Banzai!

When that cloud arrives we'll live on Ocean Drive ..

Don't know why you're so blue,
Sun's gonna shine on everything you do ..

This is a big one.

I've done a fair amount of flying over the past god knows how many hours.

It remains a complete mindfuck, this timezone/travel business. Flying from Japan to Manchester via the Middle East will screw with your mind in the worst way, as well as allowing you to set off at any hour, fly for 10 hours or so, and arrive at the next destination only 3 hours after you left the last place .. the previous day.

But here's a breakdown, some bits more detailed than others, of a week with the Japanese.

JOURNEY

The flight's a transfer one: from Manchester, it's 6/7 hours to Dubai, then 10 hours from there to Japan. The flight out was pretty comfy as the bloke meant to be sitting next to me didn't turn up, so I got his window seat and leg room, which was nice.


On the return journey, due to either a stroke of major fortune or a bizarre admin problem, the very nice people at Emirates decided I should fly to Dubai business class. Oh well, go on then. Just this once. Remember Monsters Inc.? There was a great little short film released shortly after it came out called 'Mike's New Car'. Youtube it; watch Sully's reactions when he climbs in. Mine were pretty similar.

It was a lot like this.

If you haven't flown business class before, it seems naturally to be a very expensive affair; mostly white haired brits or arabic guys, wearing pressed suits and shined shoes, with an array of newspapers in various languages. They sit with their glasses on the end of their noses and sip the complimentary champagne. They address the air hostesses in a polite, yet clipped manner. Impeccable plane behaviour.

Cue me.

Sweaty, big hair, 3 shirt buttons undone, fumbling with flight documents and dropping my passport. A friendly stewardess comes to my rescue. Looks of chagrin sweep the faces of the cabin occupants; is this unkempt bastard going to be sharing this section with us? Surely not.

But I did, and it was ruddy awesome. I tried not to take it on a personal level when the grey-haired bloke next to me pushed a button somewhere by his seat and a little wall slid out of the armrest and blocked me off from him. S'matter old timer? You don't like sharing a row with a sweaty student?

The catering gets a little more chic in business class too. Yes, gone are the days of "would you like the chicken or the fish sir?" and in it's place are multi-lingual menus offering a vast variety of dishes, all 3 courses. I had the marinated duck with fresh herb sauce. Consider that. I had duck with herb sauce on a fucking plane. It was even prepared restaurant style, with little gloops of sauce spirally dripped around artistically arranged slices of duck, each separated with a little orange segment.

Yes Chef. Good effort.

Also note the real cutlery and the tablecloth for your fold out table, which comes out of the seat; they're having none of that 'attached to the seat in front' nonsense like the rabble eating in steerage. Oh, and there's a separate tablecloth JUST FOR THE TRAY! Aah, does good service have no bounds?

JAPAN

There's an absolute shitload that I could ramble about, and each bit would probably end up with it's own blog size paragraph devoted to it. How about just some pictures? You'd like that, wouldn't you?

Yup, Japan. It's a very nice place.

There's a very quick transition, just as there was in Berlin, between me looking like a shameless tourist, and then me being a massive poser. Shamelessly, may I add. Here we go.

Me on the ferry heading out to Miyajima Island, home of the Itsukushima floating shrine. I'm looking very touristy indeed. For those of you that follow me on facebook then yes, this is the island with them cute deers.

The next photo I hope is a vision of my future which involves travelling, except with a smaller bag.

The two women on the left in this next photo couldn't believe their luck in seeing me. Their exact words were something like "My God, is that Max?". A once in a lifetime opportunity for some.

Pose! Pose like there's no tomorrow!

That's me in Osaka, in a very culturally rich district. Also, readers: If you happen to be the very pretty European-looking girl who was taking pictures on the bridge, then I feel we should have exchanged words instead of just smiling at each other. I was with the guy with the brown hair who nearly got hit by a pigeon, if you recall.

I don't think I was even posing in this next one, which means I'm more photogenic than you.

So yeah, thats just a tiny selection of photos from Japan; the rest will make it onto facebook within the week. You may applaud now.


I leave you with this parting thought, which has been bothering me since I stepped off the last flight at Manchester Airport. We all have showers/baths/both, or take care with personal hygiene, right?

But it is possible to go for a short while without the promise of a wash, under circumstances, isn't it? The thing that confuses me is that bizarre plane ritual where the stewardesses hand out hot flannels for each passenger.

If it ever happens, watch the reaction. Rarely, I'd wager, do people at home or work sit back and think 'You know what'd be awesome? A really hot, damp flannel, to caress my face and hands with'. It's just odd. But on the plane, as soon as they're out, everyone does a very heartfelt, almost exaggerated wiping of the face and hands, rubbing round the cheeks and temples, taking care to wash between each finger, with an extra final wipe on the palms. It confuses the hell out of me. It's as if everyone's suddenly been told they're covered in crap, that they were completely unaware of before. Do they feel abundantly clean and refreshed now?


Just me?