Kamakura karma

We'd failed Fuji... Heather deserted our trio. Back in Tokyo, an unresponsive Eriko missed our calls. In desperation, we slept in an internet cafe - can't find it on the Tokyo sleep list. Why Eriko reneged on promised hospitality I'll probably never understand. There's irony to feeling lonely in a rather populous metropolis. James had to return to Hiroshima, leaving me to contemplate my karma.

I need to get out of the city. A coastal town has gotta have surf somewhere. So off I go to check out the sea air, some salty waves, and cash in my chips with one super size me statue of Buddha, the Daibutsu.

The garden gnomes kept staring at me. The little tykes have no respect while under the protection of their beanies. I contemplated knocking one off, but my almost lost luggage is already overweight. Besides, I'm sure lightning bolts would blaze out of Buddha's blaring eyes the minute I lay a finger on one. Like Indiana Jones about to swap the golden idol for a bag of sand with death looming overhead.

So I pray for some good fortune instead... Have a look inside Buddha's head. Great minds think alike. And some decent company wouldn't go astray. So I pray...

A crowd gathered and came my way. Some super star sexy babe stood beside me, posing for her paparazzi squad. With my pea-sized camera, I joined in the foray. Suddenly it turned into a nice day.

Eriko's friend, the very attractive Asaka, proves a good mate, providing an overnight crash pad on this derailed and absurd odyssey. With my flight from Tokyo still weeks away, Asaka kindly stores my baggage while I splash some cash on a bullet train back to Hiroshima. Calling on reliable old friends...