04.12.29 travel to US
It is a little late, but for completeness sake, I should
include a brief description of our trip to the airport on December 29th
of last year. Most of you are probably
familiar with the kind of trouble we have making our flights, as we never leave
enough time and when we do leave enough time something else goes wrong. There is always something, it seems, and this
time was no different.
We had made certain arrangements; we had purchased tickets for
the Narita express that would leave Tokyo
at a little after 2pm which would get us at the airport at around 3pm, allowing
us ample time to check-in, clear customs and make our way to our 5 o’clock flight.
Also, we were almost entirely
packed; R had been packing for days.**
** We had four large bags one large suitcase with summer
clothes--R and the kids were going on to Aruba after our stay in New Jersey as I went back to Tokyo.
Aside from that everybody had a backpack carry-on which contained things
the children insisted on. There were two
kinds of items:
- Very
voluminous items such as large stuffed animals, and
- Unnecessarily
heavy items such as walkmans extra batteries and thousands of tapes (none
of which we knew would be of any real use, as there are televisions sets
in the back of every chair on these long-distance planes and the children
would be entirely occupied watching those and would have little need for
any other entertainment).
It was a very cold day and it snowed heavily all morning and
by the time we left the house the snow actually started to stick in some
places. Roberta had sent Saskia
downstairs to ask the concierge if he could arrange a van to take us to the
station, but December 29th is *the* busiest travel day in Japan as everybody
travels to their ‘hometown’ for new year.**
**The whole country used to be off for a week around new
year but this was deemed too long (what about work??) and now they have only 3
days off—everyone travels home nevertheless and many still maintain the
tradition of visiting a lot of people, making what used to be a relaxing time
for family and friends brief and rather stressful.
The concierge was able to get 2 taxis for us who came at 1
o’clock (Tokyo Station is roughly 20 minutes away). We divide ourselves over the two taxis. I explain to the driver that we need to get
to the Narita express (Tokyo
station is big, so it is best to be specific about what part of the station you
need to be in I was told). To our
surprise the mentioning of the Narita express is met with a complete lack of recognition. I try several more times, trying some
Japanese and some different pronunciations, and Roberta tries to communicate
the same with her superior Japanese but to apparently no avail. They discuss amongst each other, but there is
clearly something they do not understand.
Getting desperate, I tell them to just take us to Tokyo eki (station). This they know. However, they discuss for at least 5 minutes
about the route to take, presumable. (It
is a little hard to understand what is so hard: We live in the center, Tokyo
station is in the same ward as our apartment, it is perhaps 20 minutes away, it
is also (as one would gather from the name) one of the most important railroad
stations in the city, and yet the two taxi drivers must confer about how to get
there?) They decide to follow each other
closely, the one that knows the way will take the lead (this means that they
have to trade places, which requires some more time-consuming maneuvering in
the parking area. Finally we are on our
way.
They took a long route to the station, not at all like the
one other taxis had taken. Nevertheless,
after a while they are unmistakenly getting closer, as I recognize the Ginza district which the station is near. Then, all of a sudden, close to an overpass, they
stop and indicate we are here. However,
we are not at Tokyo
station at all, we are at some other station it looks like a metro entrance,
and a small one at that. But they
insist, this is Tokyo
station and motion for us to go into the entrance and take the stairs
down. Now most stations do have many
exits and some of them are small … is this perhaps a short cut to the Narita
Express? Although I remain skeptical, we
get out. The drivers get the bags out of
the car and put them at the top of the stairs, but there are no escalators,
leave alone an elevator. And when I take
one of the bags down the first flight of stairs, it turns out that there is not
one, but four flights we must descend, and of course I will have to make four
separate trips as the bags are very heavy—we had decided to weigh them before
we left to make sure we would not have to pay extra and they had all just
passed—and the wheels don’t do any good on the stairs. After I bring the 1st bag down and
appear back at the top of the stairs out of breath, the taxi drivers are still
with R and the bags at the top of the stairs.
I communicate with them in my best Japanese (i.e., using some arm
gestures and facial expressions) that this particular drop-off place “really,
really, *really* sucks”. They apologize
and together carry the largest bag down the stairs, which was nice. When I finally get the other two bags down, the
effort has left me panting and I am sweating profusely in my warm winter
clothes. Moreover, the combination of
the long route and the endless discussions as to what route to take and the
schlepping of the bags down four flights of stairs has taken more time than we
anticipated, so we must now start to hurry: there are about 20 minutes left
before our train departs and we are on unfamiliar terrain.
However, much to our relief, there are indeed signs for the
narita express. We go as fast as we can,
R and I each pulling two of the large bags, the children each with their own
backpacks and Saskia and Pascale switching to pull a roll-on carry-on.
I’ll say this much: Tokyo
station and the Narita express can indeed be reached from the entrance we came
in on; there is a connection. But it
requires navigating a most elaborate set of underground passages including (indeed!)
several more stairs. I think we must
have walked more than a mile when we finally arrive at the Narita Express (at
various times Lukas began to protest and threatened to stop, but we were able
to keep him going once again successfully using the ‘bribe-and-threat’ method
of parenting). Despite our good efforts
however, we arrive on the platform at exactly the time when the train is
supposed to depart. We are now all
transpiring.
Clearly, there is something odd going on the platform. The train that has pulled into the station is
much too short for a Narita Express and the platform is a mess; it is packed
with people. We have assigned seats in a
specific car, but there is no way we can make it to that car, there are just
too many people in our way, besides isn’t this train supposed to leave now?? R shows a conductor her ticket and he just
motions for her to get on the train. She
shoves the three children in the train, and I stuff two of our bags in with
her, but they can’t get in very far, as the entire train is stuffed. There is simply no way I can fit in myself, especially
not with the other two bags. The train
is completely stuffed, it bears similarity to the Yamanote-line during rush
hour. For me there is nothing to do but
wait for the next train. Some people
were not as accepting of this fate and so the doors cannot close for another 20
minutes or so because people refuse to get out.
(It turned out that this was indeed not our train. The train on which we had reserved seats had
had mechanical trouble and the train R got into was the replacement, but was
not one third the size. There was a huge
group of people that, like me, had not been able to get on board.) I take the next train which pulls in about 10
minutes after R and the children left.
However, this is not an express train but the local and stops at every
station. (A lot of people wanted to get
in and out at every station, which was rather unfortunate, as there was no
place for me to put my bags but squarely in the middle of the train, thus creating
a rather unfortunate obstacle for the people that wanted to get off and on the
train.)
The local train takes well over 100 minutes to get to the
airport, I think there were no more than 30 minutes left before departure when
I finally arrive in Narita. R is waiting
impatiently for me at the top of the escalator.
(She and the children had not had an easy ride to the airport
either. They had been so stuffed in the
train, that Lukas had fallen asleep on somebody’s shoe, and Saskia had actually
passed out while leaning on one of our bags.)
R had taken the tickets and had checked in, but of course
she could not check me in.
However, she had been able to arrange with the agent that she
would help me directly once I arrived and I did not have to wait in line. I was still checking in when we heard the public
announcement of the final boarding call for our flight. We still had to clear security and
customs. Security was relatively
painless, but at customs it turned out that we should have filled out the cards
they stapled in our passports when we had entered Japan. Each card requires a name, an address, a
telephone number and the passport numbers of every member and the customs
officer insists that we do not take short cuts and fill out each card completely. Realizing that this will take us long, we
sent the children ahead: Run as fast as you can and hold the plane. As luck would have it, our gate is the
absolute furthest gate of the airport, halfway between here and the US, as a matter
of fact. After I finish my last card, I run
to the gate to catch up with them, but Saskia is doing track and field and I
only catch them at the gate. That is, Saskia
and Pascale are at the gate. “Where is
Lukas?” I ask. “I don’t know” Saskia
answers. Panicking that he may be lost
somewhere I drop my bags and start running back. About three gates back, I meet R who has
Lukas with her, thank goodness. Back at
the gate we are directed on to the plane in a big hurry, where we arrive quite
out of breath. For the third time that
day, we are dripping with sweat.
As soon as we take our seat we push back from the gate. When we are ready for take-off, the pilot
makes an announcement that the plane appears to have a little hydraulic problem
and they need to have it checked out.
They taxi back to the repair area, and after sitting there for an hour
and a half, we disembarh and they bring us back to the terminal in buses, where
we wait for another 3 hours until the plane has been fixed. We leave with after a 5 hour delay and have a
smooth ride to the US. For once, I slept quite well.
11:19:30 PM 
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