Flying from Heathrow to Tokyo’s Narita airport is tough. It means 11 hours stuck in a metal tube with minimal exercise and aircraft air-con, which always leaves me feeling as if every last drop of moisture has been sucked out of my body. But at least we had a better experience than most.
Thanks to BA and Amex, their companion vouchers and Avios, we were flying First Class for the price of an economy ticket. Before boarding we enjoyed luxury in the fancy Concorde Room at Heathrow’s Terminal 5, tucking into a slap-up breakfast and plenty of free champagne. Our mood was only dampened by the realisation that we’d left our expensive Japan Rail Passes at home, a costly mistake that would leave us out of pocket. And then there was the bitter taste left in my mouth over BA’s inability to resolve the fraud carried out on my frequent flyer account two months earlier. However, the champers helped ease the bitterness, as did the first class cabin, the expansive seat-cum-bed, the great service and fine food. I even slept for several hours, which isn’t like me on a plane at all.
While I could easily get used to first class travel and all that special treatment, it’s never going to solve the jet lag problem. We arrived in Tokyo at 9am but it felt like the end of the day for us as we passed through immigration. We both experienced some minor interrogation at customs but then caught the limo bus service into town and our hotel, the Hilton in Shinjuku. Station staff ensured it all operated smoothly, bowing as we made our departure but delivering the longest announcements I’ve ever heard on a bus or train anywhere. Not that we understood a word of them.
It was a long journey into the city, along dual carriageways and motorways on a hazy spring day. Paddy fields rapidly gave way to an endless landscape of industrial estates, tower blocks, love hotels, factories and out-of-town shopping complexes. As an introduction to Japan, it was unattractive. In the heart of the city we scaled flyovers that soared almost as high as the buildings, and I pondered what would happen if an earthquake were to strike.
Our swanky hotel in Shinjuku was in the heart of the financial and local government district, a collection of soaring glass and steel tower blocks and canyons filled by wide roads, trees and row after row of pink azaleas. Our room in the Hilton, on the 28th floor, had great views. We didn’t want to hang around though for fear we’d fall asleep. Our plan was to plough on through to try to beat the jet lag. But as we went out for a walk, in the sticky heat, I could feel exhaustion washing over me. I was hallucinating and struggled to put one foot in front of the other as we battled through the crowds around the architectural mess of Shinjuku station. My brain was cotton wool and mothballs.
Eventually we succumbed and grabbed an hour of sleep back at the hotel, which helped to refresh us without too much damage to our sleep pattern. Later we visited the Hilton’s smokey St George’s Bar (how can smoking be allowed indoors but not on many of the streets of Tokyo?) and ate in their international and hugely expensive Metropolitan Grill, served by the campest but friendliest waiter ever to come out of Brazil.
A few beers later, I was ready for bed and ready to begin our big Japanese adventure.