Hello again. It’s been over a month since I posted… I’ve covered a lot of ground in that time, and now I’m kind of stuck. I thought It might be a good idea to retrace my steps… and in the process maybe catch you up on the details of my life here. For you at least, this place might still have that ‘new shoe’ smell…
*Flashback segue effects*
I didn’t see much of fukuoka my first night there. If you’ll remember I barely survived the plane ride(s) and if it wasn’t for Mark, my fairly odd peace studies teacher, I would have surely died on a sidewalk right then and there. Together with spencer (who at times shares eerie resemblance to post-puberty harry potter) and Mark’s halfy son, I navigated the sticky and darkened streets of the city. We arrived at a very nice hotel, with red carpeting, and air conditioning. I recall thinking how after only about 3 hours back in a summer climate i was craving the cool caress of central air.
Mark Sensei looks pretty much exactly like the producer of NBC from the 4th season of seinfeld
I got my things to my room, and almost wept at the sight of the bed. My mind was scrambled, but I knew i had to get a message back to america, so I immediately set about connecting to the hotel internet. After a garbled facebook post I ventured out into the hall, hoping to find food before crashing into unconsciousness.
In the hall there was a girl. She was white. Her name was Ryan, which is a boy’s name. This may not seem so disorienting but at that time it didn’t take much to throw me. I must have said something like “Hi Ryan, my name is Jon,” because that instant the door to my right opened, and standing there, with muscled frame silhouetted in golden light, was James Thompson.
“I thought I’d heard the sound of your carefree gait” He said, his voice chocolaty and dripping with machismo.
What Ryan then witnessed would make the most hardened bro shed a tear. Many a scholar has pondered the emotional gravity felt by David Livingston upon his meeting with Henry Morton Stanley on the plains of Tanzania, and having now lived that moment I can tell you first hand that the greeting was met by a weary smile, and a small tingling deep in the groin.
The two of us then ventured forth to hunt the wild bento at a local convenience store, all the while dodging cars determined to drive on the wrong side of the street.
The next morning we gathered in the main lobby… maybe thirty non-japanese students all jetlagged to hell, but with high spirits. The bus trip was the final leg of our journey, two hours from fukuoka city to nagasaki city, where our destinies awaited us. Awaited with large, fleshy tentacles.
For a video tour of my hotel suite, click here!
