It was hard to tell where we were in the dark, and much of the approach was across the water, but there was a spangled display of twinkling fairy lights over on the left as we descended into Kansai International, where an uneventful landing was followed by the regular lengthy taxi to the terminal.
Disembarkation, the transfer from air bridge through the terminal shuttle towards Immigration and Customs, and the administrative procedures that grant you entry all ran smoothly and totally without complications, though once we were through Customs an attempt to phone The Mother to advise of a safe arrival was unsuccessful because the pay phone Madam was used to using wasn't there any more.
There’s no use crying over spilt milk, so we headed outside to catch the Limousine Bus transfer to Sannomiya, had no hassle getting the tickets this time around. There were issues last time, and since the actual bus hadn’t materialised Madam headed over to a nearby external pay phone for another attempt at the phone call.
That meant the bus arrived right on cue, and once we were aboard it took its time departing. That time, of course, could have been used for the phone call, but there you go. Or not, as the case may be.
The signs say sixty-five minutes for the trip to Kobe, but that must take daytime traffic into account because we were disembarking at Sannomiya after about fifty minutes and heading across to join the queue for the courtesy bus to the Okura and the nearby Meriken Park Oriental. It was relatively late, the queue was substantial, and the possibility of picking up a beer or two was floated while we were waiting.
There was a vending machine just over there, and the Okura is the sort of place where those handy devices are conspicuous by their absence. That doesn’t mean you can’t buy a drink there, but there were likely to be issues with dress standards and substantial mark ups.
Did I want beer? was a tempting question, but I was starting to fade, and the bus arrived while I was still being tempted.
Once we’d landed on the doorstep the check in procedure was accompanied by the regular formalities, though once we were in the list heading upwards the Trainee Porter turned out to be rather chatty, having spent a holiday on the Gold Coast when she was little.
Remarkably (or probably unremarkably, given the courteous service that’s par for the course in the country) she was on duty and remembered us when we checked back in just under a fortnight later.
In any case, as it turned out I didn’t need a beer, hitting the hay while Madam took a long soaking bath, and while the night’s sleep could best be described as fitful I wasn’t up with the larks the following morning.