5/26/14
Tokyo International Airport, Japan (HND)
Ah, the triumphant airport entry, the best part of a successful
trip. I will treat The Journey Home in
its entirety either from LAX or en route GCT.
This entry will contain my reflections on Japan. When I first arrived, I loved Japan. Now that I am ready to depart, not so
much. There are parts of Japan that I
will miss, but others that I will not. I
first thought that, despite the language barrier, this was a place that I could
live. After two days, certain aspects of
the culture have started to drive me insane.
I could never live in city where you are not supposed to smoke a cigar
while you’re jaywalking. Although no one
stopped me from smoking on the streets, I knew that it was not allowed, and I
did not see anyone else doing it.
Likewise with the jaywalking. I
cannot understand, when no cars are coming, not crossing the street. Traffic lights are for cars, not people. People cross when it’s safe. Cars cross when it’s green. Barriers that prevent you from crossing the
street in the middle. Not my kind of
thing. I don’t like their obsession with
order and cleanliness and neatness. I
don’t like the masks that so many people wear.
I don’t. The anti-smoking culture
is pretty bad, some ways worse than New York, others not as bad. However, it is nothing like Jordan or even
Moscow.
When I went through security at
the airport, they put a pair of slides in front of me. Three times the security guard moved the
slides in front of my feet, and three times I sidestepped them. I could tell he would think it rude to tell
me to put them on, so he sort of made a sound and pointed at them. I made a negative sound in response and he
moved them away. Was it really any
cleaner to be wearing the same pair of slides that 100s of people wore every
day than to walk around in my socks? In
Japan, they want everything to be just so, and, while it fits in well with my
previously described definition of aesthetics, and I found their temples to be
very beautiful, it does not work well for me in practice.
I like the obsequious service, but I could
never so “fake polite” like that. The
people are constantly bowing every chance they have, and I find it
demeaning. The Japanese are no longer
servants of the Emperor. Waiters and all
sorts of service stuff still have that mindset.
Japan is the kind of place where, if I’m not watching where I’m going
and bump into a waiter, he’ll apologize to me for being in my way. And bow.
That said, there is a lot of stuff I love about dear Nippon. The train system, both local and
long-distance, is excellent. No matter
how long the trip is, the trains are accurate to the minute. The subway system is as good as New York, and
I did not need to take a single cab today, not even to the airport. The seats are cushioned in all the trains,
and they all have the electronic systems.
The stations are numbered, which we do not do in New York. It’s almost as if Dagny Taggart ran this rail
system, which is ironic, since it is state-owned. I like that they have plenty of clean, public
bathrooms, even in the train stations. I
do not like that there is a last train.
That is pretty much the only way in which our train system beats theirs.
I would also like to discuss the
idiosyncrasies unique to this country.
The first are the bathrooms. They
don’t have soap, the public ones at least.
They have places to hang your umbrella at the Uer and by the sink, but
they don’t have soap. At first, I
thought that that was very disgusting, but then I remembered. They have these electronic seats, with a butt
washer and a seat warmer, both of which I am averse to using. I like toilet paper, and I like a cold seat. If you are using the butt washer, I guess you
don’t really need to wash your hands, but it’s still pretty gross. Every restaurant I went to gave me a wet wipe
to start the meal. I never used it, but
it was still interesting. They also
brought the check out with the food, which I loved. No more waiting forever to get the check in
abject boredom after my meal. If I have
exact change, I can leave as soon as I’m done eating. That leads me to another thing: no
tipping. It is considered an insult to
tip anyone here. I like that the price
you see is the price you pay. I like not
having to carry around small banknotes or large coins to tip people, but I
don’t like that I cannot leave a bad tip for bad service, though bad service
probably does not exist here.
Regarding
the coins, the largest coin they have is, I believe, worth more than any coin I
have ever used. It is worth about 20
times our largest coin that we regularly use.
I like the precision with which people use time. 5 minutes means 5 minutes. Haneda is the most punctual airport in the
world. I like the honesty. In Kyoto, I saw a line of bikes just parked
on the streets, no locks. That shocked
me. The payment for the trams was on the
honor system. I figured that maybe Kyoto
was a smaller town. The Wikitravel “Stay
Safe” section for Tokyo pretty much says that is the safest place in the world,
and doesn’t give any warnings. In Tokyo,
I saw the exact same thing. Unattended
bikes with no locks. That is unthinkable
for a New Yorker. I almost considered
taking one for a joy ride. I, of course,
did not.
I did, however, do pretty much
everything I set out to do. There is no
rush to go back, though I do look forward to returning eventually. I will probably make G7 Complete one of my 40
Goals, so that will be a fun trip.
Sitting in this airport, I am now further east than I have ever been,
and, until I go to Australia, I will not go further east than this. If 2012 was the beginning of the silver age
of travel, 2013 about exploring the world, 2014 was about expanding my
horizons. This year, I will travel
further in all 4 cardinal directions than I have ever been. Alaska will take my further north of west and
my New Year’s trip further south. In
fact, when I set foot in Buenos Aires, it will be the first time I go south of
the equator. Actually, I may have never
even been in the air south of the equator.
It has been an amazing year of travel so far, having visited 8 new
countries, 24 new WHS, 3 new NP, 3 new Olympic Stadiums (plus seeing another),
and a new Canadian territory, and it’s not even half over. My pipe is almost done, and I want to head to
my gate, so I will close. I guess I will
do The Journey Home from LAX.
Los Angeles International Airport, California (LAX)
When 2020 comes to pass, there will be exactly sites places in the
world that have hosted two Olympics: Tokyo and Los Angeles. That was not missed on me as I flew from
Tokyo to Los Angeles (HND-LAX). Yes,
London and Paris have hosted multiple Olympics, but they had each stadium at a
different location. After I closed from
the bar in Akasaka, I headed outside. I
was sore in every single part of my body, especially the ones required for
body, and I seriously considered taking a cab, especially when I realized that
it was raining. I asked how much the
fare was? He had almost no English, so I
opened up the calculator on my phone, and he typed it in. It was about the same as I would have spent
on a cab to Kennedy, so I turned him down, especially given that I could use
public transportation to get to the airport for just the coins I had left in my
pocket with the rail pass. I had to take
three different trains, including the monorail, and I had a little trouble
navigating it all, but I figured it out.
Google Maps has to be to the greatest thing ever invented. Other than my cab fares in Kyoto the tram in
Hiroshima, and some nominal charges for the Tokyo Metro, I did not spend a
single yen on transportation, my rail pass covering everything else.
Without Google Maps, I would not have been
able to use public transportation so efficiently, and I would have had a hefty
cab budget both in Hiroshima and Tokyo.
Oh, right, the taxi to and from the cigar bar last night, but that was
only because it was so late, and I was so tired. I say last night, although it was more than
36 hours ago, since it is still technically Monday now in Los Angeles. When I got to the monorail, I heard an
announcement that the train was about to depart, so I made a run for it. A somewhat cute American was also running for
it with me. We got in just as the doors
closed, and she looked at me and laughed.
I then did something I almost never do.
“Good trip?” She said that it
was. It was only two words, but, other
than sarcastic comments or angry retorts, I never talk to strangers. I don’t even like saying hello to people on
my floor at work.
We got to Haneda in no
time, and I checked in. I looked at the board,
and something was off. The 00:05 flight
to LAX was a Delta flight. I ignored it
for the moment, but it was worrying me at the back of my head, since I was
supposed to be on a NH/UA codeshare, not a DL flight. I breezed through security and checked out
duty free. I considered getting some
sake or whiskey to bring back, but they did not have the security bags, so I
would not be able to bring it aboard my LAX-JFK flight. The only cigars they had were Davidoff, so
that was a letdown. Whether due to
tobacco tax or the premium location, the cigars had been twice what I would pay
in Spain, so I hadn’t bought a box yet.
It means that I will need to be conservative for the next few months,
but I could not justify buying a box of cigars that cost a week’s net pay just
to be used as an everyday cigar. The
gate on my ticket said 110, but the gate for the DL flight on the board said
142.
There was a smoking bar right by
110, so I decided I would have a pipe while I wrote the reflective entry and
then figure out, since I had plenty of time.
I walked to the back, got myself set up, and grabbed an ashtray. Someone came over me and told me that I had
to place an order at the bar. That was
fine, I wanted to try Japanese whiskey anyway, and I knew that I could use my
card. Whatever the price of the whiskey,
it would be worth the admission fee to the smoking lounge, especially since
there were two outlets there. It was
pretty much a free drink. The whiskey
was excellent, as good as any scotch I’ve ever had, and I should probably try
to convince my father to pick up a bottle for the house, though I suppose that
I have already just done that, since I know he will be reading this.
After my pipe, I headed to the departure
board. Once again, the DL flight, 00:05
HND-LAX, was Gate 142, the opposite end of the airport. I didn’t think I had the energy or strength
to make it. I checked another board
along the way. Then I saw it, “0:05 Los Angeles NH 1006 110.”
In other words, there were two HND-LAX flights, both departing at
00:05. That wasn’t confusing at
all. I wondered how often people go to
the wrong gate, try to get on the wrong plane, miss their flight.
As I was waiting, I heard my name
called. I was a little nervous, since my
name never gets called. Was something
wrong with my flight? The agent had a
bunch of tickets. Was I being upgraded
to business class? No such luck. They handed me a card that said the TSA
required I submit to additional security screening. Had I raised some red flag? Or was this just a random screening? I hoped it was the latter. There was no x-ray machine, so I was worried
about having to unpack and repack my bags or that I might lose my lighter. The woman asked if she may touch my
bags? I said that she could. May she touch me? I gave permission. Again, they offered me slides, and, again, I
turned them down. They just swabbed my
clothes and bags to test for explosive residue.
Quick and painless.
We soon began
boarding, and the flight was full, no room to stretch out like last time. As I was making my way to my seat, I heard a
crash, some things fall out of a bag. I
looked up to see a skin color I had not seen since leaving New York. It would be a lie to say that my mind did not
connect those things. Every Japanese
person loaded their bags with extreme precision and efficiency, and I thought
to myself that she wasn’t ready for the big leagues. I sat down and made a playlist of my favorite
Avril and Taylor songs, plugged in my headphones, and put on my eyemask, ready
to lean back and pass out as soon as we were off the ground. A stewardess came over and me to turn off my
phone (strike one), put on my seatbelt (strike 2), and stow my bag under my
seat (strike 3). I knew that I was doing
all three of those things wrong, and I’m sure she knew I knew, too, but she was
so polite and apologetic about it. I
just put my phone away, keeping the music playing.
I woke up about 4 hours later to find my tray
table ajar. There was a sandwich and a
bottle of water wedged in, how nice. I
had some of the water and went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I took a much needed U and returned to my seat to
find the Japanese next to me had gotten up.
I could only assume that they had waited the 8 or so hours while I was
sleeping before they get up because they were too polite to disturb my
sleep.
The sandwich was actually three
half sandwiches: ham, egg salad, and chopped liver. I then did something that no Japanese person
would do in public. I read that
something about Japanese culture was that people there are constantly concerned
about not doing anything that would reflect poorly upon them to other
people. I am the polar opposite. I don’t give two fucks what strangers give
about me. I don’t even give one
fuck. I used my fingers to pick out the
protein in between the bread and eat it.
I then licked my fingers clean.
The second meal service was soon beginning, and I got the beef
stew. The problem with the meal service
on these big flights is that I eat quickly, and, once I’m done, I’m a prisoner
in my seat until they take away my tray.
I needed to U again, and my fingers reeked of chopped liver, so I didn’t
want to go back to sleep, which would make my hair smell like chopped
liver.
It was almost an hour before they
took away the trays, and I couldn’t use my computer, either. Then, the line at the bathroom was too
long. I might have gotten a little bit
of sleep at that point. When the line
dwindled down, I went to wash my hands and take my much needed U. Oh, and with all my trips to the bathroom, I
did another thing that no Japanese person would ever do. Not wanting to constantly fumble with me
shoes, I forewent them, just wearing my socks.
I didn’t really care, but I’m sure that I was being judged. When we finally landed, again, all the Japanese
people unloaded their bags with complete efficiency, and again another crash
from the black woman. Did she really
think that if everything fell out when she was loading it that nothing would
fall out when she took it down? I saw that
she had all these small bags, unlike the large shopping bag I had had for all
of my acquisitions. We got off the
plane, and I realized that I was in the famous Tom Bradley International
Terminal for the first time.
I went
through my Global Entry process with no hassle.
When I handed the agent my ticket, he asked to see my passport. That was new.
“Where in the god-awful State of New York were you born?” “Right in midtown Manhattan.” “I’m sorry.”
I laughed. “I was born in the
beautiful state across the river.” “New
Jersey?” He confirmed that and told me
to have a nice day. I put my headphones
back on and made my way to Terminal 7 for my connection. It was a bit of a walk, but I lit up an Opus
for the walk. Once I got to the
terminal, I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will
close. It has been a great trip. On the way home, I always think about how I’ll
answer the question people will inevitably ask, “Did you enjoy yourself?” Without a moment’s hesitation, I will say
that I did. Other than Kyoto, I pretty
much loved every minute of it. There
were plenty of disappointments, but I certainly got my money’s worth in
enjoyment and fulfillment value. Next
stop: Boston and Maine with my mother to get the last brown (North Atlantic
NPS) stamps.
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