My very first international trip

It was hot. The kind of portentously oppressive heat that could be called oppressive, even at the early hour of seven. I was nervous. The chocolate milk was sitting high in my unsettled stomach. My first flight and I had to pass through the infamous and dreaded Homeland Security. The first customs people I saw were dressed like police and I vaguely recall, with some anxiety, the fact that they carry guns. Waiting in line for customs all I could think of was the opening scene of Old School when Luke Wilson is held at gunpoint after passing through the metal detector gate several times unsuccessfully. I mean I get nervous passing through the gates at HMV.
I am over the ridiculousness of it now, though. That nervous, half-maniacal laughter that plagued the night last night and the short drive to the airport this morning. That feeling of being hopelessly awash in the circumstances. The recognition that this trip is utterly ridiculousand that I am utterly unprepared. Thinking about it, I flush with anxiety. I read about Seoul to take my mind off things, but it doesn't distract me fr too long. I get up for air and feel the exhaustion of the last few weeks' hectic activity. They have those moving sidewalks like in the Jetsons and I ride them repeatedly from boredom and feel like Zach Braff in Garden State passing hrough LAX.I feel more relaxed after the stroll and fill myself with water from a fountain. My fingers are blackened with ink from the new pen, so I head to wash them. I feel more peaceful while walking, more at ease. Anything to keep me from fretting and staring out across the open tarmac. I think I may vomit just from nerves. I get up to go again for water and decide to play it safe and take some aspirin and gravol before my flight. I'm unreasonably warm despite the air conditioning and I begin to sweat. I forsee myself being sick on the plane and already plan to apologise pre-emptively to the people next to me. All I can think of are terible things and I think of Lost and look around at the other people on my flight, and wonder whom among us will survive the crash and start to think of life with these strangers on a deserted island...
I walked to a fountain to take gravol and aspirin for the ever-nearing flight, and walking back to my seat I threw up a little in my mouth. This did not bode well.... I was sweating and my breathing became laboured. Wild and wide-eyed I stared blanky and paced awkwardly back and forth between the gate and the fountain, where I drank constantly.
Finally we boarded and I was lucky enough to be seated with a nice couple headed to O'hare to transfer on their way to Italy for a few weeks. The were friendly and our chatting soothed my earlier worry and panic, somewhat. Once takeoff was completed and we were reasonably underway I relaxed enough to drift off into an exhausted slumber.
I awoke slightly before the captain came on to inform us of our position over lake Michigan and our imminent arrival in Chicago. I felt terrible pressure in my head and all the sounds were muffled and distant. I swallowed and swallowed desperately trying to relieve the pressure, but to no avail. I was quite uncomfortable and in some pain for the remainder of the flight that would be my maiden voyage. They say everyone's first time isn't great and that it only gets better right?
I'm exhausted. O'Hare has 5 terminals and I have to take an el-train to get to the JAL departures. I think my ears may have finally worked out thier issues from the flight(turns out I was wrong). I'm no longer nervous, just tired. Its an hour off here so my lay-over is three hours. I'm bored.


Part two of my amazing adventure:
When we left our loveable hero he was in Chicago, the windy city, in O'Hare Airport, one of the largest in the world. Miles from home, thousands of miles from his destination and not a familiar face in sight. We rejoin him midflight on a JAL flight to Tokyo.

It almost hit me, or rather it did, for one brief second. I glanced up at this Japanese news monitor during a dull moment in V for Vendetta and had wondered suddenly what was going on, I thought for a second to take off the headphones to hear the story but there was a quick... like a flash of lightning behind my eyeballs. I'm not sure exactly what happened but suddenly I realised that I would soon be 'there' in a large foreigncity on the other side of the world. In a place far removed from the heltered and small life I have previously lead, for a split second all the pictures on the television screen, all the words on maps I had always remmbered but never known, for an instant the reality of them flashed through my mind. Just for an instant.
As soon as I had realised all this it was gone. It left me closed off and naive, blinking curiously at each new bit of this world I contact, trapped in my small town mentality. I may have just realised how truly little I know, and how ignorant I truly am.

Even now I pass ridiculously close to Canmore, at least according to the map displayed on the TV monitor(apparently we are flying in a great northward arc across the bering sea rather than straight out across the pacific), it's not as though I could tell from 34000 ft and the only thing out the window are clear blue sky above and pure white cloud below. Another eight hours and seventy-six hundred kilometres to Narita. It's strange to think that its 9 am in Tokyo now, I should still be at Pearson, but that was almost twelve hours ago.

I am awake. How many hours has it been? Was is only a few minutes? Where are we? What time is it supposed to be here? As though time could prove a useful frame of reference for me. I'm not wearing a watch and even if I were it would be set to Guelph time. The little map shows us nearing the international date line, having already passed over alaska. Only five hours until I land in yet another foreign country.
Realisation seems to come closer in the semi-lucidity of fresh awakening though it is never long before 'reality' flods back in, I find myself shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. I once wrote al lwe have is our mythology, and I find myself desperately clinging to whatever precious little I have that relates to this.I think of Bill Murray, Lost in Translation, Blackthorne in James Clavells Shogun, trying to piece together some japanese that I know, for only half of the stewardesses seem to know english. Everything is pouring in.

I'm in Tokyo now at my hotel in my economy sized room, watching Naruto on my flatscreen television. My Japan Airlines flight was good, television screens in the back of every seat, lots of drinks and food. It was however a little cramped. My hips were pressing buttons on the remote in the side of the arm rest, and my knees were squeezed up gainst the back of the chair in front of me. Sleeping was a bit of a challenge, even though I was worn out and exhausted.
As I rode the shuttle bus from the airport I was staring absent-mindedly at the Tokyo Narita neighbourhood through which I passed. I guess I was bit disappointed, aside from the bus being on the wrong side of the road and the writing on the street signs it was virtually indistinguishable from Canada. I guess I was just hoping for something different, alot more different than it is...
I went downstairs for something to eat, but once I got to the table I wondered how hungry I actually was, I may have just been eating out of habit, or boredom. I got conveniently seated alone at a table for four, facing the only other occupied table in the restaraunt, and a wall. I sat alone sipping water and staring in the general direction of strangers dining, with nothing else to entertain me. I felt incredibly awkward and horribly alone once they had taken away my menu. It was a long few minutes before the waitress came back with a dish, and when she did I noticed that it wasn't very big, and it contained only soup. It was delicious though, and right when I was chastising myself for paying $20 for a mug of soup and an iced tea, she returned with my actual meal and a small salad. Once everything was splayed out on the table in front of me I was feeling quite full from the soup.
It was awkwardly quiet, oppressive, and I just kept feeling like Bill Murray in Lost in Translation; alone in Tokyo. I wondered when Scarlett Johanssen was going to come floating into my life.
I thought for a minute that I had actually figured it out, when I went for a walk and wandered into a convenience store across the street from the hotel. I walked in to peruse the wares and decidely picked up some Japanese beer, the cashier addessed me in Japanese, completely unaware that I know almost no Japanese. I wordlessly paid and wandered out of the store unable to contain the smile on my face. It's now 10.00 pm in Tokyo and 9.00 am in Guelph. On arrival at Narita I had to ask what day it was. The lady at the immigration desk laughed at me.
It's been a long day and after I finish this beer, I'm off to bed.

Its 4.23 am. I'm having trouble sleeping, perhaps I'm nervous about missing my flight in the morning, perhaps the food I ate is giving me indigestion, maybe its because I've been up four times to go to the bathroom, or perhaps hitting the wall everytime I roll over keeps me from falling into the deep and restful sleep I crave, I think though it may be that I am overwhelmed with all that is happening here. I am in Tokyo, alone. My room is dark and quiet, moreso than I am used to. I am on the other side of the planet, alone and in the dark. I'm probably havign so much trouble with this because it all happened so fast, from daydream to reality in a month. Thanks to UPS and my own procrastination and busy schedule I had all of half an hour to pack for a six-month journey halfway around the world. Here I am suddenly after a flight from Pearson and a few hours in the US I found myself strapped into a thirteen hour flight crossing the Pacific Ocean. I stepped off the plane relieved to stretch out before anxiously realising I was in Tokyo, alone. It was 6.30 by the time I got out of the airport mostly because I had absolutely no idea where to go or what to do. I milled about aimlessly for a while before I decided on a course of action. The moon was already high in the deepeing purple sky when I stepped out into the foreign air.
This whole jet-lag thing hasn't affected me as much as I had thought, aside from having no idea what day or time it is I notice nothing , I was expecting it to fuck me up subconciously. I guess I didn't really have much of a sleep schedule in the last few weeks anyways. I guess I always have been rather quick to adapt too.
I'm tired, but wide awake. It may be 4.30 am August third here, but its 3.30 pm August second in Guelph still. I suppose I did leave Toronto about thirty hours ago and though I arrived in Tokyo nearing 6 pm on August 2nd meaning my 19 hour trip from Toronto actually took 30 hours. I realise suddenly I didn't even get a chance to talk to Catriona before I left. I hope I can find her at the airport in Incheon.
Mr. Buckley once told me that to teach you must first had to break down the students' indifference and ego; by fear, by surprise, and by confusion. You have to make them sit up and open their eyes. I am sitting up straight, open-eyed. Let this world impress upon me all that it has to teach.

It's a quarter past five and it is as bright as day outside. I've decided to stay up... as though I could decide to fall asleep.


Narita is a madhouse this morning, in sharp contrast to my arrival last night. There are people everywhere and lines for everything. The one good thing is that I got to choose a window seat for the first time. I'm excited to watch the world disappear beneath me... also I took a gravol in anticipation of the window's nauseating effects.
For all I know I could still be in Toronto or Chicago, I haven't seen anything except hotels and airports since monday night.
I have the nervous sweats again, I can feel the heat of my face. I feel like I may vomit, I suspect I'm not a very good flyer. I hope Incheon isn't busy. My Journey is nearly over, I'm so tired.

I guess now I can say I've traveled; I've seen my first ocean, the Pacific, and my first mountain, not the majestic blue and white of the Canadian Rockies, but rather the imposing black spire of Mt. Fuji. Currently I am looking down on some leafy, green Korean mountains of less impressive size, but just as beautiful.

It's 5am and I stare out the window at the thinning dakness, at these 'foreign' buildings, listening to the chirping of some unrecognisable insect. The air vibrates with their hum. Its hot and humid even in the cool of early morning.

My first morning in Korea and my first 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep since... I don't even know when. It was a hot and sticky night and the whole 'wet' bathroom thing makes for an odd and exposed shower. I successfully walked the dog by myself this morning although we didn't travel very far, as it was so hot. The city is so crowded and haphazard; shops and houses everywhere. The 'streets' are steep, crooked, small, and winding it just seems like an alley until cars start moving up and down them with insane speeds. I was up early this morning, having finally built up enough exhaustion to overcome my excitement. I watched out the windows as the world around me awoke. Everything seems so ordinary, so usual, it is a little disappointing. Routine comes easily to me.