Land of the Rising Sun
After a long night in Bangkok airport and a short asana practice there, I boarded my flight to Tokyo. The travelling has really added up on this trip and the fatigue is starting to take it's toll.
The approach to Tokyo gives me a long beautiful view of Mt. Fuji, whose snowcap has not developed yet, and I am heartened to return to my one time home by flying over the rice fields surrounding Narita airport.
I do, however, look terribly ragged at this point, having slept and eaten poorly for the last 24 hours, and having not had a shower in slightly longer. I have, stupidly, forgotten to shave, and arrive with a large and heavy backpack, and wearing a yoga t-shirt from Chiang Mai. Immigration's no problem, but as usual, the customs folks take a deep and abiding interest in me and just what, exactly, I'm bringing into the country. After explaining that 2/3 of my bag contains diving equipment, a tripod, and both yoga books and mat, I think I'm off the hook. The customs inspector in broken english expresses his pleasant suprise that I am busy with so many things. And then the unthinkable happens... he spots a pack of rolling papers in my bag.
It's time for a small admission: I smoke. I've always smoked, for something like 20 years now. I realize of course that this is an extremely unhealthy habit and I had, in fact, quit recently. But somehow after 24 hours of travelling out to Thailand, all I wanted was a cigarette, and I just let myself go. It's also important to note that I roll my own cigarettes. Hence the papers.
However, the customs officer has decided my bags need further inspection, and I spend the next hour in a small room while they rip apart my bags and ask endless questions about my things, my plans, where I'm staying, what I was doing in Thailand, why I worked in Japan, why I no longer work in Japan, etc. etc. My favorite part is the binder with poorly printed color photos of a wide variety of drugs, as well as black and white line drawings of the same (cocaine is a pile of dots, I kid you not, and everytime I see it, I'm terribly tempted to say that yes, I have been smuggling dots into the country). Most ridiculous however is when they ask me if I'm bringing pornography into Japan. Some of the nastiest pornography I've ever had the misfortune to see is sold in vending machines on the streets and read 0penly by people on the subway.
After finishing with my bags, the woman asks me if I know about the people who swallow large packages for drugs.
'Drug mules?' I respond.
'Hai. So desu.' A pause. 'Are you a drug mule?'
Sigh. 'No.'
'Would you object if we x-rayed you or searched inside your person?'
At this point I told her I would be deeply offended as I had been to Japan many times, and was hassled by customs officials without fail. While she would not explain why I had been routinely targeted, she did decide to 'trust me' and I managed to avoid a cavity search. Hooray for me!
Regardless, Japan is beautiful. My practice here has been deeply abbreviated to fit with the ridiculous schedule I've been keeping to see my old friends. Suffice to say, I've somehow spent more than half my time here in restaurants or bars.
I'll be leaving tomorrow to return to NYC, and look forward to seeing my home, my kitties, and of course the OMmies.
Ganbatte! brett.
The approach to Tokyo gives me a long beautiful view of Mt. Fuji, whose snowcap has not developed yet, and I am heartened to return to my one time home by flying over the rice fields surrounding Narita airport.
I do, however, look terribly ragged at this point, having slept and eaten poorly for the last 24 hours, and having not had a shower in slightly longer. I have, stupidly, forgotten to shave, and arrive with a large and heavy backpack, and wearing a yoga t-shirt from Chiang Mai. Immigration's no problem, but as usual, the customs folks take a deep and abiding interest in me and just what, exactly, I'm bringing into the country. After explaining that 2/3 of my bag contains diving equipment, a tripod, and both yoga books and mat, I think I'm off the hook. The customs inspector in broken english expresses his pleasant suprise that I am busy with so many things. And then the unthinkable happens... he spots a pack of rolling papers in my bag.
It's time for a small admission: I smoke. I've always smoked, for something like 20 years now. I realize of course that this is an extremely unhealthy habit and I had, in fact, quit recently. But somehow after 24 hours of travelling out to Thailand, all I wanted was a cigarette, and I just let myself go. It's also important to note that I roll my own cigarettes. Hence the papers.
However, the customs officer has decided my bags need further inspection, and I spend the next hour in a small room while they rip apart my bags and ask endless questions about my things, my plans, where I'm staying, what I was doing in Thailand, why I worked in Japan, why I no longer work in Japan, etc. etc. My favorite part is the binder with poorly printed color photos of a wide variety of drugs, as well as black and white line drawings of the same (cocaine is a pile of dots, I kid you not, and everytime I see it, I'm terribly tempted to say that yes, I have been smuggling dots into the country). Most ridiculous however is when they ask me if I'm bringing pornography into Japan. Some of the nastiest pornography I've ever had the misfortune to see is sold in vending machines on the streets and read 0penly by people on the subway.
After finishing with my bags, the woman asks me if I know about the people who swallow large packages for drugs.
'Drug mules?' I respond.
'Hai. So desu.' A pause. 'Are you a drug mule?'
Sigh. 'No.'
'Would you object if we x-rayed you or searched inside your person?'
At this point I told her I would be deeply offended as I had been to Japan many times, and was hassled by customs officials without fail. While she would not explain why I had been routinely targeted, she did decide to 'trust me' and I managed to avoid a cavity search. Hooray for me!
Regardless, Japan is beautiful. My practice here has been deeply abbreviated to fit with the ridiculous schedule I've been keeping to see my old friends. Suffice to say, I've somehow spent more than half my time here in restaurants or bars.
I'll be leaving tomorrow to return to NYC, and look forward to seeing my home, my kitties, and of course the OMmies.
Ganbatte! brett.
posted by brett at 5:32 PM
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