12.13.00 Seoul; drinking tea

And then it was 4pm and we were 45 minutes late, 9 floors up and 1/4 mile away from the ryokan. Hit it, walked it, caught the insurgent rush hour on the Yamanote line to Nippori, got off, paid wrongly, almost hopped on the wrong train. Only the incorrect payment stopped us long enough to let us realize the error. Left the station to re-enter for the right line and whoa-and-behold it's 4:49! Rapid to Narita takes 1:11 hours and our flight leaves at 6:35. Hate Japanese efficiency like a migraine at that moment: The plane would, without question, leave on time. One hour and eleven minutes of acid accruing in our stomachs. Chances of making the flight: slim. Like hell. Train packed with indifferent commuters and we were trapped. Trapped. Train cleared; Narita finally. One hour and eleven minutes to strategize and when that train slipped its doors we took off running. (Run Helen Run! Angela laughed later, 'cause wasn't Lola wearing red pants?) Out, up, up, up, up, up—unbelievable! Three flights of escalators beyond the two required to climb up from under ground just to reach the departure deck and the UA counter. I ran through the security check without my bag and barged in on a transaction to pant out that I was on 883 to Seoul and Am I going to make it? Time now 6:15. Woman drops it all, gets on the horn to the gate, tickets us, has someone escort us and we're off again through the next security checkpoint where I got beeped, halted, and wanded. Off again and running beside a UA woman to Immigration. Through, through and running for some gate in the 20 round. Yelling Sumi masen! at anyone looking like they might cross my path. There, there. The woman at the gate said, Stop a minute and breathe. You made it. We did. Only our seats blank as far as I can see. Sweating like the ugly Americans we are. But made it. Throughout the flight we sat decompressing, astonished at our luck, skill, and negligence. Vow that it won't happen on the next leg.

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