Later, we cross the bridge across the blue choppy bay whilst our aircraft lands from Doha in the nearby runway. The crew are changed and we prepare to operate the shuttle service to Seoul, the distant typhoon at times darting gusts of wind through the two-hour bumpy flight.
On arrival , we have plenty of time to skim through the many shops, restaurants and moving walkways of the award-winning Incheon Airport, our return flight to Osaka bouncing through the dark gusts of wind casting ripples of turbulent weather over the Sea of Japan.

My last day in Japan is of pure magic. Joined by a cabin crew from Thailand, the early morning happens in blurry memories of runs across train stations, the commuters blankly following a traffic-emulating flow whilst the corridors, entirely signaled in Japanese, challenge our sense of direction.
The train departs with Japanese time precision, the tracks that seem to hug the tall buildings around it gradually take us away from the neon-lit depths of Umeda and into an endless horizon of small wooden houses tightly arranged next to each other, for space in Japan is an object of desire and status.

The loudspeaker announces Kyoto in Japanese and two of my cousins are at the waiting hall. They have travelled from Nagoya to meet me and, despite not having seen each other for years, our smiles collide in bursts of excitement and happiness. The world has indeed become a small thing now.

Armed with an ‘All-Day Bus Pass’ and after taking the bus in the wrong direction, we figure out the path to our next visits remembering that:

Ginkaku-ji: Silver Temple
Kinkaku-ki: Golden Temple

On to Ginkaku-ji, where the manicured gardens display unimaginable varieties of bonsai trees, aligned perfectly in arrangements of grass and gravel. A view of  Kyoto can be enjoyed from the temple, which sits atop a round hill at the Northern end of town.

Below us, Kyoto’s personality can be perfectly seen. No skyscrapers, no neon lights. The modernity of Japan perfectly concealed in between the narrow alleyways lined with ramen joints and convenience shops. The wooden houses, which are small and delicate, are deemed as a transitory part of life and a testimony to Japanese survival in a region riddled with earthquakes.

At Kinkaku-ji, the black wooden beams support stunningly golden walls. Built in the 1200’s as a country house for the Emperor, the reflection of the small and proportionally perfect structure in the murky lake sums up the most perfect Japanese postcard.
Laughs are had by the gardens and the gift shops sell rice paper to lost tourists whilst at the gate, women in kimonos catch the attention of by passers who rush to take their cameras and snap their portraits against a background of bamboo trees.

We say good bye at the train station and promises of more frequent encounters are made over bowls of spicy hot seafood ramen, whilst outside the small restaurant, the summer rain can be heard in a melody of heavy drops crashing against the black-tiled roof.

The Shinkansen calls, the impressive speed outside can barely felt inside the sterile cabin as we glide through the Japanese countryside. Ten minutes into the journey, pristine white gloves grab and stamp my ticket, the inspector bows to passengers as he leaves for the next carriage and, despite fellow travellers being oblivious to this gesture, the scene catches my attention and becomes affixed in my mind forever, because this is what Japan does to you: it impresses you, it captivates you, it shocks you and it sticks with you forever.

With little time to rest, I nap for a couple of hours at the hotel. Perhaps a little irresponsible, I wake up physically exhausted from my day in Kyoto, my heart sinking when the captain announces the twelve-hour flight back to Doha upon briefing.
We do our service on hour number two, the night forever stretching in the quietness of Central China, and the fatigue crippling my thoughts in a slow-motion sequence of crew gossip under the lights of the back galley. On hour number ten, we perform our breakfast service and our overly-polite passengers bow as we hand them trays of food whilst a few of them whisper ‘shookran’ in a sign of respect and full awareness of flying an Arab airline.

On arrival, a raw thought:

     ‘I cannot remember the last time I felt this tired. Japan was amazing though. At some point, I felt identified with the culture, with the way of living, with the caring of every single small detail, with the food. Plenty of memories from my weekends at my grandparents’ and the way I used to feel when I was a child returned. I can’t wait to be back.’


Three days-off are next, followed by my first official ‘Stand by’. Let’s hope for the best.