Tokyo limbo

I have that feeling of being between two real places. Like, in transporter technology, as in “beam me up, Scotty” — this place would be exactly where you’d be in the instant just after you’ve beamed yourself from the transporter facility and just before you’ve arrived at your destination half a world (or galaxy) away. In my case, Seoul. And the instant feels like an eternity in a 5-hour layover lull.

Narita airport in Tokyo is the limbo today. There is no time in this place. They tell me it’s 5:30 in the afternoon, but I don’t believe them. My body is what I believe, and it’s telling me in a persistent tone that it’s long past 2am. That I have been on a plane for 14 hours straight, but that those 14 hours had been good to me.

The new 777 is a wonderful way to travel.  Not the kind of plane I would want to fly myself; it’s the kind of plane in which I’d live. Maybe install a trampoline in that thing and dive into a pool of champagne in the south garden, and just float.

I can’t go wrong with the sake at the airport. It’s light alcohol, and it’s Japan, so I sit in the cafe. There is quite a lot of press about “good water”. I’ve had 5 meals already and overloaded on vitamins, so a quartino in limbo is okay before I meet my grandmother on the other side of transporter. I walk around the airport with certain vague goals in mind, because I don’t sleep. I forego the room with the bed and shower, a minihotel in the confines of the airport, and keep walking. 2 hours left.

There is that one little shoppe that is so completely unlike the rest, I know I dreamed about that place when I was in school. Everything about it was different, though. Almost. I instantly recognized the employees at that place. In the dream though, I didn’t know it was Japanese.

It’s only the first leg of the tour. Next time I’m here it will be my destination. For now, it’s the strange limbo of dreams…