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Heads up: This is a long read but there are pictures!
Will I, or Won’t I?
It is the end of 2024 and I have been awarded two weeks vacation. At my part-time job at the airlines, I have worked a full year to earn this vacation, and I bid for the first two weeks I can get. Those weeks are January 4-18. I get a few extra days off and my two weeks turns into three. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it. Part of me wants to travel the world. Part of me wants to hibernate for the winter.
I have a few co-workers who are going to Japan. One has been before and wants to go back with a non-employee friend. One has always wanted to go. One is flying the bus (the airbus, a type of international jet.) One is taking their wife. One is visiting a friend. And One more is just along for the ride.
And then there is me. The non-committal, hesitant but intrigued, One. The group talks about flying out of Vegas, to Narita, where there are still business class pods open for lowly, lucky employees like myself. They will split up to travel, so we all have a shot at first class dining and lay flat beds and endless wine and larger tv screens.
Some of them have discounts through their second part-time jobs at a hotel. They can split the cost of cheap luxury rooms. The daughter of the pilot can offer a few spots to her friends, in the pilot’s hotel room.
I have no money. I work for a regional airline. I’m barely paying minimum payments on credit cards. I have to hear that this trip is dirt cheap. I am willing to sleep in pods but will entertain staying with the group if the price is right.
In the first two or three days of 2025, I meet Jenny at a coffee shop. We both bring our laptops and I still haven’t decided I am going. Jenny gives me Christmas gifts; A twilight meme t-shirt, a magnet with two titmouses that says “Ain’t as pretty as a pair of titties,” the novel “The Ornithologist’s Field Guide to Love,” and a pack of stickers for my planner with an abundance of profanities. I am swooned.
She tells me her dad is good with time. Her and Tyler have a plan. It will not be like Amsterdam. And plus, they will only be there a week, then her and I can pick someplace new to spend the rest of my vacation and hers. She has traded almost all her shifts to have off this week for Japan, and was awarded the second week for vacation.
I am thinking this will be low stress. So what if I get stuck in Japan an extra day or two. I won’t lose my job, I’ll just be. Just be.
I am convinced to go. We check in for our flight at exactly the moment we can, 24 hours before our flight. The priority list is according to check-in time and Jenny beats me by nano seconds. She is first on the list, and I am second. But that is just for our first flight to Dallas. Tyler and his friend are right below us.
I hug Jenny by, and drive home, realizing I am going to Japan the next day. I go to dinner with Josh’s family for his sister’s birthday and Josh tells them I am going to Japan. They are all shocked and intrigued.
“Well,” His mom says.
“Why Japan?” His step dad says.
I tell him I wouldn’t go if co-workers weren’t going. I figure this is my chance.
“You have to go to Disneyland Tokyo” His sister says.
I tell her I will. And that I did in fact find out it is the cheapest Disneyland in the world.
I guess I am going to Japan.
What’s wrong babe? You barely looked at Las Vegas.
Our short regional flight to Dallas fills up fast. There are only 4 seats. Jenny, her dad, John, me and Tyler get seats, but Tyler’s friend Bryce doesn’t. Tyler chooses to stay back, and drive to a nearish airport to go to Dallas via another route, with open seats.
I feel slightly guilty. This was their trip and I crashed it, and I got on the plane and they didn’t. I hope they all make it, otherwise I will never let myself live it down.
And now it’s just me, Jenny and her father, dressed in his Pilot’s uniform, with his perfectly balanced rolling carry-on setup. (He offers it to me, to feel the magic of the perfectly balanced fulcrum, and it’s true. It is light and effortless to pull. I hate my stupid four wheeled rolling carry-on until I realize, I’d be hauling a duffel bag and backpack if it weren’t for Jenny’s parents giving me their old luggage.)
Still, I do love physics and efficiency. And this pilot’s baggage is the epitome of the natural forces that please me.
There is a sentence I didn’t expect to type.
John gets first class, and gives up his seat for Jenny. I am somewhere in the back, but totally fine with it. I’m going to enjoy my two hours of solitude before the large group gets back together.
In Dallas, we have time to eat and say hello to the large airliners leaving the international terminal. We specifically hope to see the Airbus 380, but it is hidden behind jet-bridges and terminal walls, and I think I only see the massive tail wing. John and Jenny are nerding out over the planes we can see. I am told “fun-facts” and they are fun-ish but they are in one ear and… you know.
We board our flight to Vegas, just as Tyler and Bryce land in Dallas. When we land in Vegas, I find the smoking section (yes you can still smoke in the Las Vegas airport) and we wait for the two boys to meet us before we all go to John’s hotel room on the strip.
While waiting, we do find out Jenny and I are at the top of the priority list on the flight to Japan. If those business seats stay open, they are ours.
“WHEEL OF FORTUNE!” John and Jenny laugh about the wheel of fortune slot machine game, that apparently John always plays at least once, while in Vegas. They are filled with inside jokes, and witty one liners, and Jenny speaks of me as though I can keep up with the quick wit, but it is false. I am flailing. I am ready to lie in bed and wake up to business class seats.
The group is whole once more, and we take an UberX to John’s hotel. There are two queen size beds and a long, long couch along one wall and the boys kindly offer the open queen bed to Jenny and I.
The weirdness of the situation is not lost on me. I am staying in a Vegas hotel room with an Airline Pilot who is about to retire this year, his 22 year old daughter, and her two male friends. I’m the weird 30 something in the middle, who has clearly invited herself along, and isn’t adult enough to afford her own room, which she would very much like to afford. Instead I am, in the eyes of the complete stranger, at best, the oldest daughter and at worst, the young wife, to the well dressed man with three grown kids.
As a group we decide we all want In & Out burgers. The line is horrendous. We sit and eat outside, and even though it’s the desert, it’s still January and it’s a bit chilly for my taste. Jenny and John want to return to the Piano Bar that they had so much fun in, one time. We find it and are told we must purchase a drink to sit down. I get a $12 dollar beer. There are two women playing dueling pianos. They are asking for song requests. They get a little bit into a song and then abandon it. Maybe they are tired. Maybe they are drunk. Maybe they are about to quit. Whatever the reason, they are terrible. I want to chug my beer, pay my tab and leave to end the assault on my person, and my favorite songs, and even the songs I don’t care about.
We do finally leave, and the group agrees, that was terrible. Jenny and John are so sorry, and so dissappointed, and the night must be salvaged. The kids stay out on strip, but I want to finally lie down. So John and I go back to the room. I try to play it cool like this isn’t weird. John’s a nice guy. I shouldn’t feel weird about this. But alas, I do. When we make it back to the hotel, John goes up to the room and I smoke some cigarettes outside and call Josh.
When I finally go back up to the room, John is snoring in his bed and I crawl into the empty queen bed in the dark and plead for unconsciousness, and hope I don’t fart in my sleep. Or I hope that everyone else farts in their sleep, too. Vegas carries on without me, and I fear that, if places have feelings, I will never recover from my rude dismissal of one of my favorite cities.
First Class, for Zero Class
I’m being harder on my self than I should be. We are at the Las Vegas airport and whatever Tyler & Bryce had to do to get to Vegas the day before, has messed up their priority listing. They are number 20 and 30. Which means Jenny and I will get first class, Tyler will get premium economy, and Bryce will get main cabin.
The plane is boarding, and I am holding my first class ticket, group 1. I am so excited, and yet, Tyler is pissed next to me. He’s mad that they should be in business class. He is mad that when he rescheduled his flights, someone messed up his check-in time. He is not saying out loud, that if I hadn’t come along, everything would have worked out beautifully. But he doesn’t have to, I’m already thinking it. I dig deep and try to muster the logic or the apathy or the zero-fucks to give. I settle somewhere between, “The gods have spoken!”
I tell Jenny, I will see her on the plane. I’m going to go check out my first first-ish class seat ever. I scan my Group 1 ticket with Group 2 and 3. I find my pod on the #2 side of the plane. Not a window but that’s fine. There is a zip up bag waiting for me in my seat, with a comforter and pillow. There is also a set of head phones, in their own case. The pod is spacious and has buttons to push, and cubby holes, and I do love cubby holes, and the best part is I spot my complimentary toiletry bag. A round fabric tube filled with chapstick, toothbrush, a sleep mask, ear plugs, and lotion.
Confession, I already knew what this was going to look like. We’ve all walked past the business seats, but I also researched the difference between Business class and Flagship First Class. I won’t be able to tell you, seeing as I’ve never been in actual First Class but according to opinions online, plebeians and main cabin paupers aren’t going to walk past your pod. The food will be better, the wine selection will be more expensive, and you will be taken care of as soon as you walk on the plane. Where as in business class, where my seat is, the menu tells me I will be fed three courses, twice. There will be an evening snack delivered to me, and another snack left out in the galley. I am given a hot towel before meals and those meals will be eaten off of real dishes, with real forks, next to real wine glasses. The differences seem negligible to me.
I sit eagerly in my seat, watching the hundred or so passengers file past me. Jenny still no where to be seen. I’m wondering if I should go save her. Or if I should prepare for going to Japan by myself. But no, John is driving the bus. She wouldn’t not go. She wouldn’t not go for a boy. She’s just being a good friend. She’s calming Tyler down. Or maybe, Tyler is one of those people who board the plane last, regardless of their seat.
I text Jenny, ask if she’s okay. If she needs help. If she needs to hear it, she doesn’t need to cater to Tyler. Don’t let Tyler’s bad mood ruin the trip.
It’s a text I would have sent to my younger self. Like that time, Chasity and I started driving to Gatlinburg in the middle of the night. Just for the sake of watching the sunrise over the Smoky Mountains. And then my (now ex-)husband called me at about the half way mark. Asked me to come back. To not go. We were probably arguing. And me not going–me coming back was going to be a sign of my love for him. So, I turned the car around, chose him over Chasity, in essence. I let a him ruin a trip. I let a very stupid and cruel boy ruin what could have been the beginning of many trips, and a different life, and a different relationship with my friend.
Yeah, so, I’m pretty sure I am texting my younger self, when I text Jenny. Who, in minutes, shows up, all smiles, in the pod next to me. I ask if everything is okay, and she says, “Oh yeah. The boys are in the back, and I’m going to switch with them half way or so, so they can lay down.”
She is cool, calm and collected, but it is apparent in a couple hours, that she would rather be in premium economy with Tyler, than in first with me. I am in my own little pod. I am not conversational. I am content watching movie after movie. I wake up at one point, and a strange man is in the pod next to me now. Jenny has traded places. Tyler has declined an opportunity to swap with Jenny, and Jenny has decided she would rather offer her seat to a strange man.
I’m so aware, that I could have switched with Tyler. That they could be in first class together, if I just plucked myself out of the way.
There are readers of this that will fall on both sides. Some of you will tell me I’m being daft. I have every right to stay in business class and enjoy my self. Some of you will, likely not say aloud, but to yourself, Xine, your 30 something! Your wisdom prepares you for moments like this when you can do the honorable thing, let little Romeo and Juliet be together. Let Jack and Rose in the same life boat! Right the wrongs!
I don’t know what the best thing to do is. It is, either, improve someone’s situation at my own expense, or carry on with the weight of having known that I could have improved someone’s situation and didn’t. Tell me there’s a secret third option.
In a moment of haste, I try to remove myself from their trip. I text a co-worker who will join us in Tokyo the next day. “Is there still room for one more with you and Nelly?” He texts me back, no, they downgraded their room so there is only space for them two. I am stuck. Or rather, Jenny and Tyler are stuck with me.
The bar(s) at the end of the Universe.
John and Jenny have been talking about a bar, well, two bars actually. The first, is in the basement of one of the airline crew hotels in Narita. It’s a nondescript bar that serves a famous (among airline crew) “Flying Salmon.” It’s draft beer is self-serve. One places their order for food on cards that check the box next to the item, and the chef yells broken english from a window through the wall when your order is ready.
“Did he say dumplings?” Some one stands up to see if the dish is dumplings.
“I think he said Mei Fun.” Some one else conjectures, while they wait for their Flying Salmon.
We order a few dishes, to try a variety, and almost everyone enjoys a beer. We meet the pilots and flight attendants that not only flew on the plane with us to Narita, but others who have come from other corners of the world. They know each other. Have known each other for something like 30 years. This is their meeting place. This 100 square foot bar in the basement of an average hotel in Japan.
It is 8 pm and an option is presented to us: Do we head out to Narita, try to go to the second bar, or do we stay in and save Narita for the next day. John stays in the present bar and catches up with old friends, while the rest of us decide we will go to bed and get an early start in Narita tomorrow.
All four of us stay in a single room together, Tyler takes the cot. And before we all lay down, Tyler shows me what he brought on the trip. It is the coloring book I made for Twilight memes. Not only did he buy it, but he brought it. And because of this, I am able to see it in real-life for the first time, in Japan of all places. I am endeared.
Narita, is described to me as approximately the size of Georgetown, Kentucky. Small but sprawling. Everything is small compared to Tokyo. When we arrive, the bus drops us off at Narita Station, in a downtown area with Japanese restaurants, a McDonald’s, and street art. John is going to show us the street that takes us to the Naritasan Shinjo-ji Temple.
The stores morph from modernity to antiquity slowly. The street winds crookedly down a hill, while the temple’s steeple rises on the adjacent hillside. Touristy gifts line the streets. Restaurants display resin versions of their dishes in glass cases. A market fillets live eel for anyone to watch. I do not partake in the watching.
We stop and explore. I learn that 1,000 yen is roughly $7, which to my great surprise, means all of the beautiful things before me are affordable. We find the Jet Lag club not yet open and peak through the windows. Jenny takes a photo outside the doors, under the sign. Tyler and Bryce practice their limited Japanese.
The temple entrance is at the bottom of the hill where the street levels out. John leads us through the grand gates, and up a steep flight of stairs. At the top is a large covered cauldron, large like a hot tub, that smokes while people waft the smoke over themselves. I want to waft the smoke over myself, but am not sure what it means, or who gets to do it. I do not want to be disrespectful. Beyond the cauldron is a three story pagoda, quintessentially Japanese, in design. It looks to be closed to the public and possibly under construction. Then there is the temple, two to three stories high, long and wide, with entrances at multiple points. We are still following John, so I am glad when he walks in as if we are allowed to walk through the gold doors.
Inside, there is a long hall that wraps around the inner temple. Beyond ornate windows, is a large room with gold pillars, wooden planks on the far wall, a mini-van sized drum in the corner, and figures that I do not recognize. Several dozen people kneel or sit on the ground around it all. I see signs that say no photos, and assume this is a ceremony which I am definitely not allowed in. The group finds the entrance to the inner temple, and they follow directions to remove their shoes. I follow their lead. We are given bags to carry our shoes into the inner temple where it isn’t quiet, so much as hushed. We walk around, looking, and then contemplate taking a seat.
We find a row in the back of the room where we all sit criss-cross applesauce and chat about what the plans are for the day. The room fills up and it’s as if everyone else but me knows what is going on.
Monks emerge from behind the far wall, clad in robes, carrying bells, chanting. They get into position, backs to us. It is discordant but soft. It grows in intensity without much fanfare. Then, I am shocked when the large drum is struck and it is suddenly silent. I feel my heart in my throat.
The ceremony continues with the igniting of a fire. At some point, a half dozen people at at time line up and hand off their backpacks and purses to monks, who take the items to the fire, wafting them back and forth and returning them. I want to hand off my bag. I want whatever the fire can offer, whatever the monks are willing to expel from my belongs. I do not know if I can partake, as an American, as a tourist, or as a idiot to their culture. So, I stay seated.
I learn later, that I witnessed the The Purifying Flames of Ogoma Prayer. That I could have handed my bag off, to make it a talisman that protected me in my travels. That this esoteric Buddhist ceremony that has been held daily since its founding over a thousand years ago, would have burned away my earthly desires.
When the ceremony ends, we walk the grounds. There are figurines that look like headstones to my gringo eyes. It is reminiscent of a cemetery in appearance, but not in ambience. We pass koi ponds, and cherry blossom trees not yet in bloom. Jenny takes her customary image with pigeons, (if you don’t know, check out my Amsterdam blog.) We see more temples, but do not walk in. On our way off the grounds, we are stopped by a guard figure who speaks to us in Japanese. We interpret his hand motions as “You shall not pass.” So we turn around and go another way. The guard chases us down, clarifies with limited english, we may, in fact, pass, just not on the right side (as we Americans are want to do). We head down the staircase on the left side and see that on the right, is a dozen or so monks holding an parasol over a single monk, walking up the stairs to the temple.
John needs to head back to the hotel because he needs to fly the bus back to Las Vegas. We gather our things at the hotel, and prepare for our trek into Tokyo. We say good bye to John as he meets the crew at the airport shuttle.
It is after 4 pm now. We stop by the Jet Lag Club. We walk in during their first hour of being open and have the bar to ourselves. We meander through the tiny space, reading signatures from crew from all over the world. There are images of the bar-mascot, a dog named Inop, who passed away last year. There is a short motorcycle in a glass case. The draft beers are almost completely covered in airline crew lanyards and expired badges. Jenny picks out a t-shirt and I decide that if we aren’t going to stay for a drink, I will buy a drink for the next person who walks in. It rains on us as we hike back up the hill, with our rolling luggage and backpacks. I did not bring an umbrella.
There is some confusion as to which train will take us where we need to go but a man spots us, and offers direction in English. We pick out a hotel in Tokyo on the train. We are a little confused but it looks like we have two rooms, for three nights, and the total cost is only $360. That is $30 a person, a night. Which is insane to me. It is night time when we ride into Tokyo so I don’t know what I’m looking at or where we are in reference to city center, but it is still raining and it has all the Blade Runner vibes I crave. I am simultaneously in the future, and in the past, and in the present and the universe is large in that way that makes me feel large, too.
When we settle into our hotel, we find the convenient store, the smoker’s room, and the most adorable accommodations equipped with robes, slippers, a menu of additional services, including an in-room-masseuse. Jenny and I decide to opt for the 60 minute (and $50) service. I am thinking that I can enjoy this.
I am wrong. My massage begins first and the masseuse tells me I am very tight. There is a language barrier so all I can say is yes. After she moves from one spot to the next and our limited English repeats itself, we are both laughing. Her at me, and me at myself. I don’t know how to tell her to soften it up. To not worry about the knots in my muscles. I don’t know how to tell her those are my emotional support knots. They hold me together.
It is a brutal experience and a part of me thinks I deserve it. I hope that it is one of those situations where the pain leads me to some hard earned prize, but I’m not sure I’ll ever recognize a prize that asks for me to release the hold on my stresses completely.
Tokyo Day 1: There are rules.
I wake up before sunrise, and watch the landscape transform into Tokyo proper, framed by a rainbow. I stare at it for hours, waiting for Jenny to wake up. The city is endless. I do not see Mt. Fiji, but I suspect my room window is just a clear morning from spotting it in the distance.
Once the group is up and moving, we opt for the all-you-can-eat buffet in the hotel. It is roughly $17, which is steep, unless you tend to pocket snacks for later, which makes it feel more like breakfast and lunch. And I am in a foreign city, with relative strangers, who are more than a decade younger and sprier than I. I will need snacks.
Our first stop is teamLab Planets. There is no chance I can help us navigate. Trains are in Japanese, color-coded and assigned letters, so I may eventually get the hang of it, but for now, I’m so aware that I don’t know how to say any of the words and have absolutely no shot at learning the Japanese letters. Ergo, I’m following along without question, carrying a winter jacket, my stolen snacks, a backup power bank, sun glasses and water all in a tote. I am unusually prepared. Admittedly, my fear is I will loose the kids and not that they won’t be okay, but that I won’t be.
They are all in hoodies, nothing but their phone in their pocket. And they feel perfectly adequate. I have a sweater on, and I’m realizing, with the coat and sweater, it might be too much. It must be 50 degrees outside. No one could have predicted this. The stress of making the wrong wardrobe decision makes me want to smoke. As a smoker, I can’t smoke in the streets. I am told this by my fellow travelers, but also, there are signs, “No smoking and walking.” Instead I must wait for designated a smoking room.
TeamLabs is something suggested to me by my friend and fellow author Lisa Tirreno, who, when I told I may come to Japan, I also told I may “hop over” to Tasmania, near-ish to her, to see an art exhibit/lounge for ladies only. It is so like me, to pretend I will do things.
TeamLabs is also on the kids’ to-do list. It cost $26. We are greeted with a short movie explaining the rules. We may go in any order, but the water-related exhibits offer lockers to hold our shoes. We choose to start in the garden.
The Floating Flower Garden is a large mirrored room with orchids and air plants suspended on fishing line. The air plants raise and lower slowly so that if one wanted, they could walk through the curtains of plants. The kids and I take photos. The photos de-evolve into silly awkward photos. Fun is had.
The Moss Garden of Resonating Microcosms is next. It is a small space, relative to the Floating Flower Garden, but is neat none-the-less. We push giant eggs that wobble slowly, as if they are much, much heavier than they appear. Their melodies are tinny and low, and we must strain to distinguish one from the others.
Next is the Infinite Crystal Universe. We take off our shoes and walk long hallways with little light. When we enter the room, long thin lights twinkle and synchronize with music. We follow a path to a larger space where a small crowd stands and watches. Colors and patterns morph around us, bouncing off more mirrored walls, giving the impression that we are in the center of something beautiful and limitless. It is hard not to take photos. I make the atypical decision to use my cellphone data to video call Josh.
Then, there are water falls at the top of inclines, rooms filled with colored spheres, soft padded “black hole rooms,” and a space filled with knee high water where koi are projected onto the surface, and as if by magic, can interact with people. When the koi run into my legs, they explode into a splatter of paint, and if I am patient, I can watch that splatter turn into a flower. Life begets death, begets beauty, begets life.
When we leave, I find a public bathroom which is cleaner than I expected. The toilet is automated with heat and a bidet. There is a smoking section behind it and I am ready for the next location, although I am not aware of what that is, exactly.
The kids are looking for something. I think it is food, but we walk into a giant superstore. There are groceries, and home improvement products, and best of all their are pets for sale. They are they highest priced items I see in the vicinity. We walk through a Uniqlo, and past markets, and finally find a restaurant. There is a kiosk at the entrance and we don’t know what to do. In no time, an employee comes to the rescue and sets us up at a table for 4.
None of us realize we have found the best and cheapest Sushi Bar with the conveyor belt and everything. We place our orders on tablets, and the sushi shows up in minutes. Plates are $2-3 and we can’t stop eating. After a stack full of plates, we spend maybe $35 combined. It is a highlight of the trip, although, admittedly, it is riding the coat tails of floating orchids, mirrored orbs, and infinite light shows.
The light is fading as we arrive at the Asakusa Kannon Temple. One of its many highlights is the street of vendors that lead to its front steps. The storefronts come alive against an indigo sky. I spot many traditional Japanese outfits. I find gifts for family back home. I reach into my bag for some snacks and am told (in Japanese) that I cannot eat in the street. It is another well posted rule to follow. I don’t hold it against them though. I’m not really that hungry.
Near the temple we take the time to read the signs. There are fortune telling games we can play. There is a tube of sticks, and after shaking the tube, we pull a stick with a number on it. We find the corresponding drawer with that number and read the english translation of our “BAD FORTUNE” no. 67. (numerically 13).
“Weak-ned tree has lost leaves, branches, they have to wait long until go get recovered. Having excessive desire to climb up the ladder to clouds, your mind get confused. At last you may be out of peace and safety, you should be more careful at your way. Stay alone, being unknown to the other people you have hold problem inside. *Your request will not be granted. *The patient keeps bed long. *The lost article will not be found. *The person you wait for will not come over. *You had better to stop build a new house and the removal. * You should stop to start a trip. *Marriage of any kind and new employment are both bad.”
But we have no fear. We’ve read the instructions and the Japanese have given us an escape from bad fortunes. We can tie no. 67 to a rack designed for leaving behind bad luck. We don’t have to carry this bad news with us. We can leave it exactly where it found us.
Our night ends at the Tokyo Skytree, which is very, very tall. It offers a view of Tokyo that humbles even the mind that understands the size of Tokyo. When a city is presented to you at night, and its twinkling street lights and windows fade into the horizon, almost mimicking stars, you are looking at a very, very an enormity that is hard to wrap your head around. My mind almost dismisses it entirely, as if I just ignore the facts in front of me, I can’t be terrified of great things.
Tokyo day 2: I am already won over, and it’s only our second date.
Tyler wants to take us to a Denny’s. He uses google and finds either the same one he found three months prior or a similar one. It is charming and characteristically American, except that everything is better. I hate to admit it, but Japan is better at the American breakfast. We spend about $5 on a variety of food and have unlimited espresso, tea and water.
Jenny wants to take us to a Confucian Temple, and a Japanese Russian Orthodox Church. Both are beautiful, although the Confucian Temple is closed. To my surprise, she speaks some Russian and is permitted to give our group a tour of the icons of the Church.
We all want to go to the Imperial Palace. The walls and gardens are expansive and impressive despite being the middle of winter, but the palace ends up being mostly hidden and it is a lot of walking for not a lot of pay off.
We want to go to a cat cafe. A long with strange vending machines, it is one of those things that we think will be on every corner. It turns out to be very hard to find, and slightly expensive. With our entrance fees, we are given free refills on coffee, tea and soda pop. The cats are color coded, to let us know which ones we can pet, and which ones will let us know we can not pet them.
There is a part of Tokyo called Akihabara that is known for anime, manga and electronics. Bryce leads us to a store that is narrow, but also 8 stories tall. It’s levels are divided into categories of anime in all forms, including porn. I explore it all because I have nothing better to do while the kids look for specific books, and figurines.
Bryce and I decide we want to go to an area where there is not only a Mahjong cafe, but the Ghibli clock. Bryce wants to play Mahjong, and I want to see the Ghibli clock come alive at precisely 6 pm. There is some confusion as to the order of things and I end up walking to the clock by myself. I am a bit bummed, seeing as I have followed everyone to all of their things, and no one has joined me in this small, 5 minute display. I don’t even take a video. As if keeping it to myself is my best ammo at anyone who could have otherwise come.
Shorly after the clock ends it’s show, it is time for me to check in for my flight for the next day. I go to a Starbucks for the free wifi, treat myself to a slice of cake and a coffee. I do not anticipate any trouble. There are 40 seats open. My thinking: If I do not get business class, I can hold off and try again the next day. What I do not see coming is this: even though I check-in the very second that I can check-in, I am 37th in line, of more than 70 standbys. What started as a choice to make leisurely, is now a panic-inducing reality, that I could very well be stuck here for days.
This news, plus the mild feeling of abandonment, sours my mood. I find the Mahjong cafe and watch the kids play a few more games. I also realize there is wifi and a smokers room in the cafe, so I could have skipped Starbucks and come here all a long. There is a selfie of all of us taken in the cafe, and I am very clearly disgruntled in the background. Love that. Please put that one in the scrapbook.
There is one more place that I want to see before I am consumed with my own efforts to leave. It is Shibuya Crossing, the busiest street, the busiest pedestrian crossing, in the busiest city in the world. Tyler and Bryce are tired and ready to go to bed. Jenny is much more attuned to my bad mood and is willing to go with me to the crossing despite being tired herself. I am apathetic to anyone joining me and have a new-found confidence in going it alone.
However, the group decides to all go. We cross the infamous street, in all directions because we can. I find a place to smoke where the walls only conceal the streets and the Shibuya skyscrapers illuminate the cramped smoking “room”. I walk to the Uniqlo and buy josh and myself some wool clothing. I don’t know why I consider this an appropriate gift for him. He does love Uniqlo but does he care if it’s purchased from the busiest intersection in the largest city in the world? Probably not.
I meet back up with the group and we have Krispy Kreme donuts. It is an American book-end on the day. I tell them that I might not make it on the flight tomorrow. They want to know what my plans are if I don’t. I get the impression that if I am gone, they will downsize to one hotel room. Save some money. Stay a few extra days.
Day 3: Disneyland and the standby’s odyssey home.
I tell Jenny, that I am leaving the hotel at 8 am. That I am waiting for no one. That I am going to see Disneyland before I have to find my way to the Narita airport by 3 pm. She wakes up late, and insists on inviting the boys, who are not even near ready. They still need to extend their stay at the hotel, with or without me. When it is 8:30 am, I am beyond frustrated and snappy. I tell them I am leaving, they can meet me at Disneyland. Jenny almost makes it with me, but in the elevator on the way to the subways, Tyler calls to say they can’t extend their stay. The hotel is booked full. She hugs me and leaves me so that she can take her luggage to a new hotel with the boys.
It is an bitter experience, to be late and alone but I suck it up and try to enjoy, first a subway train so crowded I have a true sardine experience, and second, a nearly empty and sun-filled train ride to Disneyland. I have all of my luggage with me, so my first mission when the train drops me of, is to find luggage storage. This proves to be a complicated and exasperating experience. First the lockers near the entrance only take coins and I do not have enough. So I walk back to the train station only to find that the atms do not accept my foreign cards. I ask multiple people about lockers that accept card or atms that accept foreign accounts.
The language barrier proves insurmountable. I spend my limited time finding luggage storage on my own. Eventually I discover my metro card balance can be used to unlock a locker. I finally get everything sorted out and am finally on my way back to the entrance to Disney land. I wait through security only to find out I need to buy tickets online. This is no way to buy a ticket in person. So I am once again delayed in a parking lot, using my data to purchase my ticket. When I finally make it in the park, I receive a text from Jenny that they are on their way. That they will arrive in 15-20 minutes. I try not to focus on the fact that all of my efforts have been in vain. I do have enough to time to ride a jungle themed boat ride, before they arrive so that’s what I do.
I am surprised to find that there is zero English. All of the rides, the signs, the instructions, are in Japanese. I guess I don’t know why I am surprised, it is just another instance of my expectations being selfishly self-accommodating. Disneyland Tokyo is very affordable, however. I have slice of beef pizza and a Coca Cola for $6
I meet up with the kids near the Disney castle. We ride a short roller coaster in Toontown. We eat fries at Tomorrowland for $3, where I also find a desert and a souvenir cup combo for $4.
We walk through fantasyland and ride the spinning tea cups. The lines are getting long, and it is coming to a point where they must decide which 1-2 hour line they are willing to wait in. Either way, I won’t have time to join them. I still have to figure out how to get to the airport.
I hug them all good bye. I thank them for letting me tag along. I grab my luggage and follow google instructions to an airport shuttle. It is unclear how to buy a ticket for the shuttle and of course the one that is parked when I arrive is not the right shuttle. So I wait in a long line and hope that there is room for me, despite not having a reserved seat.
When the correct shuttle arrives for the Narita airport. I am the last to board and I am told that I can purchase a ticket on the bus. I do not have a seat and sit on the floor in the very back between the bathroom and two small children sitting behind their parents.
When I arrive at the airport, I am still a little early so I find a smoking section outside the airport. When I finally walk in, I wait in line and am eventually greeted by ticket counter agents that tell me to come back at 5 pm. It is barely 3 pm. The flight begins boarding at 5:20. I am told, they won’t issue my standby boarding pass unless they know there is space on the plane. Which as of this moment, there is not. I am 34th, with only 32 seats available. I resort to calling Josh, and smoking outside and sitting in the airport lobby. I walk through stores open to the public and notice there are no power outlets for free and public use.
When it is finally 5 pm, I hang up with Josh and go back to the ticket counter. I find a long line of standbys. I am asked which position I am in. I am told I will make it on the plane. I watch as lower priority standbys who have been stuck in Japan for days are turned away. It is 5:20 when the group of 2 in front of me is called. If they are willing to split up, one of them will take the last seat. They dawdle and their non-response is taken as a decline of the seat. Which in turn, means the seat is mine.
I can’t believe my luck. And yet, I don’t even know that I have a seat. I am just given a green light to wait for a seat at the gate. I’m not even sure I can make it through customs or security in time to make it to the gate.
I do make it. The flight is delayed enough that I watch multiple standbys get assigned before I am assigned very last: a middle seat, in main cabin, in front of the bathroom (my seat doesn’t recline).
It is the epitome of non-revenue travel. It is the joke of employee benefits. We fly first class in and last class out. John is watching from a distance, on employee resources, and congrats me on the last seat. Calls me lucky. And despite my seat assignment, I do feel lucky.
The odyssey is not over of course. I still have two more legs to get home. And by the time I land in Las Vegas, my segment to Dallas, and my Dallas segment home has been cancelled due to a winter storm. I am near frantic, hoping to catch an earlier flight out of Vegas, to Phoenix, to Charlotte, to home but I mess up in customs. I mention that I have jerky in my backpack. I don’t know why I do this. The amount left over from the convenient store on the second floor of the Japan hotel is not even the size of my palm. I’m an idiot. They pull me aside and make me wait in a room with an 80s movie on the TV and signs posted everywhere that I may not use my cellphone in this area. I don’t have time for this. It is a joke. I have to wait with others, who have to wait for their checked bags, then I have to have my bags scanned and it is only after the fact, that they find the “jerky” and say, “Oh, this is all you had to declare?” I’m irate and nonsensical when I finally call Josh to tell him I’ve landed. I’m very difficult to speak to and I give up. Tell him I’ll call when I know what’s going to happen to me.
I have to go through security again, take off my shoes, relinquish a bottle of wine I did not finish on the Narita flight. I have long missed the Phoenix connection. I call my supervisor at work to help shift me from my original cancelled flight to a flight from Las Vegas to Charlotte. There are zero seats but at least this way I can get set up to be rolled over to a later flight, which is something I can not do for myself. I am waiting at the gate, side-eyeing a flight to Miami. I decide, that even though I probably won’t make it on the Charlotte flight, I don’t want to be stuck in Miami, either. Hell at this point, I don’t want to be stuck anywhere. The charm is lost, the luster is gone, I just want to be home. I want what no one can guarantee me.
I am shocked to hear my name called after the Charlotte flight boards all of their passengers. There is a seat for me on the plane. I text Jenny, and Tyler, and John. John texts back that he has never seen someone so lucky. Because I am the last on the plane, they have run out of overhead space. They take my rolling carry on. I tell them I am flying standby, and won’t know where my final destination is. They have zero sympathy and take my bag, with all my clothes and souvenirs. I will not see it for several days.
I am still not in the clear, however. I only have twenty minutes between this flight and my next. The good news is, there are 100 open seats open on my last segment. And I will get first class for the 50 minute flight. It is classic non-rev whiplash. The bad news is, I still have an hour long drive home because the flights to my home station were cancelled, or delayed or full. I don’t even know at this point.
I make it to my last flight, despite the short connection. I drink wine at a window seat in first class. I eat the last of my snacks–what they didn’t take from me in customs: cheese and bread. Josh picks me up at the airport, and Kentucky is covered in snow.
In retrospect, I should have taken my chances in Tasmania. I could have bucked up and gone to Melbourne and seen a friend. I could have flown standby on partner airlines for the first time. I could have seen Sydney. I could have waited for a better seat. I could have taken my time. Found my way to the Ladies only Lounge at the MONA.
Things could have been better. I could have had more chill. But no.
There is something about being stranded, that makes the odyssey home too tempting. Almost certain failure is more tantalizing than the unknown. I knew the way home and grasped at straws to make the familiar trek back. It payed off. I got a burst of endorphins every time the universe gifted me the worst seat on the plane, at the very last minute. I gave up my belongings the moment the universe, said, this is the cost of this seat. How much do you want it?
I wanted it. I wanted the hard-won battle for hard-won battles’ sake.
When I arrive home, I am overjoyed to see Josh and Roadie and our home covered in snow.
I am also a bit lost and confused. I have a whole other week of vacation. And now I have no chance of going anywhere because I can’t fly out of my own station. The feeling of letting myself down seeps through my skin. Why didn’t I just stay in Japan? Why didn’t I attempt to fly some where else? Why did I throw away a vacation week as if I didn’t wait all year for it?
A few days later, I hear from Jenny & Tyler. They fly through Doha to Barcelona, then to Madrid to meet John for a long crew layover. They make it back exhausted but fulfilled. I quietly wonder if I will ever give my self that sense of fulfillment again. Is it a me problem? Is it the difference of age? Is this what mid-thirties wisdom gives us? Save up your energy? Be grateful for the worst seat. Don’t attempt the unlikely, unless it’s barely better than disappointment.
I reach out to my boss to switch the vacation week that will otherwise go wasted, with a week that will enable me to spend a weekend in the woods with the Lexington Ladies Lit book club. She is kind and gives me the switch. It is not an exotic destination but it is another first. The first time I will be able to spend all weekend with women that I otherwise see once a year. I will work my closing shifts for a week and then disappear again.
When friends and family ask me about my trip, I tell them how efficient Japan is. How clean and quiet the biggest city in the world has managed to be. I tell them about how the train and subway cars, despite being crowded and busy and chaotic, are quiet with a peaceful solitude offered amongst strangers. I tell them about how toilets, even public ones on the street, are clean, and toilets flush automatically in a timely fashion, and sink faucets with sensors work as you expect them too. One does not have to trick a sensor into working.
I tell them about, when a train car empties, the people do not rush the elevator. They form a single file line, and later-comers walk calmly to the end of that line. They ride the elevator up on the left, leaving the right side for passengers in a hurry. The trains are efficient, the restaurants are consistent, and the culture is both accommodating and self protecting. There aren’t trash cans on the street because producing trash is discouraged. You can’t eat as you walk, or take food to stores. You sit and eat at a restaurant and then they take your trash. You walk or stand on the street. That’s it. And what do they get from this? Clean streets.
Even as a smoker, I wasn’t banished so much as subjected to strict guidelines. I was accommodated but on their terms. And this was not a country that hated cigarettes. In Tokyo alone, there are 20,000,000 smokers. There is just a place and time for it.
Mostly, I am sad that I didn’t know more before I went. Japan won my heart without even trying and I feel as if I rushed out its welcoming arms, like I didn’t enjoy every minute in its warm and peaceful embrace. Japan deserves research. It deserves a soft plan, and an ambitious itinerary. It deserves, at bare minimum, a google search that reveals the temple you’re walking through is more than 1000 years old. That the ritual you are witnessing is open to the public, that you can hand over your bag! Japan deserves enough days to spot the elusive Mount Fuji. It deserves a bullet train ride to Osaka, and a silly selfie with Godzilla.
When a place is trying to keep you, let it. Being the luckiest person is not going to look like the worst and last seat home. It will look like your friends asking you to wait for them while they extend their hotel stay. It will look like Disneyland not immediately taking your luggage, as if you should have left it at the hotel.
A gift from the universe will not look like sitting on the floor of bus, literally forcing your way to the airport. It will look more like a ticket counter agent, kindly and gently telling you, this is not your flight home. And if you ignore all these signs, sure you’ll find glimmers of luck and fortune. A seat here, a seat there. But you’ll miss out on so much more. You’ll miss out on the true gift, of being stuck somewhere wonderful, and being given a second opportunity to go anywhere in the world: the true gift of flying standby.
If you’re thinking this doesn’t apply to you because you don’t work for an airline, and therefore, you don’t fly standby, I will say only one thing. The only difference, is the illusion of certainty and control. You paid for something just a little more convincing, something that looked a little more like a firm grasp on your future.
A better bet is tempting. I agree. We love to know what’s going to happen, and what is going to happen if that doesn’t happen. But I’m also convinced, at some point in our old age, it’s the most tempting of all…to run from a gift from the universe. I think…I’m scared of a good thing and I’m even more terrified of a great thing. And I guess, after all this time, I’m further and further convinced, that great things can’t be bought or even sought after. They will not present themselves in a window display, but will be the quietest voice in the room. They will whisper, while everything thing else yells for your attention.
I don’t think I have a solution for this, except to try again. To go to another place, or go to a place again. Practice listening to the opportunities being whispered to you. When luck feels like regaining control of a situation, consider that luck might actually be, finally letting go.
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