All Things Must Come to an End.

All things must come to an end. This cliché is a point that keeps raising itself in the back of my head. All things must come to an end. I’m in San Francisco, again, and none too pleased about it.

The Kyoto portion of my holiday did not go especially well. I arrived, but a bit late. What was to be seen was a decent sunset. The hotel itself was acceptable, but not spectacular. The quality of the customer service was excellent, though a bit cool. Instead of simply giving me a key they gave the key to an employee who carried my luggage to my room, prepared a cup of tea for me, and personally showed me how to operate all technological equipment in the room. The particular assistant I was given had a German surname, leading me to speak to her alternating in German and Japanese with some English thrown in.  It was only when I had finished that she admitted that she could only speak English and Japanese — her father being an American-born great-grandson of a Swiss German immigrant.

The second, complete, day was supposed to hold the promise. Alas, the weather conspired against me. It was cool. It was rainy. It was windy. It was so miserable, in fact, that all major plans were abandoned in favour of going shopping as it seemed impossible to enjoy any fine art, gardens, or architecture so poor that ducks would hang their heads limp in depression. Fortunately, Kyoto is an excellent shopping city. Kyoto is also a great city for high-quality products. The day I left the weather grew better. Alas, it was too late for that.

There was one thing that made everything better. Mt Fuji was clearly visible. Even the peak was merely decorated by clouds. I was lucky enough to have a window seat on the correct side and took a few decent photographs of it. Tokyo was an improvement on Kyoto in atmospherics, though the hotel was a bit disappointing. Accuse me of being a princess if you wish, but I’d rather spend 15-20 quid more per night if that means I get my own toilet and shower. This was not granted. As it was late enough and only for one night I was in no mood to fight it and just let it go.

My final morning in Japan was excellent. I met an old neighbour who is now working in Tokyo. We could only meet for about an hour, his work schedule involving 6 14-hour days with only Sunday being free. He was as energetic and optimistic as ever. He likes his job and it makes him happy, no matter how much work it is. After parting I took the taxi to Tokyo Station to take the Narita Express, something which was more complicated than it need to be. The ticket I bought was only good for holding a seat, not paid in full. After attempting to fix the problem on my own twice the poor station attendant had to go out and do it for me.

The train was clean, punctual, and neat. Even the toilets were pristine. Having made good time, the airline employee had some freedom in giving me a new seat allocation. We got on well and chatted for a few minutes in Japanese. She mentioned that in her opinion my seat, the one originally assigned, at least, was rather a poor one — a point to which I agreed. After ascertaining my preference for an aisle seat she handed me a new ticket and send me on my way to Seoul for the final connection flight. Boarding the aircraft was a bit confusing. I simply could not find my seat, the numbers too large. The air hostess looked at my ticket a second time and quickly apologised, leading me into the business class section. There were a few seats free and the woman at ticket counter upgraded me to business class at no additional cost. Better yet, she did so without having been requested to.

The final flight was miserable. Long, painful, loud, crowded. The air hostesses were badly over-worked and their attitude showed it. They did their job, but with the cheer that would make North Korean border officials seem positively engaging. We arrived, at last, in San Francisco. The city is even worse now than it was when I left. The queue for immigration took the better part of an hour and the wanker I was stuck with decided that he wanted to get difficult with me. Following the law of the land, I handed him my US passport — one that showed no signs of ever having been used in Korea or Japan. Which, as a matter of fact, was very much the case. I provided my German passport for him — something he latched onto with the ravenous ferocity of a starved lobinho spotting a fat lamb. It took nearly 15 minutes to get him to leave me in peace. He did leave me in peace, however, and he did so from a position of weakness.

One should never get into a debate about technical details with Germans. We not only know it all, we know it better than everyone else. Instead of making me quiver in my boots (or clogs, to be more accurate) as was his intent, he only managed to provoke me to get into detailed explanations of South Korean law, South Korean policies on US military personnel stationed in Korea, the differing degrees of popularity, and why he had better say exactly what I wanted him to say using exactly the same words in exactly the same tone. Christina Osborne would have been proud of me.

It’s best to say, perhaps, that I left Asia with mixed feelings. Life goes on, people change, situations change. People come, people go. It was in many ways cathartic. Things that had to get taken care of were dealt with. The outcome may not have been the most desirable, but ultimately it was the better one. There was no good-bye, but a simple matter-of-fact statement that we had to go on with our own lives and support each other, albeit from a distance.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kwb6TalFxF8&feature=related

Author: Christopher-Dorset

A Bloody Kangaroo View all posts by Christopher-Dorset