Landed at Narita on Monday, fought with the immigration officials, got stopped by customs (which, by the way, happens to me everywhere) and then headed to the train station to catch the Narita Express back home.
Although I hopped on email and IM while waiting for the train, I was careful to sit where the train would pull up, so I didn’t miss it this time. Huzzah!
Unfortunately, about 10 minutes into the ride, the train slowed down and eventually stopped at the town of Narita. First there was a lot of “please wait” and various apologies over the loudspeakers, but everyone clearly expected the train to start moving again.
Then, after 30 minutes, the conductor started moving through the train, herding people off. He got to me and it was obvious that he was dreading trying to explain this to me. Five seconds into the tooth-sucking noise + constipated face ritual that many Japanese seem to practice when faced with impossible situations, I volunteered that I understood a little Japanese.
I didn’t get everything he said, but managed to decipher that things were “very difficult” and that the train wasn’t going anywhere, he didn’t know when it would be moving again and that another one would not be forthcoming in any sort of reasonable timeframe. I asked him how I was supposed to get back to Tokyo, and he told me “keisei” and then marched me out of the train.
Unfortunately, I had no idea what he was talking about. When I asked another employee on the platform, I got the same answer. So, I gave myself over to the Japanese group dynamic and followed the rest of the sheep up the stairs and towards the station’s lobby. As I waited in line, to get my money back, apparently, I glanced up at the signs hanging from the ceiling just outside the turnstile. “Keisei Line”, said one, causing me to mentally slap my forehead (try it sometime, it’s quite a trick). Of course: the Keisei subway line.
I got my money back, along with a lengthy, but obviously proforma, apology, trudged down to the Keisei line station and got on the subway. Almost 4 hours after getting on my original train, I finally dragged my sorry butt into the apartment. The only luck I had through the whole adventure was that it stopped raining right as I came out of Hiro-o station, so I didn’t have to walk up the hill in a downpour.
The sad thing is, I recommended to my seatmate on the flight, a McKinsey consultant from Germany on his first trip to Japan, that he take the train, instead of the bus. The bus would have been a nightmare, since we landed right at the beginning of the morning rush hour, but if he got stuck too, it still might have been faster. Sorry Wolfgang!
Posted by pmk at June 8, 2004 11:49 PM | TrackBack