land of the flying nuns

i was to fly out of incheon, south korea full of apprehension and anxiety in hopes of securing my work visa at the consulate in fukuoka, japan. luckily a friend of a friend had a floor for me to crash upon whilst there, which would save me considerably.
raindrops hung dolorously upon the hangul characters stuck to the side of my airport bus. the driver made a point of making the seatbelt gesture which i didn't really register at the time. guess my life was one worth saving in his opinion. i watched the han river glide past, amazed how everything on this island seems to be cast in shades of gray. the very landscape careering seemed so devoid of any discernible life.
i arrived at the airport and immediately went to the departures board. i eventually made my way to the ticket counter and the guy checking me in asked to see my alien registration card, which i hadn't secured. he immediately called immigration and i hot-footed it there. i took a number and observed the other hapless souls caught up in the sticky nets of red tape. i noticed my time was edging ever closer to my departure time before my number was eventually called. only one girl working the counter and three jabbering away in the background, mocking my urgent mission to japan. a proper stamp must be placed upon my expired visa before i would be allowed to depart these sad shores. time edged ever closer to my departure time, but what can one do at the mercy of the incompetent? inquiries, and a VOID stamp hit my passport like a venomous flower. won't be using that again, it seemed to say.
once outside, i was something like o.j. simpson back in the hertz days. hot footing it back to the ticket counter. "you'll have plenty of time" i was assured by the agent. all my belongings thrown into an x-ray machine and off to the gates. i hadn't much time to spare, but managed to make it on the plane to fukuoka.
it's interesting to hear of a place and suddenly find yourself going there. backpack in the overhead, settling in for a quick dance across the water. hearing the familiar strains of japanese, korean, and chinese versions of the emergency procedures. i shut my eyes for a moment and thought of the relatively short distances of the old world that determined culture and how these spaces aren't so vast in the states. the nasty things we do to each other simply because we appear to be different. how geography determines destiny. an inflight meal arrived of raw fish and sushi.
luckily i had a contact person on the other side, although it would be up to me to find my way there. for some reason i felt more at home in japan than korea, having done a previous tour of duty there some years ago. amazing what i was able to dredge up from the dark recesses of my rudimentary japanese. a wave of confidence seemed to buoey me for the moment.
the immigration had a thumbprint and a camera, and i considered what all these mechanisms save us from and take from us. the immigration officer expedited my passage when i informed him i was simply on a visa run.
on the outside, in another airport. vast scaffolding holding the whole place up intended to make you feel like an ant. beeline for the bureau de change. changed 600,000 won for yen. watched the revered faces change color and denominations. now the numbers were less, but their value more. i would have to be careful how i spent what i had.
information downstairs were impressed with my feeble attempts at japanese. how does one get to the bus station? i wish to get to Oita. i asked several different counters, using the ol' composite method i'd perfected back in my earlier travels in europe. once on board, i was squeezed next to japanese passengers. i recalled the familiar feeling of being the outsider, the drifter, the gaijing. although the sky was besmeared with daubs of gray, there was a discernible warmth not felt in korea. the japanese knack of cartoon characters hadn't diminished since i'd absconded some time ago.