The Moment of Truth

Dearest Rachel –

Do you know how I said earlier about how “that ship has sailed” when referring to the fact that you and I would never be able to visit one of Japan’s notorious love hotels together? About that phrasing…

I’ve been rather dreading this moment, and not because today I officially become old enough to be eligible for all those offers I’ve been getting from AARP lately. Okay, maybe not just because of it. No, I’m on edge because this is the point when everything could all go sideways, and all the plans that had been made, and the effort put in to assembling this trip could be wasted.

Admittedly, it’s not as if I’ve been sick, like when I tried to go on that cruise from Basel, but the fact that I’ve also had false positives in the past still scares me. There is literally no convincing me that something can’t happen that could put paid to the whole plan… until it doesn’t, and we’re actually aboard the ship and underway.

It doesn’t help that I’m not entirely convinced that the letter from Lars will see us through. I’d been assured by our agent that it would, and on the strength of that, we went ahead and got on the plane, rather than conceding the situation and canceling everything. But is everybody that looks at it going to smile and wave us through? It only takes one person to give us the side eye about this to scuttle our chances, assuming they’re in a position to do so. We’ll be dealing with a number of people as we check in; any one of them could be the point of failure.

At least, thanks to our little tour beforehand, we’re at the cruise ship terminal long before we were scheduled to be here (between three and three-thirty); presumably, this will allow us some extra time to get processed, one way or another, before the real crowds arrive.

At this juncture, I should mention the fact that while Tokyo is one of the biggest cities in the world, its cruise ship terminal is fairly modest. Unlike Harwich’s utilitarian building, Barcelona‘s cathedral-like monument to nautical travel or the absolute campus, split between Miami and Fort Lauderdale, the terminal building for Tokyo, while elegant in a characteristically Japanese style, is surprisingly small, at only three stories. Clearly, this is not the way for most tourists to visit the city, and they appear to make no real effort to encourage it to expand.

There aren’t a whole lot of people here, either in terms of guests, or those who are waiting upon these guests. There may be four or five tables, and queues of perhaps two or three couples (yes, they’re mostly couples) in front of each table. We’re directed to have a seat in one of at least fifty chairs in front of these queues, almost all of which are empty as well. I barely have time to shrug off my backpack and jacket before we are summoned to one of the lines, requiring me to immediately recollect my things.

As we stand, waiting, I get out the documentation we need; boarding passes, my vaccination records, and Lars’ letter regarding Daniel’s medical rationale for refusing. I’m hoping it will be enough. One thing I’m mildly concerned about is the fact that, in order to go, I took another jab when I was tested the second time on Thursday. Despite having heard awful things from Daniel and Lars, about the mRNA vaccine, I’m not so much concerned about its effects on me (since I’d already been jabbed twice before with no ill effects to speak of) as I am about Daniel’s disapproval, for some reason. To be sure, he was excepting of my decision when they first came out; “you do what you feel you need to do,” he shrugged at the time. But now, I think he would say something to the effect that I ought to know better at this point, and for me to submit just so that we can go, when we’d already all but resigned ourselves to canceling the trip shows a lack of either resolve or principle.

I don’t know why am so concerned about whether he would think that or not; after all, I’m the parent here. And yet, these are the things I dwell on from time to time. However, if he even notices the fact that the records I hand over indicate a third vaccine (or rather, a booster shot), he doesn’t comment upon it. In any event, our information is apparently in order, and the gentleman processing us bids us an enjoyable trip, and waves us through to the next checkpoint: the testing station.

This is it; the moment of truth.

Again, I shouldn’t have to be worried about this. Neither of us are experiencing any symptoms, and we were only tested three days ago, both of us returning negative results. I understand that those tests are not recent enough for the ship to accept, so we have to do this again now (and I’m grateful for the fact that these are apparently included as part of our tour, rather than a separate charge, that we would have to take care of on our own if we had just arrived in the city), but every time I take one of these, I worry about what will happen. I know I keep talking about it, but you remember it yourself, and how one false positive can ruin everything.

The medical staffers are friendly to the point of effusive; when they ask where we’re from, the gentleman (a Colombian by nationality), mentions that he spent some considerable time in Chicago, and loved every minute of it, while his female partner confirms that by saying that she will be moving there for a while, and has been hearing all manner of good things about the place. I explain that it’s probably the combination of it being one of the biggest cities in America, but also being a part of the Midwest, where people are just… friendlier than, say, on the coasts. I probably have no right to denigrate New Yorkers and Angelenos so, but I challenge them to argue the point with me. Even if they do, they would likely end up proving my point.

While we’re making this small talk, I watch the slide that he’s dropped our respective samples on. It turns light pink as the nasal liquid spreads across it, uncovering first one red line, and then another…

Negative. And also negative.

We’re cleared to board.

There’s no real palpable sense of relief, no figurative weight dropping from either of our shoulders. In fact, at this point, we both have to pick up our backpacks and sling them back onto our shoulders, as we still have another checkpoint to visit before we can board. But at that point, even the hassle of trying to tie a credit card to our sea passes (and there is a bit; I originally registered my Discover card online to be linked, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t work now. I know that the card generally isn’t accepted overseas, but if it went through online, shouldn’t it work here?), as well as some confusion regarding Lars’ letter (yes, they’re going over that a second time, and while the girl waiting on us apologizes profusely multiple times, she still has to run to her supervisor with each complication that arises), is so much less of a concern. It’s now merely a question of when, rather than if. And at this point, we’re still actually ahead of schedule.

I’d like to think you would’ve been proud of me for keeping a level head throughout it all. To be sure, I’d have preferred you be here to verify that, but… that’s how things go.

Anyway, honey, our Quest awaits.

Keep an eye on us, and thanks for wishing us luck. We’re still going to need plenty of it, though.