Journey to Japan

I hate people. 

I don’t like aeroplanes because it’s like I’m on the Truman Show and everyone is acting and the act is to touch and jostle me and I don’t like it. 

But I successfully made it to Auckland – Swang picked me up and we had traditional food of his heritage – sweet and sour pork. We made it to the airport and got on the plane; I watched the Maze Runner, Inside Out, Ex Machina, Fantastic Four (my God was that last one terrible) and ordered about 8 cookie time cookies from the freebies menu through the touch screen on the seat in front of me. 


Personalised for my pleasure
I had a close encounter with the toilet however, as the flush was automatic when you stand up. I guess I must move around a lot on the toilet because I kept activating the automatic flush which threatened to suck and eject my genitals from the plane (while I wasn’t castrated it WAS terrifying and sent an awful draft around my nether regions).

Speaking of breezes, once we landed it took all of a minute to get through customs – and with no place to go and no accommodation booked we asked the very helpful lady at the JR Rail Office (where we got our passes to take the JR rail for a fixed price). She suggested Asakusa as a cheaper location for accommodation. We had our first run-in with the subway system and managed to navigate the rails to Asakusa. 


Tired and giddy
We emerged from the subway where it was about 5 or 6pm local time, and bickered over whether we should eat or book a place first. Hanger won and we stopped off at a restaurant and ordered our first REAL Japanese meal IN Japan. The menu had English and we could pronounce the words well enough for them to cook the right foods and it was fantastic. 

Here is an actual exchange from the meal:

Swang: Oh wow they have REAL tofu in the miso!

Matt: I don’t have any tofu..

Swang: I bet they’re racist.

We paid and I awkwardly dropped all of my coins out of my wallet (Swang being of no help and merely called be Gaijin loudly as he left). Not 5 meters down the road and a woman on the street called to us as we walked past, “irashaimasseeee~!” Swang, who can pass for Japanese, had no idea what she wanted and looked at me like a cow looks at an oncoming train. Never fear, I communicated with my chest out proud, I know what to do here. “HELLO” I belted in my thick New Zealand accent. Ain’t no gaijin. 

Another block and he was assaulted again by a younger boy dressed as a chef, who ignored me and vomited a speech of Japanese that neither of us understood. Again with the helpless look he realised we spoke not a word of Japanese. “Oh English?” He asked. He offered us a voucher for 500 yen off at his Shabu Shabu restaurant across the road. His last name was Sasuke, he told us, “like the ninja!” miming throwing stars as he spoke. 

Google maps was our saviour and we eventually made it to Khaosan Hostel, where we stayed the night.  

Even four hours behind, it was still late once we finally got to bed.

 The toilets there and in many places have a warmer you can hear activitate as you sit down. They also have a function called BUTT which sprays a precise and very warm jet of water directly up your butthole. 


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