Travel and Verse

stories of travel, medical missions, and more

Tag: Japan

Dark Magic

December 17, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 89

My work as a paramedic has led me down strange roads. And the care I’ve provided has caused me to think differently about modern medicine. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe in modern medicinal treatments. But if I was some kind of plague doctor in the Early Middle Ages, my type of patient care would probably get me burned at the stake, or maybe drowned, or both. I hear that was pretty popular.

For example, I was treating a patient many, many years ago. As part of this person’s treatment, I administered a very strong medication with a psychoactive and hallucinogenic affect. It’s not a medication used often; it can be an addictive-controlled substance. And to be honest with you, I didn’t use it very often. But as I injected the medicine into the patient’s IV port, the patient’s eyes jittered for a while, he paused like a possessed mannequin, and time (for him at least for him) stopped. After a few moments, the patient began to move like a toy being rewound. He eventually looked at me with a shocked look on his face.

“How do you feel,” I asked.

With a wild look in his eyes he said, “It feels like you pulled my soul through the back of my head.”

If that wouldn’t get me gullied in the market square back in A.D. 850, what would?

As a general rule, I personally try to stay away from most medication. But I didn’t feel like I had a choice at the Haneda airport in Tokyo. We had just finished a great visit to Japan, one of our favorite places. My wife was leaving for the States soon. But my flight on to Malaysia to visit a college friend would leave two hours later. I had worked a 12-hour night shift that culminated in climbing onto a 13-hour flight to Tokyo. We had a whirlwind trip of excellent food and great experiences.

But I was tired. And I still had 10 more days in Malaysia.

Between all the traveling and the endless nights of work as a paramedic, sleep isn’t exactly something I get often.

After I got my wife to her gate and kissed goodbye, I wandered the airport in search of some coffee and then, I saw it—a small pharmacy nudged in the upstairs of the airport. It looked like a place most Americans wouldn’t go. Perfect.

My eyes scanned the shelves for something to help me sleep on my forthcoming 8-hour red-eye. And then I saw it.

The box had a little crescent moon and a tiny person sleeping on a bed with a line of “Zzzzzzz” floating from his head.

Being medically minded and endlessly curious, I got out the ‘Ol Google Translate and went to work on the ingredients list.

And Lo, listed before my eyes, were two ingredients made directly from Barbiturates—that long lost sedative no longer in use in the US. But here in Japan, a guy can buy the proverbial good stuff.

I bought my packet and walked to my gate. Just prior to the flight, I popped one tablet (as recommended) and then an additional two Benadryl (as is entirely not recommended).

The next eight hours are a blur of slow-motion flight attendants and on/off sleeping in strange positions. Never have I produced so much saliva. But I will say this; the flight went pretty quick.

Dark magic indeed.

 

anthony forrest

Favorite Trips: Seamless

December 3, 2020 / / 0 Comments

Every month I post a favorite story from the year prior.

From Travel Journal, 41

Both my wife and I grew up in small towns, I in the west and she in the north. We both remember dirt roads, corner stores, small communities, smaller buildings, and limited diversity. Though we live in a small town now, our lives are heavily peppered with city influences.

Traveling to cities over the years has grown on us, taught us. And though each may have their similarities, each city is different.

Our faces hit the sunlight as we climbed up and out of the hole in the ground. With subway stations every quarter mile or so, getting around is easy. All around us rose sky-scraping towers. And the streets were paved with the purest of golds—street food. At first blush, it looks like any other city, until, right in the middle of it all, a clearing in the concrete jungle reveals the Kabuki-za Theater.

No, this is not New York, Chicago, London, or Paris.

This is Tokyo.

Some cities claim to mix old and new. But no place achieves such a pure blend as Tokyo. To your left: Yodobashi Camera, selling technology that most Americans won’t see for years. To your right: a Shinto shrine that is older than most sovereign nations.

And the blend is seamless.

From the subway station we step onto the famous Ginza and up to the old theater. We wait in line to buy our tickets, just for one act. Our attention spans are far too short for five hours of theater. Nearly a hundred of us filed into the doors and up the elevator, onto the fourth-floor mezzanine of the theater.

A curtain hangs below. It depicts Mount Fuji—the Rising Sun in the background. The play begins; the curtain is drawn. The actors below dance and portray an ancient story from the olden-time, the time of the Samurai. Their movements are lavishly exaggerated. And the milky-white face paint can be seen easily from my seat in the balcony. Drums beat. Three-stringed tones of the shamisen call. The audience shouts strange encouragements to their entertainers on the stage.

Yet not too far away, on the busy street below, taxis take businessmen to airports. Women walk into Louis Vuitton Stores. And sitters in booths try to convince passersby to change their cell phone plan.

Seamless and new.

Timeless and old.

This is Tokyo.

 

anthony forrest

Fall Backward

December 9, 2019 / / 0 Comments

I fall backward

From walks

And talks

And laughing with friends

From seeing new things

I fall to the end

Of a day well-traveled

And company shared

With former strangers

And lovers of life

Beyond compare

So

Backward I fall

From a day well-led

I welcome this night

And fall back onto bed

 

anthony forrest

Seamless

December 5, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Travel Journal, 41

Both my wife and I grew up in small towns, I in the west and she in the north. We both remember dirt roads, corner stores, small communities, smaller buildings, and limited diversity. Though we live in a small town now, our lives are heavily peppered with city influences.

Traveling to cities over the years has grown on us. And though they may have their similarities, each city is different.

Our faces hit the sunlight as we climbed up and out of the hole in the ground. With subway stations every quarter mile or so, getting around is easy. All around us rose sky-scraping towers. And the streets were paved with the purest of golds—street food. At first blush, it looks like any other city, until, right in the middle of it all, a clearing in the concrete jungle reveals the Kabuki-za Theater.

No, this is not New York, Chicago, London, or Paris.

This is Tokyo.

Some cities claim to mix old and new. But no place achieves such a pure blend as Tokyo. To your left: Yodobashi Camera, selling technology that most Americans won’t see for years. To your right: a Shinto shrine that is older than most sovereign nations.

And the blend is seamless.

From the subway station we step onto the famous Ginza and up to the old theater. We wait in line to buy our tickets, just for one act. Our attention spans are far too short for five hours of theater. Nearly a hundred of us filed into the doors and up the elevator, onto the fourth-floor mezzanine of the theater.

A curtain hangs below. It depicts Mount Fuji—the Rising Sun in the background. The play begins; the curtain is drawn. The actors below dance and portray an ancient story from the olden-time, the time of the Samurai. Their movements are lavishly exaggerated. And the milky-white face paint can be seen easily from my seat in the balcony. Drums beat. Three-stringed tones of the shamisen call. The audience shouts strange encouragements to their entertainers on the stage.

Yet not too far away, on the busy street below, taxis take businessmen to airports. Women walk into Louis Vuitton Stores. And sitters in booths try to convince passersby to change their cell phone plan.

Seamless and new.

Timeless and old.

This is Tokyo.

 

anthony forrest

 

Short Lines

March 18, 2019 / / 1 Comment

a collection of brief poetry, part 1

Ueno Park

 

My feet from under cover

Step with a new day

In the warmth of sunrise hope

Seeking a sunset peace

 

anthony forrest

 

Travel Journal, 4

March 14, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Throw Coins

(story below)

Men throw coins seeking grace finding none.

 

With clapped hands they bow, but not to the Son.

 

In Danse Macabre their culture sways till finally in death’s arms they lay.

 

Have they hope in this dire state?

Where will they find grace?

 

 

Beyond a doubt, one of my favorite places to visit is Japan. Smiling faces, terrific food, ancient structures, mystical remnants of forgotten wars, and friendly people make up a culture that warms my heart each time I go. 

Most of the people in Japan observe Shinto, a religion made up of mysticism, spirit worship, and ancestral longing. On the outside, Shinto is beautiful. I travel to Shinto shrines every day I am in Japan. Towering pagodas and looming archways beckon followers to bow, clap, buy luck, and recite prayers.

Albeit beautiful, every time I visit a shrine, I walk away with a sense of emptiness. All the ritual practices and rigid rules leave the worshiper fallen short of perfection. In a sense, Shinto is puzzle missing pieces. It is up to man to maintain a connection to their ancestral past. It is up to man to live up to expectation of Shinto. It is all up to man. Hopeless, graceless, and endless. If man is the end all be all, count me out.

The God of the Bible gives hope, grace. Second chances and forgiveness abound. It doesn’t come from me. And that’s a good thing.

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 2

February 28, 2019 / / 3 Comments

They do that. We drink beer.

Warning: this story is political—but barely.

It was late and everybody was hungry. It was also cold. Tokyo, though sprawling, is easily walkable. Each section (or prefecture) can be reached quite simply by the extensive public transit, coursing through the metropolis like blood vessels carrying people to the vital areas of Tokyo.

We found our hotel after having walked too far. Tired feet, cold bodies, and empty stomachs make traveling the opposite of fun. To make matters worse, many shops and restaurants had already closed. We stumbled about Tokyo near Ueno Park for a half an hour before we walked by a dimly lit café down a dark side street. Elated, the four of us opened the door to the tiny diner to find only two other customers feasting on noodles and beer.

Narita, Japan

We sat down and a boisterous lady came to take our order. She reminded me of a classic diner waitress back in the US: pen in hair, notebook in hand, maybe smells like cigarettes, treats you like family, maybe is family, maybe her name is Marge. All of that—but Japanese. You get the picture.

She spoke no English.

We began grunting at pictures of food on the wall. Her clarifying questions were met with more guttural noises from us. Communication was going as well as could be expected.

Fortunately, a kind-hearted soul at the nearby table began translating for us. With food ordered I talked with our newfound friend.

“Where are you from? I asked.

He pointed to his chest and said, “China. Where you from?”

“United States”

“Oh, Donald Trump?” (His broken pronunciation of the President’s name sounded more like Donut Chum, but I digress.)

We all perked up and agreed. Why yes, we come from the land of Trump. A stern look crossed his face as he leaned in as if to tell us a secret.

“Trade war!” he growled.

Our smiles vanished and a silent pause hit the ceiling. His stern look quickly dwindled and he and his friend exploded into laughter. We all joined in.

“No, no. Is okay,” said he. “They do that… we drink beer.”

Across the Earth, there are people like us—people trying to enjoy life and carry on. As the world’s leaders play political crochet, there are noodles to eat, places to see, views to view, lives to live, and people to laugh with.

Don’t miss out.

anthony forrest

© 2025 Travel and Verse

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑