China

Flight time: Five hours, 15 minutes

Even though we landed late, and I still had to clear security to connect to my Hong Kong flight, what little of the Tokyo airport I saw (at a running blur to the gate) was beyond impressive. Everyone who works there is beautiful. And smiling. And friendly. And helpful. And the place is so clean you could eat off the floors.

Very cool.

Still on Northwest, and, ironically, on the exact same type of plane, in the exact same seat (hint: 35B on a Boeing 747-400 is the best in coach, period). This time, however, I’m in the minority; 95% of the flight is Asian—lovely, warm, friendly, and for the most part, English speaking (the crew is about 75/25, American, though). Instead of a big hulking linebacker type next to me, tonight’s seat mate a delightful, petite Asian woman who speaks fairly good English.

The moment this all got real for me, however, was during the dinner service. Our food came in bento boxes, which I’ve always thought were kind of cool. It didn’t hit me until half way through my sticky rice that everyone else (read: the locals) were picking up the boxes, then eating with them close to their mouths, just like on the Travel Channel. Also, only a rare few were using the western fork—the majority were opting for their knife—another thing seen on t.v. Thank goodness I’m adept at chopsticks (translated: I refuse to eat Chinese food without them).

What really made me smile, though, was the beverage service. One of the American attendants did the standard walk-through—”Coffee? Coffee, anyone?“

Then a moment later, was back again (so soon?), this time asking “Green tea? Green tea, anyone?”

We’re not in Kansas anymore. This is going to one amazing trip.

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