My path home was straightforward: get on the commuter Saikyo line at Shinjuku, one stop to Ikebukuro, then the direct Tobu-Tojo Rapid line to Narimasu. Two stops, forty minutes. No big deal.

Until I decided to mix it up.

After work, I went with some friends to a nice restaurant and had to find my way home. There was a station I wasn’t familiar with nearby that connected to a station close to my bed, so I ventured into uncharted territory.

Just as I tapped in, I saw the train that I believed I was supposed to be on. I rushed to make it just in time I got my backpack inside the car. A few minutes pass. The stop names are becoming more and more exotic, but I assure myself that I’m going to be fine - I’m psyching myself out. I finally look at the directions I pulled up earlier. My position was clearly not on that track.

Oops.

After briefly freaking out, Google Maps revealed two possible courses of action: I get off at the next stop, catch the last available train to Ikebukuro, and get home in about two hours, or get off in two stops and walk about an hour. I could either rush and stress myself out, or explore.

This had been my first foray out of the United States by myself. I wanted to be a world class adventurer, venturing fearlessly into the unknown, but I had no experience. The sun was going down, so people were retiring from the day. I was greeted by the lively sounds of the taxis and the people exiting the izakayas. I was in some sense alone in Tokyo - there was no one I could talk to, no one who knew my name. The sun came down and it began to rain. My phone was dying.

Whenever I think of Japan, I imagine this one corner I stopped on. I popped under an awning and smushed next to a parked Audi. I looked across the street. On the corner of this Tokyo suburb was a little farm. Maybe twenty by twenty meters.

I was in silent awe. I appreciated that people forced plants into their city; that their city was not allowed to become a concrete desert. I thought of the lawns I was accustomed to in the States, and I couldn’t help but feel an immense gap between my life and the rest of the world. I naively thought I was starting to “understand Japanese people” and realized I was just beginning to see a snapshot of a place.

The rain soaked my shirt, my hair, my socks, my bag. I started listening to Tyler the Creator’s new album for the end of the walk and as I put my key into the lock. I removed my earbuds, took a shower, and crashed.

I don’t tell most people this story. They want to hear about going to hot springs, seeing Skytree, and hedgehog cafes. I told my parents about how much I loved the students, but when my mom visited, I didn’t want to show her these random corners. I think the soul of a city is hard to find, especially when you’re with other friends trying to enjoy themselves. Sometimes, it’s easier to just get on the wrong train, open your umbrella, and walk with open eyes.

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Jake is a returning intern from 2017. He studied physics at the California Institute of Technology, graduating this last year. He loves theater, especially musicals, and loves discussing politics. He is returning to Japan with a focus on shaping the life missions of interns and students in order to get them to be as honest as possible.

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Written by Jake Mattinson, CalTech intern

Edited by Paige Goetz, Director of Communications