Terminal Conditions

Dearest Rachel –

Daniel fell asleep by eight-thirty last night, and I shut everything down and attempted to do likewise shortly thereafter. We knew we would have to be off the ship by eight, so we would have to start our morning absurdly early in order to make sure we would be able to get everything done beforehand. Fortunately, with that kind of start, we had no trouble with that – unless you count waking up at midnight and two a.m., thus interrupting a solid night’s sleep. I still had to rely on a five o’clock alarm in order to take a shower, though.

While I was showering, however, I noticed a rawness in the back of my throat, and a slight but noticeable tendency to cough and sneeze. It would be just my luck to fall ill at the last moment like this; I had better get out of this country, before they apprehend me for whatever this might turn out to be. One period of confinement in a hotel is quite long enough for one lifetime, and I certainly wouldn’t wish it on Daniel if he’s asymptomatic, too. Best to get home, if I’m truly getting sick, and be sick there, rather than be subject to whatever quarantine measures they might have in mind for me here.

Still, after packing up our carry-on materials (and discovering a bag of prior purchases we forgot to pack in the suitcases we left out overnight to be brought into the terminal for us) and heading upstairs for one final meal, we discovered that we had put ourselves together too quickly and too early; the cafe wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes.

So what did we do while we waited? Well, what do people do on cruise ships that they don’t do anywhere else?

I’m not telling you the score; we were just trying to kill time, not compete. But I will say that both of us need practice… especially Daniel.

After breakfast, there seemed little to do but finish our standard morning ablutions, pack our toiletries and wait to be summoned.  With a flight back to the States not scheduled until mid-afternoon, we would likely be among the last to leave the ship.  On the other hand, everybody had to be off by eight; they have to clean the place for the next group of customers, after all.

We never heard a summons like we did for the first group of tourists with morning flights.  Rather, we heard a general call for those with private arrangements at ten to eight or so, and decided that now was as good a time as any to depart.  I very nearly left behind my keys and hard drive on the cabin desk, but you trained me well to do a final sweep of a room before leaving; we’ve taken everything with us.

In the terminal building, an attendant comes alongside us with a luggage cart; he stands by as we identify our bags, loads them up, and directs us to the customs checkpoint.  We hand over our passports – at this point, the process is getting routine – and are waves through with surprising speed.  With equal quickness, a lady comes up to us to apologize that our bus is not yet available (we’re ashore an hour before it’s expected to leave for Narita; did she think we assumed it would be there for us already?), and to have a seat as other guests headed for the airport assembled.

We take the opportunity to reconfigure our luggage, and what’s in it; Daniel even manages to stash the late discovery (which I anticipated being an extra carry-on) into his suitcase while I cleared it of his dirty laundry.  Good on him; the more condensed we are, the better.  My only concern is that something might get squashed in transit, but that may not be a thing that can be helped.  That taken care of, we connect to the local wi-fi and wait.

I will say that, thanks to the internet (and perhaps more to the point, thanks to having a specific task to deal with there, such as writing to you), I don’t see how anyone ever gets bored anymore.  We hardly notice the time passing before the same lady from our previous encounter comes to inform us that the bus is here and ready.  So we get up and roll out.

Only… we’re momentarily stymied by the escalator.  We don’t see how we’re going to get our bags downstairs on that.  At which point, a terminal staffer rolls by us with someone else’s luggage and – under the assumption that he knows where he’s going, and what he’s doing – we follow him… to an elevator.  Of course there would be one here.

We have to wait a turn or two to get in, and once we are, it’s a squeeze to get three groups in with their carts, but we manage, eventually.  As we roll outside, a guide asks us which terminal we need to be at. 

This is something I don’t remember being mentioned anywhere.  But I do recall the airline, and tell her.  That’s enough to clue her in: “Oh, you want terminal one.”  Ah, just like back at O’Hare; that’s easy to remember.

We load our bags on, with the help of the driver – actually, he does the heavy lifting (not literally, though), crawling into the compartment underneath the coach as we hand him our suitcases – and board the bus.  And wait yet again, as people, generally in groups of two, climb aboard after us.

After checking to make sure that everyone who signed up for transport to Narita is on the bus, the guide instructs the driver to proceed.  It’s a full hour’s trip out there; not unlike that from the Loop to O’Hare, I dare say.  Only here, we’re driving to a whole separate prefecture, albeit a small one among small ones.

We pass by so many buildings at first; warehouses and other business facilities.  We wonder what each is for, and what goes on within them.  I comment that we don’t express this level of curiosity about those we pass in Chicago, to our discredit.  Then again, who does?

After passing things like Tokyo Disneyland, we realize we’re now in Chiba prefecture.  We’re closer to our destination, and things are beginning to look more like suburbs do just about everywhere, but with the curved roofs that make the place look distinctively Japanese.

These are our last moments in Japan for a while, and it’s weird to see people sleeping on the bus.  Didn’t they get enough sleep aboard the ship?  I know things on the road are much the same as anywhere, but there’s that slight difference that we’ll miss when we’re home.

Finally, we arrive and find ourselves at the airport.  We go to a kiosk, and print out our boarding passes… but we get no luggage tags.  What’s the deal with that?  Even stranger, the United counter has a sign stating that they don’t open until around one-thirty, so we can’t get any help here.

We meet another couple trying to do the same; the wife goes to a different counter to ask about the situation, including where to get something to eat (it so happens that they weren’t on the cruise; they’re returning home from three weeks visit with their son and his family in Chiba – so it’s not like they could go upstairs to the cafe this morning like we did).  The attendant admits that, until the United counter opens for business, there’s nothing she can do, but they can take their cart with them to the mall in between the north and south wings of terminal one.  After a friendly chat, we see them off to breakfast; perhaps we’ll see them at lunch later on.

For now, we’re at a bit of a loss; not hungry enough to go eat, but unable to really do much else.  We stand around for a few moments, mildly perplexed.

It’s at this point that someone who looks to be shooting photos of the terminal all but back into us.  He’s actually got it on selfie mode, and is filming himself a he asks me where I’m from and what we’re doing (or have done) here in Japan.  Much as I’m aware of their internal disdain toward foreigners, it seems that Japanese are equally fascinated by us, as well.  I try to be as friendly as I can in my responses, before he wishes me well and goes on his way.

And so, we must go on ours. Daniel sits watch on the luggage while I investigate the mall. I will say that it’s literally not much to write about, but I take a few pictures to let Daniel know what’s up there. However, upon informing him of the banks of gachapon capsules, I decide to pour my change into his hand when I get back (after buying a drink and making more change for him to play with) and set him loose up there. Hey, it’s something to do.

Which leaves me sitting here, writing to you. To be honest, at this point, there isn’t much more to relate to you, so I’m going to sign off until I have something else to tell you about. Besides – and you’ll laugh when I say this, given what an excuse it is between married couples – I’m starting to develop a headache; I should rest myself, and my phone.

Take care, honey; keep an eye on us, and wish us luck. We’re going to need it.