WASHINGTON -- As a born-again nonsmoker (when I was three a great aunt tied a white ribbon around my wrist signifying a commitment never to smoke, a promise on my behalf that for years I chose not to honor), it is a joy to be in a country where smoking is all but prohibited. Here there are neither smoking nor non-smoking areas; like airplanes, all smoking is forbidden. It is a hardship for smokers and I sympathize with them, finding isolated out-of-doors corners where they can assemble with their like-minded addicts for considerably limited enjoyment of a cigarette.

That's a big plus for non-smokers, a tremendous downer for those who still smoke, a dwindling number. But there are other surprises. The other day, my husband, a new and pleasant term for me to be using since it's not yet three months since we married and subsequently left Japan, realized he was a few days overdue for his car inspection. He drove to his neighborhood garage, a mechanic checked areas of possible concern, and he was back in less than an hour. The cost? $10. I also like the fact that if people litter they may face a $1,000 fine. Another recommended regulation: At many hospitals, parents leaving with a new baby must demonstrate that they know how to keep an infant safe in a car carrier.

I am not yet ready to open the door to what I miss about Japan.

I thought great waves of nostalgia would sweep over me when I went shopping for fresh fruit and vegetables, but here, too, there were surprises. Produce was today-fresh and prices, of course, a fraction of what they were in Japan. The vast variety of products proved a formidable barrier to decision-making -- choosing among no fat, low fat, normal or enriched demands endless decisions. Nor can I avoid noting, as many have before me, that with all this supposed attention to a healthy diet, so many people are hopelessly overweight.

Our departure from Japan was blessed by a pleasant surprise at Narita where the relatively new terminal for foreign airlines has always seemed somewhat substandard when compared to the terminal for domestic carriers and the companies they service. What a pleasure, then, to experience United's new lounge area for business and first-class passengers, an expanse of blue, gray and silver with soaring wings seeming to float in the high-ceilinged entrance hall. The attractive wall-lining pictures proved to be patterns for weaving obi, a rare collection of bright designs. There were rooms for showers and changing, and in the women's rest room, a lounge area with chairs. A large space is set aside for families traveling with children and laptop power connections are generously provided throughout all the rooms. The new lounges can accommodate more than 700 passengers for a total of 840 when the old Red Carpet Club is included. Lounges are open, too, to Star Alliance partners. As we took off, we saw the lounge's same blue-gray-silvery colors repeated in the ocean and the sky.

I wish I could give you good advice about how to move. I wish we had been able to start earlier. I wish we had been better organized. I wish we had a better system for keeping track of things, like a large notebook; we tended to write notes on scraps of paper that were scattered endlessly throughout the apartment. I wish I had printed out a list of e-mail addresses. I long for tea bags I can fill myself, plastic bags without zip locks and surprisingly, I would like to hear tinkle tones on my telephone so that I know I haven't been cut off, it only seems like it as I wait for some service person to answer. While movers in Tokyo are generally recognized for their exceptionally good service, I am glad we put our move in the hands of Crown Worldwide. They have helped me with most of my Tokyo moves and, because our time was so limited, they arranged to pack everything in one day.

What a joy it was after all the painful decisions of what to take and what to leave to spend our last three days at the Imperial Hotel where no decisions whatsoever were necessary, where we could relax, say our goodbyes and mentally begin the adjustment between here and there.

And then, finally, it was time to go. At immigration, after almost 40 years, I surrendered my alien registration card to an official who tossed it aside and stamped my passport. That was it. No "I hope you have enjoyed your stay." Aren't you going to say goodbye? I asked, but he was already motioning to the next person in line. We left and walked on to our gate.