The Yoko-Yoko is what locals call the toll-expressway between Yokosuka and Yokohama. The tolls amount to about 12 bucks American. It'll get you there in half-an-hour if you drive like a madman. That was not the case in my little car.
The reason I had to get our little car to Yokohama is that when we purchased the car we were issued temporary plates to operate it on base. Those are only valid for five days. I learned that the vehicle needs to be registered at the Land Transportation Office in Yokohama and new plates will be issued to the new owner of vehicle, me. The Vehicle Registration Office on base assembles the necessary paperwork and then directs you to Yokohama. They provide a neat little map that shows the route.
I liken the traffic here like blood coursing through the network of veins and arteries in the human body. For those like myself who are still a bit timid about immersing themselves into the ribbons of traffic that flow between the cities of Japan, there is an alternative. You hire someone to make the run to Yokohama in your vehicle. The service is called an LTO Run and it's worth every cent of the fifty dollars I was charged. Usually, it is not the practice of the owner of the car to tag along with the driver, but, having the time, I did. Derek did my LTO Run.
Derek is a former Air Force airman who has lived in Japan since 1993. He is now a civilian employee on the base who buys and sells cars on the side. He came by our apartment tower in the morning and off we were. I explained to him that I was pretty certain I could have found Yokohama. I can read a map, but locating the LTO in the maze of patternless streets was doubtful. I might have found it, though it may have taken me several hours. I'm not that lucky.
The trip required navigating through a hand full of toll roads, whose combined fees total 1300 Yen each way. That's about $24 in total, going and coming. About 40 minutes later we were in the heart of Yokohama. What the map in my hand did not show were construction, road closures, or detours. Had I been in the driver's seat when we came to the first traffic anomaly there would have been trouble. Of course, Derek had little difficulty finding an alternate route.
Once at the LTO complex its enormity made clear to me how out of my element I was. The place looked like a boiling sea with countless sharks thrashing about in a feeding frenzy. It was that busy. Derek found a space to park and we headed into the first of three offices we would see during our visit.
Inside, the place looked like an emergency room on a full-mooned Saturday night. "We'll never get out of here," I thought to myself. But Derek wasn't three steps into the place before he raised a hand and shouted what I assumed to be greetings to an attractive young lady behind the counter. With a quick exchange in Japanese, they laughed and traded wide smiles as he handed her the paperwork.
"You have to know how to grease their palm," he says. "They're not used to it here. I treat 'em special like that."
I was convinced. The paperwork was quickly found to be in good order, stamped, punched, and stapled. We were out of there in five minutes while others remained in line like patients in a hospital ward waiting for medication.
Next, the car had to be queued for an inspection. We were directed to one of the many lanes leading to the inspection garage where a couple of gentlemen ushered us forward. They obviously knew Derek and were genuinely pleased to see him. Again, a friendly exchange in Japanese and Derek introduced me to them, addressing me as Salas-san. I instinctively extended my hand to them, but they quickly bowed at the waist and caught me off guard. All I managed was "Hello."
The older of the two looked me in the eye and said in perfect English, "Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Sato Hiroshi." His tone and delivery was impressive.
"Pleased to meet you, sir," I said in return.
Derek turned to me and explained, "Sato-san, he's alright, man. He likes to practice his English every chance he gets."
Giving the man my full attention I said, "He doesn't need much practice."
The men were obviously mechanics. They gave the car a quick once over, added a signature to one of the many forms, and signaled to us that all was well with the car. Derek promised to bring some Budweiser with him on his next run. After a bit more Japanese chitchat we moved on to the license plate office, our final stop. It seemed Derek goes through this process once or twice a day, five days a week. He can do it in his sleep, and all these people here seemed to know him in a most amicable way. In all honesty, I was somewhat envious.
We had our registration papers and license plates in hand and so it was back on the Yoko-Yoko for us to get back to the base in time for lunch. However, there was one more stop before we satisfied our hunger pangs. The temporary plates needed to be returned to City Hall in Yokosuka. So much to do and so little Japanese to do it with, I though to myself. The fifty dollars was money well-spent and I told Derek so. He laughed.
"Think you could do it on your own now?" he joked.
I only smiled. Today was a learning experience.
