Last country. Almost home.
Being in Japan, actually, is almost like being home. This country is so familiar to me (well, certainly Yotsukaido, Chiba, and Tokyo) that I didn’t actually notice getting off the plane, going through immigration, getting the bags, getting on a train, finding Chris, and getting to his apartment. I think I might actually have been here too much…
The flight from Hong Kong was okay. While Amy was enjoying her champagne at take-off, those of us in Galley Slave were firmly chained to our iron racks. (One minor improvement: less flesh-mauling spikes.) The smell of previous passengers’ fates faded once we got above 20,000 feet, though I suspect that might also be due to the thinner air at that altitude. (They save pressurization for the VIPs, you know.)
They still feed you, though. I always wondered what they do with the leftovers from the various peanut and pretzel packages. Now I don’t wonder anymore. I really don’t want to know what the liquid was, though. “Orange” isn’t supposed to be a light purple.
In the past, entertainment was watching your blood vessels bulge (due to air pressure, or more importantly, the aforementioned lack thereof). Those around me obtained a far greater spectacle, though, when the staff realized I was flying free on points. I think the whip marks will fade in about a week or so…
Amy looked quite relaxed and happy when I finally managed to break free of my shackles. I really need to remember to consider those USD$79 upgrades the next time they offer…
