The Delta terminal at JFK is always full of birds. I used to find this odd, and now I see it as oddly fitting. Of course a place for airplanes is full of birds. 

The plane to Seattle was uneventful. There was a short layover which gave me a chance to reflect on how awesome the Sci-Fi museum under the Space Needle is. A Japanese doctor showed me his radiation burns and taught me how to pronounce Matsue properly. He was carrying a radiation detector in a plastic zippered bag. When we boarded the plane for Osaka, I took a sleeping pill, thanked the travel deities for the fact that I was seated in an otherwise empty row and promptly passed out. I was groggy when we landed but breezed through Passport Control and Customs. The Customs Officer didn’t seem to care what city I was going to but was extremely concerned that he get the correct spelling of my boyfriend’s name, since he was my reason for entering the country. 

Equipped with an email containing a train schedule and a list of “helpful phrases” I started wandering around the airport looking for the trains. I found a stand which looked like it sold coffee, managed to order something that tasted like coffee, and am guessing it was, in fact, coffee. I also found buses, a taxi stand, and a deep appreciation for the fact that the men here have a soft spot for pale American girls who mispronounce “sumimasen” and follow it with a smile. One particular man took pity on me, wrangled my suitcases up the escalators and deposited us (yes, I may have just referred to my luggage as people) at the train station. 

On the train from the airport to Osaka station, everything was repeated in English. On the train from Osaka to Okayama the voice on the speaker no longer repeated the words in English but there was still a sign displaying the name of the next stop in the Latin alphabet at the front of each car. The third leg - from Okayama to Matsue - was where things started to get interesting. There wasn’t a sign, I didn’t have a schedule, and no one spoke English or appeared to be able to understand my attempts at not butchering Japanese. Also, my phone was no longer getting reliable service. Eeep. Fortunately the trains were so incredibly on time that all I had to do was get off at the scheduled arrival time printed on my ticket. 

Matt picked me up at the station and took me back to his place. I should give you a bit of background here. Matt is a flying trapeze artist, and he’s signed on to be with a troupe in Japan for another nine months. He lives in a modified cargo container with two of his co-workers, each in their own little compartment. So basically, I have run away with the circus. I think it’s like camping, but people who actually know about camping are telling me this isn’t actually roughing it. 

I get to see the shows, I get to stretch in the ring while they practice flying. I get to learn bits of Japanese, experience a new culture, have way too much fun puzzling things out in the grocery store with Matt, and most of all I get to sit back and enjoy the fact that my life is really really awesome.

-Stoya