Barbara J. Hamby

Beginning Our Asian Cruise

Osaka Street

Osaka Harbor

We rushed around on Monday, May 15th, arranging for a place to live after the sale of our manufactured home closes on July 1st. We turned in our application at King City Apartments, asking to be put on a waiting list for a two bedroom, two-bath apartment. If none is available by the time we need it, we agreed to settle for a two-bedroom, one-bath temporarily. We hope that, by the time we return home, what we want will be available and we won’t need to move twice. The management paints, replaces appliances, light fixtures, etc. when a long-term tenant moves out, so they need time for the renovations.

On our way to the Airport Radisson Hotel, where we had reserved a room for ourselves for that night and a space for the Ford for 16 days while we’re gone, we dropped the Honda off at my son Kurt’s. He’ll keep it for us until we get back. After a very brief visit with Kurt and Handsome (his big dog), we headed out to the hotel.

Neither of us was familiar with this hotel, but we found it, overlooking a small lake formed by the Columbia Slough, near the Portland Airport. The accommodations were excellent, and included a large Continental breakfast, followed by a shuttle ride to the airport to board our flight to San Francisco. We were checked in at least two hours early, even after a delay in Security while Al partially disrobed and had a small tool—letter (and miscellaneous other items) opener—confiscated.

When our plane finally began the boarding process, an attendant told us to board with the contingent of passengers with disabilities, ahead of the others. How’s that for being pegged as elderly?

On that plane we visited with a young man sitting nearby who had just graduated from the University of Portland. His brother, a helicopter Commander in the Army in Korea, had gifted him with tickets to Viet Nam where they would vacation together before the brother went back to duty in the Army. Our new friend would then go to Spokane, to his job coaching basketball for a non-profit agency. We traveled to the international terminal together and he helped with our luggage. We rode moving sidewalks the full length of the airport to board a sardine can train car bound for that terminal.

Onboard our flight to Osaka, we settled in to seats across an aisle from each other on a Boeing 777. In Economy class, we had slightly more personal space than on the 737 that took us from Portland to San Francisco. During the eight hour flight, we were served several snacks, as well as lunch and dinner.

When I saw an infant three rows ahead of us, I dreaded the possibilities. However, the mother was Asian and managed very well. She kept the child entertained when awake and must have known how to protect his ears, because I suffered more than he appeared to when we descended from 38,000 feet for our landing.

The flight to Osaka was long and exhausting. This time Al survived it better than I. When we flew to London, his jet lag was worse than mine. Both of those long flights were on a 777, but it seemed more cramped this trip. Possibly the plane was filled closer to capacity.
 
We had each filled out an embarkation/disembarkation card on the plane, which we turned in at Immigration in the Osaka Airport, on arrival. After getting through the long immigration line and having our passports thoroughly examined and stickered (not stamped), we joined others from the flight and walked to the baggage claim area where representatives from our cruise ship awaited us. I lost count of those small, fluttery Japanese women who herded us to a waiting shuttle bus to take us to the Port of Osaka terminal where the ship awaited our arrival. Their job was not unlike that of cattle herd dogs, working a stupefied multitude of cows toward the barn. Most of us were totally exhausted by the time we collapsed into bus seats.

Although the ride to the ship took about an hour, the part of Osaka we saw was not as picturesque as the main part of the city. Our Japanese escort on the bus told us we were in South Osaka. She gave a little talk about Osaka and recommended that, if we had spare time before the ship left, we could take a ride on a nearby Ferris wheel—she claimed Osaka Ferris wheels were slow and gentle—or we could visit a nearby aquarium and a food vendor where a special Osaka treat could be purchased.

Not exactly in the mood for a carnival ride or strange food, we slogged our way the full length of the ship to a gangway in a dreary drizzle. We always carry our own luggage; it gets to the correct cabin that way, so we were damp and disgruntled when we boarded the ship. We had been up for nearly 24 hours and were greeted by cheerful photographers who wanted to preserve our images for posterity. I waved away the paparazzi and we went around them.

As soon as we located our cabin, at about 7:00 p.m., we heard an announcement that there would be a mandatory safety demonstration of the use of a life jacket and proper procedure in the event of an accident. Even those passengers who have cruised many times are required to attend. I suppose the captain’s theory—probably fairly accurate—is that travelers who have been on many trips are older and forgetful. So, before we had a chance to rest or get coffee or anything, we went to our assigned lounge for instruction.

We dragged ourselves back to our cabin to put away the life jackets, then went to look for food. The buffet had closed at 3:00 p.m. The only alternate to the dining room, other than restaurants with cover charges, is a bistro called a pizzeria. Unlike American pizza joints, this one has a maitre d’ and a crew of waiters and waitresses. We were seated at a table with cloth napkins and a tablecloth, then handed menus. Soup, salad, pizza and two pasta dishes were offered, along with “cheese-free” pizza. We both had portabella mushroom soup that was quite delicious. I’m sure it would have tasted just as good without all the “pomp and circumstance.”

Back in our cabin, Al unpacked and I collapsed.