Well it’s time to say sayonara to Japan. This is the last day with one last look round Tokyo before being dropped off at the airport a full 10 hours before our flight. So it’s time for some final observations. As I’ve previously said, it’s too easy to make fun of a foreign culture, especially one that exhibits as many unique characteristics as Japan. But that’s for disrespectful philistines and I’m only a part-time philistine and that time isn’t now.
Notwithstanding this respect for the traditional culture, there are more recent cultural developments which can be observed in various theme bars especially those employing female students whose competitive nature and need for money to pay tuition fees will lead them down strange paths that can only be described as cringeworthy hilarious. I’ll have to tell you what I’ve been told about because I can’t imagine anything quite like…. over a beer.
Stepping away from culture, there are many things that attract the attention of bemused foreigners. We all know about the toilets that mask “noises” and squirt water at various and sometimes pleasantly surprising angles and have a control panel like a jumbo jet in case you want to….oh God, this is too easy – use your imagination. On a similar theme I just encountered a bathroom sink with two nozzles and a slot. Hold your hand under one nozzle and it squirts soap, the other one squirts water (I didn’t inspect closely enough to establish how you regulate the water temperature) and the slot in the basin blasts air to dry your by now, extremely confused hands. The CB said the sinks in the girls’ enhanced convenience didn’t have a slot for hot air. There are so many avenues to go down after that last statement and all of them lead somewhere dangerous and nasty, so I’m leaving it there.
And did you know that the little wooden stick used to stir takeaway coffee is called a “muddler”. No, neither did I.
There were more Aussies on this cruise than previous ones we’ve done. Also a few kids – unusual on this cruise line. Intriguingly there was one person from China and one person from France. I hope they found each other. There were also many single American women of a certain age. Six of them were on our bus to the airport. One could assume (if one was looking for an angle) that having seen off their husbands, they were spending the proceeds of a lifetime of servitude on good times, baby! Or maybe they were leaving their relieved husbands at home so they could enjoy a few leisurely rounds of golf without being criticised for their complete absence of dress sense. Or maybe they were looking to snare a substitute or a temporary toy-boy. In both cases, they were absolutely on the wrong boat if you assume the crew and the entertainers are off-limits.
So we are sitting in the biz lounge at the airport – I have managed to retain some residual privileges (but what happened to that upgrade you owe me after London ’23, Qantas?) – throwing down a few champagnes – okay, it’s Spanish but acceptable – waiting for our flight and already the Azamara Journey is drifting into the mists of time. It’s actually drifting (no, I’m sure someone’s driving) back up the coast where the CB had her “Bacardi” moment or three a couple of weeks ago. Champagne is a much better fit.