I had been in Japan for well over a year by this point, August 25th, 2016, but I hadn’t seen ANY of Japan. Between going back and forth on U.S. Navy deployments, and visiting family back home on the East Coast, I realized I’d seen more of the Pacific Ocean than I had of Nihon (I’ll save you the trouble, it’s a BIG ocean, with not much in it besides Asian Warships, Ocean Liners, and the occasional Sea Animal). I was finally transferring from working on a ship to working in a Navy building and decided that this month in between would be an excellent opportunity to do some exploring.
The very next day, August 26th, a Saturday, I woke up with no plans at 0530, mind still contaminated with military schedule, took a shower, packed my NorthFace backpack with two outfits, wore a third, and got on a train bound for Tokyo. The only problem was, the day prior, I had purchased these Patagonia pants that were…..well, whatever is tighter than “extra slim fit.” I consider myself a pretty confident guy, but that entire walk to the station, train ride, airport walk, I was PRETTY self conscious of these pants that articulated every curve of me with great attention to detail. Keen words of wisdom, never shop for clothing after dinner and celebratory “I’m finished with deployment for the rest of my life” drinks WITHOUT trying the clothing on at some point in time.
Disregarding my lack of comfort, I trekked on towards the airport, researching airline ticket pricing the entire way, waiting to pull the trigger until I knew for sure what time I would arrive/how much time I would have to get through security. I found the cheapest ticket, I believe around $200, and it took off an hour later. I was 45 minutes away from the airport…..The next available flight was 3 hours later and $100 more expensive. Yabai. I was now on a timeline, a short, constricted one at that…and I was leaning on the “late” side. As luck would have….I missed my exit, thinking I was heading to Terminal Two and had to double back. I got off the train, ran to the other side of the station, got on the train, took it one stop and SPRINTED to the ticket counter, accounting for the tightness of my pants and being painfully reminded of the “slim” factor with every step. Sweating, I politely asked the women if she spoke English. She even more politely responded,”Yes, where is your destination Sir?” “Sapporo” I panted. And she told me that the next available flight was in three hours. “Eh?! There isn’t a flight in fifteen minutes?” She typed the magical logarithm into her computer and seemed pretty uncomfortable, getting ready to tell me it wasn’t possible. I told her I’m not checking luggage and am more than happy to sprint to the terminal. She smiled, I payed, she printed a ticket, and I was off.
Have you ever seen a chocolate macchiato man drenched in sweat, running through the airport at full sprint in hiking boots, SKINNY hiking pants, and a backpack?
Mr. Smith-Mena?” A Japanese flight attendant at the gate asked as I tried to look calm, cool, and collected. “Yes, thank you,” I replied, handing her my boarding pass as I wiped the sweat off my forehead and forearms, a telling sign of my panicked sprint through the airport. The ever so friendly flight attendants smiled and closed the gate behind me. I boarded the plane, found my seat, and as my adrenaline faded, slipped into a reassuring sleep where I reflected on just how lucky I had been.
The flight itself was quick, less than two hours. (How long did it take for you to get to the airport Mario?) I’m glad you asked. The trip TO the airport took a whopping two and half hours, longer than the actual flight. If you’re traveling to Japan, you can except the same, as the main airport is tucked away two hours away from the city. I’m sure there’s a reason for this, but EVERY time I travel, the absolute worst part of the trip, is getting from home to airport.
Alas, I woke up as we landed, and there I was, in a new city, ready to resume the adventure. After exploring the city by foot for an hour or two, I realized, I REALLY REALLY need to get rid of these pants, somehow, someway. I pull out my phone and find a Patagonia store, 3 kilometers away from my location. Perfect. The only way to get there was by walking or by taxi, so I decided to save some cash and burn some calories. About 20 minutes into my walk, I realized they closed in an hour, so…..my “explore the city pace” turned into a “seriously…..again?….” pace. I got to the store with 30 minutes to spare.
“Konban wa….ano…..eigo ga?….” I stumbled through, in my then preschool Japanese (that has since been upgraded to Kindergarten level Japanese). “Shou shou o-machi kudasai” the man replied as he looked around, then called a women to the counter. In the best English I have seriously ever heard in Japan, “How may I help you?” “Whoah,” I stupidly muttered, as I always do when caught off guard by great English. “Umm…I bought these pants yesterday, and….they’re a little tight. Would you happen to have any that could fit me?” She pulled these blue pants out and had me try them on. Still. Too. Tight. I walked out and shook my head. She laughed, “You have very thick legs.” I can count with one hand, the number of times I’ve been complimented on my legs. I had no idea if she meant it as a compliment, or just as a matter of fact, but I blushed and grinned as if someone had just proposed to me, “Really hoping you have a larger size.” They did, I tried them on, and for the first time in 8 hours, my legs could breathe. “I’ll buy two.” I picked a grey pair and we went to the counter.
I asked her if I could return the other unworn skinny pair I had in my bag. “Of course.” Then I pushed my luck and asked if I could return the pair I had been previously wearing. These pants weren’t cheap! “Sorry I don’t think so…” she replied with a frown. Just as I was saying I understood, she motioned for me to wait and went off to talk to her manager, the guy that supposedly didn’t speak English. She said something, he said something, she said something, he nodded his head, she returned smiling and told me I could in fact return my misery pants. I couldn’t have been more thankful.
She asked what I was doing in Japan, and I told her I wanted to hike something cool. “Which mountain?” It hadn’t hit me until just then that I had done ZERO research on ANY mountains in Hokkaido because I had been so focused on just getting there….and then my pants. “Haha, actually I don’t really know, do you recommend anything?” I could see the passion glowing off her skin as she told me about a mountain called Asahidake, Mt. Asahi. She showed me pictures of some cool hikes she did there over the winter and I was really impressed by how nice and adventurous this woman was. She explained how to get there, and that was that. In the morning I would wake up, and head towards Asahidake.