Bad Connections

Dearest Rachel –

As you’ll recall, I was hesitant to speak ill of our cruise line, due to a sort of “it’s not you, it’s me” situation, where I was aware that Daniel and I were not their intended clientele, and while the trip – and the destinations, in particular – were wonderful, any sense of not fitting in was entirely on us.

I’m not going to give the Denver airport anywhere near that level of the benefit of the doubt. Bad enough the Daniel thinks the place is cursed because of that enormous bronco sculpture that killed its creator; I’m not sure, but I think he thinks either the sculpture or the airport itself is possessed. “If you knew the truth,” he says. But again, he was convinced that half of Congress would be from March to jail before the end of last year, so I know to take what he considers to be ‘the truth’ with a grain of salt – indeed, an entire salt lick, if my heart can take it.

But I will admit, the place did itself no favors with its connection process today.

Of course, connecting flights are always a hassle. You may remember running like madfolk through CDG on our way home from another cruise some years back. At least, the airline was aware of the delay in our first flight on that occasion, and held the plane for us – and to think, people say the French have a reputation for rudeness!

This time around, however, the delay began on the ground. In fact, we landed in Denver ahead of schedule by nearly half an hour, and as fate would have it, we would need most of it

For starters – and when they told me about this at Narita, I assumed I was missing something in the translation – we were to collect our bags in Denver and re-check them. For all the connecting flights I’ve had to deal with, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with this that I can recall. Granted, this is also a first as far as I can recall of having to go through customs at the connecting airport; normally, that’s saved for when we arrive at our final destination.

Admittedly, the holdup here was partially my fault; we were among the first off the airplane, and after going through what seemed like half a mile of corridors, we arrived at the processing area.  The thing was, we followed others who went through something called ‘Global Pass,’ or the like, which takes a picture and compares the biometric data it reads to that on the passport.  We just assumed that was how things were done these days, but when I tried to use the kiosk, it claimed it couldn’t read my data.  Apparently, this is something that has to be signed up for in advance, and is mostly for frequent flyers.

Thus returned to the regular line for ordinary mortals, we were dismayed to have fallen behind most of the rest of the plane. If things were as slow as at Haneda, we could very well miss our flight home at this rate.  Fortunately, it wasn’t as if there were that many other flights being processed at the same time as were, but it still took a while.

Collecting our bags, too, wasn’t all that terrible, and once we had everything together on a cart, it was a reasonable matter to bring them over to a specific alcove set aside for rechecking baggage (which makes me think this is something relatively unique to DEN, which still doesn’t speak well for them).  It’s  just the whole underlying nuisance of having to go through the process at all, combined with the limited amount of time between flights, that really got under my skin.  And it’s possible that this blossoming cold of mine (or possibly something worse – given how paranoid they are about it over there, wouldn’t it be a kick in the teeth to contract Covid while in supposedly ‘safe’ Japan?) does not help my mood, either.

But the kicker was the security checkpoint we had to go through.  And while it wasn’t that much different from any other we’ve had to deal with when taking off from somewhere, there’s something slightly falling about having gone through – and passed – this routine already at another airport, only to be effectively told by DEN “We don’t care – or trust – what they told you at NRT; we need to check every last man jack one of you again, or none of you are getting home.”

It’s also irritating to have to empty everything out; it’s bad enough Daniel and I each have a carry-on and a bag of purchases from the airport at Narita, but our backpacks have be emptied of our laptop computers (all three of them), our pockets have to be turned out and emptied, and of course, we have to take off our shoes.  There’s something ironic about how the Japanese, who have a thing for taking off shoes while indoors, don’t insist on this process in their airports.

And the worst of it is in knowing that it’s all theatre, designed (supposedly) to make us feel safe, but at the cost of an insane amount of efficiency (to say nothing of the salaries of the TSA agents, who are pretty insistent that all these rules be followed.  It’s no wonder that one of these rules includes a fine for being abusive or threatening toward them, although the amount – $13,910 – seems curiously specific (much like airport departure times.  I wonder how they arrived at that number.

Eventually, we collect and condense the dozen or so trays of our stuff, jam it hurriedly into our bags, and set off for the terminal.  I don’t even have the time to tie my shoes back up.

And we have to hurry, because we have to catch a train to get to concourse B from where we are.  And in order to get to the train station, we have to take an elevator; there’s a bank of them in a fairly large room.  We press the button, which goes off immediately; we don’t realize at first that a car has opened on the other side of the room.  By the time we do, and make a run for it, the door has closed, leaving us with no other option but to press the call button yet again.  And wouldn’t you know it, the car next to the original button we pressed opens up.  At least this time, when we make a run for it, we make it, but only just.

In another irony, the car taking us to our concourse (which again, we have to make a run for, as it’s a ways off from the elevators, and just arrived as we exit) is packed with people in a way that the train cars (although not necessarily the stations themselves, especially in Tokyo) were never so crowded in Japan.  At least the ride is mercifully fast (although I have to have a hanging strap pointed out to me) and quick.  Then, it’s a trek over about a half-dozen people movers before we finally reach our gate, where people are already standing around, as if they’re about to board the plane.

And I still hadn’t tied my shoes.

Look, connecting flights are a necessary evil; sometimes they’re the economical alternative to a non-stop flight, other times, they’re the one way to get somewhere that’s not directly served between your origin and your destination.  That’s just how things are.  And I don’t believe any of Daniel’s rubbish about this place being cursed; sometimes, I think he sees evil where the only true evil is incompetence or something equally petty and insignificant.

But all the same, I think I need to make a point to avoid Denver International unless absolutely necessary going forward.

Anyway, we’re almost home now, honey. Wish you were there to join or greet us. But for now, keep an eye on us, and wish us luck; we’re going to need it.