Woah we're going to Narita

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I promised myself I wouldn’t write another long complaint about how much I hate flying but we’re now 45 minutes in (wow that went fast) and promises are made to be broken, right?



After deciding that my nerves over flying mixed with my excitement over coming back to England were never going to let me get back to sleep, I got up<span> at 5 am to finish packing, have breakfast and write a soppy thank you card for Jo (it’s ok, it was just the hormones making her cry). We said our goodbyes and I left at 7.20 to drag my suitcase to Akabane station (with a brief anticlimactic return to give my forgotten Suica back to Jo), it was surprisingly light, the only trouble I had was with the hill right outside the house.



At the station I bought a ticket and stood staring a the steps up to the platform trying to figure out how the heck I was going to get to the train especially amidst the Tokyo rushhour and then, as if by magic, I saw the sign for the escalator and was promptly reminded of my stupidity.



On the train I was tutted at very loudly by many Japanese businessmen who seemed to be against sharing a train carriage with a tourist and her amazingly packed suitcase (thanks again Jo),<span> unfortunately my purple dress was one of the victims of my wardrobe cull<span> otherwise they probably wouldn’t have minded. I think they’ll probably forgive me a little bit for giving them some light, early morning entertainment; too busy concentrating on balancing my hat on my head, shouting<span> sumimasen (in my best northern accent) pulling my suitcase off the packed train, I managed to walk off the train smack bang face first into the wall (one of those things that are only hilarious when they happen to other people.)



In my newly concussed state, I navigated my way to the skyliner desk at Nippori station, even I couldn’t have managed to get on the wrong train here given that there are two ticket checks and a constant announcement saying “this is not the platform for the Narita skyliner” or “this is the platform for the Narita skliner”, thankfully I went with the latter option.



On the train I made polite conversation with a little girl, who I would say was around Kaylee’s age, and her family; I told them that their daughter was “kowii” and laughed at “Ampanman” on her t-shirt, this was enough for them to think I understood Japanese and they started trying to have a conversation with me. Although half tempted to try and start a conversation about toilet training with my newly learnt phrase “oh shiko shi shi” (wee wee, tinkle tinkle) I decided the best, and less weird, option would be just to smile and look confused- it did the trick. An old man on the platform was then waving enthusiastically in my direction, deciding he must know the family opposite me I gestured to him but it seemed he did not belong to them so I waved back enthusiastically and he began applauding- I may have just recruited the newest member of my Japanese fan club.



At the airport, I decided to scrape together my last few Japanese coins and treat myself to the incredible drink that is Starbucks dark chocolate chip Frappuccino; after establishing that I could just about afford the largest sized drink I ordered and then remembered to ask for soya milk (the nerves were getting to my stomach enough without adding a milky drink into the equation). I had forgotten that this was going to set me back another 50 yen, another 50 yen that I did not have which then meant we had the added complication of cancelling the whole order and started again, giving me more time to giggle with a random American family over the Japanese accents saying “cappuccino, expresso” I guess they had only just arrived as the Japanglish now sounded perfectly normal to me!

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