Right. So we met in the hotel lobby at the ungodly hour of 10am (which translates into 2am Spanish time, but hey…) and set off for Tottori. Lots of talking and giggling for breakfast, along with a rice ball I bought at a convenience store on the way to the station. Actually the rice ball was still dangling from my wrist in a little plastic bag, because eating while standing is a no no. So is eating on a train, by the way, but you have to draw the line somewhere. I tucked in as soon as we started moving. The train ride was supposed to take two and a half hours, and my friend’s mum was expecting us for lunch. Everything was looking good and, Nihon-style, right on schedule.
The first signs of motion sickness appeared about 15 minutes into the trip. But I’m used to motion sickness (my mum used to clean my ears a bit too vigourously when I was a kid so, ever since, I’ve been stuck with it. And whenever she tries to deny this, all I need do is remind her of the time I got up after one of those ear cleaning sessions and walked straight into the wall. My sense of balance has been altered beyond repair), so I didn’t think too much of it and just tried to focus on a non moving object for a while. No joy though. Luckily my friend fell asleep, so I was saved from trying to make conversation, not an easy thing to do through gritted teeth.
An hour later I could no longer take it. The floor was moving and everything around me spinning. I wouldn’t have felt any worse inside a giant pepper shaker on a crazy helicopter ride. I must have looked like death on a stick as well, because a complete stranger came up to me with some medicine –which, kind as it was, I didn’t take. There were only some half characters legible on the aluminium foil, so heaven knows what it was, and how much of it. But I had to get off the train. I woke my friend and got up, leaving her to collect my stuff. At that particular point in my life, nothing in any of my bags was worth a second of my time.
We got off the train at a town somewhere to the North of the middle of nowhere called Kami-Gouri. Neither of us had ever heard of it. Two tracks and one platform surrounded by a bunch of mountains is about as descriptive as I can get here, I apologize. I was trying my best not to faint. I sank down on a bench and let my friend explain to the conductor (who, incidentally, had followed us off the train) what the problem was. He told us not to worry, we could just take the next train two hours later. Some people just have the knack for telling you exactly what you want to hear, haven’t they? I replied that, really, I was happy to be on solid ground for a bit. He nodded at that and offered to go and find out if there was a bed for me to rest on somewhere. How utterly sweet. He returned five minutes later with two of the ground staff (or the train equivalent…what do they call them?), all hunched and apologetic because there was no bed. No problem, I reassured them. But they insisted I lie down somewhere, so I ended up sprawled across three folding chairs in the little (heated! just what I needed) waiting room. My friend kept me company in between trips to the smoking area, and called her mum to tell her we’d be running two hours late. Lovely lady, she told us not to worry…
I was just beginning to feel a little better when the train showed up. I obviously would have preferred not to board the thing, but since going back to Osaka would also involve a train, I thought I’d better suck it up and get on with it. Mind over matter, right? Boy oh boy, how very very wrong. I managed for ten minutes this time, breathing deeply while focusing on the mountains (beautiful, a real treat), sitting cross legged on the floor because our seats were facing the wrong direction…I mean, honestly, I could have done with a little cooperation here! There’s no way, I said to my friend as we pulled into the next station. So off we got again.
Legs shaking like nobody’s business, I stumbled across the platform and very nearly walked right off of it, onto the opposite track (yeah I know, Simon, in light of recent events that’s not very funny. You crossed my mind right about then…). Someone held onto my arm, maybe my friend, maybe another conductor. What happened next is a bit of a blur…
So my friend asked her mum to come and pick us up. I was beyond mortified: asking a lady to drive one hour to pick up a wet blanket of a girl she never met before and back again. She showed up with a big smile and a blanket and pillow in the back of her brand new car. During the return trip, she happily dished out anecdotes of my friend’s childhood, interspersed with suggestions on what to do in case I had to throw up: you could tell me and I’ll pull over, or you could use the blanket, or…I thought I’d sooner slash my wrists and bleed all over the new seats then vomit onto them. Seriously. Mercifully, we reached her house an hour later without incident.
My stay there was an unforgettable one. Even though the floor continued to move throughout, we made the most of it. We played card games all night and, since the two of them were drinking shouchuu, we were all spinning a bit so it was fair. I remember eating very little and laughing non stop. I loved her sense of humour. And after she went to bed, my friend and I caught up proper, talking about anything and everything. There’s really nothing like a good girl chat. Obviously, the research was shelved till next time…
I’ve been back for a week now and I finally made it outside to buy a thank you card for mum. I thought she was wonderful, and I can’t wait to see her again.
