Arrival in Tokyo, or, My Subconscious' Attempt to Sabotage My Plans.

Things I've come to accept:
I've come to accept the fact that I will never stop losing my belongings, or forgetting to do mundane tasks, such as check airline departure times for flights that were booked three months previously (my acceptance of this helps me to remain calm when such things occur in most cases, with the exception of the story that follows). My expatriation from the U.S. to Japan last Sunday was more than ample reminder of this for me.

I've also come to accept the fact that I am largely incapable of telling a story in a succinct manner, unless I abbreviate it so much so as to lose its value as a story (this is the rationale for my labeling and dividing this post into more digestible sections. I promise future posts will be short). Finally, I've come to realize, and perhaps not accept, that I overthink nearly everything I do, and thus in creating this blog, deciding on a title required hours of brainstorming and asking the opinions of at least 5 friends on a number of variations on the same theme. Deciding on the format probably took almost an hour as well.

The days before leaving:

Due to a number of delays along the way (some my doing, others out of my hands), my master's project, the final requirement for my graduation, was scheduled for three days before my flight to Tokyo. This meant a total of two days to say goodbye to family and friends, figure out what I needed to do before leaving, get gifts for anyone it'd be expected to get them for in Japan, and pack.  So Friday was spent biking with my parents around the beautiful lakes of Uptown which I'll come to miss, and dressing up in the most bizarre representations possible of the American view of Japanese style with friends in the evening. On Saturday, <24 hours before my flight, I decided it was probably time to try to change some money to yen, before leaving.  That failed. Oh well. Who needs money in the city with just about the highest cost of living in the world. Then packing began, and continued until 4:30am, an hour before I needed to leave for my 7:45am flight, but with a wonderful interlude of family dinner, and a bonfire with friends.

Minneapolis airport:
Once at the airport, I say my goodbyes to my sister and brother-in-law holding back tears, print my boarding passes and pay for my two 60 lb suitcases (10 lbs worth over the limit = $60 charge per suitcase). Looking at my ticket I see that my first flight was scheduled to leave at 6:05am. An hour and 40 minutes before it was originally scheduled, three months prior. I start to get nervous.  It's 5:40am and I'm just beginning to go through security, but they wouldn't have let me check my bags if it was that close, right?  It must be some sort of error.  10 minutes pass and I'm putting my things on the conveyer belt, and they tell me my carry-on needs to be inspected, but that there are two bags up for inspection ahead of mine, it might be a minute or two.  I look at my phone obnoxiously in the hopes that they'll realize I'm in a hurry.  The TSA agent finally looks through my bag and makes amused comments about my neat travel-size laptop speaker. I am released to run like hell to the gate.

Flying over Duluth, MN, on my way to Chicago

I get to the gate at 6:00am and am told that boarding has ceased and the plane has been secured. I missed my flight. All the emotion over leaving so many friends and dear family members and the nervousness about starting my first real job in a country whose language is not my own not knowing when I'll be back, and all the exhaustion from lack of sleep prior to leaving and stress from finishing my master's project at the last minute, come together and I break down sobbing and  hyperventilating.  A man comes over to comfort me and let me know that he's a christian asks me if I believe in God.  I shake my head in between sobs and he says that that's okay and he'll pray for me anyway, and that I should know someone out there cares for me.  I thank him and soon the gate agent comes over and tells me that she isn't supposed to, but she'll put me on standby on the United flight (my original flight being with American Airlines), one gate over.  I calm down and make it onto this flight, and get to Chicago with three hours to spare before my direct flight to Japan.

Chicago airport:
I look at the Departures screen once in Chicago and see that the one flight on the board for Narita is only a couple gates from the one I arrived at. I leisurely have breakfast and read my Japanese phrasebook to pass the time. The flight I'm waiting for starts to board and I make my way through the long line, to the woman checking boarding passes. She takes one look at my ticket and tells me I'm supposed to be two terminals over for the AA flight to Narita, not the United flight.  AWESOME. TIME FOR MORE RUNNING LIKE HELL.  GOOD THING I'VE BEEN SPENDING SO MUCH TIME EXERCISING, EATING WELL AND GETTING ADEQUATE SLEEP WHILE FINISHING MY MASTERS PROJECT.  Not.
I run two terminals over and make it to the flight I'm supposed to be on covered in sweat.  Great way to spend the next 13 hours. 

Japan:

(^Short video from the train ride from Narita to Tokyo)

We arrive in Japan and at immigration there's a bitch of a line, but no matter, I have a 3 year visa so I get to jump to the front.  You remember those two 60 lb bags I checked? Now I get to carry them up and down escalators and onto the train from Narita to Tokyo, where I'm meeting my boss at Tokyo Station (somewhere). I don't know what I expected but Tokyo Station is pretty much Japan's equivalent of Grand Central Station, and boards ~381,000 people per day according to wiki (this doesn't include people exiting at the station). I have no working phone, but I have my boss' phone number and email.  I try his phone from a payphone but either the line is busy or I don't know how to work Japanese payphones. So I ask Information if there's wifi available somewhere.  On the way to the exit of the station that has wifi, I take an escalator in the wrong direction and my suitcases teeter on the edges of the escalator stairs and fall backward, taking me with them, onto two poor Japanese commuters, to whom I give apologetic looks, because I can't remember how to say I'm sorry, only Excuse me, which seemed a poor substitute given the circumstances.

I finally make it to the correct station exit, pushing my way through a sea of Japanese tourists taking pictures of the new renovations to the outside of Tokyo Station, that were revealed that day after 5 years of renovations (neat video of the light show played for the grand opening). I wait at the West Travel Services center to ask if this is where I can get wifi for about 20 minutes, and am told to go to the other side of the rotunda, to the seemingly identical East Travel Services center. I finally get wifi and email my boss, who at this point has been waiting for me for probably a good hour or two and we taxi it over to my new apartment, ending my day and a half of commuting.

This story is already far too long, so I won't go into my difficulties reading convenience store labels and grocery store confusion. If you've stayed with me this long (i.e. if you're my mom or dad) I'll send you a gold origami star.  Just send me your address.

I meant to also write about the minor triumphs of my first few days here, but I'll save that for another post, in a much abbreviated form compared to this post.

Last thing: People expatriate all the time, but I don't know how many of them are lucky enough to feel the type of support and love that I have in the past few weeks. Thank you all for being there for me.