Door to Door in 24: Jetting to Japan Again

At some point in the spring, Michiyo and I finalized our plans to reward ourselves with a month-long jaunt to Japan. We set the dates for a clean, 30-day September stay in Kumamoto. Leading up to this trip was an extremely eventful summer. Hiroki approached 18 months of age with gusto, running everywhere, babbling constantly, and entertaining us with his perpetual mimicry of nearby sounds and motion. Michiyo kept a packed schedule of play dates and Mommy meet-ups, adding to an ever-expanding network of friends in St. Louis. My latest summer as an entertainer was the busiest one yet. Magic and circus shows took me to libraries, parks, schools, and houses not just in St. Louis, but all across Missouri, Illinois and even down into Arkansas. DJing kept me hopping on the weekends as I diligently strove to satisfy Brides, Bar Mitzvah Moms, and countless dance floors now re-energized by Michael Jackson classics—these efforts paid off with another #1 DJ award for the summer season.

August arrived with a bang, bringing with it several culminating summer events: first, Michiyo`s sister arrived from Japan to stay with us for the month. Masae Ishizuka got a kick out of several pool parties surrounding another epic Fingerhut wedding; my sister Katie married Mike Heaney in the middle of a happily grueling weekend of memorable fun. Among the long list of St. Louis to-do items with Masae, we snuck in a short trip to Hannibal, Missouri, to check out all the Mark Twain stuff that is surprisingly well-known in Japan. Masae also got to experience something I imagine not many foreign visitors have during a homestay: the search for a house. In the week leading up to our flight, we started the lengthy process of closing on a new home (updates to come soon).

Finally, just before our plane ride to the Land of the Rising Sun, I allowed my DJ co-workers to add to my resume of follicular experimentation. At our employee picnic, clippers were used and gel applied to produce some of the most gruesome results yet. See the Mohawk for yourself. Michiyo, not a fan in any way, has dubbed it “The Pineapple.” In the spirit of the mullet from a few years ago, I really wanted to gauge what type of reactions would be aroused during the process of travelling from St. Louis to and staying in Japan for a bit. Gut instinct tells me that karma played a small role in at least the beginning. Just remember, everything that you are about to read occurred with my appearance as ridiculous as it has been since the days of my mullet.

Without further adieu, here is our door-to-door journey in just under 24 hours, in a loose timeline.
Itinerary:
--45-minute morning rush hour drive from home to Lambert Airport, St. Louis, MO
--one hour flight from St. Louis to Chicago, IL
--one-hour wait
--13-hour flight to Tokyo
--two-hour wait
--two-hour flight to Fukuoka
--two-hour drive to Kumamoto.

Tuesday, September 1st, 8:30 a.m.
Thank you to Larry Potts, a fellow DJ who picked up Masae, Michiyo, Hiroki, and I, plus all of our luggage, and got us to the airport at the industry-recommended time of two hours prior to our 10:20 a.m. flight to Chicago. With two hours to operate, this day marked quite possibly the earliest I have ever arrived for a flight, let alone an international trip. Yet, the good people at Lambert Airport still managed to make our punctuality moot.

Every trip brings new perspectives and further knowledge about traveling and how the world works. This trip firmly entrenched traveling as yet another activity that is quite different with a mobile child. I learned long ago, especially after 9/11, that boarding a plane is primarily about patience--if you can smile, take a breath, hold back how you would truly desire to react, and jump through all of the hoops, you get to exhale during takeoff. This time, that exhale almost did not happen.

Because we have an infant, we all could not take advantage of the do-it-yourself check-in desk. Masae completed hers, but then it was made clear that Michiyo, Hiro, and I had to wait in a separate and more crowded check-in line, currently crawling along because of a noticeable lack of staff at the desks. Deep breath #1.

9 a.m., 80 minutes from departure
After a half hour in line, a seemingly nice lady named Carol called us to the desk; Hiro became restless, gave us a long, loud reminder that he was not happy, and Michiyo did her best to keep him relaxed. Carol clearly was not into how cute Hiroki is, and understandably encouraged us to either calm him down or get him away, so she could concentrate. Deep breath #2, and I gently encouraged Masae and Michiyo to take a short walk with Hiro while we finished up.

Checking in for a flight is like visiting the DMV, getting your car checked out at the shop, or any other situation involving a service person at the helm of a computer screen only they can see while you stand powerless to understand what is happening, let alone do anything. Carol took our passports and ticket information, then spent a good 25 minutes tooling around on her keyboard. I felt like we were riding an elevator together, only there was no indicator of floor levels to celebrate our progess with silent indifference. Well, Carol was silent, and I had to remain indifferent, lest I hinder her efforts. When she indicated everything was finished, I asked a simple question regarding mileage for this flight, which would be substantial.

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” said Carol.

Actually, there was a big problem. Solving this problem helped her see that she had a made a crucial blunder involving the mixup of Michiyo and Masae. From the outside looking in, I guess it`s perfectly understandable to mix up two similar-looking Japanese sisters with the name M. Ishizuka. But looking at the black and white information in front of her, only one has an American married name ON THE PASSPORT, and is travelling with a toddler. If Carol had been helping Tom Hanks in the Da Vinci Code, the movie would have been two hours longer. If she would have been one of the Hobbits helping Frodo with the Ring, there would have been four 3-hour epics instead of three. I could go on. Another twenty minutes went by, and at last we were free to head to our gate. For the record, Carol had no kind words to send us off with—not a single “sorry for the delay,” “thanks for your patience,” or “since I have taken up almost all of your time to get to your gate, here is a special cart with driver to get you there on time.” Deep Breath #2.

9:50 a.m., 30 minutes before takeoff
Thankfully, the line for security was not that long, and within minutes we had taken our shoes off and loaded up the conveyor belt with our carry-on items. However, even with a large, crack staff of uniformed folks checking everything, the luggage examination process was anything but smooth. Besides the tension of time, the lack of any iota of customer service from these folks can be unnerving. These people never fail to make clear that they do not care what time your flight is, nor are they concerned with what happened at any other part of the airport—their solution is always suggesting that you should have arrived earlier. With several containers of various liquids, mostly for Hiro, an extra five minutes was spent getting those examined. Deep breath #3.

10:10 a.m., 10 minutes before takeoff
Michiyo hustled with Hiroki in the stroller, and Masae and I toted our collective carry-on haul, jogging down the terminal to get to our gate, where the boarding process still had a few minutes left. Panting in exhaustion and relief, we took our seats, leaned back, and let out a long, happy exhale. We had made it!

About 12:15 p.m., Chicago O`Hare airport
We chose to travel in September for several reasons, one of which being that the busy travel season has passed. This reasoning paid off, as we were rewarded with a flight with plenty of open seats. Paolo, the nice Portuguese man working the desk at the gate, could not have been more accommodating, and set us up with our own five-seat row for the next and longest part of our trip, a 13-hour marathon from Chicago to Tokyo. Once on board, we scouted out the amenities, happily discovering that airline technology has continually advanced—this flight had personal monitors on the back of every seat, with a wide selection of on-demand movies, T.V. Shows, and music options to choose from. Throughout the flight, I opted for “Yes Man,” starring Jim Carrey (pretty funny), “The Proposal,” with Sandra Bollocks and Ryan Reynolds (not terrible), and as much sleep as I could muster.

Hour 7 of 13, somewhere over Alaska
With all of this great technology, someone forgot to tell the guy designing the tray tables to include a simple, circular, slight indentation for cups and drinks. Just over halfway through the flight, I had a cup of milk on my table. Hiroki was needed some attention, and I shifted him away from Michiyo so she could eat. I took my hand off the cup to secure my son, and the cup slowly slid toward me and dumped the contents right in my lap. We had six hours to go, no change of clothes, and milk soaked through to my boxers. Thank you American Airlines, please enjoy dripping shorts. I almost joined Hiro in some loud obnoxious wailing. Instead—deep breath #4. I stepped into the bathroom, thoroughly soaked the milky areas with water, grabbed a few mini-pillows from vacant seats, and stuffed my pants. This solution was passable, and not altogether uncomfortable. Thankfully, with most everyone on the flight sleeping or focused on their own interests, and a very dark cabin, the guy with a wet midsection and a Mohawk went unnoticed. But Michiyo and Masae, at least, got a big kick out of it.

These long flights have no easy solution for getting through, other than simply not concentrating on how much time is left. If you can sleep, you should, and if not, just zone out reading a book or watching movies. Eventually, exhaustion will overpower you, and your body will succumb to sleep in whatever position fits at the time. As expected, Hiroki was a source of entertainment for a lot of people sitting around us, and made a friend in Avery, an adorable three-year old girl sitting in front of us. When the time came to sleep, Hiroki was able to stretch out over two seats, but kept Michiyo and I in a shallow state of sleep, because he would roll off very easily. Mercifully, at around 5 p.m. Tokyo time, the plane landed, and we headed to customs.

5 p.m., Narita airport, Tokyo, Japan
I LOVE exiting the airport terminal in another country after a long, international flight. It is easy to imagine that there are throngs of people waiting for your arrival. Even if no one is waiting, reading the signs for other people getting picked up is fun. On this day, one of the signs happened to say, “JET Programme,” the very same entity that brought me to Japan about this time eight years ago, setting my life on this fantastic course. A woman held this sign next to several other people in business attire, no doubt trying to flag down their own foreigner to whisk them away to a new life of teaching English somewhere. Without hesitation, I walked right up to her with a big smile and asked to take a picture together.

The entire group broke out into illuminating smiles, giggles, and chatter. Michiyo snapped a photo, and I looked right at this woman and said in my best Japanese, “I did the JET Programme eight years ago.” Perhaps this admission disappointed them, as they thought they had found their teacher, but they kept on smiling and talking; Michiyo said she heard one of the people say something in whispered Japanese about a “unique person.” Please enjoy Mohawk!

5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m., Narita airport
No deep breaths necessary, at any point. In stark contrast to airports in America these days, Japan, the people and the customs, define customer service. The entire culture is centered around courtesy and politeness, and from the moment of stepping off the plane, this happy aura envelopes you. Every single person encountered, from the baggage employees to the check-in desk staff members, greets you with a bow, apologizes for even blinking the wrong way, and does everything they can to ensure your happiness.

Hiro made another friend, Shotaro, a two-year old with a Japanese mother and American father. The two tiny boys had a great time in the waiting area disturbing lots of sleeping people, running, tackling, laughing, crying, and getting held by one of the Mommies.

I struck up a conversation with an extremely tall gentleman (6’10”), and we ended up talking for a good deal of the layover. He was a professional basketball player on his way to Oita, Japan, to join a team there. We talked about living and traveling in different countries, and compared notes on our experiences in Spain, France, Turkey, New Zealand, and Japan. In case anyone cares, I looked up Mike Bell when I got home; he played two seasons for North Carolina State, then one season at a Florida junior college, then two years at Florida Atlantic University, where he starred. Averaging 19 points and 9 rebounds, he won Atlanic Sun Conference Player of the Year and graduated in 2005 before embarking on an overseas career. I wished him luck in Japan.

7:40 p.m.-9:40 p.m., flight from Tokyo to Fukuoka
We all slept soundly, spread out over several seats.

10:30 p.m.-12:30 a.m., drive from Fukuoka to Kumamoto
At Fukuoka, Michiyo`s Dad Minoru welcomed his grandson Hiro with open arms. We loaded up the car, stopped for a quick snack at a 7-11, and all of us promptly dozed off as Grandpa Minoru delivered us home to Kumamoto. Michiyo`s Mom Chieko greeted us with hugs and smiles, especially for the grandson she helped us so much with in February 2008, when he was born. For the record, both Minoru and Chieko politely but firmly suggested I cut my hair the very next day. Just a few more days, I told them. Not long after 1 a.m., we got a few hours sleep before Hiroki started the next day before 6 a.m. Let`s enjoy jet lag!
We are looking forward to a month of relaxing, catching up with a few friends and a lot of family, plus enjoying everything Japanese, from karaoke and town festivals to eating raw horse and octopus.

Epilogue to this journey
--About 12 hours later, my sister Lynn gave birth to her first child, my parents` second grandchild, and my first nephew. Welcome to the world, Henry Joseph Hawkins (not Fingerhut)! I`ll post a picture or two as I get them.