Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Nagoya SNAFU

I booked an itinerary that would take me from Washington State to the Philippines via Nagoya Japan, with a 23 hour layover. I figured, I had a similar layover in Narita several years ago, and was given a Shore Pass for 3 days; and that this time would be the same, just in Nagoya. I was really looking forward to visiting the sites in the city, temples, eating the local food, saying "sumimasen", "arigato", "konichuwa", and all the single Japanese words I've picked up from Japanese acquaintances throughout the years.

Watashi-no namaewa Netty-des. That is, my name is Netty.

Well, the first person I told that to was the immigrations officer when I arrived last night. Unfortunately, I had no idea what he said. Only that he wasn't going to let me have my plan to gallavant around Nagoya, or Japan for that matter. He detained me for not having proper travel documents to visit Japan. I needed a visa.

He was just about to throw me into the detention facility at the airport when representatives from Delta Airlines came to my rescue. Now, I have to plug them because the service I received absolutely outstanding, even though my plan to visit Nagoya turned out to be a snafu.

The first agents that tried to help me were women. I'm guessing that because Japan is a patriarchal culture, they were totally blown off by the gruff immigrations officers. Then came M. Santo, the man who saved my night. He talked the immigrations officers into letting me stay the night at the airport hotel, under the strict condition that my passport be remanded by Delta, and that I be under constant surveillance from the time I leave the immigrations department to the time I check back into the departure lounge. To top it off, he was going to give me ¥1,000.00 for dinner - which of course I refused to accept without an exchange. (I gave him $20.00 for ¥2,000.00, which is worth more than the dollar.)

"You wir hab secret agent forrow you; secret agent wir sreep in hoterr wiz you... ah, in next room - not in sem room!" said M. Santo. I think he meant 'security' agent, not 'secret agent'.

So that night, Mr. Makoto stayed by my side at all times - except of course when I went into the bathroom, and at bedtime. I was in room 341, and he was in room 342. The Japanese take their jobs seriously, so I wouldn't be surprised if he stayed up all night with his ear cocked to the wall to make sure I didn't jump ship - well, in my case it would be 'jump plane - in the middle of the night. We had breakfast together. He is 33 years old, and learned English in New Zealand 10 years ago, where he worked for 2 years. You'd think we were a couple, what with him carrying my bag and opening doors for me, both of us laughing as we chatted about everything and nothing.

"I feel so special," I told him. "I've never had to be under guard for anything in my life until now."

"Yesss, I'm you're secret agent," he chuckled.

And so I thought about the last movie I saw with 5-Star. Ninja Assassin. A young ninja took it upon himself to protect a young American woman on a hit list for other ninja assassins.

Makoto-san might look like him - if he had longer hair, worked out 4 hours a day, and ate protein shakes for every meal. But what the heck, my plan to have a grand time in Nagoya was foiled because of a stupid stamp that was not in my passport. So I might as well make the best of my situation by conjuring the most fantastic of imaginations for this most boring of snafu.

Here's my room. Everything in it was low. As in short. That's probaby going to be (I say going to be because I have another 6 hours before I leave this place, and anything can happen later) the only picture of me in Nagoya, and I'm wearing a sleeping gown provided by the hotel.

Yes, instructions are provided with their state of the art pillow. Singular. They provide only one pillow per bed!

Thank goodness I brought my own pillow from home.

I was very surprised to see this when I got off the elevator in the lobby. I got to the hotel late, so I didn't know what was on the other side of the glass as I walked by it last night.

And of course this sign was teasing me as I checked out at the front desk. I could be out there, with the fresh sea air in my hair. But noooooo... I had to be "detained" with a secret agent.