Japanese Goodbye
I looked up at the signs, trying to decipher which train I needed to take to
Narita Airport. After ten months backpacking through Africa and Asia,
using every form of transport from donkey to rickshaw, I was on the final leg of
my journey, the flight that would take me home to Canada.
I was feeling the
weight of my huge pack. Knowing that I would soon be shedding the burden
on my back, I finally allowed myself to purchase gifts for my family. The
Japanese language was a complete mystery to me, and I stared up at the board,
searching for any symbol that appeared familiar. Anything at all.
I must have looked
like a lone weary turtle stuck in a pond of suits. Everywhere salary men
were rushing to catch their crowded trains. Everybody, everything was
moving fast. No Zen here.
And then, out of
the mass, a woman stopped and asked, in English, which way I wanted to go.
She took me to the station master. She spoke to him in Japanese, found out
the platform number, the price of a ticket and the time of departure. I
had half an hour.
I thanked her and
bid her farewell, but she said she had ten minutes and insisted I join her for a
quick tea.
She told me she had
been born in Japan, but had spent a year backpacking in New York and knew what
it was like to be a woman traveling solo. We excitedly traded stories but
soon our brief chat was over. Her train was leaving. She hurriedly
paid for both our drinks.
"Save your
money," she said and wished me luck. And then, she was gone.
I stood up to go,
pulling the load once more onto my back. Suddenly, she reappeared, out of
breath, with a square box wrapped in white and red paper.
"You aren't
vegetarian are you?" she asked.
"Uh,
no..." and she pushed the box into my hands. It was warm.
"For the
train. Goodbye." And she was gone, again.
I had seen these
specially-prepared boxed meals for sale in the stations. They looked
delicious but they were beyond my budget.
As I waited on the
platform, my pack didn't feel as heavy. Even though I had been given one
more gift to carry, I felt lighter—blessed with the taste of warm food, the
dreams of my homecoming and the generosity of a Japanese woman I would know only
this once. And I never even caught her name.