The Real Meaning for Food on Planes

Ayndhria Soung By Ayndhria Soung, 7th Mar 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/x49kbcv1/
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Personal Experiences

Part two of my journey to Japan: flight landing and wandering the airport.

Landing in Tokyo

Never say no to the food provided by the airlines. I swear that having a full belly is essential to not vomiting. Indeed, the stewardesses seem to shove food your way every hour--a new food cart follows the trash cart from the previous meal. And I think they have a good reason for it: it really keeps you from getting airsick.

Everytime I have refused food on an airline, I have felt very queasy. The last meal I refused on my flight to Japan had the natural consequences: I vomited into the provided bag on the landing. Now, vomiting at any time is never fun. But add in the fact that I was vomiting next to a complete stranger after the last garbage cart had gone through the aisles, and I suddenly found myself not only nauseous, but also holding a bag of vomit I had no where to put. I couldn't just stuff it back into the seat in front of me--what if the attendants missed it and some new passenger, as dizzy and hot as I was right then, reached for my already-used bag?

So I did what I had to do: I crammed it into my jacket pocket, praying I had folded it up well enough to prevent any leakage (lost cause).

I had been so busy being sick I had missed getting one of those immigration cards. And by the time I got to the immigration area, I panicked, racing back to the plane to see if the attendants still had more for me to fill out. When I reached the plane, however, the attendants and pilot were exiting with their own luggage. So I trudged back the way I had come, hoping I wouldn't be tossed into jail for not having an immigration card filled out.

Of course they had blank cards at the Immigration area--if I had looked around before dashing off, I would have noticed. Puke squelching uncomofortably in my pocket, I huddled over the narrow desk and hurried to fill out my form.

Passing immigration was only the first hurdle, however. After that I had to find my luggage. Now, this is not always easy to do even when you're in a country where they all speak your language and have all signs in your language. As I stood there, looking for my tell-tale braided cord on the navy blue luggage, the Japanese over the loudspeaker and Japanese chatter surrounding me isolated me in a way I had never before known.

I stood there. And stood there. Looked around. Stood some more. I saw a couple familiar passengers from my plane at the same luggage belt, so I knew I was in the right area. But my bag never appeared. Finally, with only a few other nervous passengers looking around for their missing bags as well, an airline worker came over to mention that some bags were taken to a different area.

Muttering that my luck had better hold out this time, at least, I hurried over to the opposite side. And thankfully, my bag waited there for me, a shameful HEAVY sticker attached to it. So my bag had probably been separated because of its weight. But at least I had my supplies for the next three months back with me. And a bathroom came up ahead so I could finally dispose of my vomit bag.

As I left the security of the landing area behind, reaching the busy airport area, it hit me harder than before that I was very far from home, stuck here for three months alone. All the calamaties behind and before were mine to find and mine to face.

I hoped they'd be in English.

Tags

Airplane, Foreign, Homesickness, Japan, Language, Luggage, Sick, Travel

Meet the author

author avatar Ayndhria Soung
A writer whose works are the penultimate design of the wandering mind. When one keys in data for a job and spends a couple hours commuting by bike, there's plenty of time for creativity to flow.

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Comments

author avatar Dafeenah
8th Mar 2011 (#)

While I have never been airsick I have come very close. Wonderfully written.

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