Date: July 4, 2016
Place: The WRONG airport (Tokyo, Japan)
I’ve never been one for fainting, but standing there, in the wrong Japanese airport, I was about to make an exception.
I still wasn’t responding to verbal cues, but the apologetic words of the check-in agent were still ringing in my ears. My flight reservation from Tokyo to Sydney was confirmed…the plane just happened to be leaving from a different airport than the one I was currently standing in.
I was kicking myself pretty hard at this first major snag of a whirlwind trip around the globe. Here I was, supposedly a capable young woman, trying to celebrate my independence by traveling solo on my own country’s Independence Day, and I couldn’t even show up to the right airport! And now I was standing up my date with kangaroos and Vegemite.
How could this have been me just an hour before? Waving my lil Grand Ol’ Flag and thinking about 4th of July fireworks back home and not knowing I was headed in the exact opposite direction???
So peaceful. So oblivious.
But then something emerged out of my forlorn confusion: A determination steelier than one I had known before. I had no way of knowing if I would make the flight on time. But I could try.
So I considered my options:
1. Collapse sobbing on the airport floor.
2. Take a train or bus across Tokyo and probably miss my flight.
3. Jettison into the back seat of a taxi, spend an ungodly amount of money, and speed across the Japanese capital with blind optimism.
The Qantas check-in agent ran with me to the taxi bay, explained my situation urgently to the driver, and sent me off. The taxi driver Vin Diesel’d it across the cityWatching the lights of Tokyo whiz past as I tried to avoid looking at the bluish light of the dashboard clock–hoping and praying through what was simultaneously the longest and shortest hour of my life.
The journey felt quick, but as the taxi glided into the departures with ease, I was about to discover if it had been quick enough. Signing the receipt and wrangling on my backpack, leaving a trail of heartfelt “arigato”‘s behind me, I raced into the arrivals corner and barreled around the corner to see…the steepest escalator known to man, packed full with flight attendants. Taking a breath, and saying a silent apology to all the airline employees I was about to whack in the face with my overstuffed carry-on, I dove towards my mountain.
As I neared the top of the escalator (wheezing and promising myself I’d take up running again), I prepared my monologue in my head. You know? The impassioned monologue you see in all the movies where someone gets to the airport dreadfully late. They argue and plead with the stone faced check-in agents until somehow they’re convincing enough to be let through security, sprint comically through the airport, and end up at their gate in the nick of time.
Or they’re refused, the flight takes off without them, and they’re left to ponder their disastrous time management skills. But I wasn’t going to think about that yet.
But there was no need. A Qatar employee was waiting for me at the top, and ushered me to the check in desk. As the ladies tagged my bags and called through to the gate to let them know I was coming, I had to stop myself from hugging all three of them. I couldn’t say “arigato” enough.
The same employee who had led me to the desk now took on another role: a marathon buddy, shouldering one of my bags and leading the charge to the gate…which happened to be the very last one of the terminal. This was not my day for spatial configuration.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I laughed at the scene–how many times had I seen this airport sprint played out in movies? The desperate traveler fighting en route with her luggage, dodging janitorial carts and stray suitcases all in a mad dash for a plane hat might not even be there anymore. It was so much more fun to watch than experience.
But a few breathless minutes later, and the gate–the open gate, hallelujah–came into sight. As my personal trainer handed me back my bag and delivered me to my gate, I tried to muster up the most heartfelt arigato I could, one that encompassed my gratefulness to the attendant at Narita who called ahead to this airport, the taxi driver who Vin Diesel’d it effortlessly across downtown Tokyo, and for all the extra effort strangers took upon themselves to fix a traveler’s silly mistake.
At last, I collapsed into my seat on the plane, counting my blessings and the calories that I’d probably burned.
I’m sure I’m not the first tourist to mix up Tokyo’s Narita and Haneda airports (and I probably won’t be the last), but thanks to a savvy taxi driver, bomb customer service of Qatar airlines, and the grace of God, my little detour turned out all right. And I will never forget to double-check my itinerary again.
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A HUGE “arigato” to Qantas airlines and your employees who go above and beyond…you saved my dream trip from turning into a nightmare!
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