I am sitting in yet another hotel room in another city – in another country. This time I am in the Roppongi Hills district of the city of Tokyo. I am in Japan.
It has been a long and eventful day.
My trip to Japan was not a planned or scheduled one. I was ordered here. I am ordered to go to many places by the English for whom I work and in most instances I am OK with this - although sometimes it annoys me.
As do they.
However on this occasion I do not really mind. I like Tokyo and Japan and it has been a while since I was last here. Tokyo is a crazy place.
It is my sort of town.
I caught the overnight flight from Singapore on an airline that I shall not name. There shall be no free advertising in my writing.
I am comfortably ensconced in the hotel in which I normally stay – it is very luxurious and the staff are most attentive. Courtesy in Japan is the norm and I greatly enjoy the custom of bowing that goes on. The deeper the bow one receives the more respect is being displayed.
For each bow that I receive in Japan I return one back.
It is the Japanese way.
I flew here last night on the overnight service and was seated at the front of the plane. A very small, demure and immaculately dressed elderly Japanese businessman occupied the seat next to me. As I took my allotted aisle seat we each nodded and uttered hellos. Overhead luggage was stored, hot towels were received, dinner menus were distributed and not long after take off I decided to open pleasantries and initiate a conversation.
I like conversations.
It quickly became apparent that the little fellow spoke no English and it was then that I noticed that in the seat across the aisle from me sat a very tall and incredibly beautiful Japanese woman. She was quite young and was nicely but simply attired - and she was adorned in what appeared to be most expensive but tasteful jewellery.
This was no bimbo. She reeked of elegance and Chanel Number Five.
My attempt at conversation with my immediate seat-neighbour prompted her intervention and it also seemed to simultaneously generate the interest of a very large Japanese man who was seated next to her – on the window seat - and two equally large Japanese men seated immediately behind me.
The dude had an entourage.
The word entourage is quite obviously French in origin. It is derived from the word 'entourer' which means 'to surround'.
I noticed the interest in my attempt at conversation by the large Japanese-men-seated-behind-me because two pairs of hands appeared on the back of my seat. Their fingernails were immaculately manicured. I felt the hands before I saw them - as my seat was pulled back slightly - and when I saw the hands I could not help but notice that of the four hands that were present – only eighteen fingers were displayed. Both dudes were missing the little pinkies of their left hands.
They were Yakuza.
Yakuza is not an Eastern brand of yoghurt – it is the Japanese mafia.
The gorgeous and elegant Japanese lady leaned over the aisle to me and as she did so she uttered something in Japanese that made the two nine-fingered men that were behind me immediately sit down. She then informed me in a completely unaccented voice that the gentleman seated next to me could speak no English. She told me – without prompting – that she was his personal assistant and she would be happy to interpret.
