Kobe, trains

On a train yesterday, I pointed to the name of my destination to two young women beside me. One was wearing a long gray dress with NYY logo on it. They conferred with each other and dissolved into laughter over their lack of English, my lack of Japanese. A studious looking woman in front of me took over, telling me in English that I was on the wrong train, Hanshin instead of Hankyo. She wrote a description for me of where to get off and transfer to a local train and then onto the right one. The NYY logo woman and her friend walked me part way and gestured dramatically to where I should go. I used up my ticket, then didn't have enough change to get another, which is when I adopted the policy of simply walking through open gates after people who used their tickets. (Shame! at least I didn't have to vault, as one does in Paris.) Coming back was another adventure, though mostly in self-doubt, eased by a businessman on a bench. Arrived to my hotel room to find that the good Elijah Cummings had died. I have not traveled alone in a country where I did not speak the language in a long time. It felt easier when I was 20, somehow. Or even 30!