A Long, Cold Walk

          I once took a very long walk in Japan on one cold winter's evening. The clouds slumped low over the rooftops of the small towns tucked away in the tight little valleys ringed by slumbering, leafless trees. I was trying to go somewhere for the first time, by a train route I had never seen, which was far enough away from the cold, rainy Tokyo sprawl that little by little English characters that wayward Western travelers used as beacons of hope in a kanji world had all but disappeared.

          As the train cut through the crisp air the saggy clouds gradually revealed the a skyline of gnarled branches had completely replaced the semi-urban one most gaijin only see and come to think of as all Japan is. With a melodic hum, the train came to rest at a stop that the modern world had forgotten. A dim, unshielded bulb flickered on and off as the gray clouds gathered here and dispersed there, tricking the electronic eye into thinking the dying day had sighed its last breath. 

          The old wooden station sign's paint had long since started peeling away making the shallow shadow cast by the confused light bulb the only means to distinguish the nearly-ancient characters. Was it my stop or not? I couldn't tell, but the crackling speaker began to chirp out the happy little local melody that told me I had about 10 seconds to decide. 

          In Japan, it is usually easier to wait for the next train than it is to try to catch one back to a station once passed. So I stepped out. As the electric song of the train's engines sounded out the departure of the heated safety of civilization, the cold wind whipped my face red in a matter of seconds and sucked my warm breath up and away in a swirling mass destined to find its own way in the monochromatic sky. 

          "When you get to the station, use the west exit and turn left at the first road. Keep walking until you come to a Kōban (police box) and turn right. Walk for about five minutes and you'll be here," were the directions I had been given over the phone, confirmed, and them memorized several hours before, and I dutifully followed them. But instead of a warm home to enjoy a pleasant evening, beyond the kōban I found endless snow-covered fields ringed by slumbering, leafless trees.