Tuesday, June 26, 2018

Dating Underwater
7. Like Cocoon, But Everyone's Naked

Miyajima mostly shuts down at night. The restaurants and bars stay open after dark, but even they close early by city standards. Most people only take day trips to the island, most likely since Hiroshima is so close. The last ferry leaves well before midnight.

Hisoka had a dinner reservation waiting for us at the hotel before we got back. It was another Japanese meal, but more elaborate than what I had for lunch. In the village, I had rice and soup. At the hotel, they brought us entirely too much food. There was more rice and soup, of course, and noodles, pickled vegetables, steamed vegetables, intricately plated salads, seaweed as a dish and as seasoning. Unlike the standard steamed white rice that comes with every Chinese meal, this rice was larger and cooked with some type of green herb.

My impression was that this was probably the most authentic Japanese meal I have ever eaten. I have been to Tokyo, but there is a lot of foreign influence in the capital, and it is harder to avoid the tourist food. Miyajima does not seem the least bit interested in trying to be anything other than purely Japanese. There are plenty of tourists during the day, but most of them looked Japanese. Unfortunately, I could not taste any of the food I had on the island. Most of the time, having a numbed sense of taste is relatively easy to ignore. Going to a new place, especially one as culturally genuine as Miyajima, gets a little depressing at meal times.

After dinner, which neither of us were ever going to come close to finishing, Hisoka wanted to try out the hot springs. I had no objection to that. It was great in the morning. It should be just as great at night. My only issue, which I never bothered to articulate, was that we were supposed to be on a date. The most time we spent together was on the mountain and in the taxi ride from the airport. Mt Misen was exceptionally beautiful, but not particularly romantic. To me, romance is not gasping for breath and almost collapsing from exhaustion. Well, maybe under different circumstances, but not hiking up a mountain. We had a nice dinner, but now we were going off to separate hot springs. I think people should at least be in the same room on a date.

Before heading to our segregated locker rooms, Hisoka asked me if I had any tattoos. That might seem like a strange question, but this hot spring, as well as many others throughout Japan, did not allow anyone with tattoos inside. It is a universal rule that has several different explanations, depending whom you ask, but no one bothered to ask me the first time I went in. Not that it mattered. I have never liked tattoos and have no intention of ever getting one.

The women's shower/locker room was more crowded than it had been earlier, but not crowded enough for me to get self-conscious. I knew the routine and followed all of the proper etiquette. Just like every other woman who walked out of the locker room, I had a towel wrapped around my body. The indoor pool was just as empty as before. I think it might only be popular when it's raining.

The big surprise for me was in the outdoor pools. I saw Hisoka and a few other men as well as all of the women who walked out of the locker room. The other women went to whichever pools they preferred, dropped their towels and climbed in. I'm almost certain that they saw all of the men already there. In fact, more than a few women talked to some of the men.

I stood in front of my favorite pool, gripping my towel where the edges overlapped. Even if a typhoon suddenly struck the island, that towel was not coming off. When Hisoka saw me through the steam, he waved to get my attention. He motioned for me to come to his pool, but I had a few problems with that. It looked like all of the men were naked, although you never really know what's under water. Either way, I was naked under my towel. And if the dress code was not bad enough, he was in the rice cooker pool.

When he stood up in his pool, I had a decision to make. Do I look away or do I stare? I was curious, of course, but this was not the appropriate place to ogle men. Or perhaps it was the perfect place. There was steam rising from each pool, more from the hottest one. The hot springs had steam in the morning, but it was colder at night, and more difficult to see people through the mist.

It never mattered since Hisoka expertly positioned his tiny washcloth in front of himself as he stepped out of the pool. That was when I noticed that all of the men had tiny washcloths either near them on the edge of the hot springs or on their heads like white barets. I watched a woman get out of one pool, wrap her towel on, walk to another pool and drop the towel before climbing in. Under the water, everyone was naked as sin. The second anyone got out of the water, modesty prevailed and they covered their shame with whichever size towel they had.

Hisoka was covered, barely, when he walked toward me. He asked if I wanted to use a different pool. He assumed that my hesitation was solely about the temperature. I asked him why the men were not on the men's side, wherever that was. He laughed a little and explained that unlike most hot springs in Japan's largest cities, these rural springs were not segregated. The showers were and everyone covered themselves outside of the water, more or less, because that was the only decent and civilized thing to do. But the springs themselves were unisex.

I thought the men's hot springs were somewhere else and that I was on the women's side earlier in the day. Looking back, that was a stupid assumption. The hotel grounds would have to be considerable to have twice as many hot springs. With a mountain next to the springs and a road next to the hotel, there was no place to put anything else.

Hisoka saw nothing unusual about our environment, but he recognized that I am American. My ancestors were such religious extremists that they thought Catholicism was too liberal. He suggested we leave the hot springs altogether, but I told him that was crazy. The reason we came to Miyajima, the reason I flew to Japan, was for the hot springs. I loved it earlier in the day when I was alone with the old woman. I reasoned that I should love it again, even if there were other people around.

Something that really helped was how old everyone was. Had the hot springs been full of 20-something men/boys, I can almost guarantee I would have gone back to the locker room to get dressed. As it was, Hisoka looked like the youngest man there and I was likely the youngest woman. I'm generally a pretty terrible judge of Japanese ages, but most of the people in the water that night were hovering around retirement.

When I told Hisoka that I liked my bearably hot pool, he turned around and walked toward it. Apparently, the rule about covering yourself with towels only applies to the front. I watched his naked butt as he stepped into the hot water. Resting his washcloth on his head, he sat down and faced me.

I don't have a lot of rules about dating, but one of them has to be that my date can never see me naked on the first date. I don't know if that should happen on the 52nd date or the 104th, but definitely not the first. Any naturist can tell you that nudity has nothing to do with sex, but in my experience, getting naked on a date almost always has something to do with sex.

Maybe there was something in the air that night. Maybe it was my spontaneous trip to Japan. Maybe it was Hisoka's firm butt. Maybe it was the fact that we were surrounded by older people, none of whom would have looked too kindly on any youthful shenanigans. Whatever it was, I dropped my towel in front of my date, and several older people who may or may not have even known I was there, most of whom could probably not even see me through all the steam.

Hisoka smiled and watched me step into the pool. He might have watched a little too long. At least I was polite enough to look away when he got in, as far as he knows. As soon as I was in the water, I sat on a smooth rock and he asked me about my day on Miyajima. We talked about the island as though we were not naked and surrounded by other naked people. With mostly shoulders and heads poking out of the water, it was hard to notice fashion choices.

Thursday, June 21, 2018

Dating Underwater
6. Three Views of Japan

Miyajima is a tiny island, about two miles wide and six miles long. Most of the island is wooded mountains surrounded by small beaches. The village at the pier probably looks just like it did during the Edo period, only with electricity and paved roads.

Rather than the scenery, most people go to the island for the temples. They are everywhere, from a large Shinto shrine that sits directly on the water at high tide to tiny boxes perched up in the middle of the forest. When my ride from the hotel dropped me off downtown, I walked through the village for a few minutes before I wandered along the shore and met a few deer. They wanted some food, but so did I. They were as friendly as cartoon deer that never have to worry about hunters, but they were hungry, so they moved on to other people as soon as they realized I was not going to feed them.

Walking along the shore, I noticed the Itsukushima Shrine torii jetting out of the water. It was hard to miss. It was painted red and stood out with the blue water and sky behind it. There were also dozens of people taking pictures. Around the corner from the torii was Itsukushima Shrine itself, an impressive building and unlike any Shinto shrine I had ever seen. Instead of a tall, dark building, it was spread out flat and painted the same vermilion red as the torii. Red is the common color for torii, but every Shinto shrine I had ever seen was brown/black.

The Itsukushima Shrine is so important to Miyajima that the island's name is actually Itsukushima. Everyone just calls it Miyajima. Even the signs from the Hiroshima pier said that the ferry went to Miyajima. As far as I could tell, the only time anyone ever used the word Itsukushima was in reference to the shrine and/or torii. The locals call the island Miyajima, so that is what I call it.

I wanted to go inside the shrine, but it was large and I was hungry. At the other end of the village, there was a row of restaurants. Not surprisingly, they all served Japanese food. Miyajima has a lot going for it, but one of the things I liked best was that there was not a single McDonald's, Starbucks or anything even remotely resembling a corporate chain store. The tourist shops in the village were owned by the people inside and the restaurants were all local. Maybe the Shinto and Buddhist buildings were part of a larger organization, but this was an independent town. Even the hotels were independent. There was no Hilton on Miyajima. The only trace of the corporate world I saw were the drinks in the public vending machines. Miyajima is Japan, so there were vending machines all over the place.

After lunch, I spent entirely too much time in the shrine. I knew when Hisoka was coming back to Miyajima, but I did not know what his plans were. If he wanted to show me the holy sites, he was too late. From Itsukushima, I went to Senjokaku and the Five Story Pagoda, Daiganji, Kiyomori and several smaller Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines.

I was back at the hotel by the time Hisoka arrived. I probably could have met him at the pier, but he was not expecting me there and I would have had a hard time spotting him in a sea of unfamiliar Japanese faces. It never made any difference, since his plans were as far away from the village as you can get and still be on the island.

Hisoka thought I would appreciate the views from Mt Misen, the highest point on the island. And he was right. The ropeway to the top was two separate cable car lines, but unless you have all day and a case or two of water, you might not want to hike it. The view from the top of the ropeway was spectacular, and it was not even the top of the mountain. There was still another half mile hike and 300 feet up.

From the station, you can easily see dozens of islands in the Seto Inland Sea and large chunks of Shikoku and Honshu, with obstructed views of Hiroshima. You can also really appreciate how long and high the cable cars ride. It is not ideal for people with acrophobia.

There are several temples along the hike to the top, which provide welcome spots to rest and plenty of places to buy water. Mt Misen is a sacred mountain overlooking a sacred island, so anyone interested in Buddhism will have plenty to experience. It is also the best spot outside of the main village to have a few dozen deer nudge your hands for food.

The last temple on the way up is pretty small. Beyond that, you walk under, through and over some big rocks. The views from the peak are unbelievable. According to Japan, Itsukushima's torii is one of the “Three Views of Japan”. The torii is nice, and looks good with the water backdrop, but from the top of Mt Misen, you have a 360 degree view of everything you would expect from an island surrounded by other islands. The Seto Inland Sea is stretched out in almost every direction and Hiroshima is plain as day. Had I known anything about the city, I probably would have recognized several buildings. You can also look down on most of Miyajima.

Mt Misen was the kind of natural environment where I could have easily spent the entire day, had the last cable car not headed down at dusk. Quite reasonably, they do not want too many people up there after dark. Hiking back down at night would be an equal combination of dangerous and stupid. I'm sure the deer also want some private time. There are a lot of them. They have to come from somewhere.


I took pictures, of course, but my crappy cellphone camera does not do this place justice. These are pictures from other people, whom I can't credit because I don't have any names/agencies. Their equipment was much better than mine, but these images are still a pale imitation of how it looks in person.





Saturday, June 16, 2018

Dating Underwater
5. Onsen Onna

Hisoka checked me into the hotel, which was convenient since no one spoke English and I know less than a dozen phrases in Japanese. He would not be staying. In fact, he had to turn around and take the ferry back to Hiroshima for a big meeting. He only went on the roller coaster van ride to escort me to the hot springs. He would come back a few hours later and we could have a proper first date. In the meantime, I could enjoy the hot springs, go back into town or just wander around the island.

Hisoka was taking the same tiny van back to the pier, so I could have easily gone with him and explored downtown Miyajima, but that sounded like going in circles to me. I was at a nice looking hotel that was supposed to have some great hot springs. I felt like I should probably give them a chance.

This particular hotel was built around the water. That was its biggest selling point. It was also small enough that it could stay booked without catering to foreign tourists. There were no English signs anywhere, and even though I saw the name of the hotel written in Japanese several times, I have no idea what it is.

My room was a combination of traditional ryokan and modern convenience. Everything was wooden, or at least wood colored, but there was also a modern bed and flat screen TV. While most hotel rooms have a white robe, this one had a floral yukata. This place was not trying to look authentically Japanese. It was authentically Japanese.

After Hisoka left, I figured I might as well check out the hot springs. At the back of the hotel were several rooms, one of which was the shower/locker room for women. Men had their own room a respectable distance away. The women's room had a red sign and the men's room was blue. Apparently, everyone in Japan knows that red is for women and blue is for men. I never knew that, but the signs also had the Japanese words for male and female, which are almost identical to the Chinese words. At least in writing. The pronunciation is completely different. Some of the first Chinese I ever learned was 男 and 女. Helpfully, to anyone learning the language, male is a stick figure trying to balance a big head and female is a stick figure dancing. Most Chinese words do not work out that well.

What I know about the myriad of Japanese rules and customs can fit on a leaflet. Fortunately, there was an old woman in the 女 locker room. She did not speak English, but we communicated through the international language of gestures and hand signals. Some facial expressions are universal.

I knew that public showers were not rare in Japan, so I was not entirely shocked when the old woman took off her clothes and placed them, gently folded, into a cubbyhole. She motioned toward the showers before she sat down on a tiny stool and hosed herself off. I followed, being careful not to stare at her while making sure that I did whatever she did.

The stools were short, as were the shower heads. I thought it would be difficult for older people to squat and shower, but she did it all effortlessly. She used the bucket without splashing any water, even though we were the only two people there. When finished, she cleaned the bucket, stool and shower wall. Other than everything being wet, there was no evidence that anyone was ever there. I suddenly realized why this system would never work in China.

Clean enough to go in the mineral water, the old woman wrapped a towel around her body and I did the same before following her outdoors. There were a few different hot springs of varying temperatures, both indoors and outdoors. The old woman pointed to each and said something, which I assumed had to do with water temperatures. She might have also tried to warn me not to put my face in the water, but I have been to the Dead Sea. The last place you want those minerals is in your eyes.

The old woman tied her hair up before choosing a pool. Women, and men, are not supposed to let their hair enter the water. Most women, and some men, simply put their hair up. I still have short hair, so it was not going to be a problem for me. The old woman then walked to her choice, took off her towel and sat naked in the water.

I dipped a toe into each pool. The one indoors was more warm than hot. The room looked nice, with wood everywhere and a wall full of paned picture windows that showed the natural scenery outdoors, but the pools outdoors looked better.

The old woman's pool was the smallest, and unbearably hot. I have cooked food at lower temperatures. She was obviously used to it. I went with the largest pool, which was hot enough to call itself a hot spring, but not hot enough to sear my flesh. Unlike a swimming pool, the hot spring had large rocks on the floor, as well as rocks along the border into the grass and stone paths. Swimming would have been difficult, but sitting on the rocks was easy. They were all smooth and at just the right height to remain mostly submerged in the water.

It was hard to tell how much of my surroundings were natural and how much was built by the hotel. Beyond the grass and paths were trees that quickly veered uphill. Other than whatever animals lived in the woods, the hot springs were protected from prying eyes. Not even the rooms in the hotel faced the water.

When the term idyllic setting was invented, they were thinking about places like this. I could have stayed there all day. But you can't cook in a hot spring for too long. When the old woman left her pool, she said goodbye to me and disappeared into the locker room. I don't know what the etiquette is for loitering in geothermal pools, so I decided it was time to go. The old woman wore her towel from the pool to the locker room, so I did too. There was no one else there, but when in doubt, do what the old ladies do. One of the few things I know about Japanese onsen is that you are not supposed to shower after the hot spring. You want to keep the minerals on your skin as long as possible.

Rested and simmered, I was ready to eat. The hotel had plenty of food, but I wanted to see what was available in town. Getting a ride was pretty easy. When you are the only foreigner at an inn in the mountains, there are really only so many places you want to go.

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Dating Underwater
4. Endless Driving, Endlessly

At Hiroshima Airport, it looked like we parked at the main terminal, but they played with our passports in a smaller room than I would expect from an international airport. Getting into Japan is always easy, but on a private flight full of Japanese businessmen, my passport was stamped without anyone flipping through the pages.

At the airport, Hisoka's friends shook hands, bowed and scattered. Everyone went off to wherever they went and I was happy that they would not be joining us. They were perfectly pleasant people, but I was on a date. Twelve's a crowd.

Hisoka and I took a taxi into town. This was our only taxi ride that was actually a metered taxi. Everything else Hisoka called a taxi was one type of black car or another, driven by some guy who never asked for any money. This taxi driver wanted to be paid when we arrived at our destination, but the car was still black.

During the one hour taxi ride from the airport into Hiroshima, Hisoka apologized that it took so long. There are apparently no trains from the airport, which is kind of strange for Japan. The long drive did not bother me. Even with trains, it takes an hour to get from Tokyo Narita Airport to downtown Tokyo. I can only imagine how long it takes by car. It was not like I was jet lagged. The flight was more comfortable than first class and we only spent minutes at the airports.

I saw almost none of Hiroshima from the freeway. It was obvious when we were in a city versus out in the countryside, but the city was mostly hidden by tunnels and shrubbery. When we finally got off the freeway, we were in a small, suburban town. When we reached the coast, we kept going. Hisoka told me we were in Hiroshima, but on the outskirts of town. It seemed like we had driven long enough, but what I did not know at the time was that we went around to the other side. The outskirts we were in was not between the city and the airport, but on the opposite side of the city.

Wherever we were suddenly got bigger just before the taxi stopped at the pier. I knew we were taking a boat to an island, but we seemed to be leaving from a popular tourist spot of its own. When Hisoka originally suggested going to Hiroshima, he really meant a small island just off the mainland. He was not being deceptive. For the longest time, the island was considered part of Hiroshima. Now, it is part of a different city, but most Japanese still consider it in Hiroshima.

The ferry was quick. It was like taking the ferry from Battery Park to the Statue of Liberty. You can easily see the island from the Hiroshima side. The mountains stand out far more than a single statue holding a torch. The boat travels a little over a mile.

At the ferry terminal on the island of Miyajima, someone was waiting to drive us to the hotel. It was another black van, but this one was much smaller. Hisoka's colleagues would have never fit. From the pier, we drove along the coast for a few minutes before we started winding uphill, passing mostly trees and grass with the occasional house here and there. After we went downhill, we turned onto the coast again and passed a tiny beach. I thought we were going to turn at the hotel we saw on the beach. It was the only building that looked anything like a hotel and beyond it was more trees and woodland. But we kept going. After passing a few more hotels, we went back uphill and downhill.

The coast appeared again at another, even tinier beach. We drove along the coast for a while, passing more beaches and a beautiful nature park, what little we could see from the road. I saw my first deer at the nature park, which is strange since they are all over the island. I would see hundreds later on, but for whatever reason, I did not see any at the pier when we arrived.

Beyond the nature park, we started to really go uphill again. I wondered if there was a more direct route, but it turns out Miyajima is mostly mountains and woods with only a few roads going from one end to the other. The road narrowed the higher we ascended, but it was still paved. It was not, however, marked. I would have been completely lost had I been driving.

We kept going higher and higher, and the road got ridiculously narrow. I could see why we were in a tiny Japanese van. A normal van, or even a sedan, would have struggled to squeeze in between the trees and greenery. Eventually, I caught glimpses of the coast again. Only this time we were high above whatever beaches lay below. And then we started going downhill, a little too fast, but there was no cross traffic. Maybe a deer could have jumped in front of the van, but there were no cars in sight.

Back at sea level, there was a beautiful and completely empty beach. The view from the beach was several islands and the Seto Inland Sea. I wondered why no one was there. It briefly crossed my mind that if Hisoka wanted to murder me and dump my body somewhere, this might be the perfect place. Few people live on Miyajima and you only have to travel a few minutes away from the pier for it to get completely deserted.

Beyond Murder Beach, we were going back uphill. Even if I had jumped out of the van at this point, I would have absolutely no idea how to get to civilization. Up a long and winding road, there were more ocean views with islands as far as the eye could see. It was spectacular, but for the guy driving us, it was just another day at the office.

We started going back downhill yet again and passed yet another empty beach with similar views of probably the same islands. When the beach ended, we went back uphill into the woods.

I usually pick the hotel whenever I travel. Whether I go with others or alone, I'm mostly the one who does the research. I look at the maps and skim the reviews. Even if I have never been to the city before, I can find the hotel on a map. For this trip, all I did was show up. I had no idea where to go or how to get there. I was completely in Hisoka's hands. It was nice to have someone else lead the way for a change.

Surrounded by trees, brush and more trees, we turned off onto a smaller road. I did not think the roads could get any smaller, but this one meandered toward an obvious structure. Some time between 30 minutes and 30 years after leaving the pier, we were at the hotel.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Dating Underwater
3. Flight 22

I wanted to meet Hisoka at the airport. I have been to Hong Kong International Airport I don't know how many times. Almost every time I leave the city is by plane, even going into Mainland China. The boating exception was the ferry to Macau. Hong Kong Airport is huge, but easy to navigate. It is one of the easiest airports in the world to get to from downtown, but the Airport Express goes to the passenger terminals. We were flying out of the Business Aviation Centre, which is on the south end of the island. Apparently, getting from one section of the airport to another is difficult. In China, if you want to do something different from what a billion other people do, no one knows how. Hisoka said he was taking a taxi to the airport and they should pick me up on the way.

I don't have a lot of rules about dating, but one of them is to avoid letting a first date know where I live, if at all possible. You always take a risk when you go out with a strange man for the first time. That is why dates are usually at restaurants or other crowded places. On the other hand, I was going out of the country with this guy, but that has never come up before.

Hisoka was staying at the Harbour Grand Kowloon on the Hung Hom Promenade, next to that shopping boat. Whatever that thing is. I knew his hotel was a quick MTR ride away, so we met there. When I walked into the lobby, he was ready to go. That was a good sign. I like people who are punctual. He was also talking to a few Japanese businessmen wearing similar suits as his. He introduced me to his friends, who eagerly shook my hand and bowed politely. Everyone looked Hisoka's age or slightly older, but there was one man who was clearly the boss. Within any group of Japanese businessmen, you can always tell who holds seniority. They worked for a software company, but they were not Silicon Valley casual. I was starting to wonder what kind of date this was going to be.

Hisoka told me that we were waiting for a few more people. When they arrived, they apologized to everyone, especially the boss, met me and apologized to me. I waited less than five minutes, but I have no idea how long everyone else was waiting for these slugabeds. When everyone was ready, a dozen of us piled into two black passenger vans. I was expecting a red and white taxi with Hisoka. This was not how dates usually go. I took comfort in the fact that Hisoka was the most handsome man in this group. They all wore the same uniform and were clearly on the same team, but he stood out.

I realized why going to his hotel was better than meeting at the airport as soon as we drove off the freeway and took a different bridge from Lantau to Chek Lap Kok. While the freeway ends right in front of the terminals, the small road we were on hugged the coast and veered away from all of the passenger buildings. We drove almost the length of the island until we turned into a tiny but fortified parking lot. In a structure infinitely smaller than Terminal 1, we were greeted by a woman in a uniform who knew we were coming.

The Business Aviation Centre is what I imagine airports used to be like back when everyone dressed up to go anywhere and carried small suitcases and hat boxes. Or at least the simplicity of the airport in the “Room for one more, honey” Twilight Zone episode. The Business Centre had a check-in counter and passport control, but it was on a much smaller, faster and simpler scale. Everyone in the building knew what flight we were on and passports were stamped without inspection or interrogation. Except mine. Since I have a Hong Kong ID, they never stamp my passport. I scan it on departure and arrival and the computers keep track of everything.

Hisoka and his friends found that terribly convenient. They asked the woman who stamped their passports if they could use the e-channel without a Hong Kong ID. And of course, they can. Hong Kong has a frequent visitor card for people who come often. I was surprised that Hisoka never knew about it, considering how often he flies to Hong Kong. While I waited in the Business Centre lounge, which was like any airport first class lounge, they all filled out paperwork for next time.

I brought an overnight bag, just in case, but I had not made up my mind about spending the night. I wanted to, mostly because I had never been to Hiroshima, but I was still wrapping my mind around how strange this all was. Everyone had luggage, but they were all going home while I was going somewhere new. The plane had more than enough room for all of us.

So far, there was nothing about this first date that reminded me of a first date.

When everyone was ready, which was hours faster than any commercial flight, we were escorted outdoors where two men in uniforms were standing next to the staircase that led into the plane. There was even a tiny red carpet, for some reason. It was about the size of a beach towel, so it served no real purpose. Between the building and plane, we still had to walk on the pavement like the common folk.

Since I knew we were taking a private flight, I was expecting a small plane that holds four to eight people, like a Gulfstream or Learjet. Our plane was larger, maybe a Boeing 727 or Airbus A318. There were too many of us for a tiny plane, but this plane looked too big. Inside, it was much smaller. Instead of a hundred tiny seats all crammed together, it was decorated to make business executives feel important. The interior looked like some CEO's office. There were still more seats than passengers, but there were also sofas, tables and desks. Beyond the bathroom, which was larger and cleaner than any airplane bathroom I have ever seen, there was a private office. This was nothing like economy class.

It was a short flight to Hiroshima, but for Hisoka, it was a business meeting. Everyone in a suit huddled around a desk and talked shop the entire flight. I sat in a reclining lounge chair and listened to music. It never seemed to bother anyone that I was there. If it did, they were too polite to let me know.


The plane was about this size.