Zigzag to Russia
The Fukuoka train station feels nearly asleep as the clock heads toward 11:00 p.m. Perhaps the station in this small city on Japan’s western shore always feels nearly asleep, no matter where the clock is heading, but we hope not to have to find out. There’s a train leaving for Kyoto in a few minutes, and we hope to be on it. We had no idea when we left Korea whether there actually was an overnight train from Fukuoka to Kyoto, but the way I figured it, it’s Japan, the place that’s supposed to have the best train system in the world—there has to be. And now here we are in Fukuoka and we’ve found out that I’d guessed right, and we’ve caught the snappy little bus that was waiting outside the terminal to take us to the station, hauled our stuff off the bus, quickly tried to ascertain from the kaleidoscope of Japanese signs and strange symbols which way the ticket lobby might be, and turned to head in that direction. What we still have no idea about is whether we’ll be able to find out if there are any seats left on the train, get our rail passes validated, get tickets, and find our way to the platform before the train slips off into the warm September night in less than half an hour—especially since it quickly became apparent that few people out here in the Japanese hinterlands speak English. And now as we hitch up our backpacks and take our first steps toward the lobby, a voice comes from behind us, a female voice in heavily accented but well-practiced English, and it’s saying, “Can I help you?” We turn back and where not a moment ago there was nothing but still night air there is now a beautiful young woman and, I’m pretty sure, the fading swirls of a puff of smoke. Out of nowhere has materialized our own little Glinda the Good Witch, only Japanese, and without all the glitter and lace.