A Forwarded Email and a Cardboard Box

1983 - Decked out for our high school Halloween dance in authentic Japanese garb

Wait… Japan?

Our Japan adventure began, as many of our adventures do, with an email forwarded from Garrett.

“Do you want to do this?”

As I read on, I realized he was interested in a two-week trip to Japan. Primarily to ski.

We live in Colorado, so my initial reaction was: Why would we fly halfway across the world to ski? And why Japan? Isn’t that… really far away?

My lack of geography retention (or more likely, my lack of attention during geography) had me on Google within minutes.

Was it safe?
Definitely.

Where was it again?
Oh, yeah — the island way over on that side of the globe.

And people ski there?
Oh, right — the Winter Olympics were there in the ’90s.

As quickly as Garrett sent the email, I responded with a solid “sure.”

And just like that, we were going. Garrett signed us up with the Gray Wolf Ski Club’s Japan-bound crew before I had time to overthink it.

For him, Japan had long been on his travel wish list.

For me, it had never even crossed my mind.

At least that’s what I told myself — and then I remembered the cardboard box.

Japan in a Cardboard Box

During my childhood, I was given a box of personal items left behind by a Japanese college student. I was ten years old, growing up in rural Iowa. The cardboard box filled with beautiful Japanese wares from across the world, planting seeds of curiosity.

The box was filled with items I had only seen on TV: delicate paper lanterns, ornate fans, colorful kimonos, and intricately painted teacups. I was mesmerized by visions of the unknown Japanese woman who had once owned them.

The box landed in my possession not to lavish me with Japanese treasures, but because of my clothing size.

My aunt, then a student at Creighton University, acquired it after the foreign student moved home to Japan - a friend of a friend situation. When someone realized the discarded clothes would only fit a child, she thought of me.

Opening my box of treasures, I loved having adult-clothing as a ten-year-old, but the first things I tried on were the bamboo flip-flops with two-toed socks.

The items in the cardboard box were a wonder to my young imagination. I pictured the original owner living two lives—changing into Japanese garb on trips home and back into American clothes at college.

Would she drink tea from the tiny tea cups as she wrote letters on the beautiful stationery embossed with Japanese symbols?

Those were the stories I told myself as I carefully used up every precious sheet of decorative paper.

By high school, I was finally given an opportunity to show off my Japanese wardrobe. For a 1983 Halloween dance, my friends dressed up in gory masks and as Valley Girls. I wore my bright kimono with bamboo flip-flops. I painted my cheek with made-up Japanese lettering and happily jammed on the dance floor to “She’s Turning Japanese, I Really Think So.”

As my life moved into adulthood, my treasures from Japan slowly disappeared. The delicately painted teacups stayed with me the longest, holding toothpicks in my kitchen pantry—until they vanished sometime in the ’90s.

With no cultural mementos remaining, my adult immersion into Japan was limited to reading Memoirs of a Geisha, watching Lost in Translation, and later navigating my boys’ obsession with Pokémon cards. Other than that, Japan wasn’t commonly talked about in the Midwest—and definitely not as a vacation destination.

When I committed to this trip, I assumed traveling to Japan would be considered an oddity. I quickly learned that wasn’t the case in my current home, Colorado.

Japan sits comfortably on many bucket lists here—and for plenty of people, it’s already a checked box. The reaction was never, “Why are you going to Japan?” but instead, “Oh my gosh… you’re going to love it!”

With a disappointing snow year in Colorado, excitement grew around our luck in finding better conditions elsewhere. Going halfway across the world to ski—a new meaning to chasing snow.

What hadn’t been on my travel radar was suddenly a place I couldn’t wait to see.

Time to Plan (Well Eventually)

Having a husband who is an excellent travel planner has given me permission to procrastinate. This trip, I vowed I would get ahead of the preparations.

I began by rewatching Lost in Translation (I hadn’t seen it since its 2003 release). Then I asked our Japanese-born dog sitter, Ellen, for her insights. She promptly answered multiple emails that Garrett later wove into our tour planning.

Ellen also shared the travel books from her most recent trip. She called them “old school”; I found them a treasure trove of information, though I didn’t crack them open until our flight to Tokyo.

The weekend before we left, I watched several culturally enlightening videos with Garrett. The food looked fantastic—and there was plenty of enthusiastic commentary about Japanese toilets.

Then, finally, opening the Gray Wolf emails that had piled up in my inbox since our sign-up, Garrett highlighted the handful that actually needed my attention (I deleted the rest). WhatsApp set up - done. Garrett talked me through the weather forecast and packing restrictions. Preparation - check.

Our friends Jim and Emily were part of our Japan travel group, so we scheduled a happy hour to go over the final details. Emily is the planner in their duo. I mostly listened as they explained what to expect from skiing in Japan, where trail colors don’t follow the familiar green/blue/black U.S. system.

Our Tokyo tours were already booked (thanks to Garrett and Emily), but the most valuable tip came when Emily told us to double-check our seat assignments. She and Jim weren’t seated next to eachother and had to scramble to fix it. Garrett quickly reviewed ours - same issue. He corrected.

Gloria, the professional travel planner hired to coordinate our group from afar, had handled the flights and overall logistics. Although we never met her in person, Gloria held on to a cameo role throughout our Japan adventure.

The day before take-off, texts started rolling in from friends wishing us safe travels. They also asked for details I didn’t know.

“What cities in Japan are you visiting?”

Ummm…definitely Tokyo… and then a city starting with an H. And another with a K. Garrett?

“How long is your flight?”

Quick Google check—twelve and a half hours. Score. I had thought it was sixteen. My mistake. 16 is the time difference.

Although relieved by the shorter flight time, I worried about not sleeping on the plane. Would I be like Bill Murray—wide awake and wandering Tokyo bars at midnight?

My other concern was skiing. Which sounded ridiculous, considering this was a ski trip. While everyone else fantasized about our upcoming powder days, I was quietly questioning my abilities.

“Bring your snorkel!”

Good lord.

“The powder is as thick as smoke.”

How would I see the moguls? Or the potential danger I was trying very hard to avoid?

I am a blue-green skier—an anomaly among this group of black-diamond-loving Gray Wolves.

Deciding I would deal with both the sleeping and skiing concerns once we arrived, I focused instead on what I was most excited about.

I couldn’t wait to try out all the fabulous food we saw on the videos. And two full weeks to immerse myself in Japanese culture that had so fascinated me as a child.

What Not to Share with Your Doctor

As luck would have it, my annual doctor’s appointment fell just days before our trip—perfect timing to request sleeping pills for the long flight.

When she asked if I had taken prescription sleep aids before, I told her a friend once gave me one of hers on a trip. My doctor’s response was to write me a prescription for seven pills—apparently the exact number she trusted me not to share.

As it turned out, my flying concerns were unnecessary. Garrett and I followed a plan: gradually shift our sleep schedule by staying up later each night and then sleeping in as long as possible. The night before our 4:30 a.m. wake-up call, we made it past midnight, so we were sufficiently sleep-deprived and used to a different bedtime.

Leaving our Goldendoodle behind is always a tragedy for him, with sad eyes, but Ellen would soon arrive. Picking up Jim and Emily, we headed to the Durango airport and officially began our adventure.

After a quick hop from Durango to Denver, Jim and Emily treated us to the Capital One Airport Lounge during our layover. Sticking to our sleep plan - we avoided alcohol and caffeine, ate a healthy but filling breakfast, and then boarded our long flight to Tokyo.

Resetting our watches and phones to Tokyo time after boarding but before takeoff was also part of our plan. The idea is to reset the brain to our new time zone and hope our sleep corresponds. Japan is sixteen hours ahead of MST. We lost a day over one flight while flipping nights into mornings.

About an hour into the flight, Garrett and I each took one of my magical, non-shareable sleeping pills. The result - we slept for roughly half the trip. I watched a movie, listened to a few podcasts, and got up once to stretch my legs. Breakfast was served, and before we could even think, “Are we there yet?” we were landing in Tokyo.

Customs was a breeze—we had our pre-verification QR codes ready (thanks again, Garrett). Our luggage made it on the direct flight from Denver, and our group of thirty-six Gray Wolves (some grayer than others) gathered for the first time just beyond baggage claim.

Things were going so smoothly that we arrived at our transportation an hour early. While waiting for the bus, we met our new travel companions and took in our first breaths of Tokyo air.

Our First Japanese Meal

On the long bus ride from the airport, I scanned the passing storefronts and billboards for clues that we were somewhere distinctly foreign. Instead, much of what I saw was in English. Tokyo felt like an easy blend of English and Japanese, both written and spoken.

Surely once we reached the city, I would see all the paper lanterns and women dressed in kimonos as I envisioned in childhood. Instead, I found Tokyo to be a city very similar to NYC, looking from the bus window.

When we arrived at the Grand Prince Hotel, I found no lanterns or staff dressed in kimonos. The Japanese are very stylish, but I wanted to find clothes online, not play dress-up. The hotel was lovely - feeling just like a convention-style American Hilton.

What struck me most was the quiet. The lobby was full, yet nearly silent. The only noticeable noise came from our group of Americans.

Famished after a long day of travel, our core group of four—Garrett, Emily, Jim, and me—set out to find dinner at the hotel. We were hungry and tired. And we were anxious to see if sleep or the hotel gym or bar would be part of our first night in Tokyo.

One restaurant was closed. Another offered a hearty buffet. So we opted for plan C. It may not have been our first choice had we done more research, but the cold Kirin beers and sizzling stir-fry were exactly what we needed.

Our first meal in Japan was at the hotel’s Chinese restaurant.

Cheers.