Do you ever find yourself in strange places, feeling awkward, not sure how you got there or perhaps that understanding is imprecise? Well, I do.
The sun is rising over the mud colored hotel visible from my square window overlooking the scimitar shaped entrance driveway of the hotel where I am staying at Narita Airport.
I arrived about 5:45 last night, via Detroit, after a long, restful flight. That’s right: Finished a new book, “Where’d You Go Bernadette?” that began with satiric promise, but ended with a knitting basket of too much. Still, it was fun. And what flight these days is complete without, “Hangover Part Three?” I don’t want to ruin it for you–Spoiler Alert!–but I can’t believe they killed off Jeffrey Tambor! Was that necessary?
A couple of vegetarian Asian meals later–one of which was delicious–and I found myself back at Narita. ホームスイートホーム, as we say here: Home, sweet, home.
And here I am at the Narita Hilton, a mere 20 minutes from the town of Narita. As such, rather than stroll the town streets, where I’ve been, and eat a meal of unagi while seated on tatami with a cold draft in hand, I ate at the lobby buffet on cold beef and drank mizu (a.k.a. water) last night.
Today I am certain of change.