One Million Hours of Travel

SURPRISE! We’re not in Nikko anymore. We’re on North American soil, where the salsa flows like water and licorice is plentiful. Pardon my six week blogging absence but things went nuts for a while there and I felt kind of bleh and I’ve just now started to get my wits about me. So HI. I’m back.

Our trip was long. So, so long. But safe and relatively uneventful. I started packing up our apartment about two weeks before our flight and on the same day the suitcases came out of storage Falcor started boycotting breakfast and losing fur in clumps. That exact moment is when the trip started for me.

Our itinerary was like this: 3 hour drive to the airport, 10 hour flight to LAX, 11 hour layover in LA, 4.5 hour flight to DTW, 2.5 hour layover in Detroit, 1 hour flight to Marquette.We arrived to the airport in Tokyo 3 hours early, thinking we might have overdone it, then used every spare minute only to walk up to our gate as the flight was boarding. The profuse sweating started before we even got through security. And this is my travel hell.

You know when you have 8 pieces of luggage, 2 dogs in crates and a toddler and you get assigned to the desk with the agent in training? Perfect. Really perfect. To be fair, this was probably a great case to train her with, they had the binder full of instructions out and called a manager several times and tagged our luggage in incorrectly before finally fixing the situation. While we endured the longest check-in process ever in the history of commercial aviation, I ask you to imagine the sound of Enid is shrieking like her leg is in a bear trap echoing through the terminal. Envision Vesper running around like a toddler five hours past her bedtime (there is no metaphor for that phenomenon that describes it better than just that) adding the second layer of sweat as I chased her then Dave chased her then she threw the contents of my purse on the floor then ran for it once again. At that point, she was still the cute foreign child acting like a crazy, adorable foreigner and the Japanese love of all things cute combined with their politeness meant that they just smiled and laughed and cooed ‘kawaii kawaii kawaii.’ I thought to myself ‘enjoy this now…because when we step off that plane in LA you are just another unruly American child with a dirty face running through an airport.’

The packing, planning, and coordinating of travel for two adults, a child and 2 child-like dogs combined with the stress of that check-in process led to a situation where getting into our almost painfully uncomfortable seats on an old Delta plane for a 10 hour flight actually seemed like a relief. The initial turbulence was disarming, the controls on our TVs were faulty, the food was how it is, and yet I felt so (relatively) relaxed. I was thankful to the airline that they (FOR ONCE) actually provided our special meal request, I was thankful for the extra seats for V to stretch our on, I was thankful to the Sikh man next to us who was so gracious when V she loudly inquired “What’s on that man’s head mommy?” We were full and relaxed, V was an angel, I stopped sweating for a brief moment. But we had to land eventually.

We landed in LA and, in an attempt to pre-comfort myself in case anything went majorly wrong, I said “We are on US soil. We could rent a U-Haul and drive home. We could walk. I could call my mom for a ride. We are going to get home.” Whenever I travel, no matter how many frequent flier miles I’ve accrued, I get anxiety. When my dogs are flying too, that anxiety is multiplied. I had nerves about going through immigration, nerves about collecting the dogs, nerves about finding our airport shuttle, nerves about our next two flights being cancelled due to weather.

Our 11-hour layover was spent eating American pizza in an American sized hotel room that was, no joke, nearly as big as our entire apartment in Japan. We watched TV in English while Vesper investigated (“Mommy! I found a book in this drawer! Mommy! Tiny bottles! Mommy! A bathtub!”) and had a nap for a couple of hours. Dave politely suggested I change to a clean shirt for our LA to Detroit to Marquette segment, but I shrugged. Seriously, what would be the point?

Quick sidenote: Air travel is the worst, but there were some pretty awesome individuals along this trip that made things way easier. Shout out to the immigration officer who literally asked no questions (a first for us), to the LAX employee who got us an industrial cart for our luggage and fast-tracked us through customs, the customs officer who didn’t even peek into the dog crates, and, shockingly, basically every single Delta employee we came across, particularly the agent who re-checked the dogs at the special services desk in LAX. Seriously friendly, efficient service. Several layers of sweat were spared by these heroic actions.

We nervously ate bagels in Detroit, fretting over threats of bad weather and worrying about our dogs as we watched snow blow all over the tarmac. Our girl ran around like a chicken out the coop, and we chased her down moving walkways sort of just constantly chanting ‘sorry, sorry, pardon us, sorry’ to anyone who might get in the way. Confession: I’m not sorry, I just have Midwestern manners. This is an airport and she is 2 so just deal with the chaos, can’t you see how sweaty I am!?

It’s been a long, long time since I felt the kind of relief I felt when the wheels of our plane landed in my hometown. This season was an amazing adventure, as they all have been. But it was tiring by the end. It was lonely at points. Our families felt further away than usual. Japan is beautiful and the Japanese are lovely but living there  can be so dang hard.

I have this dream of being the kind of true vagabond that feels at home anywhere, that adapts easily and laughs (instead of sweats) during travel mishaps. But not-very-deep down I’m a homebody with  control issues and the sweet sight of home warmed my heart. Despite the snow.

Four months to re-fuel until we reverse this trip and do it all again.

Nothing Quite Like

Watching your sister and your daughter read together, falling more in love all the time.

Seeing them ‘play’ together while my sister sleeps through my baby’s finger up her nose. Let’s blame the jet-lag combined with her inheritance of my dad’s ability to sleep deeply under any circumstance.

And realizing their shared affection for (faux)fur stoles.

Watching your sister’s adventurous spirit at the sushi restaurant turn into a battle against vomiting at the table.

Having to cut your sister off at karaoke because she has a little too much enthusiasm for screaming ballads at the top of her voice.

We had an amazing time together this week. Just me, my sister, and my daughter, a really rare chance to be just the three of us. Thanks, Al, for traveling all the way from Norway to Japan and back. We love you.

A Taste of Japan: Ramen

Although I vaguely knew that ramen was a Japanese noodle dish, I generally just associated it with a cheap, starchy meal eaten frequently during my college years, purchased in a case of 24 packs for about $2. In no way nutritious and delicious only when under the influence (or trying to recover from the previous nights influence), the Top Ramen being consumed by American students is related to fresh ramen in Japan only very distantly.

Ramen comes in all kinds of varieties, often regional specialities. There are many flavors, different types of noodles, differnt ways of eating it. Our little piece of Japan is outside the typical realm of expats, so we don’t have the luxury of finding restaurants with either English speaking staff or bilingual menus, so we are winging it and learning as we go. Ramen is, in general, noodles with broth so I try to be really casual and flexible and throw out a ‘niku nashi’ (no meat) and surrender to the fact that I’m certainly often eating animal based broth but I can’t go hungry damnit! And I really love noodles. And I can’t speak Japanese. In any sense.

There’s stamina, miso, tsukemen, and who knows how many more. I literally do not know, I cannot read the menu. Even the instant ramen in Japan is better than whatever Top Ramen has to offer back home, and many of them include not only the flavor packet but also an oil packet to enhance the flavor.

So far my favorite ramen experience has been tantanmen, which I’m told is the Japanese version of a Chinese dish that usually includes minced pork (although not if you say ‘niku nashi!’ in your best Japanese with an accompanying thumbs up!) and scallions. It tastes like chili and peanut sauce and it is a DELIGHT. I always love me some carbs, but with peanut-anything? YES. Yes please.

The second best thing about going for ramen at lunch (besides, obviously, scarfing down a bowl of noodles) is watching Dave try to sit cross-legged at the table. Someone needs to work on their hip openers!

Taking the Circus to Japan

Did I mention we were moving to spend this coming hockey season in Japan? No? Oh well we are, and I’m here. In Japan. For real. How did I get here? Oh, on a plane! With a 9.5 month old! On my lap. Without Dave. It was awesome. The trip went as follows:

Firstly, I flew with Delta through Detroit straight to Tokyo. So one connection for a 16.5 hour itinerary isn’t too bad. But did you know that when flying with an infant in arms internationally the infant requires a paper ticket? Not an e-ticket that you print out like every other human these days, but an actual, old school paper ticket like you used to have to hold on to like gold when you booked a trip. And getting that ticket to you when you’re flying from a tiny, one gate airport where the person who checked you in is later throwing your bags under the plane is harder than you think. It all worked out, but let’s just say this…if you call the Rates department at Delta and get Eva, call back again after her shift is over. She sucks. And if you ever need shit to get done in Marquette, Deano at the Delta desk will literally make it his personal goal in life to make your life better. He is wonderful.

The short leg of our flight was not noteworthy, which is totally how you want it when traveling with an infant. Shoutout to my man Moheed who sat next to us and entertained baby by making funny faces and letting her slap the glasses of his face. To his son Nadar: your dad wants to be a grandpa, hurry up, he’s not getting any younger.

Our layover in Detroit only left me 20 very sweat minutes of hauling my carry-on and personal item while wearing the baby in the hiking backpack. Those 20 minutes included 10 minutes of getting from C to A concourse, 5 minutes of speed diaper changing and going to the bathroom myself (a fine art when parenting solo in the airport) and then buying some emergency rations (chocolate covered pretzels, of course) because I was starving. Next thing I knew we were sweatily boarding the plane. So much sweating, all day long.

With the help of gestures, smiling and the shameful use of a cute baby as a prop, a kind Japanese woman with whom I could not communicate in words offered to switch seats with me so that we could use the bulkhead bassinet. Picture a mesh bag hanging off the wall with a snap-on cover. Every baby’s dream come true.

The flight took off after baby’s bedtime, but she remained happy and hilarious. Eventually she fell asleep in my arms. Eventually I gathered up the courage to place her in the bassinet. She was so tired that it actually worked! She slept in the bassinet! For one hour. BUT, it was the hour during which dinner was served so I ate both two-handed AND without baby hands all up in my food. Win.

The rest of the 13 hour flight consisted mostly of me holding the baby while she slept and I lost all feeling in the lower half of my body. She slept for 10 hours total, representing 5 movies watched by me. The five movies and their five word (or less) reviews are as follows:

Limitless: Bradley Cooper is so annoying.

Cedar Rapids: Loved it.

Paul: Aliens and British accents = Brilliant.

Life As We Know It: I cried on a plane.

It’s Kind of A Funny Story: Galifianakis warmed the cockles.

By the time we were landing in Tokyo, the baby was in the mood of a lifetime. She was squealing with delight, getting smiles and laughs from everyone around us, sitting so easily on my lap. When we got off the plane I strapped her into the backpack just in time to look down the longest hallway ever seen, the way to immigration and customs. Prepared to start sweating a new layer of sweat, I began to march until LO and behold a lovely young lady on a very fancy cart swung up and offered us a ride! I felt so very VIP! Where was this lady with a cart during that 20 minutes of running I did in Detroit? I hopped on and we waved to everyone we passed (baby loves waving, and I like gloating). I was so happy not to be slogging along that I didn’t even become the slightest bit annoyed by electric version of Yankee Doodle playing on repeat in the cart.

After the usual immigration hulabaloo, I collected all our bags onto two cars, leap-frogged my way to customs, smiled like a moron as they marvelled at my abundance of luggage and FINALLY crossed into the outer world into Dave’s waiting arms. Also, he had chocolate. That man knows me.

My first hours in Japan were filled with warm toilet seats, Left-Side Driving Terror Syndrome and a few hours of comatose sleep until baby woke up bright and early to announce her jet-lag. We’re safe, we’re sound, we’re ready for more.