It’s 4:31 am now. The sun has risen, I’m not tired anymore (yay!) and my ankles are down to a manageable size. Apparently 14 hours of altitude induces some serious swelling, so last night felt a lot like being round, slow and peg-legged. In fact, one of the first things I did when I finally had my room to myself was to hurl myself on my bed and stick my feet in the air. Though I thought the laws of gravity would favorably adjust me, realistically I ended up looking like a jokebook elephant and gave up in favor of a food run.
Speaking of which, I just ate a 7/11 breakfast of what can only be described as raw mayonnaised squidcicles and I’m now waiting for an equal and opposite reaction, possibly in the form of hallucinations. The clerk, when I bought this, asked in broken English if I wanted it cooked. Since I wasn’t sure what was happening, I reassured her with some form of “no, no, I’m okay, thank you” while smiling and nodding a lot… and it didn’t occur to me that that might be a bad idea until right now. Post-tentacle.
So hallucinations, maybe? Best worst-case scenario. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine, though.
Regardless, I’m not convinced I’d know the difference. I’m lucky enough to have been around a little bit: Canada, Jamaica, the Bahamas, too much of Mexico- basically your average, moderately privileged American girl destinations- but none of them have screamed “foreign!” like this place and I’m just so glad to be finally getting out of my processed, taco shell. Japan is different. I mean it’s the same, beautiful/ugly, appalling/magnificent awe-inspiring place that every human-touched place can be, but that’s true in such a novel way that I’m just really excited to be throwing myself into this world of being completely ignorant. And sure, I’ve only been here a couple of waking hours, but in no place has that been more obvious than the bathroom.
Abrupt subject change, yes, but worth noting: some toilets are on the floor here! Like, the bowl is directly on the floor, but with a little splash guard (I guess?) built in. And though the one in my hotel room is a western-style platform, it’ll heat and spray me with a touch of its remote control. How great is that? Okay, it’s probably great, but I was too scared to try that function last night what with my 24-hours of straight travel ripeness. I knew I was heading to the 7/11 before submitting to unconsciousness, and I didn’t want to further bedraggle myself with a toilet fountain mishap. I actually sort of threw the seat down and leapt out of the room while flushing. It could have been really graceful except for the aforementioned vertiginous feeling, but I’m not afraid to jump in to a few walls blindly.
My head can’t get any more swollen than my ankles, after all.