Aftermath

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The entry into Japan had been arduous and the exit proved to be a likewise unnerving ordeal. I had prepared most of my packing the night before and knowing the airport was just some fifteen minutes away by subway I caught some much needed sleep and only got up at five before heading out to catch the plane at 7 am. At five thirty the streets were quite dead, and I had to walk an extra bit with my bags as several subway entrances were not yet open. I don't know why, but a gnawing sense of unease entered mymind and would not let go. Once I got down to the subway platform I knew what it was.

As the train arrived, the relaxed pace I had come to enjoy in Fukuoka was taken for a spin, the train was crowded with black suited sararimen on their way to work, and more importantly; on their way to Itazuke airport for their business flights. I thought I had been so clever to leave on a Monday not having to beat the crowds of travellers going home on Sunday evening, instead I found myself trying to stem a black river of business travellers at the start of yet another sixty hour working week. The black stream poured out of the train at the airport and I soon found myself in one of many slow moving check-in lines. Having to defend my position in the line I only prayed that I had chosen the right line. Already past six in the morning now, and the plane will leave at seven. The queue doesn't move... aaarrgghh.

After this trying moment it was finally my turn to walk up to the counter. Ohayo gozaimasu! I'd like to go to Tokyo please. The girl smiled and started typing up my boarding pass when all of a sudden something unexpected prevents it from finishing. Solly solly she smiled and soon three of them were leaning over the screen trying to figure out what was wrong. I stood there smiling too, cursing myself and picturing myself standing at Tokyo Narita trying to buy a fullprice return ticket to Scandinavia at 2000 dollars or so...

They finally figured out whatever it was that was wrong, proceeded to give me my boarding pass and pointed me to the baggage check in queue. That's right, now I had to stay in a second snailpaiced queue waiting for my bag to be tagged and dropped. Good thing I'm not a nailbiter, I would have tugged the skin off the fingertips when the procedure was finally finished, with only twentyfive minutes to spare. I emitted a sigh of relief and took the escalator up to the departure level, and just as I got out of it I laid eyes on the next agonizing hurdle; the security gates. I'd lie if I said the queues were manageable, they were incredibly long and winded all over the place, and the two priority check in queues were just as slowmoving as the other ones. Plenty of time to watch the clock and watch the airline girls running around among the waiting passengers with megaphones announcing last calls for various flights (in Japanese only of course). I got the attention of the ANA girl and showed her my boarding pass, my flight now boarding in less than twenty minutes. She instructed me to stay in line. All the while the minutes were ticking away, the queue wasn't moving at all. At least I was fortunate in that I was located in a society of orderly people lining up efficiently, had this been in China I might as well have ate my boarding pass and elbow my way to the ticketing office instead.

With only ten minutes to go I again showed my boarding pass to another ANA girl, she instructed me to remain in line. With only five minutes to go I finally came up on the metal detector, rushed through it, forgot to screen my boarding pass in the little doohickey designed to screen boarding passes, fine whatever, let me in now please. Just behind the security screen was another batch of airline girls cheering for those of us lucky to get through. An ANA girl caught sight of my boarding pass and looked terrified, beckoning to me to follow and started walking hurriedly, plane leaving she said, at gate... I only called out the gate number to her as confirmation, grabbed my bag and ran the gauntlet like crazy. Another ANA employee came up in view and proceeded to inform me, I just smiled at her and continued running without stopping. They pretty much slammed the cabin door shut behind me and the very last passenger and I quickly made my way to my seat trying not to get eye contact with all the annoyed looking sararimen. Then, off we went, pretty much on time after all...

Soon I was standing at Narita airport again, wondering how two weeks can pass so quickly and feeling the dread of seeing a lot of Caucasian people and realizing I will soon be back at the office. The SAS counter hadn't opened yet so I ended up next to some other passengers waiting in line. An Australian woman quickly descended upon me and proceeded to tell me about her pending visit to Norway to see her granddaughter. She thought the chairs on the Qantas 747 she'd taken from Oz were terribly small and went on about how she would call them and complain. Almost as an afterthought she mentioned it probably wasn't a big problem for someone as skinny as me. Sigh... Let's make a deal; I don't review your body, and you don't review mine, ok? I quickly went through security to prevent any more bonding.

Once onboard the plane I had got a seat at the absolute rear of the aircraft, in the bottom left corner. I was sitting next to a young Japanese guy who was apparently on his way to Sweden on holiday. He kept reading a book full of Swedish phrases such as Kan jag hjälpa till med något, but not uttering a single word or even looking up from it, so I figured if he didn't feel like practicing I shouldn't pester him about it. Besides, I had an intriguing thought to combat on my own. No one was sitted in the rear of the middle aisle, instead next to us there was a big white plastic human shaped box locked in place in the middle seat. I found myself sneek peaking towards it for the duration of the flight. Were they shipping a deceased person in economy class!? No one bothered to check up on it through the entire flight, it filled me with mystery and dread. Were they really transporting a body in economy class!? No, that can't be... it must be some kind of instrument, right? But it looks just like a body, a rather fat guy too I might add... The mystery got its conclusion as we landed in Copenhagen. A young and petite Japanese woman walked back there and proceeded to lift the box and flip it around, and suddenly I noticed it was some kind of double bass that had been placed upside down. I guess reality isn't quite as morbid as my mind... yet.

As we were debarking the plane in Copenhagen I found myself wondering if SAS -who had managed to mess up my booking so nicely this far- had delivered on their promise and arranged for me a taxi to take me from Gothenburg to Jonkoping. I decided to call their Gothenburg branch office to inquire, but realized I didn't have their number. I called my mother to say hi hello after two silent weeks in Japan and asked if she could dig it up for me, presumably from the Gothenburg Landvetter airport webpage. No luck, how hard can it be, I thought to myself so I walked up to the airport information desk to ask. The nice woman didn't have this information and recommended I inquire at the SAS service center here at Kastrup. I took a number and waited for the queue to move along. As I got up at the counter they guy said sure and started to click around on his screen, but ultimately neither he or his colleague could find the number and instead gave me the next best thing, the number to the Gothenburg airport switchboard and I gave them a ring.

As I got through the woman at the airport switchboard refused to give me their number and referred to the SAS service center. I explained to her why I needed to get in touch with them and finally she gave me the local SAS switchboard number in Gothenburg. I had beaten their defenses, and smugly dialed one more time. "Welcome to Scandinavian Airlines. This is an automated message. The switchboard is open between...". AAARRRGGHH!

So here I was, at Kastrup airport, left with the only option available, calling the dreaded support center with its impossibly long queues. History repeating itself again. While standing around with the phone glued to my ear I kept reminding myself that I really don't like to use Scandinavian for a very good reason. Upon finally getting hold of a guy I explained my scenario for the umpteenth time, and guess what, what a surprise; there was no taxi reserved, but he would proceed to do it immediately. I didn't hold my breath...

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