Zipping to the USA
I made it. Whoopee! Not the best experience of travel I’ve had, but successful, and I guess that’s the end result.
I awoke bright and early, well, okay it wasn’t terribly bright at 0230, but it wasn’t dark either, on a Wednesday morning in Chitose, Hokkaido. I had the early shuttle to the airport, and also wanted to be sure I was good and tired for the end of the trip to overcome the jet lag. A 16-hour time zone difference is a big one to overcome.
New Chitose airport was fine, good service, mostly self. Check in at a kiosk, get a bag tag from a service agent, carry and drop my bag at a different place. Security, easy-peasy. The flight was tight with only 28” of legroom, but it was a pretty short flight to Tokyo Narita. Oh, and Peach Aviation weighed all carry on luggage to ensure it met the ridiculous 7 kg limit.
Landed, and got my bag. I needed now to find ZipAir and try to offload the bag I planned to check. It’s not a large bag — it fits the dimensions for carry on and last tossed on a scale weighed less than 10 kilos, but it’s easier to not lug around. Narita is huge and spread out across three terminals, and my flight doesn’t depart for another 10 hours, so I have time to find where I need to be. I don’t like to be rushed, and I’ve got no reason to make short connections for myself. Sweetness and light! Turns out I’d arrived and will depart out of the same terminal. Praise Viracocha!
I’d paid for premium lounge access (how bougie of me), since I was going to be there, like forever. I get to the counter to discover they won’t let me check the bag until three hours before my flight. Ugh. On the bright side, I’d found a comfortable chair, and could spread a bit, and there is a traditional outside observation deck. That was kind of fun. Takeoffs are not nearly as loud as landings, FWIW.
I finally get to check my bag. Again, it’s all self service. And, again, they weigh all hand luggage. Gotta wring every last nickel and/or 50Y out of your customers.
Security and passport control: it took more time for me to walk to it than the processes themselves. No queues, no problem. Locate the departure gate, and lounge location… the travel gods and St. Christopher are smiling upon me: the lounge is located directly above my gate.
Being in the lounge reminded me of the Langoliers.
It was large, probably able to accommodate 150 or so easily, yet I was the only person there. Spooky. I accommodated my unease with a healthy slug of pour-your-own single malt whisky.
That probably wasn’t a smart move, as it teed up, and fired an ace for AFib. I may have to permanently forego the good stuff now. Insert sad face and cue up the sad trombone music.
Food wasn’t terrible, and I’m glad I partook. Cue ominous and foreboding music. I hung out until it was time to board my ZipAir overnight flight to SFO. It was overnight for Tokyo time, or an “all day” for the destination. I departed 10 July at 2135, and landed 10 July 1515. The wonders of a globe, time zones and lost days.
I’d booked a business-class, again because I’m all bougie, and wanted a modicum of comfort for a 10 hour flight, and fuck it, I can afford to splurge once in a while. It was one of those pod-types with no neighbor to crawl over to get out. Start to settle in and discover there is no screen. Huh. All entertainment is on my own device via their WiFi. Also not provided (all firsts for me in any international flight regardless of class booked): pillow, blanket, water… anything.
Also, to my detriment, I’d failed to specify a meal preference when I’d booked the ticket. None really sounded great, so I didn’t specify, thinking I’d go with the default (always chicken, amirite?). To my surprise, by not specifying, I’d defaulted to “No Meal” and that meant for a 10 hour flight I got exactly nothing. No beer, no whisky, no wine, and no water — unless I purchased it. Again, a first for a business class, international flight. Not even a drop of complementary water.
Even if I had chosen a meal, I would have gotten exactly one 400 ml bottle of water for the entire trip. There was no additional meal service and no snacks for the entire flight. The flight attendants disappeared, never to be seen again, until it was time to nag the passengers to attach the ridiculous shoulder strap seat belts for landing. Well, except for cleaning the pod in front of me. The guy had gotten sick or something and they spent 30 minutes or so cleaning something. I didn’t see, or smell, anything horrible, thankfully.
Welcome to Slang’s NeverFly List™, ZipAir. Chiseling wankers.
Let’s contrast the speed of passport control exiting Japan with that of entering the USA in SFO, shall we? The line was long.
It took 49:43 for me to get from when I queued at the back of the line to when I exited, Yes, I timed it. Of that duration, approximately 15 seconds was spent with the agent. Land of the free, home of the brave, and no technology in use. Other entry points around the world have automated kiosks. Nope, not here. SFO is on par with Nepal and Vietnam and Indonesia. I may eventually spend the necessary time to acquire Global Entry, but that process conflicts with my getting my passport. I need one to get the other, and it’s a month(s) long process for the first. I either need to bite the bullet and spend 3-4 months hanging about, or defer the GE for another time. Ugh. Decisions, decisions.
Located the train (BART) access. I had to buy a card for the one ride I’d be taking. Swell. $3 isn’t bad though. Later, from the man-cub, I discovered I could have added that “card” to my iPhone wallet ahead of time and used it.
Turns out, you can do the same for a number of transit cards around the world, notably several in Japan. That info could have come in handy oh, say about a month ago when I was having to use cash for all my transit activities? Oh well, live and learn. Next time.
Exiting the BART at the 16th Street Mission station, and it’s obvious where I am. Graffitti, trash, and homeless people yelling at each other. Land of the free, except for physical and mental health care. Can’t afford it? Live rough.
I wended my way through the people thronging the BART exit and hoofed it a few kilometers to my stay.
The hotel is “charming,” outdated, and lacking. And expensive. As is the rest of everything. Sticker shock to be sure. But, I was able to spend some time with the man-cub having $40 pizza and beer and walking the panhandle of Golden Gate and Alamo Parks on a beautiful SF evening.
A brisk, beautiful SF evening. I’m not ready for this level of a humid, windy, cool environment 65°F/18°C, only to switch in a few days to 100°F/38°C dry, windy heat.
By this time, I was ready to drop. After being up and moving around for 30 hours, it was finally time to sleep and make that one-night adjustment to local time. FO, jet lag!
Now that it’s morning, I’ve had some coffee and I’m alert, it’s time to cut this short. I’ve errands to run.
Be kind, and take care of yourselves. If you can, care for someone else, too.
Slang, out.
Note to self: research why alcohol and aFibs might be related.