Departure:
I arrived about three hours early for my international flight. The United airlines website suggested 3.5 as did the FAA and the people at King Street. The woman that checked me in said “You’re awfully early!” with a cheerful morning person smile. I asked about the new restrictions and delays which have been reported, and she said “Oh! Only if you’re flying into England.” Propaganda reaches me. The effect is not lost. I grin at her happily. I went into the security screening area, looking over my shoulder and smiling brightly at Megan, who was still there watching me. I unpacked all my carry on items, removed my belt, necklace, glasses, sandals, and everything from my pockets and walked through the metal detector. The security people still wanted to have a special look at my SL-DZ1200 digital turntables. They wipe them with cotton, and then run the little pad through a machine. It always comes up negative. Once my camera tested positive for glycerine. We stared at each other silently, and I asked,” Isn’t glycerine just something in regular soap and hand lotions?” They looked irritated and eventually agreed with me. No more dirty pictures in the shower for me.
When I was done discussing the better tonal qualities of vinyl over the compact disc with the two eager security officers, I was free to go to the gate. I looked back over my shoulder to see if Megan (who drove me the airport, bless her heart) was still there. I think she was. My eyes are terrible. If it was, we exchanged a final wave and a grin. If she wasn’t then I was pantomiming a hearty goodbye with someone who wasn’t waving at me.
I took the escalator up to the glass and steel atrium-like terminal. A parade of women in saris flowed all around me. None were over 5 feet tall, and the zoomed past me on both sides. By the time I got my camera out, I was only able to get a photograph of the last of them. Her head demurely facing down, arm holding her sheer wrap tightly around her, and the bright, pastel peach color dancing in the blank, industrial hallway.
My flight was delayed. I smiled, and sat down in my chair with a thud. Only an extra half hour, and the woman at the check in counter noticed my frequent flyer mile status and offered to upgrade me for free. I grinned and thanked her. I was tired, and when you’re about to hop on a 10 hour flight which passes the international date line that’s cause for celebration.
Eventually we all crammed ourselves into the plane, took our seats, and we were taking off… [color=#777777]zoom![/color]
Journey:
The flight was uneventful. I slept a lot, watched ‘Treasure of the Sierra Madre’ and episode 2 and 3 of season one of Lost on my iPod, listened to some Chopin, ate around the chicken in my meals, and slept some more. The man next to me got on the plane red and swollen, reeking of vodka and cigars. He was a mess. By the end of the flight he looked a lot better and he offered me his potato chips. Apart form looking into my eyes, touching me, talking with me, and sharing yourself to one degree or another, giving me your unwanted plain potato chips is the direct route to my heart. His eyes were watery, and sad. I wanted to give him my copy of the basic text of AA which I’d been reading a little of, but then he ordered three beers in a row, followed by two little airplane bottles of vodka and he was snoring with his mouth open. I smiled at him, and said a prayer for his heart, and his family. I went back to sleep.
Arrival:
On the way off the plane the man who had been sitting on the other side of my friend with the drinking problem grabbed my arm and had some urgent questions about my ipod for me. I assured him that 30 gigs was more than enough for several movies, and a good deal of his music. He wanted to hold it, I let him. For a moment, his short grey hair seemed to stand up all over his body. I smiled at him, snatched my ipod back and bolted for customs.
I passed into Japan with my documents in order, and no unusual hassles.
Walking from the air conditioned plane, into the air conditioned customs area, and then out into the bright light and wet heat of peripheral Tokyo’s mid morning, I was exhausted. I sat on a bench and lit a cigarette, watching the people crowding up, and boarding busses, the faces of other weary travelers patting their pockets with cigarettes in their mouths, confused at not finding their lighters where they usually kept them. Lighters were taken from them at US security check points, or left behind intentionally. From about 1:30pm on Saturday in Tokyo (which was 9:30pm on Friday in San Francisco) until 5pm (Tokyo time) I watched the sea of people coming and going. I listened to music, smoked a handful of cigarettes, drank a coffee, changed a little money, and waited for a friendly face to appear. None arrived, so I went to the gate, into the inner recesses of the airport, to the domestic departure area and began to recount my trip so far (all which has been written to this point.)
Transfer:
When the flight to Sapporo announced it was boarding I packed everything up and began walking toward the gate. I assumed that I would convene with my friends there, and all would be well. As soon as I reached the gate, Hisa (the head of King Street) appeared and we shook hands. He lead me to the smoking room I’d been wishing they had, where I found Monique, Michael, and Joe. It was hug all around.
The flight to Sapporo was spare and a quick one hour and fifty five minutes. I slept the whole flight, but arrived exhausted. We collected our luggage, and piled into a van for the one hour plus drive into the city of Sapporo. The city feels more like Osaka, and Nagoya, less like the compact electricity of Tokyo. The infrastructure feels immediately familiar and American. Only the odd Jack Jack Jack pachinco palace and the ever vigilant service station attendants standing in uniformed pairs, awaiting your service needs prove we’re not in the US.
At last we arrive and pile out of the van, and into the lobby of what might have once been a very stately hotel. There were a squad of personnel standing around the lobby at attention, but I carried all five of my heavy bags to my room alone. My room key didn’t work, there’s no functional air conditioning, no internet connection, and my laptop’s three prong plug doesn’t fit into the two prong outlets. It’s an older, nice hotel, with two small adjoining rooms, and our beloved, electronic bidet systems for a toilet.
I’m wiped out, and hungry. Glad to be somewhere at last.
[color=#777777]Post script:
I was crabby when I completed the above essay, and hadn’t eaten, and was kinda suffering my usual bitchy post 12 hours of travel / 5 hours of waiting around sweaty airports moodiness. So I thought it would be good to clarify a couple things.
1. The internet connection was delivered to my room. A tidy little mesh bag, with a dsl modem, an ethernet cable, and a phone cable in it. connect it together and voila: l’inter-web
2. The hotel. It’s the Sapporo Arts Hotel. It’s lovely… I don’t know what my problem with it was before. My room has cooled, and I am about to crawl into the bed and sleep like a freshly chopped log for the next 9 hours.
3. Monique loaned me her 2 prong adapter thingy, and it works fine. I went out to Lawson and 7-11 and the other all night pharmacies here, but had no luck.
4. My room has cooled substantially to a groovy 64 degrees. It’s nice.
Time for me to sleep. G’night.[/color]
