Plans, Trains, and Automobiles

I’ve pulled all-nighters. In the time before, they were used to make sure that all of the available beer was consumed. Shortly thereafter, they were used to make up for the studying not done due to the beer consumption activities prior. In recent years, I’ve ridden all night on various endurance missions, but have spent more long and sleepless nights travelling from home to wherever (sleeping on a plane is really just being unconscious, so it doesn’t count as sleep). This trip is more of that, as you can’t fly halfway around the hemisphere and not take a mess of time to do it.

After the quick flight to O’Hare and a quicker lunch at Chili’s (not my choice), we boarded a 747 for the flight to Tokyo. I hadn’t been on one for decades, I suppose, although the novelty of being on the storied aircraft wore off as soon as I passed the stairway. Since my seat assignment wasn’t upstairs, who cares?

The international airport at Tokyo Narita is similar to every other large international airport, except that there’re more Japanese in attendance. With each successive meter we progressed away from it, things got progressively weirder. Such is the nature of Japan. We caught an earlier flight to Hiroshima, caught it barely in time, and had to be escorted through security and to the bus that would take us to the plane. On that bus was another of our crew, who was flying in through Singapore. He’d been here before, and I hoped he remembered how we figure out the final legs.

He didn’t.

The Hiroshima flight was half full, but all of the seats were assigned from front to rear, leaving the back of the plane empty, which is where I relocated once we were in the air. By this time, I’d been up for 22 hours and still couldn’t sleep, so I watched the clouds go past, and then counted golf courses once the cloud cover broke. It’s obvious how little space there is here. Cars are really small. Hotel rooms are really small. Compared to Americans, the Japanese are really small. Available land is really small, yet I could see golf course after golf course from the plane. As one disappeared from view, we’d start to pass over the next.

In Hiroshima, I pulled 10,000 Yen from an ugly teller, and got a single crisp, new bill. With each purchase thus far, the bills have been perfect, crisp and new. The coins are well circulated, from a single yen to 500 Yen, about seven bucks. The bills start at 1,000 Yen. I also got a well travelled Where’s George? Dollar as change at the base coffee shop, but won’t release it until I’m back CONUS.

Approaching the 24 hour point in any trip my wits are flagging, yet most critical. If I can’t wrap my sleep deprived noggin around the logistics, I’ll end up on some disputed island in the Sea of Japan, instead of in my cozy business hotel room. So very carefully, my crisp 10,000 Yen note went into the bus fare vending machine and not the soda and beer vending machine right next to it, or was it a bento box fish and rice vending machine? I can’t remember.

The further away from Tokyo you get, the less English you’ll encounter, be it people who can speak the language or dual language signage, so selecting the right bus could be stressful. However, if you can mostly pronounce the destination to a local, it all works out in the end, and we found ourselves still at Hiroshima, but 40 minutes away at the train station. There, we had our choices between trains and train lines, ticket tellers or ticket vending machines, and three levels of trains, one of which might take us to Iwakuni at 100 miles per hour or in the complete opposite direction at the same velocity. In retrospect, we should have taken the local train instead of the bullet train, as it would have brought us to the station a two minute walk from our hotel, instead of the station a twenty minute cab ride away from the hotel. The train was cool, though.

Anyway, I made it alive and unscathed and in bed in only 27 hours, ready to face whatever arises, for example, the really small hotel room, and the really, really small bathroom in the really small hotel room.

The first thing you notice is the electro-mechanical toilet.

Pause.

The next is the faucet on the sink, which is long and moveable, like the one in your kitchen. This is so that it can be swung over to fill the bathtub. The shower wand also runs off of the sink tap, so there’s just one set of controls. The tub is almost as deep as it is long, and it’s not much long to start. The room is efficient, compact and serviceable, and included a cool Japanese robe and slippers, the better to wear while heading downstairs for a steam.

We went to dinner last night, to a place that was a Korean-bred fusion of a fondue joint and a grill your own steak place. Shoeless and crammed around a low table, we ordered the Full Satisfaction Meal. This provided us with as much beer as we could consume and as much meat as we could cram down our collective gullets in 90 minutes.

Immediately, charcoal braziers were dropped into holes built into the table. Seconds later, we were surrounded by beer. Just after that, small plates of meat arrived – various cuts of beef, chicken and seafood. Our job was to grill the food and eat the food, drink the beer and order more beer, and continue this process for an hour and a half, at which time we’d be served a small bowl of ice cream, signifying the effort’s completion. There was salad, too, if I recall, but the bowls of kimchee, cabbage, and greens were lost in the flurry of carnivoracity.

Most of the dining here is more sedate. There’s plenty of rice and noodles, of course, and some thick brown curries. Breakfasts have been at the hotel buffet, where they’ll have eggs in some shape, rice, noodles, fish, curry, fermented soybeans, orange juice and coffee. Lunches we have on base at the food court, where I stop at the local place for Asian food, while the bulk of my crew eats at KFC, Subway, or Taco Bell. I don’t understand it, but that’s what they do. My first dinner in Japan was from the local 7-11, including some hot skewers of meat and a bento box of buckwheat noodles.

Surprisingly, it’s not all sushi, so I think I’ll survive the trip.
I’ll survive as long as I don’t go drinking with the client’s project manager every night, which I’d guess can easily get out of control. Recognizing this, I limited myself to three beers, a couple of shots of sake, and two songs at the karaoke bar. Seriously, what trip to Japan would be complete without participating in awful karaoke? At this particular location (and I don’t know why the others would be much different), a small wireless device was used to search the catalog, find a song and reserve a place in line, After that, the entire process was automated, so there was no need for an imaginary cape-wearing DJ. I chose a transportation themed tune by the Monkeys for my first outing, saving for my final number a dusty NOFX classic, “Seeing Double at the Triple Rock” (…when in Minnesota and you’ve got a drinking quota).

Immediately thereafter, we were presented with our bill. Coincidence? Hard to say.

The colors here are brighter on most things manmade, and big eyed cartoon imagery is everywhere; on clothing, billboards, television, and product packaging to name a few. Meanwhile, since roads are narrow and speeds are low, construction lanes closures are oftentimes delineated with a barrier of 2” pipe. At one local worksite, the pipe was supported by 30” big eyed, green plastic frogs at eight foot centers, each featuring a word balloon that says, “Sorry!” Our orange cones at home seem so impersonal by comparison.

Weirdest thing so far: this is work in the First World. How novel is that?

Next weirdest, Marine Corps Air Station Iwakuni is an enduring base, and I see spouses and kids all over the place. On Saturday, the local Boy Scout troop was tramping about in their uniforms. We pass the elementary school and commissary on our way to the borrowed conference room, the community room of one of the family housing mid-rises. On base there are playgrounds, a skatepark and a bouncy bounce. It’s completely at odds with past experience.

Third weirdest, the local Hiroshima ball club are the Carp. I need to find a T-shirt.