To Tokyo Strangers

While many understandably hate layovers, I feel the opposite. Sitting in an airport is like existing in an alternate world where all the worries and stressors of life seem to be suspended. Airports are a place where there are no expectations of you but to be present; you can clear your mind, sit down and enjoy a warm coffee, escape both the neverending demands and grueling mundanity of daily life, and imagine all the exciting things to come (or reflect on a trip past). Combine this with my love for experiencing new places and meeting people from around the world, and I actually look forward to visiting airports in new cities, and especially new countries. As such, when booking my flight to Bangkok to meet an old friend, I opted for the ten hour layover in Tokyo instead of the two hour alternative. I was determined to take this opportunity to explore a small slice of Japan, and with my starry-eyed wanderlust, the airport more than sufficed. 

On my twelve hour flight to Tokyo, I thought of all the cool experiences I might have. While it would’ve been tricky to venture out of the airport, I wanted to make the most of my time in Tokyo any way I could, and Narita International seemed to offer enough hidden gems to make it a memorable experience. When I landed, a feeling of euphoria came over me. There’s always something inspiring about those first steps off the plane into a new and unfamiliar place, knowing there is so much waiting to be discovered. 

You can imagine my surprise, then, when I disembarked into what felt like a ghost town. Rows and rows of shops were closed; few people were to be seen. The terminal was so quiet you could hear the distant hum of toilets flushing and doors opening and closing. It certainly was a contrast to the pictures I had seen online of bustling crowds and vibrant shops. 

I soon learned that while pandemic restrictions were finally starting to lift, two of the airport’s three terminals were still operating at reduced capacity. Luckily, I quickly realized, the “fun” terminal was just a quick bus ride away. I barely gave myself enough time to use the restroom before dashing to the terminal transfer bus. 

My excitement, however, was quickly tempered. As I presented my plane ticket to the security guard at the terminal transfer station, the elderly man, seemingly exasperated, stopped me. Through our poor attempt at communication, I was able to piece together that travelers were not allowed to change terminals unless they had to. And he was right — I had no reason to leave the terminal I was in, as my next flight left from there as well.

I was pretty devastated. Not only would I now have to spend the next ten hours bored out of my mind, I wouldn’t be able to seize my only chance, as far as I was concerned, to experience a piece of Japan. I felt like a complete idiot, not only for voluntarily booking a 10 hour layover, but for not double checking the airport’s policies beforehand. (If there’s anything worse than feeling sad, it’s feeling dumb and sad.) While I tried to stay positive, I couldn’t hide it — I felt like all the energy had been sucked out of me. I was completely deflated. But nevertheless, I apologized, picked up my belongings, and headed back into the terminal. 

Not even 20 seconds later, I heard someone calling out. The same security guard was motioning for me to come his way. I assumed I had left something behind, but when I got there, he simply pointed towards the terminal transfer bus schedule. Sensing my confusion, he directed the bus driver to wait for me. His eyes were softer this time, his voice gentler and more patient. Having clearly had a change of heart, he whispered, “Go ahead, just be back in time for your flight.”

When I realized what he was doing, a stupidly large grin burst across my face. He let out a smile, too, after seeing my excitement. I hardly finished thanking him before rushing into the bus. As the bus started to pull away, our eyes locked one last time. I nodded to him and him back to me, an unspoken acknowledgement of what felt like our secret pact.

I can say I had the best time exploring and eating all the onigiri, mochi, ramen, and matcha-flavored snacks my stomach could handle. I read part of a yakuza memoir, befriended a German couple also headed to Southeast Asia for a backpacking trip, went to the famous Japanese 7-Eleven (which, if you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing, puts America’s 7-Elevens to shame), played games, picked up adorable gifts for my family, and more. It was an amazing first glimpse into Japan. Those hours went by so fast. I truly hope to return to Japan one day.

But while the adventures were memorable and exciting, what I remember most is the security guard’s small act of kindness. Despite all the reasons he had to not care — our seemingly insurmountable generational and cultural differences, language barrier, and official rules (which in Japan, are no joke) — he went out of his way to look out for a complete stranger. It was a reminder that no matter where in the world you are, we are not all that different from each other; that the barriers that separate us aren’t so big after all. His quiet, gentle compassion touched me. Next time I am in a position to help a stranger, I will do so with a smile. I’d like to think he’d be smiling back.