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Tanakalian
Master of dreams
- Joined
- Dec 11, 2019
- Location
- Eindhoven, the Netherlands
@DancingRain
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He had come a long way, as the only son of a butcher in the Belgian city of Aalst. His father had hoped he would take over the family business, but his future was in books and teaching. Named after his father, Paul Boon, he had gotten the nickname junior most of his life. Junior or little one, He had helped his parents in the butchery, and it had made him strong, but looks were deceiving. By 15 he was taller and stronger than his dad, giving the old man even more reason to believe Junior would take over the family business, but he was the brightest and smartest kid at school. And still, he wasn’t a hermit kind of kid. His dad took him to football every two weeks, and he ran with the inner crowd during his teens, while studying meticulously. And after graduating from high school he moved to the city where his football team was located.
He lived in Gentbrugge the two and a half years he was a University student, once again acing his studies, even with his weekends at the old Otten-stadium of his favourite football team KAA Gent. And when he became a teacher at the Dutch literature department of the University he remained where he was, with the crowd, but when he was promoted to professor, he moved to the main stand. It gave him some stick, the big and broad man he was, in between the high society, it just didn’t fit. He hung with the guys and on Monday he was the young high-rising professor, destined to be the rector of Gent University. But Paul junior had two dreams in his life, one that his beloved KAA Gent would be champions and the other to visit Japan.
But life gives opportunities when you least expect them, and at one time he was asked to become the governmental head of all libraries in Flanders, and he took it with both hands. His salary had quadrupled and at that time he had started saving for his trip to Japan. The trip of a life-time. He knew of a few places he wanted to go to, Dejima, for the Dutch had been there, Hiroshima to see the war memorial, but he wanted to go inland to discover the mystic Japan he read about in the books of Josjikawa. But it still took him a lot longer than he had imagined. He saw his beloved KAA Gent become champions of Belgium before he could go to Japan.
He had never been married, no girl had ever lit his fire, as he had called it so often, not that he had a lack of girls and women after him. With his nearly 2 meters of length and a weight just under 100 kgs, he was a good looking man, if he had to believe those girls. Even at his age, nearly 50, he still had all his hair, unlike many of his old friends, who had gone bold, one of their running gags, when they met at one of the bars at Gent’s Overpoort. With his length, but even more with his piercing green eyes, he was a man not to be missed. One of his long-life friends had once called him The Man, and the nickname stuck.
When he had secured the money for the trip, he started planning, where would he go, and how would his itinerary be. Tokyo, bullet train down to Nagasaki to see Dehima and then up to Hiroshima for the war memorial and the remembrance in August. But after that? He needed a guide and a good one at that too, to take him to his mystic Japan, the country he was longing to see. He searched on the internet, and eventually found a small agency that could provide him with a guide for the at least three months he planned to stay. He booked a one way ticket to Japan, flying in at the end of July, to be in Hiroshima for the remembrance on August 6th. And after that, he would let his guide take him where he wanted to go.
After the Belgian national carrier Sabena got bankrupt in 2001 there hadn’t been a replacement, making Paul realize he had to look north for his flight out to Tokyo. From Gentbrugge he had moved to Lochristi, and Schiphol Airport was a lot closer to fly from than Paris Charles de Gaulle. When July had come, he had taken a sabbatical for a year, starting with two weeks of holiday in Zeeland one of the most southern provinces of The Netherlands, before taking a train to Haarlem to be on time for his 12 hour flight to Tokyo, Japan. He was looking forward to his trip, no matter the very hot temperatures he was going to land in. Japan in summer was a lot warmer than his native Belgium.
He had been told, by text-message, that his guide would be waiting for him at Narita International Airport, but he had no idea what they would look like. He had nothing, not a name, not a gender. Not that he cared about it, this was his trip of a life time and no guide was going to ruin it. He only hoped that they would be good, to show him places no tourists would normally go to. Like for instance, further along the trip to Hiei-mountain where the Sohei monks had a last stance against Oda Nobunaga.
He slept through most of his journey ahead in time, Japan 7 hours ahead of Western Europe. It was his longest ever trip, for he had never been outside of Europe, having spent nearly all his holidays either in Belgium or in Southern France. When the announcement came that Narita was two hours away, breakfast was being served, but he only had a large black, strong as the darkest corners of hell, something he had to explain three times to the stewardess, but eventually she got it and got him indeed a very strong cup of coffee. He didn’t eat anything, for he longed for a traditional Japanese breakfast, whatever that might be, his tour-guide would know, no doubt. It took him nearly an hour after landing to get through customs, pick up his suitcase from the carrier belt, to finally walk into arrivals looking around to see where his tour-guide would be, holding up a sign with his name on it.
=============
He had come a long way, as the only son of a butcher in the Belgian city of Aalst. His father had hoped he would take over the family business, but his future was in books and teaching. Named after his father, Paul Boon, he had gotten the nickname junior most of his life. Junior or little one, He had helped his parents in the butchery, and it had made him strong, but looks were deceiving. By 15 he was taller and stronger than his dad, giving the old man even more reason to believe Junior would take over the family business, but he was the brightest and smartest kid at school. And still, he wasn’t a hermit kind of kid. His dad took him to football every two weeks, and he ran with the inner crowd during his teens, while studying meticulously. And after graduating from high school he moved to the city where his football team was located.
He lived in Gentbrugge the two and a half years he was a University student, once again acing his studies, even with his weekends at the old Otten-stadium of his favourite football team KAA Gent. And when he became a teacher at the Dutch literature department of the University he remained where he was, with the crowd, but when he was promoted to professor, he moved to the main stand. It gave him some stick, the big and broad man he was, in between the high society, it just didn’t fit. He hung with the guys and on Monday he was the young high-rising professor, destined to be the rector of Gent University. But Paul junior had two dreams in his life, one that his beloved KAA Gent would be champions and the other to visit Japan.
But life gives opportunities when you least expect them, and at one time he was asked to become the governmental head of all libraries in Flanders, and he took it with both hands. His salary had quadrupled and at that time he had started saving for his trip to Japan. The trip of a life-time. He knew of a few places he wanted to go to, Dejima, for the Dutch had been there, Hiroshima to see the war memorial, but he wanted to go inland to discover the mystic Japan he read about in the books of Josjikawa. But it still took him a lot longer than he had imagined. He saw his beloved KAA Gent become champions of Belgium before he could go to Japan.
He had never been married, no girl had ever lit his fire, as he had called it so often, not that he had a lack of girls and women after him. With his nearly 2 meters of length and a weight just under 100 kgs, he was a good looking man, if he had to believe those girls. Even at his age, nearly 50, he still had all his hair, unlike many of his old friends, who had gone bold, one of their running gags, when they met at one of the bars at Gent’s Overpoort. With his length, but even more with his piercing green eyes, he was a man not to be missed. One of his long-life friends had once called him The Man, and the nickname stuck.
When he had secured the money for the trip, he started planning, where would he go, and how would his itinerary be. Tokyo, bullet train down to Nagasaki to see Dehima and then up to Hiroshima for the war memorial and the remembrance in August. But after that? He needed a guide and a good one at that too, to take him to his mystic Japan, the country he was longing to see. He searched on the internet, and eventually found a small agency that could provide him with a guide for the at least three months he planned to stay. He booked a one way ticket to Japan, flying in at the end of July, to be in Hiroshima for the remembrance on August 6th. And after that, he would let his guide take him where he wanted to go.
After the Belgian national carrier Sabena got bankrupt in 2001 there hadn’t been a replacement, making Paul realize he had to look north for his flight out to Tokyo. From Gentbrugge he had moved to Lochristi, and Schiphol Airport was a lot closer to fly from than Paris Charles de Gaulle. When July had come, he had taken a sabbatical for a year, starting with two weeks of holiday in Zeeland one of the most southern provinces of The Netherlands, before taking a train to Haarlem to be on time for his 12 hour flight to Tokyo, Japan. He was looking forward to his trip, no matter the very hot temperatures he was going to land in. Japan in summer was a lot warmer than his native Belgium.
He had been told, by text-message, that his guide would be waiting for him at Narita International Airport, but he had no idea what they would look like. He had nothing, not a name, not a gender. Not that he cared about it, this was his trip of a life time and no guide was going to ruin it. He only hoped that they would be good, to show him places no tourists would normally go to. Like for instance, further along the trip to Hiei-mountain where the Sohei monks had a last stance against Oda Nobunaga.
He slept through most of his journey ahead in time, Japan 7 hours ahead of Western Europe. It was his longest ever trip, for he had never been outside of Europe, having spent nearly all his holidays either in Belgium or in Southern France. When the announcement came that Narita was two hours away, breakfast was being served, but he only had a large black, strong as the darkest corners of hell, something he had to explain three times to the stewardess, but eventually she got it and got him indeed a very strong cup of coffee. He didn’t eat anything, for he longed for a traditional Japanese breakfast, whatever that might be, his tour-guide would know, no doubt. It took him nearly an hour after landing to get through customs, pick up his suitcase from the carrier belt, to finally walk into arrivals looking around to see where his tour-guide would be, holding up a sign with his name on it.