Which way is East

The telltale “Bing” over the train’s PA systems alerts me to the female voice announcing the next stop. She sounds kinda robotic and yet kinda sexy like some Asian Stepford wife, “Doko deska gomenisai watashi wa onemia wa hatigimaste —Shinjuku— huji-sana arigato goziamas—Shinjuku .” Or something like that, all I know is that I’m pretty sure this is Shinjuku and that’s my stop.

Yeah. I’m learning something. I’m almost there; glad the hard part is over. Be there in no time now.

Turns out that this was the end of the line I’d be getting off regardless… so much for my small victory. As soon as the train stops the hundreds of passengers quickly poured out and I follow.

Immediately, I’m awash in the bright fluorescent lights and thousands upon tens of thousands of Japanese pedestrians briskly walking to a hundred different destinations. I stand still for a moment to find my bearings. I need to find the East Exit. Meanwhile like a river around an annoying stone, bodies rush by, stepping slightly left or right before quickly filling in the open space behind me.
Shinjuku it turns out is the busiest train station in the entire world—-by a long shot. I wander through the crowds muttering, “East exit. East exit.” I find a sign for the North exit, and then the West exit. Plunging ahead--seemingly always against the follow of traffic--I come across the South exit, the South East exit and wait for it… the North exit again. Screw it. South East is close enough, I’ll just get away from this mob and figure things out once I’m outside. I can probably just walk around the building and find the East exit that way.

As soon as I walk through the toll gate and out of the station I immediately realize the idiocy of that of walking around idea. It’s like some giant outdoor ant farm with people jammed on to escalators and causeways shooting off in every direction. I walk down a broad flight of stairs; further into the mob and onto the street level. The streets, more like alleys, twist around like a rat warren and have no signs that I can find.

I pull up the map from the e-mail that had the directions, knowing that I can’t read it, but maybe some passerby can help me. It’s more confusing and indecipherable than I remembered. It’s entirely in Japanese characters, and I can’t even tell if I’m at the purple symbol, or the blue one; nor if I want to get to the red symbol, or the green one, or any of the black or white ones. Scratch that idea.

I have never felt so lost in my life.

lost. Lost. LOST.

I’d been unsure of where I was in Japan plenty times, but I wasn’t trying to get anywhere in particular, the bar across the street would suite me just as well as the one next to it, or the one next to that one, etc... The impossibility of finding this place—-a needle in a haystack of needles—-was starting to crush me. Everyone else seemed to know exactly where they wanted to go and seemed in a hurry to get there. Me, I just wandered in a small circle, peering down the streets, not really sure of what exactly I was looking for but knowing that I won't find it.

I thought, "Well this obviously isn’t going to happen; maybe I should just slink on back to Atsugi." I had number for the place, so it was either admit defeat to myself and head back home or admit utter defeat to someone else and call, “I’m lost. I don’t exactly know where I am, but I’d like directions to where you are.”

I call.

They answer.

In Japanese.

I used to say, “Mushi, mushi.” (That’s how you answer a phone in Japanese) but then the person on the other end of the line assumes you fluent and starts chatting away.

“English? ¿Español?,” I ask.

“Sí.”

Thank God.

He tells me, “Go out the East exit (He assures me there is one) and then make a right something, something two blocks and then you’re at almost at the Koma theater, very famous building, everybody knows this building people can tell you how to get to it and we’re right across from it.”

I walk back inside the building and make it to where an East exit should be.

No sign of it.

I ask a young man working at a small booth, “East exit?” He steps out from behind his counter and directs me to a non-descript stairwell about 20 yards away with people pouring into it, “Down two flights of stair and make right.” “Arigato!” I smile. He smiles. I bow. He bows. And I’m off, racing down an unnamed flight of stairs. Sneaky Japs.

Following his directions, I have to pass through the toll gates of the station I was instead of the green arrow I get a big red “X” and the knee-high gates close. I have to turn around, causing a minor traffic jam, and make my way over to toll booth operator; a young man dressed in dark blue jacket, tie, and hat like a 1920’s train conductor. I hand him my card and he scans it presses a few buttons hands me back my card and waves me on through. Apparently the system thinks it’s suspect when some checks into a station and checks back out of that same station 10 minutes later, but after looking at me this guy knew I wasn't smart enough to be ripping off the system. This happens two more times before I finally figure it out. I got pretty good at it, by the time I make it to the third gate I already know, “There’s no way this gate is gonna let me through, let me go ahead and just take my card out of my wallet and give it straight to 'Mr. Conductor'.” Hopefully, no one is tracking my actions cause I’d probably get blacklisted from the train.

Finally after wandering around a train station for 45 minutes I reach the fabled East Exit.

I step outside and it’s already dark.

…well…

I mean it’s nighttime, but it’s not dark. It’s like I just stepped in to Times Square, except imagine if Times Square was surrounded by five other Times Squares.

OK five minute walk, I can do this…

Goodnight nobody,
Eric