That Time I Got Lost in a City That Doesn't Exist on Google Maps

There are two types of travelers in this world: those who trust technology implicitly and those who've been burned badly enough to know better.

I used to be the first type.

Now, after an odyssey through the Japanese countryside that turned a simple 60-minute train ride into a 4.5-hour saga involving rice paddies, confused farmers, and a lot of poorly pronounced Japanese phrases, I am firmly in the second camp.

This is the true story of how Google Maps led me astray, and how sometimes the person frantically waving and shouting at you in the train station actually does know better than your smartphone.

The Plan (Oh, Sweet Innocent Plan)

The destination was Kawagoe, Japan, often called "Little Edo" for its preserved historical district with buildings dating back to the Edo period. It's about an hour from central Tokyo by train. Simple enough.

My meticulously researched itinerary (read: I spent 15 minutes on Google the night before) indicated that I'd take the Tobu Tojo Line from Ikebukuro Station, ride for about 30 minutes, and arrive in a wonderland of traditional Japanese architecture and street food. I had it all mapped out on my phone.

I even felt a little smug as I approached the ticket counter, phone in hand, ready to point at my destination since my Japanese vocabulary consisted entirely of "arigato," "sumimasen," and "where is the bathroom?"

The Warning Signs (That I Completely Ignored)

The first red flag appeared when I showed my Google Maps route to the station attendant. His eyebrows performed an impressive dance of concern, and he began speaking rapidly in Japanese while pointing emphatically at a completely different platform than the one my app was suggesting. He then realized I didn;t understand him, so he repeated everything in PERFECT English.

Now, a wiser traveler might have thought: "This local transportation employee probably knows the train system better than my free app." But no. I smiled politely, nodded, and then proceeded to do what he told me. I boarded the train he had said and sat down. About fifteen minutes into the train ride I pulled out my phone to check I was going in the right direction. My gut was confused. Or maybe hungry. Either way it needed satisfaction.

So, I look at Google Maps, because Google Maps had never steered me wrong before. (Narrator: Google Maps had, in fact, steered her wrong many times before.)

I distinctly remember the man telling me to change trains at the first stop. Go two platforms over and then get on the train to Kawagoe. In my memory, he's talking in slow motion, like English speakers do when they're talking to someone who doesn't understand their language. But my technological arrogance was about to lead me into the Japanese wilderness.

The Journey Begins (And Quickly Derails)

I boarded what I thought was the correct train, settled in, and watched as we pulled away from the station. The first few minutes went according to plan. Tokyo's urban landscape gradually gave way to smaller suburbs. All good.

I then looked at Google Maps and saw that the train was headed North and not East. So I did what any sane person would do. I ignored the directions, got off at the next stop and jumped on a train I thought was heading East. At least when I followed the little blue dot on the map it was going East.... Until it wasn't.

Then things started to look... different.

The neat suburbs transformed into increasingly rural landscapes. Rice paddies appeared. The number of passengers dwindled until I was alone, which is when the first inkling of doubt crept in.

"This doesn't seem right," I thought, pulling out my phone again. The blue dot that represented me was now veering dramatically away from where I was going. But Google Maps, ever optimistic, simply recalculated and assured me I'd reach my destination eventually, just three hours later than planned.

Three hours? That couldn't be right.

I decided to get off at the next station to reassess. This turned out to be a tiny rural platform with no station building, no staff, and a single vending machine that seemed as surprised to see me as I was to be there.

Lost in Translation (And Geography)

The station sign read "Ogawamachi," which definitely wasn't Kawagoe or anywhere near it. My phone now showed me as a blue dot in a sea of green, with no clear path back to civilization. Google Maps cheerfully suggested I walk 17 kilometers to the nearest main road.

An elderly gentleman at the platform looked at me with the kind of pity reserved for particularly hopeless cases. I showed him my phone and said "Kawagoe?" with the rising intonation of the thoroughly lost.

He chuckled, not a giggle, a full chuckle. Then he pointed in a direction and said something that I'm pretty sure translated to "You are very, very far from where you should be, silly foreigner."

The Rural Tour of Japan I Never Planned

With limited options, I boarded the next train that arrived, going in what I hoped was the opposite direction from which I'd come. This train was even smaller, more of a local commuter line that stopped at every tiny station.

We rolled past emerald-green rice paddies where farmers looked up from their work to watch the train pass. We stopped at stations where the platform was little more than a concrete slab with a sign. At one point, I'm fairly certain we had to wait for a family of ducks to cross the tracks.

It was beautiful, serene, and absolutely not where I was supposed to be.

At one station, I decided to try again and disembarked. This station actually had a station master, an elderly man who regarded me with the surprised expression of someone who hasn't seen a foreign tourist in his entire career.

I showed him my ultimate destination on my phone, and he shook his head slowly, as if I'd shown him a map to Atlantis. He then proceeded to draw me a diagram on a piece of paper, with multiple train lines and a transfer... I think.

The complexity of the diagram made the New York subway map look like a child's drawing.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel (Or at Least Another Tunnel)

Three train changes later, each with its own unique challenge (including one where I had to sprint across a platform with only 30 seconds to make a connection), I finally saw a sign that included "Kawagoe" with an arrow.

I nearly wept with joy.

The final leg of my journey took me through increasingly urban areas until, at last, I arrived in Kawagoe, 4.5 hours after I had set out on what should have been a 60-minute journey.

The sun was already beginning its descent, casting a golden light on the Edo-period buildings I had come so far to see. The historic district was closing up for the day (yep, they close around 6:30pm to visitors. Food vendors were packing away their stalls. The entire purpose of my trip was essentially over before it began. The last train back to Tokyo is around 7p so they, like all Japanese people, are polite enough to close so you have time to get back before the last train leaves. Which I did. And this time I just followed all the other tourists.

The Moral of the Story (Besides "Don't Be Like Me")

I had exactly 45 minutes to speed-walk through the historic district before everything closed completely. My carefully planned day of exploration had been reduced to a frantic photo session and one hastily purchased street food item (which, to be fair, was delicious).

As I sat on the correct train back to Tokyo (confirmed by three tourists who were going back to Tokyo, a tourist map, and a friendly local who spoke English and seemed concerned by the wild look in my eyes), I reflected on what I'd learned:

1. When a local train station employee frantically waves at you and speaks in your language, listen to them.

2. Google Maps, while a marvel of modern technology, sometimes has no idea what it's talking about.

3. The Japanese countryside is beautiful, even when you're seeing it through the panicked eyes of someone who is hopelessly lost.

4. Always, always have a backup plan that doesn't rely on technology.

   
   

But here's the strange thing: That chaotic, unplanned journey through rural Japan, those glimpses of daily life, those moments of confusion and discovery, ended up being one of my most vivid and cherished memories from the entire trip.

Sometimes getting thoroughly lost is the only way to find exactly what you didn't know you were looking for.

Just maybe download an offline map next time. And for heaven's sake, listen to the train station attendant.

Kawagoe or "Little Edo" as it's known is a town preserving Japans history