A trip for the foolhardy?
I’m soon ensconced in a leather armchair, the driver three rows in front, pilots the blue nosed monster into the white nothingness. The thrum of the diesel engine below, gives confidence in its ability to provide warmth and power, cocooned as we are, in this aluminium and glass tube. Headway is brisk, with the occasional soft thump as we hit small drifts, we dissappear into clouds of snow like a powder puff being dropped, yet, it gives a light tap tap on the windows with its icy fingers as if want to come in. All us passengers look away, no one wants to find eye contact with this wispy figure and succumb to its wishes to enter and steal our comfort.
Every now and then, the sun shows it face, all weak and washed out, it adds nothing to the scene except the grey light. The snow, ice and frosty air sucking any heat away that it may have had to offer. It doesn’t last long, the sun gives up on its losing battle and pulls the duvet up and over itself once more.
Or passage now is ship like, powering through a sea of colourless, featureless, nothingness. The bow wave flying equally down the sides. Quickly small islands, little oasis, colourful places with buildings and streets appear, people embark and disembark to and from this otherworldly journey. As they enter the cabin, they bring with them reminders of the outside, the cold clings to them, until our protecting heat encases and cossetts them. Their witness trails on the floor dissappear as if being slowly sucked in. The strange normality of the conflict between us and the outside reaches equilibrium, we all relax and enter our own little private places again. Some to sleep and their dreams of other places, some to games to get lost in another adventure, and some to their writings and searching for the right word, phrase.
With time to decampment getting ever closer, the need for fortifying the body signals with internal grumbling. Rice cakes, one with tuna and one with salmon and sesame, and teriyaki chicken and egg sandwiches will have to suffice.
Ten minutes before arrival in to Wakkanai, garment layers steadily pealed off since starting the journey starts to reappear. The limited floor and dressing space, begins to look like a game of spotless twister. Care been taken not to put your arm in someone else’s sleeve. (Not a euphemism, John) or a foot into the wrong boot (again, John).
Finally we disembark.
Snow. Such a little word in English. The Japanese have a better word for snow at -15 feels like -27. It is whatthebloodyhellareyougoingoutinthatfor (seems quite apt, you can have that one, ed)
Trip to Japan 