La Japoneisa: An Intruder. A Smuggler.

Am sat on a train to second before the final station of my today's journey-Awa Ikeda, thoughts are wandering about, making a brief stop at the ugly architecture of modern rural Japan. While studying the faces of my fellow travellers I am engaging in an unconscious attempt at assuming 'analytical' conclusions about whether the colour of skin and authenticity of facial features are connected in any way to the geographical home of the 'face-carriers' (if only this sentence made sense *sigh*). Rural Japan inhabited by true-er Japonaise?

I joined a uniformed schoolgirl in a green-train-seat-box thingie. She seemed so absorbed in her manga though was so polite when I asked her if I could sit beside her.
On the next station a bunch of schoolkids boarded the train and two cute laughing girls in different uniforms from the one who I was sat with entered our wagon and approached her. Her face suddenly changed and she seemed so alert and happy and rather confused about what to do next. I almost saw myself getting up and taking my backpack to free the seats so that the girls could laugh together.
Until now I felt like I was returning home and this little incident as if somewhat settled me back into my place where I belonged...as an intruder.

Oh, indeed, returning home can be ever so sweet.

The woman at customs desk at the airport took my passport and the disembarkment card every gaijin has to fill in, she looked at them briefly only to type my name (or something else) into the computer, she said nothing, gave me my stuff and off I was with the biggest possible self-satisfied grin on my face. On the high I proceeded to obtain my backpack. I'm in the place of my heart, my new-old-new home, my place! I am invincible! (Abominable snowman?) The woman at the luggage control desk asked me if I was carrying any guns or illegal substances which of course only idiot would try. She gave me a booklet with all these items on photos and asked whether I had any of those in my possession. A little bit strange since I already said that I have got no drugs and the only weapon on me is my little knife in the top bit of my backpack. Then the woman asked me if it was ok for her to check my backpack. Of course, no problems, I thought, they do it all the time, she'll just look in the top bit, open it a little and see that all there is is a bundle of wires, hiking shoes, a cosmetic bag and a packet of dried apricots in yoghurt. Smooth as a baby's bum was my grandeur return until I saw her hand disappear deeper and deeper in the sack, slowly bringing out all my socks, my underwear, bras and panties occurring at irregular times with the bunches of other wear, alcohol, chocolates and similar essential items of a neccessair. That's when the insecurity slowly crept into my heart and I started feeling very upset. I dont think she noticed neither cared. As she got to the bottom of everything and still found nothing she told me that something was smelled in my bag. She asked whether I had any baccy on me, any weed (probbly believed that the more she asked the more likely I was to admit that I had it (even if I didnt perhaps?)). My upsetness grew into panick, though not because of any smuggling matters since I knew I was not a smuggler. I was absolutely devastated for she utterly destroyed my skilled work of pack-the-blue-red-catterpillar art.
Of course the cow found nothing. She said something was smelled and only then I thought of my May-Amsterdam trip with Dan and that the backpack could have smelled of that. Of course! But hell!, they've got good dogs!!
Suddenly her and her fellow colleague were my bestest friends, she started sticking stuff back into my backpack (as if that helped-doh!) and even if I tried to stop them (almost cried by that time, she really didnt seem to understand the not-all-that-easy-to-pack-one's-backpack concept). The man saw my shodan and asked 'Karate?' and so I said that yes, karate. And then he laughed and asked where was my do gi (with Madoka in Tokyo). Doh! (Felt a bit uneasy at what his thoughts might be, 1. She is a total sham. or 2. Uhmmmm, she likes to practise wearing only her shodan!??)
Though, all was fine again. I was sweating like a mouse (dont like the English way 'like a pig', can pigs sweat??), I probably smelled very bad too, but I was on the high again and my backpack, for some reason, seemed to be packed even better than before.

And I am not planning on remaining an intruder (for much longer) either. (However this plan does strongly not involve attempts at obtaining cute little rice babies in a duty free shop nor elsewhere nor engaging in any this-issue-possibly-related actions).