We got up the next morning and got ready, then went upstairs to check out our complimentary breakfast. It was a buffet with yogurt, juice, milk, fruit, hard boiled eggs, freshly baked breads, croissants and danishes. They also had salad, which Japanese people really like to eat in the morning. Having filled up our tanks with a good, hearty breakfast, we stepped outside into the overcast but extremely pleasant weather, and hopped on a bus to Disneyland. Because of the typhoon the day before, the temperature was a good ten-to-fifteen degrees lower for us.
Fifty's was a ten minute bus ride from Disneyland, costing us a paltry 300 yen each. Kelsey, who had been talking about Disneyland every day for the previous two weeks, was excited to see Mickey Mouse, and Minnie Mouse, and Donald Duck, and Chip & Dale, and Cinderella, and ... Yeah, I'll spare you the whole list.
Stef's research showed that this was the best time of the year to go, since kids were back in school. When we got to the park, there were thousands upon thousands of people lined up, waiting to either buy tickets or enter the park. Disney apparently realized that holding a promotion during this dead time would be a boon for ticket sales. At least I hope that was the case, as I'd hate to see what the park looks like during the Summer break.
With Halloween approaching, Disney redecorated the whole park with Halloween decorations. The non-human Disney character statues around the park all had jack-o-lanterns for heads, and they even changed the Haunted Mansion ride by installing millions of dollars worth of Nightmare Before Christmas animatronic robots.
Because of the Halloween theme, thousands of people came dressed in Disney character costumes. Japan is peculiar in that dressing up as cartoon characters is not out of the ordinary for twenty-somethings. It was tough at first to tell who was hired cast and who was visiting the park for Halloween. Eventually, we realized that paid cast is actually white. Even Princess Jasmine was a blonde girl with a fake tan and a black wig.
About 90% of the people there were in their early twenties, and I'd say that the vast majority of the people there were couples. There were very few elementary or junior high school aged children, if any. The Japanese take their schooling very seriously. The ratio of adults to kids was really quite shocking to me.
Because of the disparity between kids and adults, I was surprised to find that there were lines--often hour-long waits--just to take a picture with the characters. Grown adults waited to take pictures when they could have been going on rides. The waiting times for Mickey and Minnie were definitely the worst. I'm pretty sure that people here see the whole "take-a-picture-with-Mickey" thing as an essential tradition, much like viewing the cherry blossoms every year, or eating gooey multi-colored rice balls on a stick while looking in the moon during September (or is it October?). What else would explain lines of twenty to seventy year-old ladies waiting over an hour to take a picture with Mickey Mouse? Characters had to run between locations, aided by bodyguard-like park employees that did their apologizing for them.
Figuring that DisneySea, which we planned to visit the following day, would have characters in costume, we avoided waiting in line for pictures at Disneyland. We were there for the rides and the play areas. Stef spent some time a few days earlier researching which rides each of the girls could go on. She used her notes to mark up a park map and we set out to enjoy the park.
Our first stop was Toontown, where Kelsey and Mia got to run around and look at some of the characters' houses. They also had a few rides, including a Chip & Dale themed roller coaster called Gadget's Go Coaster, which was Kelsey's first ever ride at Disneyland. She was a little apprehensive at first, but after going on the first ride, she didn't want to stop. We worked our way around the park in the morning, going on the rides with short wait times.
The Peter Pan ride had a bit of a line (25 minutes), but I figured it would be worth it for Kelsey. As we approached the front of the line, the line stopped moving. They informed us that the ride was closed for "system adjustments", and to make it up, they gave us four fast passes (one for each of us) good for any ride in the whole park. Our crafty use of these passes made it the smoothest day we possibly could have had.
When you insert your ticket into a fast pass machine, it spits out a fast pass, which lets you use the fast pass line, which basically puts you near the front of the queue with only a few minutes to wait. You can only get one pass every two or three hours, and you have to come back to the ride after a couple hours to be able to use the fast pass line.
Because of the fast passes that I was given, I only had to get two regular fast passes the whole day. Here's how we did it. When you have to watch a kid that's too young (or too scared) to ride something while someone else in your party goes on the ride, you can get a babysitter ticket. This ticket is even better than a fast pass, because you enter through the exit and are escorted to the very front of the line, with no wait at all.
Stef used a single fast pass to get on Splash Mountain with Kelsey, and I had an employee write me a babysitter ticket while I was waiting for Stef. When she came back, I jumped straight to the front of the line and went on the ride alone while she watched the kids (Kelsey didn't want to go on Splash Mountain again). Amazed at the awesomeness of this plan, we did it for Space Mountain and the Haunted Mansion. I thought that Stef didn't want to go on the Haunted Mansion, so I didn't request a babysitter ticket. I waited in a normal line for the spinning rocket pods in Tomorrowland while Stef used our last special fast pass to take Mia on the Haunted Mansion ride. It was basically the perfect set up.
The food at the park was great--churros, real pizza, American-size hamburgers; they had pretty much everything we wanted. While we were eating dinner, a Russian family with kids sitting near us drew Kelsey's attention. She ran around with the two young Russian kids while I finished my burger. I went back to find a bathroom, and when I got back, Stef told me that the Russian boy had just dropped his pants and peed against the Tomorrowland cafe wall outside. The mom did nothing to stop him. Hilarious.
At night, Stef decided we should watch the light parade. I'm not a big fan of parades, but I was tired and figured that the girls would probably love it, so I acquiesced. I'm really glad I went. Kelsey loved every float that went by, and kept shouting the names of the characters and waving at them. I'd have a ton of fun if I went to Disneyland by myself, but being able to enjoy it with my kids was really something special.
Kelsey loved the rides, even if some of them were a little dark and scary. While Japanese kids were crying, she was begging for more rides. Mia was either happy or asleep all day. We went home very tired that night, but with the great weather, great food, awesome kids, and short waiting times, it was pretty much a perfect day at Disneyland.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Making our Way to Tokyo
The night before we left for Tokyo, Stef went to play volleyball. When she came back, she could hardly move--she had somehow tweaked her back. Having been through my fair share of back problems, I knew exactly how difficult it must have been, and began to worry that it might ruin her trip. She took some Advil and went to bed, hoping that it'd feel better the next morning.
She woke up stiff and sore. Our plan had been to ride bikes to the train station to save money, toting our kids and as little luggage as possible. That was no longer an option, so we took a taxi to the station and hopped on our train to Matsuyama. The early morning trains get packed with people commuting to work, so there weren't any clusters of seats where we could all sit together. We found two seats, but we like to have two rows of two, since we can flip the front seats around and have four seats all facing each other. A man was kind enough to offer his seat to us, which I gladly accepted. We turned out seats around and rode comfortably to Matsuyama en route to the airport.
We got to the airport about 90 minutes before we had to, so there was some time to burn. Stef took the girls for a walk while I took care of the bags. Kelsey sat in the box that they use to gauge whether or not your carry-on item will fit in the overhead compartment, and Stef took a picture. Mia likes to copy Kelsey, so when we met up and went to the security checkpoint, she climbed into the carry-on-checker box up there.
The Matsuyama airport has a really good bakery/café upstairs, so we stopped and grabbed a bunch of pastries to tide us over until lunch.
The Japan Airlines flight we took had rows of two seats on the outer edges, with rows of three seats down the middle. When choosing seats on the JAL website, I picked the two left-side seats of the middle row, and the far right seat of the adjacent two-seat row. I figured that I could keep the girls with me while Stef sat across the aisle.
That never happened. There were a bunch of empty seats on the plane, so the flight attendants told us to sit together in a row. I initially insisted that our seating arrangement was fine, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. Once we were comfortably in our seats, another lady who worked for JAL came in to confirm that nobody was sitting in the seat that we had just been given. Apparently, the person who was planning to ride in the third seat of the middle row wasn't going to be able to make the flight. We sat and watched as the flight attendants awkwardly battled with the lady in charge of confirming the seating. Some people take their jobs way too seriously. I'm no scientist, but I'm pretty sure that a simple change in seating isn't going to cause an implosion or anything.
Our plane was delayed by about ten minutes due to a possible typhoon in Tokyo. When we landed, the horizontal rain was battering everything, and the strong, shifting winds rippled the surface of the steadily accumulating puddles outside.
Our train trip from the airport to Maihama was supposed to only take about an hour, but we ended up spending about two. At the train station in front of the airport, I bought a ticket that supposedly led directly to Kasairinkaikouen station, the station nearest our hotel. The Google Maps directions that I had printed and brought with me said that we had to transfer twice, but the train tickets I bought were a couple hundred yen less expensive than the ones on my directions and seemed more direct, so I thought I might have printed out a less-than-optimal route.
When we were approaching the station where I thought we had to transfer, I asked some people around me if that was the correct station. There's often not a lot of time to transfer on trains in Japan. The doors open for about 30 seconds while people file out and hurry in, then the whistle blows, the doors slam shut, and the train speeds off toward its next stop. The first girl I asked shrugged her shoulders and didn't utter a single word in response, while the men across the aisle were much more willing to help.
One of them told me that I had to wait until our train reached its final destination, then transfer to a line that supposedly would take me right to our stop. Just as the doors closed and the train pulled away from what I thought was the correct station, the man corrected himself, having consulted the internet on his phone. We were supposed to get off where I thought we did.
We got off at the next stop and switched to a train going back the other way, and got off at the correct stop. Luckily, up to this point, all the stations had roofs above us to keep us mostly dry in the typhoon. We went to switch to the Rinkai line, which led to Maihama, but we couldn't figure out how to go through without giving up our tickets, which would have forced us to buy new tickets. Unfortunately for us, there was nobody to help us at the turnstile--no workers were on duty.
Seeing us fumbling and bumbling around, a kind man walked over to an intercom and paged a station attendant, who instead of coming, paged me on a closer intercom. I explained that I had purchased a ticket all the way to my destination, but wasn't expecting to have to relinquish my ticket at a turnstile. He told me that in order to hit the Rinkai line, we had to leave the station, go outside, and cross the street. Keeping our ticket was not an option. He sent someone to help us, who gave us a refund for the difference between our ticket and the one that would've taken us to that station.
You see, there was a way to make it all the way on one single ticket, but it would've involved using a different line owned by Japan Railroads. We had taken the monorail. Trains are confusing in Japan--there are JR trains, non-JR trains, the monorail, city trains, local trains, special express trains, the metro, and the subway. And all seem to go through similar stations and connect to each other. I've lived in Japan for two years, and I still have no idea how the train system works. Just when I think I've got the hang of it, I'm being paged by faceless attendants and getting refunds for buying the wrong tickets.
We walked through the wicket and towards the exit, only to realize that there was no elevator--only a ludicrously long flight of stairs going down to the ground level--and that there was no roof to cover us once we got outside. Stef's back was hurting, so she couldn't carry much down. I carried Mia (in her stroller) halfway down the stairs, resting her and my 2000 pound backpack on a big step. Stef had Kelsey walk down the stairs while I made multiple trips up and down the stairs for all our luggage. Stef took down as much as her back would let her.
Finally at the bottom of the stairs, our next challenge awaited: repack the bags so that the kids, the laptop, and the clothes will stay dry with just three umbrellas and two strollers. Kelsey walked alongside us, holding her own umbrella, while I carried the heavy backpack on my back, another backpack (with the laptop and other stuff) backwards on my chest, and a stroller full of luggage (or Mia--I can't really remember which of us took the stroller of stuff and which took the stroller full of Mia). Stef pushed another stroller. She and I each had an umbrella to try to cover all the stuff as we had to cross two streets with strollers, walking kids, and luggage, all in a typhoon.
While our clothes were pretty wet, we managed to keep the luggage mostly dry. We lugged all our stuff to the platform and caught a train for Kasairinkaikouen station. It's entirely possible that we got on the wrong train there, too. It happened a few times over the course of the trip, but never really cost us more than 15-20 minutes. We eventually got to our station, and we toted our stuff out the exit into a raging typhoon.
We readied the umbrellas and made a mad dash for the covered bus stop, which was halfway between the station exit and the taxi line, which is where we were headed. The wind jerked Kelsey's umbrella out of her hand and blew it across the parking lot. After briefly comforting Kelsey, I dropped all my stuff on the bus stop bench and made a run for the umbrella. The twenty-or-so seconds that it took to retrieve the umbrella were enough to soak most of my clothes.
By this time, I was getting pretty irritable, so while Stef was trying to plan the best way for us to stay dry while we darted for the taxi, I said, "Screw it," grabbed my stuff, and ran willy-nilly into the typhoon. A shouted for the taxi driver to open his trunk, threw my wet baggage in, then went back to help get everything else to the taxi. Perhaps we could have done it a bit smarter, but the "covers" of those bus stops are pretty useless when the rain is coming at you sideways.
The taxi driver took us to our hotel without any shenanigans, and it winded up costing no more than the minimum 710 yen fare. We entered the hotel, drenched and drained from the travel, and ready to relax a bit. Check-in time at the hotel started at 3PM, which just so happened to be when we arrived. We checked in, pulled Kelsey and Mia away from the kids' books that the hotel puts out in the fifties diner-style lobby, rejoiced at the sight of Dr. Pepper in the hotel vending machine, and checked out our room. We had a big bed for the two of us, and a twin bed that we pushed perpendicularly up against our own for the girls to share.
Stef and the girls changed clothes, but I took mine and blew them damp with a blow dryer. I figured I wasn't done getting wet for the day.
We hadn't planned on going to Disneyland that day, so the typhoon, the missing of train stops, and the aimless wandering were more annoying than demoralizing. With the rain being so strong, however, we worried that Thursday and Friday, the days we were planning on visiting the Disney parks, would be ruined as well.
The rain started to let up just before 5PM, so we grabbed two umbrellas and headed across the street to Royal Host, a chain restaurant which I had never seen before. I set my umbrella in the umbrella bin by the front door (which many stores and restaurants require, so as to not drip all over the floor inside). I told Stef, who had entered with her umbrella in hand, to put it in the umbrella bin, since "that's how they do things in Japan." For a brief moment, I felt proud that I was adapting to the Japanese way without really having to think about it.
We sat down and ate a surprisingly tasty meal. As we ate, I noticed that the rain had picked up again outside. We paid for meal and went to the exit to grab our umbrellas. Mine was gone--someone had stolen it. Honestly--what kind of person steals somebody else's umbrella in the middle of a typhoon? I understand that you don't want to get wet, but if there's one time that you should feel the most regret for stealing someone's umbrella, it's during a typhoon. Oh well, he can keep it. He'll need it in HELL!!! Wait.. that doesn't.. uh..
People often say that Japan is basically a crime-free country. While I agree that I usually feel safe at night, and don't worry about getting murdered, the Japanese are not perfect. People will steal a bike if they need to get somewhere. They'll steal an umbrella if they don't want to get wet. And, they'll do plenty of other faceless crimes that don't necessarily cause bodily injury, but are sufficiently irritating for the victim. I've known people to have their bikes stolen, only to find them returned to the same parking lot later.
Anyway, I went to report the theft to the restaurant managed, who first shrugged her shoulders, but eventually offered me her own umbrella. In no way did I want to force someone else to go without one, and I didn't actually expect them to do anything about it. I just wanted them to know where we were staying in case the culprit decided to return it. At the end of what was a very awkward conversation, I shrugged my shoulders and apologized as Stef decided to take the girls with the remaining one umbrella (which, incidentally, would have been two remaining umbrellas if I just followed Stef and didn't do things the way everybody else does them in Japan).
So, I had to brave the rain without an umbrella. All the way across the street. I'm pretty sure I didn't get any wetter walking through the rain (which had let up a lot) than I did sitting next to spill-prone Kelsey at the restaurant. It ended up being mostly a non-issue, except that I now have to buy another umbrella. That night, we didn't really go out (other than Stef making a quick conbini run for ice cream). We stayed inside the hotel, sipping Dr. Pepper and watching TV shows on the laptop--a nice, relaxing end to a turbulent day.
She woke up stiff and sore. Our plan had been to ride bikes to the train station to save money, toting our kids and as little luggage as possible. That was no longer an option, so we took a taxi to the station and hopped on our train to Matsuyama. The early morning trains get packed with people commuting to work, so there weren't any clusters of seats where we could all sit together. We found two seats, but we like to have two rows of two, since we can flip the front seats around and have four seats all facing each other. A man was kind enough to offer his seat to us, which I gladly accepted. We turned out seats around and rode comfortably to Matsuyama en route to the airport.
We got to the airport about 90 minutes before we had to, so there was some time to burn. Stef took the girls for a walk while I took care of the bags. Kelsey sat in the box that they use to gauge whether or not your carry-on item will fit in the overhead compartment, and Stef took a picture. Mia likes to copy Kelsey, so when we met up and went to the security checkpoint, she climbed into the carry-on-checker box up there.
The Matsuyama airport has a really good bakery/café upstairs, so we stopped and grabbed a bunch of pastries to tide us over until lunch.
The Japan Airlines flight we took had rows of two seats on the outer edges, with rows of three seats down the middle. When choosing seats on the JAL website, I picked the two left-side seats of the middle row, and the far right seat of the adjacent two-seat row. I figured that I could keep the girls with me while Stef sat across the aisle.
That never happened. There were a bunch of empty seats on the plane, so the flight attendants told us to sit together in a row. I initially insisted that our seating arrangement was fine, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. Once we were comfortably in our seats, another lady who worked for JAL came in to confirm that nobody was sitting in the seat that we had just been given. Apparently, the person who was planning to ride in the third seat of the middle row wasn't going to be able to make the flight. We sat and watched as the flight attendants awkwardly battled with the lady in charge of confirming the seating. Some people take their jobs way too seriously. I'm no scientist, but I'm pretty sure that a simple change in seating isn't going to cause an implosion or anything.
Our plane was delayed by about ten minutes due to a possible typhoon in Tokyo. When we landed, the horizontal rain was battering everything, and the strong, shifting winds rippled the surface of the steadily accumulating puddles outside.
Our train trip from the airport to Maihama was supposed to only take about an hour, but we ended up spending about two. At the train station in front of the airport, I bought a ticket that supposedly led directly to Kasairinkaikouen station, the station nearest our hotel. The Google Maps directions that I had printed and brought with me said that we had to transfer twice, but the train tickets I bought were a couple hundred yen less expensive than the ones on my directions and seemed more direct, so I thought I might have printed out a less-than-optimal route.
When we were approaching the station where I thought we had to transfer, I asked some people around me if that was the correct station. There's often not a lot of time to transfer on trains in Japan. The doors open for about 30 seconds while people file out and hurry in, then the whistle blows, the doors slam shut, and the train speeds off toward its next stop. The first girl I asked shrugged her shoulders and didn't utter a single word in response, while the men across the aisle were much more willing to help.
One of them told me that I had to wait until our train reached its final destination, then transfer to a line that supposedly would take me right to our stop. Just as the doors closed and the train pulled away from what I thought was the correct station, the man corrected himself, having consulted the internet on his phone. We were supposed to get off where I thought we did.
We got off at the next stop and switched to a train going back the other way, and got off at the correct stop. Luckily, up to this point, all the stations had roofs above us to keep us mostly dry in the typhoon. We went to switch to the Rinkai line, which led to Maihama, but we couldn't figure out how to go through without giving up our tickets, which would have forced us to buy new tickets. Unfortunately for us, there was nobody to help us at the turnstile--no workers were on duty.
Seeing us fumbling and bumbling around, a kind man walked over to an intercom and paged a station attendant, who instead of coming, paged me on a closer intercom. I explained that I had purchased a ticket all the way to my destination, but wasn't expecting to have to relinquish my ticket at a turnstile. He told me that in order to hit the Rinkai line, we had to leave the station, go outside, and cross the street. Keeping our ticket was not an option. He sent someone to help us, who gave us a refund for the difference between our ticket and the one that would've taken us to that station.
You see, there was a way to make it all the way on one single ticket, but it would've involved using a different line owned by Japan Railroads. We had taken the monorail. Trains are confusing in Japan--there are JR trains, non-JR trains, the monorail, city trains, local trains, special express trains, the metro, and the subway. And all seem to go through similar stations and connect to each other. I've lived in Japan for two years, and I still have no idea how the train system works. Just when I think I've got the hang of it, I'm being paged by faceless attendants and getting refunds for buying the wrong tickets.
We walked through the wicket and towards the exit, only to realize that there was no elevator--only a ludicrously long flight of stairs going down to the ground level--and that there was no roof to cover us once we got outside. Stef's back was hurting, so she couldn't carry much down. I carried Mia (in her stroller) halfway down the stairs, resting her and my 2000 pound backpack on a big step. Stef had Kelsey walk down the stairs while I made multiple trips up and down the stairs for all our luggage. Stef took down as much as her back would let her.
Finally at the bottom of the stairs, our next challenge awaited: repack the bags so that the kids, the laptop, and the clothes will stay dry with just three umbrellas and two strollers. Kelsey walked alongside us, holding her own umbrella, while I carried the heavy backpack on my back, another backpack (with the laptop and other stuff) backwards on my chest, and a stroller full of luggage (or Mia--I can't really remember which of us took the stroller of stuff and which took the stroller full of Mia). Stef pushed another stroller. She and I each had an umbrella to try to cover all the stuff as we had to cross two streets with strollers, walking kids, and luggage, all in a typhoon.
While our clothes were pretty wet, we managed to keep the luggage mostly dry. We lugged all our stuff to the platform and caught a train for Kasairinkaikouen station. It's entirely possible that we got on the wrong train there, too. It happened a few times over the course of the trip, but never really cost us more than 15-20 minutes. We eventually got to our station, and we toted our stuff out the exit into a raging typhoon.
We readied the umbrellas and made a mad dash for the covered bus stop, which was halfway between the station exit and the taxi line, which is where we were headed. The wind jerked Kelsey's umbrella out of her hand and blew it across the parking lot. After briefly comforting Kelsey, I dropped all my stuff on the bus stop bench and made a run for the umbrella. The twenty-or-so seconds that it took to retrieve the umbrella were enough to soak most of my clothes.
By this time, I was getting pretty irritable, so while Stef was trying to plan the best way for us to stay dry while we darted for the taxi, I said, "Screw it," grabbed my stuff, and ran willy-nilly into the typhoon. A shouted for the taxi driver to open his trunk, threw my wet baggage in, then went back to help get everything else to the taxi. Perhaps we could have done it a bit smarter, but the "covers" of those bus stops are pretty useless when the rain is coming at you sideways.
The taxi driver took us to our hotel without any shenanigans, and it winded up costing no more than the minimum 710 yen fare. We entered the hotel, drenched and drained from the travel, and ready to relax a bit. Check-in time at the hotel started at 3PM, which just so happened to be when we arrived. We checked in, pulled Kelsey and Mia away from the kids' books that the hotel puts out in the fifties diner-style lobby, rejoiced at the sight of Dr. Pepper in the hotel vending machine, and checked out our room. We had a big bed for the two of us, and a twin bed that we pushed perpendicularly up against our own for the girls to share.
Stef and the girls changed clothes, but I took mine and blew them damp with a blow dryer. I figured I wasn't done getting wet for the day.
We hadn't planned on going to Disneyland that day, so the typhoon, the missing of train stops, and the aimless wandering were more annoying than demoralizing. With the rain being so strong, however, we worried that Thursday and Friday, the days we were planning on visiting the Disney parks, would be ruined as well.
The rain started to let up just before 5PM, so we grabbed two umbrellas and headed across the street to Royal Host, a chain restaurant which I had never seen before. I set my umbrella in the umbrella bin by the front door (which many stores and restaurants require, so as to not drip all over the floor inside). I told Stef, who had entered with her umbrella in hand, to put it in the umbrella bin, since "that's how they do things in Japan." For a brief moment, I felt proud that I was adapting to the Japanese way without really having to think about it.
We sat down and ate a surprisingly tasty meal. As we ate, I noticed that the rain had picked up again outside. We paid for meal and went to the exit to grab our umbrellas. Mine was gone--someone had stolen it. Honestly--what kind of person steals somebody else's umbrella in the middle of a typhoon? I understand that you don't want to get wet, but if there's one time that you should feel the most regret for stealing someone's umbrella, it's during a typhoon. Oh well, he can keep it. He'll need it in HELL!!! Wait.. that doesn't.. uh..
People often say that Japan is basically a crime-free country. While I agree that I usually feel safe at night, and don't worry about getting murdered, the Japanese are not perfect. People will steal a bike if they need to get somewhere. They'll steal an umbrella if they don't want to get wet. And, they'll do plenty of other faceless crimes that don't necessarily cause bodily injury, but are sufficiently irritating for the victim. I've known people to have their bikes stolen, only to find them returned to the same parking lot later.
Anyway, I went to report the theft to the restaurant managed, who first shrugged her shoulders, but eventually offered me her own umbrella. In no way did I want to force someone else to go without one, and I didn't actually expect them to do anything about it. I just wanted them to know where we were staying in case the culprit decided to return it. At the end of what was a very awkward conversation, I shrugged my shoulders and apologized as Stef decided to take the girls with the remaining one umbrella (which, incidentally, would have been two remaining umbrellas if I just followed Stef and didn't do things the way everybody else does them in Japan).
So, I had to brave the rain without an umbrella. All the way across the street. I'm pretty sure I didn't get any wetter walking through the rain (which had let up a lot) than I did sitting next to spill-prone Kelsey at the restaurant. It ended up being mostly a non-issue, except that I now have to buy another umbrella. That night, we didn't really go out (other than Stef making a quick conbini run for ice cream). We stayed inside the hotel, sipping Dr. Pepper and watching TV shows on the laptop--a nice, relaxing end to a turbulent day.
Planning a Trip to Tokyo Disneyland
Ever since we came to Japan, we've fantasized about visiting Tokyo Disneyland. We don't do a lot of traveling out here, partly because Japanese hotels insists on charging by the head instead of the room. With two kids (who are often considered adults in the eyes of the greedy innkeepers), travel costs spiral out of control pretty quickly. In order to save a bit of money, Stef and I decided we'd save our Disneyland trip for the weeks before we leave Japan for good.
However, when Stef did the research and crunched the numbers, she found that the busiest (and, consequently, the most expensive) time of the year at Disneyland is actually from July to August, when kids are out of school--and when I would be going home. The first part of September, according to Stef's online research, was actually the least busy time of the year; kids are back in school, so the attendance drops drastically. It's basically the same in America. So, we decided that we might as well check and see how much it would cost to plan a trip out to Tokyo in early September.
We found a good time to go, which just so happened to be the first possible day that we could book cheap airline tickets. Since I don't have a credit card in Japan, I had to run around like a headless chicken to get the reservations made (and make sure that I was getting the best possible price), and then make a mad dash to the convenience store (they call it a "conbini" in Japan) before midnight to make a payment on a confusing computer kiosk, all because that night just happened to be the last possible night that I could book the flight for the time frame we had set (you have to book at least 30 days in advance).
To make matters more stressful, I had to make sure right then that I could get decent hotel reservations for the same time frame, since it would be pretty pointless to pay out the nose for a place to stay for the sole purpose of saving money on a plane ticket. Hotels in Tokyo are not cheap. Any place near the park is absurdly overpriced. In my frantic rush to find a place for less than $650 (or at least the equivalent if the dollar were 1:100 yen like it used to be) for three nights, I even fooled myself into thinking that I might be overlooking great package deals from the resort hotels.
I saw the price per night at one of the official Disney hotels, and was surprised to see that they charged by the room rather than per person. Still, the $500 per night charge seemed outrageous. Then, I saw that there were rooms at another official Disney hotel for only $150 per night, and they charged by the room, too! When I got to the checkout page that asked for my payment, I realized that I had made a critical mistake--I didn't see the extra zero at the end of the total.
That's right--it wasn't $150 per night, but $1500 dollars. And the other, already outrageously overpriced room was actually $5000 a night. Five. Thousand. Dollars. This was not some luxurious penthouse suite, but a normal room at the official resort hotel. Who the heck has that kind of money?
I called Sayuri and asked if she could help me find a deal, and she gave me the name of the area in which I should be searching. I eventually discovered the website of a little place called Family Resort Fifty's for Maihama, which seemed close to the park, and only cost about $120 a night with breakfast included. I got the booking ready, and just as I was about to click the button to make the reservation, I remembered hearing that sometimes you can get better deals for hotels through other companies. I did a search for Fifty's on a few of the Japanese travel sites, and was pleased to find that I could get the same exact room for $89 each night. I booked the room at Fifty's for three nights for a total of $267--much less than the $600-$700 that all the other places were asking.
Having booked the room, I then ran to the conbini about an hour before the midnight deadline to pay for the plane tickets. We were going to Disneyland in a month!
However, when Stef did the research and crunched the numbers, she found that the busiest (and, consequently, the most expensive) time of the year at Disneyland is actually from July to August, when kids are out of school--and when I would be going home. The first part of September, according to Stef's online research, was actually the least busy time of the year; kids are back in school, so the attendance drops drastically. It's basically the same in America. So, we decided that we might as well check and see how much it would cost to plan a trip out to Tokyo in early September.
We found a good time to go, which just so happened to be the first possible day that we could book cheap airline tickets. Since I don't have a credit card in Japan, I had to run around like a headless chicken to get the reservations made (and make sure that I was getting the best possible price), and then make a mad dash to the convenience store (they call it a "conbini" in Japan) before midnight to make a payment on a confusing computer kiosk, all because that night just happened to be the last possible night that I could book the flight for the time frame we had set (you have to book at least 30 days in advance).
To make matters more stressful, I had to make sure right then that I could get decent hotel reservations for the same time frame, since it would be pretty pointless to pay out the nose for a place to stay for the sole purpose of saving money on a plane ticket. Hotels in Tokyo are not cheap. Any place near the park is absurdly overpriced. In my frantic rush to find a place for less than $650 (or at least the equivalent if the dollar were 1:100 yen like it used to be) for three nights, I even fooled myself into thinking that I might be overlooking great package deals from the resort hotels.
I saw the price per night at one of the official Disney hotels, and was surprised to see that they charged by the room rather than per person. Still, the $500 per night charge seemed outrageous. Then, I saw that there were rooms at another official Disney hotel for only $150 per night, and they charged by the room, too! When I got to the checkout page that asked for my payment, I realized that I had made a critical mistake--I didn't see the extra zero at the end of the total.
That's right--it wasn't $150 per night, but $1500 dollars. And the other, already outrageously overpriced room was actually $5000 a night. Five. Thousand. Dollars. This was not some luxurious penthouse suite, but a normal room at the official resort hotel. Who the heck has that kind of money?
I called Sayuri and asked if she could help me find a deal, and she gave me the name of the area in which I should be searching. I eventually discovered the website of a little place called Family Resort Fifty's for Maihama, which seemed close to the park, and only cost about $120 a night with breakfast included. I got the booking ready, and just as I was about to click the button to make the reservation, I remembered hearing that sometimes you can get better deals for hotels through other companies. I did a search for Fifty's on a few of the Japanese travel sites, and was pleased to find that I could get the same exact room for $89 each night. I booked the room at Fifty's for three nights for a total of $267--much less than the $600-$700 that all the other places were asking.
Having booked the room, I then ran to the conbini about an hour before the midnight deadline to pay for the plane tickets. We were going to Disneyland in a month!
Monday, September 6, 2010
I Passed the JLPT (N2)!
Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
I am so going to Disneyland* to celebrate. In three days.
*Tokyo
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Going to Get the Fam (Part--Ah, Screw It)
Having arrived at the port, I waited in line to get off the ferry, when over the PA, a voice announced, "The somethingsomething exit is for people with cars. The rest should wait in the other line." I wasn't sure which line was which--so I just followed a bunch of people that left the line in which I was standing to go to another exit. I'm sure there were signs indicating which line was for car-less passengers like myself, but I was too tired and anxious to see my family to care.
Taking the escalator down to the main exit floor, I walked out a door into a parking lot, realizing that I had taken the wrong exit. I walked across to the side where the pedestrian exit was, and was instantly first in line to get off the boat. I almost felt guilty for skipping to the front of the line--for a split second. Leaving the boat, I set off for the train to Nanba station, where I'd be taking care of some banking.
My first goal was to search for Shinsei Bank, where I do my foreign wire transactions. There are no Shinsei Bank branches in all of Ehime, and the closest one requires a $100 round-trip train ticket just so that I can send money home. We had been waiting for a trip to Osaka to send some savings to our American account, and this trip fit the bill.
Wandering the desolate streets of Osaka at 7AM on a weekday is a surreal experience; there's not a whole lot to do in a city (and country) that opens at 10AM. I resolved to find the bank--which was sure to open a few hours later--and then go get some breakfast.
Each subway and train station has multiple exits, and it's often hard to know exactly where you are, especially when you're only armed with a printed google map that only provides landmark names and an address. Even more frustrating is the fact that streets in Japan go under, over, and through intersections, and don't necessarily head north-to-south or east-to-west. Having lived in Utah, where each city has street numbers based on how far away from the city center, I find the Japanese streets a bit more difficult to navigate. In Provo, for example, you know that the mountains are always on the east. Knowing that, if the mountains are on your right, you're facing north. If you're at 300 E 200 N and need to get to 450 E 400 N, you know that you need to go two blocks to the north and 1.5 blocks to the east. It's a simple system that I'm sure many towns and cities use.
Here's the google maps page for a section of South Provo, where I used to live:
This is the google maps page for the Osaka neighborhood that I haplessly tried to navigate:
I could tell by the position of the sun in the sky where north was, I just had no idea where I was on my unmarked map. All I knew was that there was a McDonald's right by an AM/PM convenience store, and that a street curved around somewhere near there. I showed the address to a AM/PM store attendant, and he timidly pointed me in the direction of another AM/PM (it turns out that there are about 8 AM/PMs within 2 city blocks), which might have someone on hand who would know better.
Unable to find the convenience store, I ducked my head into the chintzy Hotel Cordon Bleu, hoping that the hotel staff might have some knowledge of the surrounding area. There was no front desk to speak of (or if there was, it was curtained off), so I got some information from a cleaning lady, who pointed me in the direction of a McDonald's.
When I found the McDonald's, I saw an AM/PM right up the street, so I finally located my place on the map. I followed the curved road until I saw Shinsei Bank. The bank was connected to a Starbucks, sharing an exit. On the facade, a sign displayed the bank's operating hours--I had about an hour-and-a-half until the 9AM opening time.
I walked back to the McDonald's, hungry and in need of my cough/asthma medication, and itching to burn some time. Upon entering the store, I passed a large black man, who I think was African American (based on his attire). I tried to flash a smile (after which I planned to nod my head so as to say, "'Sup", but he kept his head down and avoided eye contact. I can't say I blame him. If he is an English-speaker, he's probably almost as sick of talking to English-speakers as I am. Sometimes you just want people to leave you alone. Back home in America, people don't come up to you and talk to you just because you might speak English. It gets tiring to have to always stand out and play the part of foreigner--even with people that share the role.
One of the best things about McDonald's in Japan (yes, there are actually good things about McDonald's here) is that some of the locations serve American breakfast sandwiches like the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. I ordered one of those and a cup of water, and sat down to pass some time and take my meds. When I got to my seat, I noticed that my water cup was basically a dixie cup filled to the brim with ice, with about a half an ounce of liquid water in the cup. I ate my sandwich, swallowed my pills with the little bit of water, and took my water thimble to the counter to ask for a refill so I could sit down and have something to drink while I pre-blogged on paper to pass the time.
The kid running the register responded that while there was no excuse for their rudeness--it was, in fact, impossible for me to get a refill on water. Aside from the absurd logic of impossibility (just say you won't refill my water, all right?), the unwillingness to provide such a basic service triggered the Irate Customer Switch in my brain, which I believe (based on extensive scientific research) is located within Broca's Area.
From Wikipedia:
My Irate Customer Switch functions somewhat differently than it does in other people. Others may get angry and demand to speak to a manager. I, on the other hand, lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences. All I could muster was a flustered, "Seriously?" in Japanese.
Disgusted, I shook my head and separated my trash into the burnable and non-burnable trash cans, jettisoning the ice in my cup into the special liquid disposal bin. In retrospect, I should have put my ice in the burnables. Try burning wet garbage, suckers!
But I was more patient than that. At first. I mean, I didn't swear or anything. Seriously, though--how much does an ounce of water cost? A penny? If you round up? Never in my life have I been denied a refill on water--not at any restaurant, ever. I've been to cheap fast food places that charge ten cents for the cup, but I always get unlimited water.
On my way out the door, I stopped to ask a managerial-looking employee why his store didn't offer refills on water. He replied squeamishly that it was a store-by-store decision. I responded that I had never been to a store that didn't refill my water. His response: if they offered refills on water, people wouldn't buy a soda.
What I wanted to say:
"What about people that don't want soda? Or can't drink soda? It's in your best interest as a business to build loyalty by putting your customers first, especially with something as simple and inexpensive as water, which nearly every restaurant on the planet offers for free. By trying to force me to buy a soda, you've lost any future business from me. Not only will I not buy a drink, I will hereafter fulfill my periodic cravings for sausage, eggs, and english muffins through some other, less miserly establishment. Your insatiable desire to squeeze every last yen out of my wallet will actually deprive you of the filthy lucre which you so treasure."
What I actually said:
"Well... in all other McDonald's restaurants, it's free. You know, the customer... I mean... What the customer wants... It would be good for business... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again."
What is it about being frustrated that makes me unable to speak properly? And it's not just the language barrier.
Here's an English scenario that might have actually happened to me on my recent trip to America:
Having arrived at a store at 8:55, knowing they close at 9, I pull on the door, but it won't open.
Shop clerk: Sorry dude, we close at 9.
Me: But the clock right behind you says it's 8:55. Look.
Shop clerk: The registers are closed. Sorry dude.
Me: But that... The registers... It's not like... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again.
It's not like I'm fuming--so angry that veins bulge out of my neck and forehead. I think I have some kind of anti-super power where I absorb the stupidity of a situation and it temporarily invades Broca's Area in my brain. No complete sentences. Just clipped words and bits of ideas that might make sense to me, but likely come across as garbled nonsense. Just thinking about such ridiculousness hurts my brain.
Post. bank. later. family. see.
Taking the escalator down to the main exit floor, I walked out a door into a parking lot, realizing that I had taken the wrong exit. I walked across to the side where the pedestrian exit was, and was instantly first in line to get off the boat. I almost felt guilty for skipping to the front of the line--for a split second. Leaving the boat, I set off for the train to Nanba station, where I'd be taking care of some banking.
My first goal was to search for Shinsei Bank, where I do my foreign wire transactions. There are no Shinsei Bank branches in all of Ehime, and the closest one requires a $100 round-trip train ticket just so that I can send money home. We had been waiting for a trip to Osaka to send some savings to our American account, and this trip fit the bill.
Wandering the desolate streets of Osaka at 7AM on a weekday is a surreal experience; there's not a whole lot to do in a city (and country) that opens at 10AM. I resolved to find the bank--which was sure to open a few hours later--and then go get some breakfast.
Each subway and train station has multiple exits, and it's often hard to know exactly where you are, especially when you're only armed with a printed google map that only provides landmark names and an address. Even more frustrating is the fact that streets in Japan go under, over, and through intersections, and don't necessarily head north-to-south or east-to-west. Having lived in Utah, where each city has street numbers based on how far away from the city center, I find the Japanese streets a bit more difficult to navigate. In Provo, for example, you know that the mountains are always on the east. Knowing that, if the mountains are on your right, you're facing north. If you're at 300 E 200 N and need to get to 450 E 400 N, you know that you need to go two blocks to the north and 1.5 blocks to the east. It's a simple system that I'm sure many towns and cities use.
Here's the google maps page for a section of South Provo, where I used to live:
This is the google maps page for the Osaka neighborhood that I haplessly tried to navigate:
I could tell by the position of the sun in the sky where north was, I just had no idea where I was on my unmarked map. All I knew was that there was a McDonald's right by an AM/PM convenience store, and that a street curved around somewhere near there. I showed the address to a AM/PM store attendant, and he timidly pointed me in the direction of another AM/PM (it turns out that there are about 8 AM/PMs within 2 city blocks), which might have someone on hand who would know better.
Unable to find the convenience store, I ducked my head into the chintzy Hotel Cordon Bleu, hoping that the hotel staff might have some knowledge of the surrounding area. There was no front desk to speak of (or if there was, it was curtained off), so I got some information from a cleaning lady, who pointed me in the direction of a McDonald's.
When I found the McDonald's, I saw an AM/PM right up the street, so I finally located my place on the map. I followed the curved road until I saw Shinsei Bank. The bank was connected to a Starbucks, sharing an exit. On the facade, a sign displayed the bank's operating hours--I had about an hour-and-a-half until the 9AM opening time.
I walked back to the McDonald's, hungry and in need of my cough/asthma medication, and itching to burn some time. Upon entering the store, I passed a large black man, who I think was African American (based on his attire). I tried to flash a smile (after which I planned to nod my head so as to say, "'Sup", but he kept his head down and avoided eye contact. I can't say I blame him. If he is an English-speaker, he's probably almost as sick of talking to English-speakers as I am. Sometimes you just want people to leave you alone. Back home in America, people don't come up to you and talk to you just because you might speak English. It gets tiring to have to always stand out and play the part of foreigner--even with people that share the role.
One of the best things about McDonald's in Japan (yes, there are actually good things about McDonald's here) is that some of the locations serve American breakfast sandwiches like the Sausage McMuffin with Egg. I ordered one of those and a cup of water, and sat down to pass some time and take my meds. When I got to my seat, I noticed that my water cup was basically a dixie cup filled to the brim with ice, with about a half an ounce of liquid water in the cup. I ate my sandwich, swallowed my pills with the little bit of water, and took my water thimble to the counter to ask for a refill so I could sit down and have something to drink while I pre-blogged on paper to pass the time.
The kid running the register responded that while there was no excuse for their rudeness--it was, in fact, impossible for me to get a refill on water. Aside from the absurd logic of impossibility (just say you won't refill my water, all right?), the unwillingness to provide such a basic service triggered the Irate Customer Switch in my brain, which I believe (based on extensive scientific research) is located within Broca's Area.
From Wikipedia:
Lelong was another patient of Paul Pierre Broca. He also exhibited reduced productive speech. He could only say five words, 'yes,' 'no,' 'three,' 'always,' and 'lelo' (a mispronunciation of his own name). At autopsy, a lesion was also found in the same region of lateral frontal lobe as in Leborgne. These two cases led Paul Pierre Broca to believe that speech was localized to this particular area.
My Irate Customer Switch functions somewhat differently than it does in other people. Others may get angry and demand to speak to a manager. I, on the other hand, lose the ability to speak in coherent sentences. All I could muster was a flustered, "Seriously?" in Japanese.
Disgusted, I shook my head and separated my trash into the burnable and non-burnable trash cans, jettisoning the ice in my cup into the special liquid disposal bin. In retrospect, I should have put my ice in the burnables. Try burning wet garbage, suckers!
But I was more patient than that. At first. I mean, I didn't swear or anything. Seriously, though--how much does an ounce of water cost? A penny? If you round up? Never in my life have I been denied a refill on water--not at any restaurant, ever. I've been to cheap fast food places that charge ten cents for the cup, but I always get unlimited water.
On my way out the door, I stopped to ask a managerial-looking employee why his store didn't offer refills on water. He replied squeamishly that it was a store-by-store decision. I responded that I had never been to a store that didn't refill my water. His response: if they offered refills on water, people wouldn't buy a soda.
What I wanted to say:
"What about people that don't want soda? Or can't drink soda? It's in your best interest as a business to build loyalty by putting your customers first, especially with something as simple and inexpensive as water, which nearly every restaurant on the planet offers for free. By trying to force me to buy a soda, you've lost any future business from me. Not only will I not buy a drink, I will hereafter fulfill my periodic cravings for sausage, eggs, and english muffins through some other, less miserly establishment. Your insatiable desire to squeeze every last yen out of my wallet will actually deprive you of the filthy lucre which you so treasure."
What I actually said:
"Well... in all other McDonald's restaurants, it's free. You know, the customer... I mean... What the customer wants... It would be good for business... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again."
What is it about being frustrated that makes me unable to speak properly? And it's not just the language barrier.
Here's an English scenario that might have actually happened to me on my recent trip to America:
Having arrived at a store at 8:55, knowing they close at 9, I pull on the door, but it won't open.
Shop clerk: Sorry dude, we close at 9.
Me: But the clock right behind you says it's 8:55. Look.
Shop clerk: The registers are closed. Sorry dude.
Me: But that... The registers... It's not like... Ah, screw it. I'm never comin' here again.
It's not like I'm fuming--so angry that veins bulge out of my neck and forehead. I think I have some kind of anti-super power where I absorb the stupidity of a situation and it temporarily invades Broca's Area in my brain. No complete sentences. Just clipped words and bits of ideas that might make sense to me, but likely come across as garbled nonsense. Just thinking about such ridiculousness hurts my brain.
Post. bank. later. family. see.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
And Yet Another New Holiday!
Happy Take-Your-Daughter-to-the-Hospital-for-Immunizations-So-You-Can-Hit-Your-Head-Really-Hard-on-the-Corner-of-a-Hanging-Metal-TV-Stand-and-Knock-Yourself-to-the-Ground-and-Draw-Blood-and-Leave-a-Mound-on-Your-Noggin Day, everyone!
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Happy Take-Your-Daughter-to-Work-So-She-Can-Pee-Her-Pants-and-You-Get-to-Go-Home-Early Day!
So, yeah. That happened today.
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