Day eleven. After
nine days of Japan, Tokyo seems to be Tokyo, like New York is New York and not
the United States and like Barcelona is Barcelona, not Spain (nor even
Catalonia for that matter). Even in such a quick superficial visit, one can see
that women are conscious that they need to beat the fashion standards of Milan.
Even one alone at an empty street corner in Ginza at seven in the morning
seemed to pay attention to the gracious angle with which she carried her
umbrella. The men on their side wear sophisticated glasses (do they always need
them? I am not so sure) and fold up the lower part of their jeans to refresh
their ankles in the summer. But they do it so impeccably that I wonder if they
don’t iron them that way. They definitely abstain from the straw hat that
Japanese tourists wear to protect themselves from the heat (The one that made
me blend in completely when in the hills).
Narita. Le plaisir de prendre un verre en regardant les 'avions' (C'est le nom du bar, en français dans le texte) avant de décoller. Reminiscences de l'enfance a l'aéroport de Geneve, autrefois. Ca tombe bien, le A340 derriere mes haricots verts est un Swiss(air) qui va a Zurich.
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