I flew into Narita last night. In case you didn't know, it's like, the most major airport in Japan. Kinda like JFK or Heathrow to us. Fuck Charles de Gaulle -- just the name pisses me off.
But, as exhausted as I was from that sinkhole of Chicago, I marveled at the approach to Narita. Green, green, green. It was extremely beautiful, as the Japan Airlines 747 gracefully settled onto the runway -- it was almost yet again a miracle. I swear, I actually cried as I realised what had just happened. Especially when I recalled what happened to that FedEx plane that sailed into probably the same runway as me, hiccupped, took a nosedive and scratched two pilots.
But what took two -- count them -- two years of horror for people like Cook or Adams, with incredible suffering, pain and just general nastiness back in the 16-17 hundreds, took me just 14 hours.
Fourteen fucking hell of hours, mind you, but I guess it beats 365 days x 2.
Being in Japan at this point in time is beyond bizarre, but whaddyagonnado.
For now, I FEEL like Cook and Adams -- totally weirded out in a place that should, by all accounts, rightfully be renamed Mars.