August 8-11 2001- The Beginning-How Much Can A Toyota Camry Hold?
(photos- Wendy and Vikki, Daniel, Alex)
My husband, David, and I are off to Australia, that continent which so closely mirrors our own country’s pioneer and criminal past.
Those of you on our email list who will be sharing in this journey will probably be in for more than you signed on for. I tend to get verbose and to go off on tangents. I’m often sarcastic and see the ironic in a lot of experiences. Please take these musings as my personal observations at a moment in time. Feel free to skip, delete, or, if you think there’s someone else who’d be interested, to share what I write. We think of you all daily and use this technology to stay linked in an old-fashioned way.
Preparations
We hustled getting our documents in order, copying passports, living wills, international driving permits, medical directives, and determining that the best way to ship clothing was in duffel bags. We gritted our teeth as we got sixteen shots to protect us from everything but the Plague. Our doctor gave us syringes, needles, suture kits, and a tactfully worded letter explaining that we were traveling in “remote” areas and might need such medical supplies in an emergency. Many countries re-use needles, have abysmal sanitation, and have burgeoning populations afflicted with HIV/AIDS. We located the one person in the corporation that is our insurance carrier who authorized ten months worth of refills, and enabled our pharmacist to ring up his personal best career sale.
The estimated two hours of packing turned into five hours of manipulation of gear. Tempers simmered just below the surface and David and I alternated between optimism and despair as we eyeballed all the ancillary items we wanted to take. We shipped most of our clothing ahead, but we did have a heck of a lot of underwear to carry. There’s never a Laundromat when you need one. I hate hand washed, line-dried, stiff undies.
Our son, Daniel, his wife, Vikki, and our granddaughter, Alexandria drove us to the Cleveland Airport at 7:00 A.M. as we headed for Minneapolis and a farewell visit with our daughter Wendy.
As we left the ground, I decided to start writing so I’d stop crying. David and I can’t even look at each other without breaking into tears. I knew I’d be weepy saying good-bye, but I didn’t anticipate sobbing as we reached cruising altitude.
Welcome to Minneapolis
The fire engines, ambulances, and firefighters in full gear made it easy to find where Wendy worked. There had been a false alarm and the blatting of the all-clear siren sounded as we arrived. We hung out at her house for two days and talked about inconsequential things. We were distracted by our private thoughts of time, distance, and anticipation. We don’t see Wendy often but this was a separation of major proportions.
Eventually we said our good-byes and repacked the laundry we’d done. I was determined not to leave here with unwashed anything. Returning the car was a breeze once we found the right airport. When we had to choose between the Lindberg and Humphrey terminals, we chose the Humphrey. I figured that Hubert Humphrey was the more important person being a vice-president and all, and that the major of the two airports would bear his name. Wrong! We did a quick about face and pulled into the Lindberg terminal with time to spare. We had to return the rental car by 11:30 AM or pay $100 more for an extra day, so with that done, we relaxed a bit and had time to repack the laundry that hadn’t dried in the dryer at Wendy’s. It had been spread out in the sun on the back seat of the rental car. Now we only had 4 1/2 hours until we boarded our flight.
Time Travel
Our 12 1/2 hour Northwest Airlines flight complied with Japan’s on-time culture as we arrived in Tokyo on the dot. The food was the worst we’d ever had on an international carrier, but eating and sleeping keeps boredom at bay. The airport’s a long way out and the bus to the hotel took two hours. I slept some more. We arrived at the Keio Plaza Inter-Continental Hotel about 9 P.M. I stayed awake as the staff bowed and informed us that ten percent is added to all bills for gratuities. There’s no tipping in Japan.
I was ready to sleep again, but David wanted dinner. By my calculations, we’d already had dinner on the plane somewhere in the mix of two meals and one snack. If I counted breakfast and lunch in Minneapolis, we had five meals in twenty-one hours.
My husband, David, and I are off to Australia, that continent which so closely mirrors our own country’s pioneer and criminal past.
Those of you on our email list who will be sharing in this journey will probably be in for more than you signed on for. I tend to get verbose and to go off on tangents. I’m often sarcastic and see the ironic in a lot of experiences. Please take these musings as my personal observations at a moment in time. Feel free to skip, delete, or, if you think there’s someone else who’d be interested, to share what I write. We think of you all daily and use this technology to stay linked in an old-fashioned way.
Preparations
We hustled getting our documents in order, copying passports, living wills, international driving permits, medical directives, and determining that the best way to ship clothing was in duffel bags. We gritted our teeth as we got sixteen shots to protect us from everything but the Plague. Our doctor gave us syringes, needles, suture kits, and a tactfully worded letter explaining that we were traveling in “remote” areas and might need such medical supplies in an emergency. Many countries re-use needles, have abysmal sanitation, and have burgeoning populations afflicted with HIV/AIDS. We located the one person in the corporation that is our insurance carrier who authorized ten months worth of refills, and enabled our pharmacist to ring up his personal best career sale.
The estimated two hours of packing turned into five hours of manipulation of gear. Tempers simmered just below the surface and David and I alternated between optimism and despair as we eyeballed all the ancillary items we wanted to take. We shipped most of our clothing ahead, but we did have a heck of a lot of underwear to carry. There’s never a Laundromat when you need one. I hate hand washed, line-dried, stiff undies.
Our son, Daniel, his wife, Vikki, and our granddaughter, Alexandria drove us to the Cleveland Airport at 7:00 A.M. as we headed for Minneapolis and a farewell visit with our daughter Wendy.
As we left the ground, I decided to start writing so I’d stop crying. David and I can’t even look at each other without breaking into tears. I knew I’d be weepy saying good-bye, but I didn’t anticipate sobbing as we reached cruising altitude.
Welcome to Minneapolis
The fire engines, ambulances, and firefighters in full gear made it easy to find where Wendy worked. There had been a false alarm and the blatting of the all-clear siren sounded as we arrived. We hung out at her house for two days and talked about inconsequential things. We were distracted by our private thoughts of time, distance, and anticipation. We don’t see Wendy often but this was a separation of major proportions.
Eventually we said our good-byes and repacked the laundry we’d done. I was determined not to leave here with unwashed anything. Returning the car was a breeze once we found the right airport. When we had to choose between the Lindberg and Humphrey terminals, we chose the Humphrey. I figured that Hubert Humphrey was the more important person being a vice-president and all, and that the major of the two airports would bear his name. Wrong! We did a quick about face and pulled into the Lindberg terminal with time to spare. We had to return the rental car by 11:30 AM or pay $100 more for an extra day, so with that done, we relaxed a bit and had time to repack the laundry that hadn’t dried in the dryer at Wendy’s. It had been spread out in the sun on the back seat of the rental car. Now we only had 4 1/2 hours until we boarded our flight.
Time Travel
Our 12 1/2 hour Northwest Airlines flight complied with Japan’s on-time culture as we arrived in Tokyo on the dot. The food was the worst we’d ever had on an international carrier, but eating and sleeping keeps boredom at bay. The airport’s a long way out and the bus to the hotel took two hours. I slept some more. We arrived at the Keio Plaza Inter-Continental Hotel about 9 P.M. I stayed awake as the staff bowed and informed us that ten percent is added to all bills for gratuities. There’s no tipping in Japan.
I was ready to sleep again, but David wanted dinner. By my calculations, we’d already had dinner on the plane somewhere in the mix of two meals and one snack. If I counted breakfast and lunch in Minneapolis, we had five meals in twenty-one hours.
We were directed to an udon (noodle) restaurant and my introduction to what would be the welcome sight of plastic food models. The Japanese have perfected this art form and the best food artists are in demand. I scanned the colorful array before me, pointed, crossed my fingers, and hoped that the cook was as skillful as the artist. I managed not to fall asleep in my bowl of tasty, fat, round, buckwheat Japanese pasta.
Our adventure will continue in Tokyo and Kyoto, but my updates will now come to you from the future. By crossing the International Date Line and not returning the way we came, we’re losing a day of our lives. Someday we may reverse it and regain the time. What’s true in fact sounds like fiction to me.
Toby
.
Our adventure will continue in Tokyo and Kyoto, but my updates will now come to you from the future. By crossing the International Date Line and not returning the way we came, we’re losing a day of our lives. Someday we may reverse it and regain the time. What’s true in fact sounds like fiction to me.
Toby
.
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