Lost in translation

Perhaps you’ve seen the Nicholas Cage movie by this title. It is set in Japan. It’s a complex and nuanced movie about communication in general, but so particularly relevant to the challenges you face on a daily basis here in this fascinating and infinitely complex country. Monday and Tuesday of this week were the perfect example.

Carolyn arrived yesterday (Tuesday), but it was not without more than a little adventure. Northwest Airlines flight 11 was due to arrive from Detroit at 5:45 pm on Monday, Tokyo time. I had to make the roughly four hour train trip to Narita to pick her up, so I began my day by walking the five miles into town to get my exercise (dressed in my short-sleeved shirt, no jacket, on this nice sunny day), and arrived at the station here in the town of Shimoda a little before noon so that I would have plenty of time to get to the airport.

When I showed my train pass to the ticket agent so that I could get my reservation for this particular train, she began to go into an explanation of something that quickly exceeded my competence in Japanese. I do pretty well in casual conversation, but my vocabulary is much more limited than it was 30 years ago. So, the conversation started going right over my head. This was the first day of a four-day train pass that I had purchased, and had picked up at Narita Airport on my arrival a week ago. It’s a pass that only foreigners can get and must be purchased outside the country, which I had done. When you pick it up it requires that you show your passport and visa and the purchase form, and so when she began a rather lengthy explanation of something I presumed that there was yet another bureaucratic hoop through which I had yet to jump. I told her that I did not understand, so she then asked me what airline my wife was coming in on, gave me a phone number and told me that I would have to call Northwest Airlines and talk to them. I took the number, called it, and got a message saying that this number was not in service. Time was clicking away until the next train, and I was frustrated by my encounter with the woman at the window, so I went back into the line and ended up at a different agent. When I asked him if my JR Pass was all I needed for the train to Tokyo and then on to Narita, he assured me that it was. I was relieved. I sat for a few minutes waiting to board time, then got in line to get on when it was time to board. When I got to the platform, the agent looked at my pass and told me that I needed a reservation for this train, which I apparently still did not have. So, once again frustrated, I went back into the line, and this time ended up with the woman who had stood in my way before. I told her that I had called the number she gave me, but that it was not in service. Then, putting on my best look of desperation, I said to her in Japanese, “I have to get on this train. My wife is arriving.” She turned to her computer screen, poked out a couple of things, and out popped my reservation card. She handed it to me. I thanked her profusely, and walked back to the line and onto the train platform, found my car and my seat and settled in for the first leg of the trip, wondering just what that was all about, but still frustrated that she had been the cause of so much anxiety for me already in one day.

It was an express train all the way to Tokyo Station. Imagine Grand Central Station with all the signs in Japanese, with occasional English names of train lines. I quickly found my way to the Narita Express, got my reservation, and was off on the final hour-long leg of the trip to the airport. When I arrived at Narita, I went to the Northwest arrival area to find that Carolyn’s plane was delayed. Finding an agent, I asked if they knew when Flight 11 from Detroit would arrive. The woman explained to me that because of the accident, one of the runways had to be closed.

This was the first I had heard about an accident.

I agreed to come back later when they had more information. Meanwhile I walked around the airport, finding a whole multi-story mall with shops and restaurants in it. On the fifth floor near a fast-food court was an observation deck, so I went to take a look. The deck had been closed, but you could see through the windows to the runway straight ahead about 500 yards, and the sight of emergency vehicles all around a smoldering pile of crashed airliner. There were a few people around with cameras and somber looks on their faces. I heard a Japanese couple next to me talking about it, and heard one of them say that two people had died. I asked if I had heard correctly, and they said yes, two people had died. I sat down to drink my coke and pulled up the Japan Times (English version) on my smart phone. There it was. A FedEx plane coming in from Guangzhou, China, had crashed at Narita at 8:20 this morning, with pilot and co-pilot only, both of whom had died in the crash. Both were believed to be US citizens. Apparently high winds and a bad case of wind shear caught the plane as it touched down, sending it into a roll from which they could not recover. Flammable cargo on board immediately exploded creating an enormous inferno. Tragic. I was rather surprised to see a number of airline crews (mostly flight attendants) stopping by to take a look, pointing and gesturing, some with looks and comments that did not seem at all in keeping with the fact that two of their professional colleagues had just perished a few hundred yards away in what must have been an unimaginably terrifying experience. There were no “moments of silence” that would have seemed more appropriate. Instead, cameras clicked away.

I went back down to the arrival area to see if there was any new information on arrival times. This time the agent told me that Carolyn’s plane had been diverted to Nagoya Airport, which is farther to the south from where I had just come by train. They were still waiting to find out when it would be able to come back to Narita. I was glad it had arrived safely, and was happy to be patient.

In the meantime, I got to know Terminal One of the Narita Airport very well. After a few hours, I started to feel like the guy in that other movie that I can’t think of the name of now. He gets trapped in an airport for like a year and ends up stateless. I start to wonder just how long all of this is going to take. I’m also very aware of the fact that I have no appointments to keep, and that patience (I thought) was the only important virtue at this moment. Turns out that some other forms of ingenuity and insight would also have come in very handy. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I start to become aware of the fact that even though I have my cell phone with me, which also gives me email and internet access, it hadn’t occurred to me to bring a charger. After all, I was only going to the airport and back, right? More than enough battery for a day! Aware that I could run out of charge eventually, I go in search of a store with an AC adapter that will fit my phone. Nada. Arimasen. I don’t usually think of the Japanese as particularly negative people, but everyone who took a look at the connection on my AT&T 8525 phone said, “we don’t have that in Japan.” Come on folks, you cannot speak for all of Japan! And this is such an international place – Narita Airport! I found a general lack of willingness to help me solve my problem in favor of broad generalizations that immediately ended the conversation. It seemed so different from the “go out of your way to help the stranger” ethic I have generally found in Japan. Was it a lack of empathy in this big, anonymous international location? A quick and easy response to my limited Japanese? Was I just too calm? Did I not look desperate enough? Surely someone could help me. Never found that person.

So, I’m left trying to preserve as much battery power as I can. I check email only occasionally to see if there’s any sign of Carolyn out there. Nothing yet. A few hours pass, and arrival time is still “undetermined.” Eventually I work my way through a crowd of Filipinos to a Northwest agent, who finally tells me that the plane is now scheduled to leave Nagoya at 9:30 am tomorrow (Tuesday) and will arrive at Narita at 10:32 am. Well, at least I know now. I imagine Carolyn having been sitting on an airplane all this time waiting to take back off, but now headed for the gate to be put up in a hotel for the night. Turns out it was all happening very differently in reality, but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

I quickly become aware that it might make more sense for Carolyn to go directly from Nagoya to meet me in the town of Atami, from where we would then meet up and go directly to Shimoda. I send an email to her, on the off chance that she’s been able to access the internet in the airport and check to see if she can reach me. She does not have a phone with her, but she has her laptop. She had learned only days ago that the Sprint service on her Blackberry would not work for her in Japan. I have AT&T and it does. But I knew just how scrappy she was, and she’d find internet access one way or the other. I tell her in the email that she can find a phone and call my number direct by dialing my US area code and number and it will work – no international codes. The only drawback in this plan is that she will not be able to pick up her four-day special train pass at Narita, which is part of what is required. We’ll figure that piece out later, I reason. I even ask her to send her passport number just in case the folks at the Japan Rail office will let me pick hers up. Turns out that it’s not that simple. I also become aware that if I wait until tomorrow, it will have taken two days of my four day unlimited rail pass to make this little trip to the airport, and that’s a pretty expensive proposition. I go to the rail office to let them know my dilemma, but until I hear from Carolyn, I won’t know if I’m leaving the airport this evening or tomorrow. My head is beginning to hurt as I carefully formulate my Japanese sentences, aiming for maximum comprehension in this increasingly complex scenario.

But, I don’t hear back from Carolyn, so the default position is to spend the night at Narita. I have already learned that all the hotels are booked up. I guess I’m sleeping in the airport seats tonight. I have already scoped out some places. There’s a big seating area where I sat for a while watching sumo wrestling (which I’ve been following for the past few days and now feel like I know some of these big guys). It’s in the departure area of the airport, but that shouldn’t matter. The airport is closing at 11 and there will be no new news on arrivals. I find a section of three empty seats that my six foot one frame can stretch out on pretty comfortably, and as the airport gradually closes down, I settle down to sleep along with the dozens of stranded travelers around me from all over the world. I manage to get several hours of something between rest and deep sleep, and the night passes relatively quickly. At some point in the night, I see a blond-haired twenty-something guy in a knit cap, earphones plugged in, working away on his laptop through the dead of night. Looks like a pretty tech-savvy guy – maybe he’ll have an adapter that fits my phone. I ask him if he’s from the US. No, Norway – but he speaks English, of course. He checks through his bag for something that will fit, but no luck. I’m imagining worst case scenarios – loss of contact with the outside world -- and am aware of how little public internet access there seems to be in public places. Finally, at around 6 am, lights begin to come on and the airport begins to come back to life. I, of course, don’t have a toothbrush with me. I don’t even have a jacket, it was so nice when I left the house in Shimoda yesterday morning. I go to the arrival area. No one around yet. I figure I’ll get breakfast and check back in. I go to try to freshen up a bit. Wondering how much battery power I have left, I decide to check email to see if there’s anything from Carolyn. There is. In fact, there are several emails from her and the kids.

She’s in a hotel and is wondering if I’m somewhere nearby. Says the room is big enough for us both if I am. Why didn’t I check one last time last night?! I quickly fire off a response to have her meet me in the arrival area as soon as she can. I read her other emails. She’s in a hotel – not in Narita, but in Atami! She took my advice and went on to Atami, but I didn’t know it. Could have gone back last night if I’d known. So, I fire off more email to her, scratching my previous message, and telling her I’ll get there as soon as I can, but I know it will be at least four or five hours.

I’ll leave out lots of details here, but I get on the first train leaving Narita that morning, headed into Tokyo. Lots of commuters on this local train – and all dressed for winter. I had checked the weather on TV yesterday morning before I left, and hadn’t seen any indication of cold weather, so I have only a short-sleeved knit shirt on. Now it turns out that it’s a chilly, rainy morning, but I’m a hearty New Englander, right? I do my best to think warm thoughts. I’m sure the commuters around me are wondering what’s up with this strange gaijin with the Boston Red Sox cap on. (Maybe they imagine that I’m displaying my pride that Daisuke helped Japan beat the US in the World Baseball Championship just the day before!). If they only knew what this gaijin had been up to! I get back to Tokyo Station (during morning rush hour) and find my way to the Tokkaido Line and the train to Atami. This train is even colder inside than the last one. But an hour or so into the trip the clouds start to disappear, and it begins to feel a little warmer. I am more than amply rewarded by a stunning, clear view of snow-capped Mount Fuji out the train window somewhere between Yokohama and Atami. I exchange glances with the older kimono-clad woman seated beside me. We smile, and she says to me in Japanese, “I love Mt. Fuji.” I tell her that I do, too. I take my camera out and snap a few shots from the fast-moving train.

At 10:28 am I arrive at Atami station, right on schedule. My last email to Carolyn had told her that’s when I would arrive. I come down the stairs and see her a few yards ahead, looking intently up the stairs to another line she thought I’d be coming in on. I surprise her from the side. Big smiles, hugs, and kisses. We finally connect! It turns out that Carolyn had left Nagoya airport shortly after she arrived there, and gotten herself to Atami, quite independently of my brilliant suggestion – before she had ever gotten my email. She had been advised – rightly – that it didn’t make any sense to go all the way to Narita if she was planning on ending up in Shimoda. If I had only known! But she had a nice evening in a nice hotel near the Atami station. She has already bought her ticket to Shimoda, so we got onto our train together and headed down the coast of the Izu Peninsula for a beautiful ride to the part of Japan I first experienced in 1971. And even though this is now her third trip to Japan, she has never been to this part of the country before. We passed through the town where I lived with the Shimomura family when I was sixteen. I tell her about my experience this past Sunday of meeting them again after 38 years.

Finally we arrive in Shimoda, the end of the line – for us, and for the train. We get off with her suitcase and carry-on bag and head for a taxi. It didn’t dawn on me until I got off the train and started into the station, what that frustrating woman had been trying to tell me yesterday morning. She was trying to spare me all the trouble I had just been through. But since my Japanese vocabulary doesn’t contain words like “crash” or “runway” or airplanes being “diverted” to other airports, I took her for a frustrating bureaucrat who was standing in my way of getting where I needed to be. And I took her colleague who gave me the go-ahead as a “can-do” guy, when in fact, it turned out, he wasn’t really the one most looking out for my interests. I could have spent the whole day right here in Shimoda if the message hadn’t gotten lost in translation – or the lack thereof.