Japan: June 10-19, 2018. Flight: June 10/11 2018
The flight was long, but not arduous. No false starts from Bobcat; we arrived 72 minutes before scheduled departure. We had changed our air carrier to Delta: the word fits.
Three hours in LA were more than sufficient to have a meal (black beans and huevos) prior to boarding a plane with 50 rows and 9 seats in each row: 50 by3x3x3. Shoes, earplugs, eyemask, blanket and pillows were placed graciously on each seat; Paul and I settled in for the long flight. Two movies (different ones for each of us), two naps, two meals, and over eleven hours later, we arrived. Like landing in Boston, we cruised smoothly over the ocean, touching down on the runway no more than 100 yards from the surf.
Passport control: not notable. Customs: not notable. Baggage claim: notable only for the organization and nature of all bags (but ours) on the turnstile. Each bag identical for size and style was placed to arrive at the top with 4 wheels up. A gentleman at the top adjusted each bag to be 18 inches from the next and perfectly aligned to be perpendicular to the railing. We marveled at how people stood back, politely, letting others get their bags and consistently helping.
For comparison, upon our return to the U.S. at LAX, our bags appeared in the following way:
Money changing: not notable. Phone call to hotel for directions as to how to arrive: notable because the gentleman spoke delightful King's English. "Go to the end of the Monorail. We have a free bus to pick you up there." While we found the monorail kiosk, we must have looked a little lost: a Japanese woman dressed in pink, a facemask, and smiling eyes greeted us and helped us use the kiosk to get our tickets. We proceeded to the platform but again must have looked a little lost when three women in pink, facemasks, and smiling eyes came forward to help us yet again.
Walking in the monorail: not notable. Friendly faces gestured, directing us to comfortable seats with the best views as the monorail swept through the city: sixty kilometers (and less than 30 minutes) to Tokyo City Center. With delight, we watched an excited four-year-old share her experience on the monorail with her mother as we sped by shops, temples, skyscrapers, layers of highways, and waterways. From the monorail to the bus: we we took our time, visiting a bookstore and a couple shops, then directly finding the correct bus. Smiling people generously asked with earnest eyes and some basic King's English if we needed assistance. People would leave their spots behind a register or counter, walking swiftly the ten or twenty yards to us while maintaining a smiling wide-eyed eye contact, reaching out to us, nodding, enthusiastically wanting to help us find where we needed to go.
Shown to our room, we were given a corner room on the seventeenth floor. We have a view of an inlet, "Rainbow Bridge", boats coming and going, trains coming and going, and even the Tokyo Tower. We couldn't keep our eyes off the jumble of city lights and movement as the light changed with the coming sunset. At night, Tokyo Tower glows orange, yellow and a color somewhere between pink and orange. I can see gardens between here and there; I know where I'll be walking in the morning. I'm remembering how when the Japanese people were interred during WWII, they made lovely gardens in their "Internment Camps." These are people who appreciate, love, and make beauty wherever they go.
I'm sure I'll make a post directly noting the beauty found in every room, walkway, and place. The food is arranged to be works of art, balanced with visual and sensory shape, color, and texture to create an appetizing abstract image.
Three hours in LA were more than sufficient to have a meal (black beans and huevos) prior to boarding a plane with 50 rows and 9 seats in each row: 50 by3x3x3. Shoes, earplugs, eyemask, blanket and pillows were placed graciously on each seat; Paul and I settled in for the long flight. Two movies (different ones for each of us), two naps, two meals, and over eleven hours later, we arrived. Like landing in Boston, we cruised smoothly over the ocean, touching down on the runway no more than 100 yards from the surf.
Passport control: not notable. Customs: not notable. Baggage claim: notable only for the organization and nature of all bags (but ours) on the turnstile. Each bag identical for size and style was placed to arrive at the top with 4 wheels up. A gentleman at the top adjusted each bag to be 18 inches from the next and perfectly aligned to be perpendicular to the railing. We marveled at how people stood back, politely, letting others get their bags and consistently helping.
For comparison, upon our return to the U.S. at LAX, our bags appeared in the following way:
Money changing: not notable. Phone call to hotel for directions as to how to arrive: notable because the gentleman spoke delightful King's English. "Go to the end of the Monorail. We have a free bus to pick you up there." While we found the monorail kiosk, we must have looked a little lost: a Japanese woman dressed in pink, a facemask, and smiling eyes greeted us and helped us use the kiosk to get our tickets. We proceeded to the platform but again must have looked a little lost when three women in pink, facemasks, and smiling eyes came forward to help us yet again.
Walking in the monorail: not notable. Friendly faces gestured, directing us to comfortable seats with the best views as the monorail swept through the city: sixty kilometers (and less than 30 minutes) to Tokyo City Center. With delight, we watched an excited four-year-old share her experience on the monorail with her mother as we sped by shops, temples, skyscrapers, layers of highways, and waterways. From the monorail to the bus: we we took our time, visiting a bookstore and a couple shops, then directly finding the correct bus. Smiling people generously asked with earnest eyes and some basic King's English if we needed assistance. People would leave their spots behind a register or counter, walking swiftly the ten or twenty yards to us while maintaining a smiling wide-eyed eye contact, reaching out to us, nodding, enthusiastically wanting to help us find where we needed to go.
Shown to our room, we were given a corner room on the seventeenth floor. We have a view of an inlet, "Rainbow Bridge", boats coming and going, trains coming and going, and even the Tokyo Tower. We couldn't keep our eyes off the jumble of city lights and movement as the light changed with the coming sunset. At night, Tokyo Tower glows orange, yellow and a color somewhere between pink and orange. I can see gardens between here and there; I know where I'll be walking in the morning. I'm remembering how when the Japanese people were interred during WWII, they made lovely gardens in their "Internment Camps." These are people who appreciate, love, and make beauty wherever they go.
I'm sure I'll make a post directly noting the beauty found in every room, walkway, and place. The food is arranged to be works of art, balanced with visual and sensory shape, color, and texture to create an appetizing abstract image.
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