The day after my night in the British Embassy I awoke minus both 3 hours memory and one eminently stylish manbag. I had acquired an enormous jug with “BIG” written on it though, so all’s well that ends well.
I moseyed down to the foyer to get on the coach to narita airport, whereupon I boarded a flight to the prefecture of Japan I would be calling home for at least a year, Akita. As I walked through the arrivals gate I was greeted by the sight of a middle aged Japanese man waving a sign saying ‘Mr Cooke Philip’ and jumping up and down energetically. This was Kinouchi, my supervisor, and he seemed a thoroughly friendly chap.
The drive to Honjo, my new town, took 45 minutes driving through mountains covered in cedar, paddy fields that spread endlessly across the valley floors. Now for all tokyo was amazing, it was still a global city with plenty of English, and no one would think to stare at you. This last leg of the journey, to a small nondescript seaside town where road signs are written in weird squiggles and the mcdonalds serves octopus burgers, this was what I really came here for.
The first sign that we had entered Honjo was a sign that read ‘We love Honjo, Joy and Joy’. Good start.
More Phil Phun to Phollow!
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