and they found themselves pushed hard backwards and downwards into
their seats as the easy descent into Narita suddenly changed to a rapid climb
out. A few moments later, the captain announced that they had had to perform a
go-around manoeuvre, as the aircraft landing ahead of them had dithered on the
runway. It was, he said, something that happened from time to time and was nothing
to worry about. The air-traffic controller was being careful. In the most
unlikely event that the aircraft on the runway did not get onto a slipway in
time, there could be disastrous collision. The second landing attempt went
smoothly, and even with the ten minutes lost on the go-around, BA007 landed
virtually on schedule at 9 . 15.
As they disembarked, a
Japanese flight attendant smiled at them, adding, ‘I hope you had a good
fright.’ Holt wondered whether it was meant as a joke, as the Japanese girls he
had met could nowadays differentiate between r and l ,
and this one had surely experienced quite a number of takeoffs and landings.
They were immediately
struck by how clean and efficient the airport looked. Immigration went smoothly
despite their having to queue for twenty minutes and have their fingerprints
and photos taken. They were given their ninety-day tourist visas with hardly a
question asked – they had already entered the name of their hotel and that they
were tourists on their immigration form.
Back in the UK, the secret
service officer briefing them on their e-ticket had told them that when
dealing with immigration officers, one should keep things simple. One agent
visiting Japan had added the information that the purpose of his visit was to
learn a little Japanese, whereupon the immigration officer demanded the letter attesting
his attendance at a language school.
On collecting their
luggage, they were again struck by how well made and solid the luggage carts
were compared with those in England. Even though there were green nothing-to-declare
channels, each one was manned by a male or female customs officer asking a few questions
after examining the customs declaration form people had filled in.
Their mention of the
word ‘honeymoon’ elicited a wry smile, the first of many in Japan whenever the
topic came up. Later at hotels, the young bellboys would be smiling from ear to
ear as they came down to reception in the morning.
‘Hope you good night,’
they would say.
Japanese later
explained to them that they should be careful how they interpreted these
reactions, as Japanese tend to smile when embarrassed and are liable to grin
with embarrassment when you tactlessly inform them one of your relatives has just
passed away.
The customs officer was
only interested in the duty-free alcohol and tobacco they had and looked
pitifully at them for having only one bottle of cheap blended whisky between
them on their honeymoon; they could have had six bottles, as the allowance was
three bottles per person, which was perhaps not such a good idea, as many years
before an Englishman had burnt down his central Tokyo hotel, drinking his duty-free
while smoking in bed. The octogenarian hotel owner had skimped on money to
repair the sprinklers, and there had been photos in the papers of guests
dangling out of the windows at the ends of knotted bedsheets.
Since there was a
direct limousine bus every hour or so right to their Tokyo Shinjuku hotel, eighty-one
kilometres from the airport, Sachiko had said she would meet them at the hotel.
A bus was leaving in twenty minutes, so they did not have to hang about for
long; just time for a quick stand-up coffee before boarding.
As the bus approached
Tokyo itself, the ricefields and independent houses gave way to apartment
blocks and then office blocks, making them realize the sheer size of the city.
It was a different world.
Sachiko had chosen the
Keio Plaza Hotel at Shinjuku, a city within the city. One of the transport nodes
on Tokyo’s Yamanote, or Circle Line, it boasted Tokyo’s city
their seats as the easy descent into Narita suddenly changed to a rapid climb
out. A few moments later, the captain announced that they had had to perform a
go-around manoeuvre, as the aircraft landing ahead of them had dithered on the
runway. It was, he said, something that happened from time to time and was nothing
to worry about. The air-traffic controller was being careful. In the most
unlikely event that the aircraft on the runway did not get onto a slipway in
time, there could be disastrous collision. The second landing attempt went
smoothly, and even with the ten minutes lost on the go-around, BA007 landed
virtually on schedule at 9 . 15.
As they disembarked, a
Japanese flight attendant smiled at them, adding, ‘I hope you had a good
fright.’ Holt wondered whether it was meant as a joke, as the Japanese girls he
had met could nowadays differentiate between r and l ,
and this one had surely experienced quite a number of takeoffs and landings.
They were immediately
struck by how clean and efficient the airport looked. Immigration went smoothly
despite their having to queue for twenty minutes and have their fingerprints
and photos taken. They were given their ninety-day tourist visas with hardly a
question asked – they had already entered the name of their hotel and that they
were tourists on their immigration form.
Back in the UK, the secret
service officer briefing them on their e-ticket had told them that when
dealing with immigration officers, one should keep things simple. One agent
visiting Japan had added the information that the purpose of his visit was to
learn a little Japanese, whereupon the immigration officer demanded the letter attesting
his attendance at a language school.
On collecting their
luggage, they were again struck by how well made and solid the luggage carts
were compared with those in England. Even though there were green nothing-to-declare
channels, each one was manned by a male or female customs officer asking a few questions
after examining the customs declaration form people had filled in.
Their mention of the
word ‘honeymoon’ elicited a wry smile, the first of many in Japan whenever the
topic came up. Later at hotels, the young bellboys would be smiling from ear to
ear as they came down to reception in the morning.
‘Hope you good night,’
they would say.
Japanese later
explained to them that they should be careful how they interpreted these
reactions, as Japanese tend to smile when embarrassed and are liable to grin
with embarrassment when you tactlessly inform them one of your relatives has just
passed away.
The customs officer was
only interested in the duty-free alcohol and tobacco they had and looked
pitifully at them for having only one bottle of cheap blended whisky between
them on their honeymoon; they could have had six bottles, as the allowance was
three bottles per person, which was perhaps not such a good idea, as many years
before an Englishman had burnt down his central Tokyo hotel, drinking his duty-free
while smoking in bed. The octogenarian hotel owner had skimped on money to
repair the sprinklers, and there had been photos in the papers of guests
dangling out of the windows at the ends of knotted bedsheets.
Since there was a
direct limousine bus every hour or so right to their Tokyo Shinjuku hotel, eighty-one
kilometres from the airport, Sachiko had said she would meet them at the hotel.
A bus was leaving in twenty minutes, so they did not have to hang about for
long; just time for a quick stand-up coffee before boarding.
As the bus approached
Tokyo itself, the ricefields and independent houses gave way to apartment
blocks and then office blocks, making them realize the sheer size of the city.
It was a different world.
Sachiko had chosen the
Keio Plaza Hotel at Shinjuku, a city within the city. One of the transport nodes
on Tokyo’s Yamanote, or Circle Line, it boasted Tokyo’s city
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