So I woke up on a Friday morning and apparently arrived somewhere a few days / hours / countries later. Chicago to Vancouver wasn’t a bad trip. I think I slept for about half of it. Missing my midflight cookies was disappointing; can’t they just balance them on my head so I can get them when my slumping head wakes me up. But the Vancouver airport woke me up. Clean, new, beautiful…let’s say it wasn’t O’Hare.
Narita airport was a bit unexpected. Clean, but plain. And empty. Silent. I swear I entered the restroom and when I came out the flood of humanity confined to the same steel flying tube had disappeared. For what seemed like kilometers three of us moved along the only path available. A path we hoped would lead us to a quick drive to the hotel…even we knew that was not to be. No, it was not to be.
Actually, I was anticipating a 3-hour ride from Tokyo to Ashikaga. It was only about two hours. Sweet! An extra hour of sleep. However, our kind driver wanted us to have dinner before the hotel. We three Americans all said we really weren’t hungry, but we stopped at a chain Italian restaurant. We ordered pasta, which apparently came with a salad bar and slices of pizza coming at you every couple minutes. We three Americans barely touched our pasta.
Sleep deprived, we checked in to the hotel. I couldn’t recognize numbers and couldn’t open my hotel room door. A few hours later a magnitude 4.9 earthquake started shaking my 8th floor room. Am I still jet lagged? (Well, yes.) Dehydrated? (Well, yes.) Just not all there upstairs? (Please don’t leave a comment.) It did actually take about 5 seconds before I realized it was an earthquake. Welcome to Japan. Bring on Godzilla.