A chaotic arrival in Tokyo, missing reps, tiny wheelchairs, an early‑check‑in battle, an unexpected multicultural tour group, and an evening exploration of Shinjuku.
Arrival in Tokyo.
Today, I arrived in Tokyo on my flight from Paris, France. By the time we landed, I was exhausted. As usual, I hadn’t been able to sleep at all on the plane.
When we reached the aircraft door, a man met me with the smallest wheelchair I had ever seen. I managed to squeeze into it, but only just. It may have been fine for a smaller Japanese person, but for any European, it was a tight fit; it reminded me of a Ryanair seat, narrow and uncomfortable.
The man took me to collect my luggage, then through customs, even helping me fill out the customs form because the text was so tiny I couldn’t read it even with my reading glasses on. After customs, he wheeled me to immigration. This took longer, as they opened and checked my suitcase, examined my documents, and asked where I was going and how I would be travelling. The girl was polite, but called her supervisor to recheck everything before letting me through.
A Missing Tour Rep.
The man pushing my wheelchair took me to the arrivals hall, where someone was supposed to be waiting for me. I couldn’t see anyone's name or the company name on my paperwork. He took my documents and went back through the arrivals area, checking with every driver and rep. No one was there for me.
He returned and flagged down a woman who examined my paperwork and called Logitravel and SMY Travel, both in Spain and Japan. No one answered any of the numbers. At this point, I began to worry that I’d been sold a dud holiday and was stranded in Japan with nowhere to go.
The man returned the wheelchair, but the lady stayed with me and took me to the information desk. They put out a tannoy announcement for the rep who should have been waiting.
Eventually, a lady from yet another tour company appeared, saying she was my rep and that I should wait while she met another couple. When they arrived, she returned and took us to the taxi rank. She wasn’t a tour guide, just someone to get us to our hotels.
Hotel Arrival.
The taxi drove us through Tokyo, and I was dropped off first at the Sheraton Miyako Hotel. At the check‑in desk, the man confirmed my booking but told me I couldn’t have my room until 16:00. It was only 06:30.
I phoned Logitravel in Spain and spoke to a rep who couldn’t have cared less. He told me to pay for a room if I wanted to get in early. I’d been awake for around 30 hours, had flown halfway around the world, and was getting very angry. I asked the hotel receptionist where I could get a coffee, and he directed me to a café up the road; nothing in the hotel was open.
I sat in the lobby to calm down before I said something I’d regret. I worked out the ¥12,000 early‑check‑in fee and realised it was about €73. Exhausted and fed up, I paid for it and went to my room. I fell asleep almost immediately and didn’t wake until around 17:00.
After a shower, I went to the lobby to meet the rest of the tour group. No one was there. A few people came and went, but no one spoke English, and there was no rep. I wandered around and spotted a desk with a tour sign. Two people were sitting nearby, so I said hello.
They turned out to be part of my tour, Australians, also looking for a rep. As we talked, a Spanish lady with a clipboard approached. She and a Japanese lady were to be our guides. Soon, a group formed from all over the world: Australia, America, Spain, Germany, Colombia, Mexico, Korea, and France. Not what I expected, as I’d booked an English‑language tour, not a mixed group with Spanish and Japanese guides who happened to speak English.
Evening Tour of Tokyo.
We boarded a coach and were taken to a local train station. With the Spanish guide leading and the Japanese guide watching for stragglers, we caught several trains into Shinjuku for dinner. We walked through an old alleyway lined with tiny restaurants serving street food, each seating only four or five people, before arriving at a modern restaurant called Mo Mo.
We were shown to our tables, and I sat with the Australians. The meal was unusual: a large soup tureen of broth, into which we placed slices of bacon to cook, along with salad. Later, we were given chicken, tofu, and tofu skin. The tofu was lovely; the tofu skin looked like soggy shredded wheat but tasted surprisingly good.
The seating was tight, and I had to ask Mark, one of the Australians, to move every time I needed to get out, once for a Coca‑Cola and again for ice cream. The food was okay, nothing special, and I hoped it would improve.
After dinner, we walked back toward the station. Over the short distance, we lost a few people, and one guide had to go searching for them. While we waited, we watched the neon signs and an incredible 3D display of a cat walking between two giant screens on different buildings. The graphics were stunning.
Our Japanese guide returned without finding the missing people, and we headed back to the station. Two trains later, we were back near the hotel. I checked with the guide that I was where I thought I was, then walked in the opposite direction to visit a 7‑11.
I’d researched Japan beforehand and knew 7‑11 stores were different here, but I was still amazed. They had great food and everything I might need. I bought some water and walked back to the hotel. I was asleep within minutes.
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