Twenty Nine Hours of Racing the Sun.

Last night, I had dinner with Beth around midnight, having taken about 8 hours longer than I had originally planned to pack. The food was excellent, if solemn--the unmistakable quality of 'last meal' was detectable within the menu. She made me marinated duck and steamed green beans: delectable but serious. She even bought Orangina. I think she might have been trying to entice me to sleep in.

This morning, we awoke and left for the airport before dawn. The sun had yet to show its face from the east. We reached the airport around 7. My morning flight to San Francisco departed at 8:25. My father had mentioned that he thought All Nippon Airways (who are being kind enough to shuttle me all the way to and from Hong Kong for less than $1000) was a delta sky team partner. That meant I might be able to avoid dealing with my checked bags in SF. I was worried that with only about 90 minutes scheduled, on the ground in the bay city I wouldn't have time to pick up my bag, check in, check the bag, and clear security. It was a good thing I worried.

I entered the airport to more traffic than I normally see in Hartsfield. I generally fly in the afternoon or evening, and I suppose that's nonstandard--most people travel in the morning, apparently. The airport was packed, and you could feel the palpable tension bleeding from thousands who didn't schedule quite enough time and were worried they'd miss their flight. With the exception of one unfortunate Sunday afternoon, I've never seen that many people trying to fly out all at once. Delta's new layout, while probably good for traffic, has the unfortunate mental effect of making you face at least half of everyone else in the airport across the open space of the ticketing counter, instead of having them at your back, giving you an impression that the whole of Atlanta is having a mass exodus and you've just stepped into the middle of it.

I sought out a Delta employee who was answering questions and routing people about. I found one with the most epic moustache I've yet seen, I asked him my question: If ANA was a Delta partner, could Delta check through my bags direct to Hong Kong?

He said yes, but only if they were a partner and I'd have to ask. He waved me away, to a line where they could check on the possibility and check me in at the same time. I turned and saw the first class check in line where he was pointing. I turned back, momentarily confused "So I should go. . ." "Yes, talk to first class check in, they'll be able to help you" he turned away to three people with more pressing--though likely less complex--questions.

The brisk employee running interference on economy class passengers asked me if I was first class as I entered the line, and I shook my head and pointed back to the Walrus. "He sent me over here to ask a complicated baggage question." I've learned that the key for slipping through lots of these situations is to imply that if the person tries to deter you from your task, they'll get caught up in trying to help you and whatever you're trying to do is com. Sure enough, she waved me into the line without further discussion.

Beth had gone to park so she could grab some breakfast and caffeine with me before I had to clear security, and she found me and offered to get herself coffee and me juice while I waited. After a long wait caused by one customer with some particularly hair-raising problem, I got my turn at the counter. I phrased my question to the polite young lady with some trepidation--I'd now waited long enough that if she denied me and sent me back to the kiosk system I'd risk missing my flight.

She looked up the airline code quickly and confirmed that they were a partner, and said she could check my bags in without a problem. Delta was definitely my hero for the morning.

I tightened up all the straps and tossed my Dakine pack on the scale. And there I made my first mistake. I let her take the bag without any identifying tag on it at all. Thankfully, that would be brought to my attention in San Francisco in a few short hours.

Beth and I took seats near the entrance to security, giving me time to finish off my juice and her to borrow my camera and take this picture. It will be the last picture of me taken on American soil until August, so I thought you all might like to know what I looked like when I left. I noticed that the checked bag receipt sticker on my boarding pass had a set of numbers that seemed to correspond to my flight numbers, but the middle number (for the SFO -> Tokyo leg) was not correct. I decided to burn that bridge when I came to it.

Afterward, Beth and I said goodbye and I headed for security--I had about 45 minutes, and even with my use of the first class/military entrance, I'd be running a tight schedule. Security was no trouble, but was slow, and I reached my gate just as they were signalling the final and immediate boarding call for my flight to San Francisco. Good news for photographers who still use film: Atlanta now publicly offers hand-search for used film rolls, so you don't have to worry about the x-ray frying your film anymore.

The aircraft experienced a delay (a gyro suffered a mechanical failure) before we ever pulled out, and we were almost half an hour late getting underway. mix in a mild slowdown coming into SFO due to heavy air traffic, and by the time we had finally disbarked, I had less than an hour to make my next flight. Normally plenty of time, but of course this wasn't a connection--officially I wasn't checked in for my ANA flights yet.

I hoped I would be able to check-in at the gate for my ANA, without having to repass through security, but the SFO domestic and international gates are physically distinct, making that impossible. Instead, I had to haul ass through 3/4s of a mile of airport to international ticketing, check in (a very helpful ANA ticket lady with a completely unpronounceable name shooed me away as soon as she had my details with a temporary boarding pass, saying I was "going to be late soon" and that she'd assign my seat while I was in security).

Apparently I looked suspect in the security lines in San Francisco--the gate officer asked me what I had in my empty cargo pockets and signed me up for a pat down search, and my day bag was externally tested for bomb residue (a new one for me). Still, they were professional and quick and only delayed my trip through security by maybe five minutes in total, so I smiled and said thank you and then strode through the international terminal like a man on a mission. I managed to reach my gate just as first class boarding was starting, and they gave me a set of boarding passes with real seat assignments--unfortunately a middle seat for the long haul to Tokyo, but I was just happy I hadn't missed my flight.

As I was boarding a few minutes later, they summoned me back over to the check in desk "ah, Mr. Gonet? You are checking a bag?" "Yes. I checked it through from Atlanta." "ah, yes. See they checked. . . your bag was listed for wrong flight. Do you have name on bag?" with a sinking feeling I realized that no--there wasn't a scrap of identifying information on the exterior of my bag at all, save the check-in sticker. They grasped at words for a moment and I realized they were asking for a set of identifying characteristics--worse case scenario was they might accidentally pull someone else's unmarked bag thinking it was mine and it would wind up in Hong Kong when it shouldn't. I described it as clearly as I could--a black Dakine brand backpack with a padlock on the left shoulder strap--and they said that as soon as their luggage room had confirmed it was the right bag, they would send it along to our aircraft. Potential Crisis averted.

I climbed aboard, and found myself seated between a member of the USMC and a Japanese man of indeterminate age.

The young Marine and I spoke at length about travel, education, and the possibility of he and his wife homeschooling his young children. With the exception of a few words (of nearly perfect English) as we waiting for the health inspectors to let us leave the aircraft, my Japanese companion said nothing for ten hours.

I thought the technology on Delta flights was improving, but we have a long way to go to catch up to the Japanese. The in-flight entertainment system that ANA was running was top notch. Obviously a couple of years old now, judging by wear and screen quality. However, it not only featured multiple languages, access to real time flight information and maps (an erstwhile cartographer's eternal joy!) it also allowed you to select from a dozen movies, starting, pausing, and rewinding them at your leisure--all for free. It also featured a controller that came out of the armrest and could be turned sideways to form a rudimentary game controller, with D-pad and for action buttons, and simple puzzle and action games were available through the same menus, also for free. So I wound up playing an hour's worth of Worm (a game apparently universal in its appeal and simplicity) and watching Valkyrie and Inkheart. Eat that, domestic delta flights where movies and any games but trivia are pay-to-play.

And also, the food!

About two hours after we took off, our first meal service happened. We had our choice of Seafood or Curry. I chose the curry, and it was really wonderful: a fried pork cutlet in a tasty curry sauce over rice, with a side of chilled rice noodles and a small sortof salad with grilled chicken, veggies, and the blandest mozzeralla cheese balls I've ever tasted. I had an Asahi with it, to boot. I've paid for worse in restaurants. Afterward they brought us ice cream.

About 5 hours (and two feature films for me) later (still about two hours before we landed) we had our second service--penne pasta with a thick sauce with a bit of beef and chunks of fresh tomato, a small chilled tuna (maybe?) salad and fresh fruit: honeydew and pineapple with Milano cookies for dessert. I had the good sense to attempt a photo this time, though it came out a bit blurry.

For the entirety of the 10 hour flight, of course, it remained midday. Only three clock hours passed while we flew from SF International to Tokyo Narita, since we were headed west. As we traveled, you began to get the feeling that actual travel was impossible, that perhaps the aircraft was stopped, hovering, the light of the noon sun beating down upon us as we stayed motionless above the clouds. I can't figure out how to describe it better than that, except that it was as if the sun were racing us, and had no intention of letting us actually get anywhere.

After a surreal but not unbearable flight, we landed in Tokyo, and I had a three hour layover there. I'm thankful it is overcast. It's the tiniest bit too warm inside, and I wish there were an observation deck somewhere where I could get some fresh air, but I know that's impossible.

I changed a little money to buy a set of nail clippers, and availed myself of a day shower. I'd forgotten they would be available, and it was by far the best $6 I spent yesterday. A wonderful pristine shower was just what I was craving as I was currently pushing the 24-hours-since-getting-dressed mark. I also had a few minutes to walk through the giant mall that is the international concourse in Tokyo. While there, I ran across the Origami Museum and Gift Shop, which was a really remarkable little place. That photo you see there? Everything in that image is folded paper.

I boarded a second ANA flight, 911 to Hong Kong, around 6PM. I slept almost the entire six hours, waking only for a dinner of Pork Filligree, Safron Rice, noodles and custard.

I touched down in HK around 11pm, and by the time I got through immigration, baggage claim, and customs it was almost midnight. A bus ride into the city later (HKIA is built on a landfill of sorts--the island on which it's located is 25% land reclamation) and I was in downtown Kowloon, on Argyle Street. I wandered around the tiny, stereotypical streets for about 45 minutes, trying to get my bearings and find the entrance to my hostel.

This part of town reminded me of Athens, Greece--everyone was still awake at midnight, young people making phone calls and smoking cigarettes, buying things at corner shops. The more businesslike half of the storefronts (banks and grocers and such) were closed, but beauty supplies stores, Jeans retailers, and mobile phone stores still bustled with activity like it was midday.

In a place like this, very little street level space is allocated for budget hotels and hostels. Instead, they are tiny doorway entrances crushed between mobile-phone stores, salons, and sweetshops. After investigating entrances to three other hotel collectives, I finally found the entrance to "Sincere house incorporated" on Fan Yuen street. The house is a collection of apartments, day hotels (hourly rate--popular for (ahem) meetings of all kinds, and businessmen on short schedules) and hostels. A U shaped building, my hostel takes up about 1/3rd of the apartments on the 14th floor.

Thankfully, I found the elevator. It was at the end of a tiny apartment entrance where the mailboxes where covered with taped up signs for each hotel, since dozens of hotels shared the space. Also at the end of the tiny hallway was a tiny wrinkled Hong Kong native, his bare feet propped up on a box, behind a small table. He raised his eyebrows at me. "Ah Shan hostel?" I said. He nodded and pointed around the corner to the elevators. I pressed the up button, then realized that they were clearly marked "Odd Numbered Floors" and "Even Numbered Floors" so I hastily pressed the other button and ignored the first elevator sheepishly.

When I reached the 14th floor, the hostel's entrance was clearly marked, clearly locked, and clearly dark. Of course, it was after 1AM, so I wasn't really suprised, even though the website had claimed "24 hour reception". A half hour of knocking, ringing the bell, waiting a few minutes, and repeating (and eventually thunking the bottom of the door louldly with my combat boot a couple of times) finally brought a bleary eyed man in his mid-fifties to the door. He stared at me like I was from the moon. "I have a reservation?" I said.

A few moments and a fistful of cash later, I was led to a small room with one man already asleep inside. Long travel days typically leave me tired and wired--it takes a few minutes for me to fall asleep. Last night, however, even with the temperature being entirelly too warm, the humidity entirely too high, and having no chance to shower and change in my hurry to cut off the lights and let the other traveler get back to sleep, I had very little trouble sleeping.

Now it's about 7:30 local time. I'm awake, I feel rested, and I'm going to grab a shower, wander around in the streets for a bit, then come back and do some research on my new locale. I got very little reading on the subject of Hong Kong done before I left Georgia--it's been a very busy week.