Across the Ocean

After about 20 hours of travel and another eight hours of undisturbed sleep in an actual bed, I can safely say that I am alive and well in Kumamoto, Japan.

A suggestion to anyone planning to take a similar journey overseas: Schedule layovers of at least two hours on domestic flights and at least three hours on international flights.

My flight from Kansas City to Chicago was on time. However, I only had a forty-minute layover, so by the time I found my gate for my flight to Tokyo, it was already boarding and I didn’t have anytime to grab a soda or snack from any shop or check my laptop for an update on the KU game. Go Jayhawks! Instead, I walked straight onto the huge Boeing 777 for my 13-hour flight.

I always have a moment of ‘What the hell am I doing? I must have been nuts to think this was a good idea. I’ll just have to turn straight around and go back home.” This moment happened as my flight to Tokyo was taxi-ing down the runway and I was squashed in a middle seat of a five-seat row in the middle of the plane.

Side note: Sitting directly behind me was a tall Asian man with the greatest mullet I have ever seen – apologies to Billy Ray – and wearing a denim members only jacket with a red shooting target and two crossing rifles embroidered on the sleeve, underneath were the words ‘Top Gun Champion 2003, 2004.’ Awesome.

Back to my mini meltdown. My plans to turn directly around and head back home had disappeared about three hours into the flight, as I decided there was no way in hell I was subjecting myself to this horror again anytime soon.

About two hours into the flight, we were served lunch. I was given the completely un-illuminating choice of chicken or beef. I choose chicken, which turned out to be Chicken Curry. Though only slightly edible, I still believe I made the correct choice after viewing the still unidentifiable beef dish my companions on either side were served. About halfway across the Pacific, we received a snack composed of ramen noodles, though I politely declined, the smell surrounding me turning my stomach that was already tied in knots. And finally, about an hour from Tokyo, we got one more meal. This one was either hot ham and cheese sandwich or vegetarian lasagna. It is difficult to screw up ham and cheese, though they did their level best. It stopped me from devouring my shoe at any rate, which I suppose is an airline culinary success.

I said that this last meal came about an hour from Tokyo, which is literally correct. Unfortunately, it would be another two hours before we touched down. After about twenty minutes past our intended arrival time, the captain finally came over the intercom to announce that we had been put in a holding pattern above the airport because of high winds. Many false starts and thirty minutes later, we touched down in the Tokyo-Narita Airport; fifty minutes late with only forty-five minutes to my connecting flight.

Anyone who has gone through customs knows my story by now. With our delay, my flight arrived with three others combining to form a never-ending line at customs. It moved pretty fast, but by the time my passport was stamped and I got my luggage through declaration, I had missed my flight to Fukuoka by twenty minutes.

I have to admit that after fourteen hours in the air another hour in customs hell, I was quite agitated. The help I received from the Japanese airport workers however was incredibly helpful and did a lot to bring me back from the ledge. Though I am sure the help I inquired after never quite fell into the job descriptions of any of the people I asked, they were all super polite and helped this poor, ignorant American get where I needed to go.

And where I need to go was another flight to Fukuoka leaving in a little over an hour on a different airline and all the way across the airport at a different terminal. I didn’t have any trouble catching this flight, though my trouble was now in getting the message to my godfather who was waiting for me on the flight I missed. I tried to call his wife at home, but couldn’t figure out the phones at the Tokyo Airport. They wouldn’t accept my AT&T calling card nor would it take the 100-yen coin I tried to use. Not wanting to miss my plane, I left the phones and tried to leave a message for him at the ticket counter. Their polite assurances that they would try to get the message to him didn’t fill me with encouragement. I was almost there, however, and just had one more flight to go.

The flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka was only about an hour and a half and blissfully uneventful. I had a window seat and no companion in the aisle seat next to me, so I stretched out and laid down the entire flight.

Of course, when I arrived in Fukuoka, my godfather was not there. Having been told by the ticket counter that I had canceled my previous flight, he was on his way home. Thankfully, I was able to get through on the phones at the Fukuoka Airport and called his wife who told me which bus and bus-stop to take to get to Kumamoto and assured me that my godfather would be there to pick me up. So, yet another form of transportation had entered the mix and this time there were no English translations accompanying the announcements in Japanese. Again, another polite Japanese woman went out of her way to help me out. Seeing me clutching a piece of paper with my bus stop written in Kanji and English and with out a doubt looking incredible nervous, she promised to tell me when my stop came.

Finally, an hour and a half later, my bus stopped and I got off. My Godfather was waiting and drove me to his home only a few minutes away. It was now midnight in Japan and as I said earlier I had been traveling for about twenty hours. I said quick hellos to my godparents, was introduced to their dog and home, and fell in bed.

More to come: My first day in Japan.