I feel like Bill Murray in Lost in Translation: I just muted the TV in my hotel room because there’s something deeply jarring about watching the New York Jets take on the Tennessee Titans and having the play-by-play broadcast in what I can only presume is Japanese. I wouldn’t know for sure because I can neither speak nor understand the language. And so concludes Day 1 of my five-week vacation in South Korea. Only I’m not in South Korea. I’m in Tokyo…or Narita, which may or may not be a district in or a suburb of Tokyo because I don’t have a map.
After the 10- to 13-hour flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo, where I was supposed to hop on a connecting flight to Seoul to crash for the night before training down to Busan, I learned my connecting flight had been “delayed” for…wait for it…14 hours! BTW: I’m not really sure how long my trans-Pacific flight was because I didn’t pay attention to the itinerary, and flying over the International Date Line completely confused all calculations I tried to make. I just know it was pretty cool flying north along the west coast, then hugging the Alaskan coastline as it extends toward Russia. I imagine we stayed just outside of Russian airspace over the Pacific Ocean as we then flew southward to Japan. Huh; wonder if I’m qualified to be vice president now?
But I digress. I think United used the term “delayed” to describe the change in flight plans because it could cause mayhem to announce to hundreds of people who’ve been cooped up on a trans-oceanic flight that their connecting flight has been cancelled. Because really – a flight that leaves 14 hours after its originally scheduled departure is only “delayed?” In my book, a 14-hour “delay” that results in a departure the following day seems like a cancellation to me.
Regardless, there’s really nothing to be gained by regressing into juvenile histrionics or, perhaps more accurately, switching into the “annoyed bitch” persona who usually emerges only when I’m starving with no food in sight. I’m one of 200+ people who have the same problem, and it’s not like I can just take my business elsewhere at this point without incurring major expenses and, in lieu of spoken dialogue in comprehensible English or Japanese, using hand gestures that I hope are universal – but not universally offensive. So I choose the path of least resistance and accept the hotel voucher and trust that I’m understanding the disjointed English spoken by the United customer service woman, from whom I learn (fingers crossed!) that my boarding pass will suffice for the 8:00 a.m. flight tomorrow, that I don’t need to claim my checked baggage because it will just get loaded automatically onto the plane to Seoul, and I can spend up to $15 in food and 3 minutes on international calls at the hotel. So I roll with it – literally, as I step up onto the bus full of travel-weary souls, some of whom have flown from Chicago through Los Angeles with the expectation of a third leg to their journey before landing in Bangkok, or if they’re really lucky, a fourth leg into Laos. As the bus leaves the terminal, the automated voice details our route in English and who knows what other language(s), but I’m struck by the chipper-yet-innocuously delivered message that the bus will pass the hotel and then double back – for security reasons. Wh, wha- what?!? What exactly is going on that security precautions are needed to shuttle around stranded foreigners at the nearest hotel?
After checking into my hotel room, I begin the process of settling, unpacking my carry-on bag, getting the lay of the room, using the restr… um, wait a minute, there’s a button that says “shower” on the toilet. It’s right next to the “bidet” button and the “temperature” button. What is this? I’ve heard of a bidet, but an automated butt-shower? I opt not to shower my bum, but I do appreciate the heated seat 
Sadly, this settling-in period is when I realize my oh-so-brilliant packing plan, where I thoughtfully put a change of clothes, fresh socks and underwear at the top of my monster-sized backpack so when I did arrive in Seoul at night, it would be extremely easy to shower and change…ummm, not so brilliant since that bag is still in the possession of United Airlines at the Tokyo Narita airport. *sigh* Back to washing my clothes in the sink, a la the collegiate European backpacking trip I took a decade ago.
It’s at this point I realize my boss was right: When I had mentioned that I felt like I had forgotten how to travel abroad because it has been years since I had done so, she reassured me that it would all come back to me once I got “in-country.” Nothing like not having a change of clothes, not speaking a word of the local language, not having any local currency for essential items, not knowing if my luggage really would be waiting for me in Seoul, and not knowing if I really was guaranteed a seat on the “delayed” flight rather than just wait-listed on the next regularly scheduled flight, to force you to figure out how to… just roll with it. Because really, what else could I do?
0 Responses to “Day 1: I Am Bill Murray”