But then what happened?!
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| Goodbye Kiss |
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| Mount Fuji, seen during the day, from our hotel room |
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| Chopsticks with coins attached |
After checkout, I broke my last ¥10,000 note down into various bills, but mostly into coins. I had a plan for adorning some of the gifts I bought with coins attached using silk cord. Plus, the designs, colors, and textures of the coins were really interesting, and it felt more worthwhile if they came from Japan, rather than a local currency exchange. We also picked up some more of those delicious macaroons, from the hotel, to give as gifts.
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| From the car en route to the airport |
The ride to Narita International Airport took an hour and a half, and we took a few pictures along the way. Our ride from Narita a week prior was at night, so this time we got to see more on the route. Not unlike back home, it looked a lot like driving along any freeway; businesses, industrial areas, parks, et al. lined the roadway. The Art Girl and I spent most of this time with our own thoughts.
Here are some of the pictures that turned out the best from our ride:
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| Wowow! |
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| Static picture of the interactive map (link to right) |
On arrival to Narita, we gathered our bags, and bid our drivers farewell (there were two, presumably one was either in training, or was there because she spoke better English than the actual driver). A quick exchange of 'arigato' and a couple bows later we were treading into the building. The look was fairly similar to what we're used to at O'Hare in Chicago; most signs included English, and there were check-in kiosks lined up. Unfortunately, however, we had not done the online check-in and didn't have our e-ticket numbers, so we found someone to help us figure out where to go. Just a few steps from the entrance there were other people to help people get checked in.
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| Last minute shopping? But of course! |
From the bag check, and after a quick stop at the restroom, I started to think about the immigration process. That's when I remembered our embarkation cards that they needed to match us up with the emigration records. "Where was that card," I thought to myself while waiting for The Art Girl to meet back up with me. I started going through my bag and wallet, but couldn't find it anywhere. With me still digging through my belongings, The Art Girl returned, and wondered what I was looking for. After explaining what I was looking for and trying to impart why I was getting panicky, she started looking through her stuff as well.
What felt like a long time passed during all the digging and stressing when The Art Girl asked, "Is it that thing they stapled in our passports?" My mind reeled and I quickly pulled out my passport. Sure enough, there it was, neatly stapled in place. I felt the muscles in my body begin to relax, but I had stressed myself out enough that just resolving the issue wasn't going to be enough. We needed to get through security, and find somewhere that we could get a drink.
Thus, onward to security we went. The whole process was, again, very similar to in the US, except you don't have to remove your shoes, and you feel a little more like a human and less like an animal. You do, however, have to pull out your tablets and phones similar to a laptop, which is worse when you're The Geek and have two tablets, two phones, and a laptop, but not insurmountable. We experienced no issues or delays at security and proceeded to emigration, where again, it was smooth and easy. I tried expressing a humorous thought on thinking I had lost my embarkation card, and while polite, the woman at emigration didn't seem terribly amused, or more likely didn't really follow my string of English sentiment.
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| Waiting at the gate |
The food court was fairly busy, and we were at that point of hungry where the first stall was where we ordered (hot ham & cheese and a BLT). Since we were running low on Japanese currency, we did at least take the time to order carefully enough to have enough yen left over for two beers (mine a dark Japanese ale, and The Art Girl's a lager). To further punctuate our state, once the food was ready, I brought it back to our table, and at the same time we each picked up a half of our sandwiches, took a bite, realized we had our sandwiches reversed, set them down, and passed our plates across. It was pretty funny looking back on the synchronization of our actions. Soon after, our stomachs less empty and digesting beer, still clinging to some stress from earlier I began to relax. Off to the gate we went where we relaxed in the mostly quiet terminal.
Our flight with ANA (All Nippon Airways) was smooth and like clockwork. Everyone was loaded onto the plane efficiently, the plane was prepped and all paperwork handled in time for a punctual push-back (something I'm not terribly used to at O'Hare). We proceeded direct to the runway, also refreshing as I'm no stranger to tarmac delays, and took off straight away.
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| Sunrise over the Pacific Ocean |
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| Nearing Los Angeles, overlooking the ocean |
Our plane landed in Los Angeles without issue and upon deplaning there were a number of people waiting just outside the jet's door calling out names, one of them called us. Being new to international travel, we hadn't expected it but they provided us with expedited immigration and customs cards. The building concerns of making our connecting flight to Chicago began to fade and we made our way to the immigration lines. Gone was the Japanese politeness, true to the officials in Chicago, the LAX uniformed security staff were despondent, brusque, and repellent. They did, however, direct us towards the special short cut line, which we were grateful for as the regular queues all had at least 50 to 100 people in them; ours had only four.
Again, to our delight, the movies held little amount of reality with the border patrol official reviewing our passports and declaration/immigration cards then waving us through. There was no string of probing questions, or crafty digs to pry into our travels. All those ISO 9000 audits had me prepared, but the build up was for naught. On to baggage claim we went, where we found one of the passengers from our plane; a sizable, aging surfer, who happened to be drunk enough that the flight attendants had cut him off long ago. He was having a difficult time tracking the bags as they went around, and checked every black, standard looking, suitcase to roll by. First he spotted a cardboard box that was presumably his then a camouflaged gym bag. We spied The Art Girl's luggage and I hoisted it from the carousel for her. Not long after I could see mine traveling towards us. Drunken Surfer honed in on it, despite the bright yellow plastic bags I had tied to mine to make it easier to distinguish, and was trying to grab it. I moved in announcing, "It's mine," and, "that's my bag," a few times, but he seemed determine, until I grabbed hold of it and hauled it away from his grasp. He stumbled out a few words about them all looking so similar (despite significant size, shape, and adornment differences), but we just let it go and headed to customs.
Continuing to dispel Hollywood, there was little ceremony with the Customs official. We pulled our bags over, said a friendly "Hello," handed him our declaration card and waited for a few moments. The cheerful, yet authoritative looking man, skimmed both sides of the card, double checked our passports, and said, "Welcome home," with a smile. It seemed we were going to have no trouble making our connecting flight after all. Just around the corner from there was a baggage re-check station and shortly after we were once again waiting at a gate.
Upon finding a seat, The Art Girl and I had a prompt reminder of the differences back home compared to where we were. There was so much noise and obnoxiousness going on around us it was beyond comparison. Our plane was already there and unloading, so I was grateful that I wasn't going to wait long to get out of the mayhem. Just to accentuate the situation a gate attendant used the PA to announce information about carry-on bags, "We have a full flight today. When we begin boarding this plane, your carry-on must look like it will fit to me. If it does not look like it will fit I will check it with this," she referenced a sizing box, "and if it is too big, we will check your bag and you will go to the back of the line." Her tone was stern, and brash, "That includes first class. I don't care who you are, double check your carry-on now and if it isn't going to fit, see me to check your bag." On and on she went, repeating herself, "Again, if your bag looks too big, I will pull you out of line, and you will go to the back to wait again."
I wondered, "Why are people always in such a hurry to be in their cramped seats anyway?" Likely it is carry-on storage space I assume, but since I always try to keep my carry-on small enough to fit under the seat in front of me, it isn't really a concern for me. With the woman continuing to bark instructions at us the plane was emptied and cleaned, then came another person apologizing that the pilot was asking to have something looked at closer before boarding and that they would be with us shortly.
We waited, and the crowd grew; there was a flight to Hawaii arriving at the gate in the adjoining waiting area as ours. In front of us was a family of four, husband, wife, and two kids. They seemed like that over-the-top parenting team that does everything by the current trend, and had their anxious kids doing school work on their MacBooks. The two boys were restless, whiny and kicking as they sat or laid across the seats. The thumping noise was starting to be aggravating. Worse, however, was the group that sat behind us. There was an obese woman with many children floating around her (five or six, but it felt like twenty). They were very loud, screaming, running around, bumping into strangers and constantly knocking into our seat backs. The mother was only interested in laying down and not seeming to care about how disruptive the children were.
Now sure, kids will be kids, but this was far over-the-top. Plus, I have this thing where certain noises drive me crazy, especially repetitious sharp sounds accompanied with feeling (such as a shrill squeal followed by a small body abruptly leaning into my seat from behind). It's called Misophonia and it really sucks. Essentially it is an uncontrollable, irrational response to noises that triggers your flight or fight response. Generally speaking when it happens for me, if it doesn't feel like it will end soon I feel the fight urge come on and consciously direct it to flight. Usually by putting in tight fitting ear buds with music going to drown it out, or in this case I ultimately had to physically remove myself, due to the physical component, and went for a walk. On my return I had calmed back down and spotted a better spot to sit, not in the middle of all the chaos.
By this time they had announced that a maintenance crew was coming to fix our plane. No ETA had been provided, but they did direct people who were connecting in Chicago to see their service desk. More and more time went by and we were starting to wonder if we were going to be spending the night in Los Angeles. Another gate attendant, after another thirty or so minutes, showed up and announced that they believe the repairs were complete, but they needed to run an engine test, which would take another thirty minutes. I spotted a woman roll her eyes in disgust and thought to myself, "No, really, let them test the engine! It's kind of important."
At long last we were boarded, and on our way to Chicago in a far from full plane. Most of the connecting people had found other flights, which made for a more relaxing feel on ours. Thoroughly exhausted, both The Art Girl and I fell asleep almost immediately only to wake up a little while later. Unlike our other recent flights there was no meal, or even provided snack, but at least there was a complimentary beverage. Across the aisle from us a person requested a little bottle of red wine and when the flight attendant asked for their credit card they responded, with surprise, "I have to pay for this!?" I'm not sure what rock they had been living under, but they certainly looked old enough to have known better. Either way, it amused us to watch.
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| You can just make out Chicago in my blurry night shot |
The kids, and more the dogs, were beyond excited to see us. Everyone we came across wanted to hear all about everything, and we loved recounting everything in person for them. That night we unpacked and gave our girls all of their gifts. Seeing the delight in their eyes was worth every yen we spent.
We are already talking about trying to figure out how to go somewhere else next year and do this all again, blog included. The next time, though, we hope to take the kids with and allow them exposure to other cultures. We're not sure how to make this possible financially yet, but that's our challenge to overcome. If you have any suggestions on where you would like to read about us going, please comment below, though, right now we're leaning on somewhere in Europe. We'll see.
In the meantime, I bid you a fond farewell and safe travels!
-Geek
