I went to Oita for just under 24 hours, to see my second game of the trip: New Zealand versus Canada. When I arrived on the train, I walked the 10 minutes over to my hotel to be told that I couldn't check in for another hour, which I kind of figured would happen, given my experience the previous day. Unfortunately the city wasn't big enough to warrant an entry in my guidebook, so despite my attempt to make a plan, I didn't have a plan... I spent the hour wandering around the shopping area between my hotel and the train station -- which was playing the anthems of the countries with games in town on repeat -- and visited the Rugby World Cup fanzone.
When I got back to the hotel at check-in time, there was a queue through the entire lobby. It took 25 minutes for me to get my key, pay the ridiculous rugby rate 3x as high as every other hotel on this trip, and get up to my room. And it was the worst hotel I've stayed in, maybe ever. Everything in the room was older than I am, and not in a cute antique way. In a shabby, falling apart way.
But at least the air conditioning worked, which was important given the ludicrous weather in Oita. I had woken up to multiple weather warnings for the area, none of which actually occurred while I was there. But it did manage to be both overcast and sunny, rainy and windy while also muggy and hot, and by the time the game ended in the evening, it was 100% humidity. Which just seems like some kind of joke. The upshot is that I dripped sweat, got rained on, and became slightly sunburnt, all at the same time.
Funnily enough, the most interesting parts of my visit to Oita happened as I was leaving it. I checked out of the hotel and walked over to the station to catch the bus to the airport, only to find that the tickets were cash only. I'd run out of cash the day before, so I went to the cash machine and discovered that the smallest bills it would give were 10,000 yen, around 100 US dollars. I didn't really need that much cash, and 2 days before payday, my account had slightly less than that in it anyway, so no cash, and no airport bus for me. As I was heading over to the taxi rank to see if any of them would take credit cards, I spotted a sign advertising currency exchange at the Information booth set up for RWC and remembered that I still had 50 pounds from Glasgow in my wallet. Easy solution! They told me they couldn't actually do an exchange, despite the signs, but that I could go to the head office of the bank... 10 minutes walk away, right around the corner from my hotel.
I had time before the next bus, so I schlepped back over there with all my luggage, to find that their currency exchange machine didn't recognize GBP from Scotland. The bank employees called the higher ups to ask for permission to exchange them, but they basically said that Scottish pounds aren't a thing. No matter how much I tried to explain that it's the exact same money as the English ones, they wouldn't do it. But the woman working at the bank wanted to help, so she walked with me over to another RWC Information booth (halfway back to the station where I'd come from) where they did currency exchange, to see if they could do it. I wish I'd gotten her name, since all told, I spent an hour with this woman, and she went WAY above and beyond good service.
At the Information booth, they couldn't figure out the notes from Scotland either -- apparently they have currency exchange books with pictures of the money in them, and it only has the English notes in it, so that's all they can exchange. But one of the employees started calling every bank in town to see if she could find any takers... she tried for about half an hour, bless her, but never succeeded. Meanwhile, the other folks at the booth started looking for ways to get me to the airport. Was I going to take the bus? Yes, but it's cash only. So they all talked about that for a while, and then someone suggested I could buy a ticket on my phone. They took my phone and pulled up the website (which I'd already tried and been stymied by). When they had no luck on my phone, three people got out their own phones and they all conferred about it for a while, but still no bus ticket. Then suddenly someone remembered that there's a hotel where you can buy the airport bus tickets at the front desk, and get picked up right outside. So the lovely bank woman walked me over to the hotel, and even spoke to the desk clerk in Japanese to explain what I needed. I got my ticket, and was on the bus 30 minutes later.
If I'd known the hotel (3 doors down from where I'd stayed) was able to do the bus tickets, I could have saved myself the sweaty hour and a half of dragging my bags all over town in 30 degrees C, and just gone there in the first place. But what an adventure in amazing customer service to get me there. It takes a village.
Once I finally got to the airport, who should come through security right behind me? The All Blacks. All the players (who are giants, by the way) and the staff. In all my celebrity sightings during travel, I've never seen anyone get so mobbed by fans as these guys. That is a whole other level of fame. They were on my flight (yep, the most famous rugby team in the world flies commercial!). I was stuck between two businessmen in a business class middle seat, but the entire row behind me was 5 giant men in matching blue tops. It was nice being surrounded by Kiwi accents, too... I love it, and don't hear it enough.
The flight was quiet -- the giants pretty much all slept through it -- and the entire Aussie team was at the gate when we disembarked. Enormous rugby men everywhere!!
This has gotten really long for such a short trip to a city, but before I go, I will include my Third Lesson from Japan: Stand right, walk left is not universal
It's been rocking my world to ride escalators in what feels like the wrong way all week. I had to share. That is all.
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