Not a cup of tea for the sweet tooth

I need, typically, about 10 sticks for a cup of coffee to make it sweet enough; as the Dylan song goes, ‘‘I like my sugar sweet.’’ Now how do you explain that to a waitress or a vendor without making them suspect that you’re just stocking up for the next earthquake?

So I stick to four and swallow bitter coffee. Which also means I’m drinking less coffee, too. Talk about health foods. The answer, youy’d say, is drink tea. Two problems with that. One, it’s well-nigh impossible to get tea as we like it. Even the tea-bag tea is tough to come by; all you get is herbal or green (and, while on the subject, did you know that green tea contains more caffeine than coffee?).

The other day, at Haneda airport, thirsting for a good cuppa, I walked half an hour till I found someone selling tea-bag tea. Which is when I came across the second problem: there’s no milk so you have to have tea with cream! I haven’t given up yet…the alternative would be some ghastly health drink.

Language is the barrier

But that’s not half as serious a problem as the language barrier. The worst experience was at Oita three-odd days ago for the Mexico-Italy match. The town was packed; every hotel room was booked. I got into the media centre and called the hotel I’d been booked in at.

No room in your name, they said. Can’t be, I replied, and spelled my name out. That’s far easier said than done, because for some reason they always start with “G-E-I”. So I called up again, spoke to someone else and got the same result. By now sheer panic had set in; it was night and they don’t allow you to sleep at the station. I had visions of walking round time the whole night just to keep myself out of jail.

Then I got a brainwave, which doesn’t happen very often. I went to a volunteer, explained the situation and asked him to call the hotel. I didn’t, of course, understand what he said but he either threatened them with the full might of FIFA or simply spelled out my name correctly. Either way, there was a room for me and the Oita police had one less guest that night.

Some good sleep, at last

That same day — it happens in a rush, I guess — I needed to confirm my flight back to Oita for the Sweden-Senegal match. As usual, I’d left it too late. The girl at the Oita flight counter said the one flight was booked full. So I made elaborate plans to get there by train — about as easy as getting to or from Kolkata during the Pujas.

Went to the JR counter, bought my tickets — a combination of three journeys . Then, just by chance, went to another airline office. Sure, there’s a seat on the flight, they said. Would you like one? All this is Japlish; the above was my possibly over optimistic interpretation. But I replied in the affirmative, they gave me a little chit that meant nothing to me and I went off a happier man.

But I had this niggling doubt; was this really a confirmation? I asked everyone I knew — all of three people — and many I didn’t and no one seemed to be very sure. Half the problem was just getting across what I wanted them to understand. Finally, the night before, at Niigata, a kind Japanese soul took pity on this crazed Indian jabbing a sheet of paper under everyone’s noses and asking them if this was reserved or not. He called up the local ANA office, then got back to me in perfect English. Seat 7 is confirmed, just board the plane tomorrow. I slept well that night after what seemed like ages.

Writers’ block for 2-3-4?

One sidelight to the USA-Mexico match that not too many people have commented on: Jersey numbers 2, 3, and 4 were worn by, respectively, Francisco Gabriel, Rafael Garcia and Rafael Marquez. Let’s hope Monday’s ignonimous exit doesn’t add up to 100 Years of Solitude for them.