(an eight-minute read)

I flew into Tokyo at 11:30 p.m. on a November day in 1989 and scanned the crowds for the driver I'd asked the hotel to provide.

I hadn't been here since 1960 but the officious-looking immigration people were wearing the same serious-gray uniforms. I nonchalantly handed over my passport to be met with an imperious stare.

Where was my visa? Visa? I didn't need a visa!

Yes I did, I had a six-day itinerary planned-longer than the allowed three-day grace period. Pulled out of line (it was now well past midnight), I hoped that my intrinsic respect for Japan and the Japanese would somehow show and that I'd be allowed to stay the full six days.

By way of explanation, I'd been stationed in Okinawa for two years in the early sixties. When I had only two weeks of my tour of duty left, President Kennedy embargoed Cuba and my tour was extended indefinitely. To fight the disappointment, I embarked on the organization of "The First Annual Okinawa Grand Prix" which I coordinated with the sponsorship of an Okinawan lad at the Soap Box Derby in Akron, Ohio. I had done a bit of SCCA sports car racing and like everyone at 20, felt I was the cat's meow. Half way through all the preparations, the Cuban crisis eased and I was to be transferred back to New Jersey for my honorable discharge. Obviously I felt I couldn't desert my "magnificent obsession" in mid-stream. Thankfully, the powers that were agreed and I was discharged over there. Eleven months from conception, the Grand Prix took place: 250,000 spectators, 30 entrants (most of whom I had taught to race), and when I took the victory lap, the local hero who had arrived back from Akron that morning sat next to me, undoubtedly the happiest boy in the world. That was my effort for the People to People program.

Now, real time at the Tokyo airport: I had learned enough of the language to be able to teach English to the Okinawans but standing rather forlornly in the immigration officer's office, I could only manage a deeply felt bow. He looked at my tickets and hotel confirmation faxes and soon a quizzical lift developed in one eyebrow. He informed me that he would shortly make a decision, to which I would appeal in three days.

"Do I have to appear somewhere for the appeal?" I asked.

I could hardly believe my eyes: he winked and smiled. Then, brandishing several intricate red stamps, he filled out a form written in both Kanji and English:

"NOTICE OF DECISION. You are hereby notified that the following decision has been made on your application for landing. Decision: You do not conform to the conditions for landing provided for in Article 7, Paragraph 1, Item 1 of the Immigration-Control and Refugee-Recognition Act, because your passport is not validly visaed. If you do not agree with this decision, you may appeal to the Minister of Justice within three days from the date you receive this notice."

Thunk, thunk, thunk; the stamps made everything official. He stood and handed me the form, then sat down and...winked again! He handed me another form, this time for me to fill out. It read:

"APPEAL. I hereby appeal to the Minister of Justice against the decision that I am not eligible for landing etc." He helped me with the reason: "I live in England and did not know the requirements for a Visa."

He smiled again and said, in perfect English now, "Mr. Carter, I have been in this position for over 30 years and have had to disappoint many visitors who were not aware of the requirements. Tonight however, is special because you are the last American to go through the procedure. From now onwards, the visa requirements of the governments of Japan and the United States are relaxed, and thus I present you with these documents as a souvenir of the Japanese government. Enjoy your stay and good luck."

I had only been delayed for about 45 minutes and my luggage was on the carousel as I breezed through the passport control proudly waving my "souvenirs". Just beyond the barrier was a uniformed chauffeur holding a placard with my name on it; I chuckled when I saw the car. Whatever attributes you may have already awarded the Japanese, you can now add style-the car was a fully stretched Cadillac limousine! A little more than an hour (and $350) later, we pulled into the most sophisticated hotel in Japan and one of the finest in the world.

There really is nothing inscrutable about the Japanese, they just do everything with more care than almost anyone else and there is nothing inscrutable about why-it makes them proud, deservedly.

Everyone can understand that; remember German cameras, English motorcycles, and American cars? Everyone cared at one time or another, it's just that the Japanese care more today.

Therefore, you certainly shouldn't be surprised to learn that the one hotel in the world with the highest level of ultra-personal service is in Tokyo-the Japanese have been the most caring innkeepers in the world for centuries.

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