Manholes. Yes, manholes. And I'm not trying to hint that I am gay here; no, I'm talking about the ornate manhole covers that can be found all over Japan. Every city and town, as far as I can tell, has its own design and I have spent quite a lot of time, shoe leather, and money searching for them. To see more, please visit my gallery Put a Lid on It.
I love flying in Japan.
Check-ins can be made less than twenty minutes before take off. The ground staff is courteous and knows how to do its job. The kiosks actually work. (Imagine that!) There are no outrageous gotchas, those extra fees for this and that which have become the bread-and-butter of airlines in the States. You can make changes to your reservations without being nickeled and dimed for every change. (Not always true.) Security is polite and, for the most part, hassle-free. It’s also remarkably smooth. You needn’t remove your shoes off or endure up-close and personal pat-downs. The aircraft are clean, almost immaculate, when you board: all the garbage has been picked up; the seatbelts are placed in the exact same neat manner; the magazines and pamphlets are arranged smartly in the pocket. And the cabinet crews are well-groomed, professional, and subdued, resembling the kuroko stage assistants of kabuki, rather than the overbearing sumo wrestlers American flight attendants can sometimes be. Flights usually take off and leave on time. (Again, imagine that! Especially in a country as susceptible to the whims of Mother Nature.) Baggage, which is treated with the utmost respect and care, is rarely lost.
All in all, it is a pleasant experience from check in to arrival. I wish I could say the same about flying in the U.S.