We head round the corner again at about 7:50 for breakfast, partly for breakfast and partly because they have a free use Internet PC. Considering the high Internet connectivity over here (almost half the population on broadband) it's been impossible to find an Internet cafe that might be serving the remainder. My mission is to email Yogi, our dive buddy from the Maldives, with our hotel so he can get the underwater video to us. Mission accomplished while eating a banana and raison coleslaw sandwich. Actually, I couldn't figure out how to use the PC until the woman came over, pressed a button on a TV remote control and the LCD display switched from a TV video stream to a Windows desktop. I think I can be excused for not guessing to use the TV remote.
Despite the fact it had been raining to and from the breakfast shop I failed to wear my waterproof before leaving the hotel laden with bags. The five minute walk to the bus stop was a bit wet. We arrived at Incheon just ater 10 a full two hours before our flight. There wasn't any mention of our flight number, nor any plane taking off at 12:10 so we headed up to check-in to see what was what. After standing in the wrong queue for five minutes we checked in for a different flight number that was boarding in five minutes. Right, best be on our way then. We had to remove our shoes for security but didn't have to pay a departure tax. I [therefore] have W20,000 burning a hole in my pocket and no time to spend it!
Helen's quite excited about flying at long last on a 747 but that excitement fades a little with the drab United colouring (grey planes and dark blue interiors, uniforms and cloths) and the adequate service despite the joyous American tones ringing over the PA. It could be the conditions but this jumbo appears to wobble too much in the air. It doesn't seem to perturb three young atheletes who, shortly after boarding, had their photos taken then promptly fall asleep. Spanish badminton pros, we think.
At Narita, two girls in the immigration queue start laughing when an inscrutable man barks something at me and I reply in my clearest English Sorry?
He says something equally unintelligible to this traveller and I decide to follow the direction of his vaguely gesticulating arm. Luckily it appears there's someone at the desk up here and an International incident is avoided. Helen's bag is searched on the way out, they're being keen today but at least have put a decent number of staff on to do the job.
The limousine (bus) is ¥3000 (¥117 to US$1) and I attack the cash machine, erronously demanding ¥250,000. I am politely informed I don't have that much to my name. That's lucky as I only just don't have that much in my account and I could have been armed with somewhat more yen than even five days in Tokyo demands. Realising I've pressed one too many zeroes I take out ¥25,000 (about US$200) then realise I will need more as I'm about to give a quarter away on the lousy bus.
We get dropped off in Ikebukuro just as the wind picks up blowing dust in our eyes. With budget in mind we decide to walk to our hotel based on a fleeting glimpse of a map at the airport suggesting we're staying near the railway station. A touch optimistic and eventually I ask someone who points over the road. Close but no cigar [for me]. The room is very nice though the ten lines of railway track (and another pending) [outside the window] leave a little to be desired. This is one of the cheapest hotels advertised on the Internet and is still costing ¥14,000 plus tax per night (US$120).
We relax for a few hours then I decide to use the facilities including the in-toilet bidet (cue Graham Norton in Japan moment). Actually when I worked out how to turn it on -- there are two clearly marked "shower" and "off" buttons and a rotating knob labelled "front" to "back" but in my defence the in between part on the knob does nothing -- it was a not disagreeable experience. No wonder a close colleague, whom I shall only identify as "Uncle Nick," expressed such inner joy when describing why he had a bidet in his house. Get on of these Japanese jobbies, mate you don't even have to stand up!
Refreshed and cleansed we headed out into Ikebukuro to find a dearth of intelligible eateries. Eventually we plumped for a pseudo-Italian affair where we felt confident enough to be able to identify pizza or maybe pasta but were reduced to rather stilted dialog with the waitress to get a pasta and a miniscule pizza. Grabbing some snacks on the way back and some tea and coffee, we declined the green tea bags on offer, we took our "90 minutes free Internet and a free drink" vouchers downstairs to the hotel coffee shop/reading room/Internet shop. We get a few replies in and update the picture thumbnails before time runs out.
Then it's journal writing time and occaisionally watching the unfathomable Japanese TV (no Endurance-alikes so far) then remembering at 1am to take our anti-malarials which I take as an excuse to extract a beer from the fridge. 
Dai Ichi Inn Hotel, Ikebukuro, Tokyo N35.73201 E139.71260 Elev. 72m
Copyright 2003 Ian Fitchet. All rights reserved.