station. Those boys are keeping so beautifully cool, but I reckon we are definitely going to miss this last train. I am lugging 2 guitars, alan olsen’s ( the bob Dylan of denmark ) massive suitcase I borrowed, and a vy and elle back-pack stacked. I am laughing inside and it is beginning to erupt outa me like a volcano. We begin running again. But what kind of run is it with all that stuff attached ?
Train time was less then 5 minutes when I got broke the turn style. No way.
We find the right track stairs, but have to take the elevator anyway. Too much stuff. Tons of humans swarming. We get down to the platform in less then 14 seconds from when the airport train is pulling into the station. I clump all my crap on board and say my very fondest farewells to the boys. Brave men they be. One more belly laugh. A bow. And then off.
I jump though the usual hoops getting on a plane these days. Then I remember I have to change money over, cause it is a way better rate to leave foreign currency in the country of its origin. So I push it again, time wise. What ev.
It’s what I do, and I do it very well. So I find the coin changer, which of course is in the opposite direction of my own gate. I get there and there is a line. But I stick it out and give it a shot. Fill out the form. Attempt to give her all my yen. She does it up fast enough, but then I find some more yen. She redoes it, no complaint. Oops wait, I found more yen. One more time she redoes it. so sweet. Thanks. Almost done, the plane leaves in 20 minutes I think. Wait.. I just found another envelope of yen. We start over.
Ok. At the gate. I have 3 minutes and 23 seconds to do a little more gift shopping I figure. Get something for mom. Gold and red and made in japan. She’ll love that. Ok. Let’s go.
Bam !
the American airlines slam.
I remember it from last time.
The flight attendants never venture forth into Tokyo.
The airport is so far away from the city, like the distance from phoenix to Tucson, that they only ever stay at the hotel by the airport. They get totally ripped off by never having the japanese experience. They have no idea how courteous and full of respect the japanese are to everybody and therefore it does not rub off or inspire. So when I get on the plane it is always a culture shock to get a load of the american mannerisms completely devoid of such respect and courtesy. Especially when they try and take my guitar away and check it in the bilge. What are they thinking ? its in a soft floppy case. You can not check an instrument into the luggage hold like that. It’s a 1950-s national electric guitar and they have no idea what they are talking about, but they would rather just hit me with a manual then accommodate any uniqueness of any situation. The plane is less then half full too.
When I resist, the flight attendant goes off to see if the captain will stick it in the cockpit, which is something that does not thrill me in this day and age. But I have done it before when the insistence of the drones badgering us customers gets too incessant.
She is certain the guitar can not fit in the over head and tries it to show me. And sure enough it does not, which of course boggles me cause I know it does usually. She leaves and then I realize she put it in a slightly smaller overhead then I usually do. So I just stick it up there no problem. No problem.
Then I take my seat. And the other flight attendant tries to make a good impression on me by asking me my name so he can give me a personal service. I tell him. He says howard. I say no, howe. he says oh. “like an Indian”. What ? I look at him boggled. He is serious. “Yeah I have a friend who calls herself ‘how’ to have a have an Indian name.”
Get me off this plane. Back to my japanese posse. I would rather train it with a lap full of chicken wings and fish balls then to sip champagne even in business class here in boggleville.
Momma, I am coming home.