Day 0 - Planes, Trains, and Public Panic Attacks: My Journey to Tokushima
March 8th 2025
Four modes of transportation. One emotional breakdown. Infinite nervous energy.
After waking up in my Tokyo Airbnb, I filmed the first video of my trip—and let me tell you, nothing says “let’s start this journey” like sobbing into your phone about your fears at 7 AM. I wrote them on the back of a 7/11 receipt. I had the urge to read them outloud into the camera like a final will and testilmate. Deep down I thought this might be the last time I am seen alive, or as the person I am now, either way change was inevitable. I had a solid panic-cry, packed my bags through the tears like a champion, and braced myself for what turned out to be a full-day odyssey to Tokushima.
Breakfast of the Anxious Champions
Before confronting Japan's transit system, I did what any rational adult on the verge of a breakdown would do: hit up McDonald’s. I ordered a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich—except this version had mayo and lettuce like a McChicken with a hint of teriyaki sauce. Bold move, McDonald's Japan. I respect it. Gave it a solid 10/10.
Worried I'd starve later, I also grabbed a hashbrown and a chicken sandwich. As expected that was unnecessary and I got way too full.
Drunk Girl, Cold Ground, Existential Mirror
En route to the train station, I passed a girl passed out drunk on the sidewalk. It had snowed the night before, and she was jacket-less. The police were waking her before the street sweepers did. I saw a little of myself in her—chaotic, vulnerable, lost. Except I was heading off on a self-imposed spiritual adventure, and she was (hopefully) going home to chug water and sleep for 12 hours. But still. There was something there. Two girls in the middle of transitions.
Google Maps: Savior of the Day
Getting on the local train was easy—Google Maps works flawlessly in Japan for transporation. It told me exactly what platform to stand on, what time to board, even what train car is the least crowded.
Next up was the bullet train (Shinkansen). It cost about $100 USD expensive, but it took me nearly across the whole country, so I figured I was booking a land-plane and it didn’t both me. Once on board, I queued up my favorite podcast and zoned out while passengers around me casually ordered beer at 10 AM. Not typical in Japan but for some reason it made me smile to see people loosen up.
A Surprise Bus Situation
Google Maps got a little cryptic after that. My next transfer was listed as a "train," but the tiny emoji looked suspiciously bus-like. Spoiler: it was a bus. I had 10 minutes to catch it and had to pee—badly. One glance at the bathroom line and I knew I was not making that transfer.
Luckily, the next bus came an hour later. Crisis avoided. I used the time to grab a pork bao bun and some sushi triangles (onigiri) from a grab-and-go kiosk. Only issue? No tables. Japanese people find it very disresectful to eat in public. Being in the middle of the train station I was surrounded by “public”. Where do people eat this food? I perched quietly on a bench and nibbled discreetly, trying to emit “respectful foreigner” vibes. Based on the looks I got, I failed. Sorry, guys.
Bus Heaven (and a Mild Navigation Fail)
I finally found the correct bus kiosk—pressed the English language setting—and boarded a comfy, Greyhound-style bus with reclining seats, privacy curtains, Wi-Fi, and outlets. And best of all: no seatmate. The ride was about 2.5 hours but was very comfortable.
It was still early in the day to so I rode to Tokushima station to eat some late lunch before heading to my first official accommodation. Don’t judge how much I ate I was very anxious.
Ramen, Language Barriers, and Grandpa Joy
I wandered into a ramen spot. That’s when it hit me—I was no longer in the global, English-friendly easy for forigeners to navagte city of Tokyo. No English on the order kiosk. Not many non-japanese people around. This was the real deal Japan and I felt stupid for thinking I was some kind of advanced know it all traveler who had totally figured out this country. I felt a wave of panic that I was in over my head.
An elderly Japanese man tried to help, pointing enthusiastically to every ramen option except the one I wanted. I was trying to figure out how to add gyoza. He was just vibing. Eventually, the waitress came and asked the man to relax and take a seat. Then she turned to me and kindly explained, in decent English, that gyoza only comes in a combo. My gyoza dreams were crushed, but I smiled politely.
I sat two tables away from the old man and his grandson. The way he slurped his noodles with pure, unfiltered joy—it was a sound only Japanese grandpas make. Like a “yummy” mixed with a grunt of victory and celebration. It was oddly comforting, and it warmed my soul more than any ramen could.
Uber? Never Heard of Her
Post-ramen, I opened my phone to call an Uber. And... nothing. No cars. No taxis. Apparently, I was still in a city, but not that kind of city. I stood in front of the station like a true L.A. girl, wondering how the world could function without app-based rideshares.
Cue: 20-minute breakdown.
I started to spiral: What am I doing? Where am I? How do I survive the next two months? Is this what people mean by “finding yourself”? Because I want to return myself immediately.
Eventually, I found a local train via Google. Luckily, I hadn’t strayed too far from the station.
Ticket Machine Madness
Buying a ticket here was a different beast. No English, multiple machines for different types of transportation (trains? buses? possibly boats?). I finally picked one machine, but it only had numbers instead of destinations. What was I buying? Coordinates?
I asked a staff member and she just kept saying “333,” then “33,” then made a circle with her hand. I was like, “Ma’am, are we playing charades or summoning a demon?” Frustrated and confused I took an anxious lap around the station hoping watching people for a while would somehow reveal my answer.
Finally, another staff woman who showed me a calculator that said “330.” OH. That’s the fare. Not a portal code. I felt bad for mentally mentally cursing the first lady. She was right. I was just dense.
I paid, boarded my fourth and final ride of the day. Just 20 minuets.
Quiet Town, Louder Thoughts
The 20-minute walk to my stay was quiet. Not “relaxing quiet,” but “pin-drop, post-apocalypse” quiet. I passed three people—all smiled and said hello. At first it took me by surprise. But then I remembered I was in a small town, and this would also happen in any small town in America.
Locals definitely gave me a few puzzled looks. Probably wondering why this American woman was rolling luggage near Temple 1 like she planned to walk 700 miles with a carry-on. Fair.
The Coziest Little Ending
Eventually, I found the house... by knocking on a private residence. A man with a lazy eye opened the door, gently guided me to the correct door, and called me “Rachel-san” which means “Mrs. Rachel”. I loved him instantly. I felt accepted into Japanese culture in a small way.
I had a private room with its own little toilet room, and the shared showers downstairs looked very cool. I’ll test those waters tomorrow. For now, I put on the soft cotton robe they left in the room and felt like a very tired but very Japanese with the waste sash and big traditional sleeves.
Dinner was... an experience. It was Japanese: sashimi, a soy sauce-braised fish, a mushroom soup, and one some chewy octopus. I hate mushrooms, but I powered through. The dining room vibe was surreal—the guests included one older man and one older woman, all of us facing the same direction while the host played a TV show. No talking. Just the quiet chewing of strangers at separate tables facing backs of each others heads. I felt like I was in a very polite cult.
Beanbag Pillow and Earthquake Anxiety
Back in my room, I discovered my pillow was less “fluffy cloud” and more “tiny beanbag.” Surprisingly cozy, though. The room was snug, peaceful... and earthquake-ready. That fact made me a little uneasy. I started scanning the design and safety measures and spiraled just a little again. Then I reminded myself: I made it.
Lights out by 8 PM. I was a little worried sleeping on a thin matress pad on the floor would be a challange. Out cold in seconds.
Final Thoughts
Day one was an emotional, logistical, and digestive journey. I cried, I ate too much, I panicked, I got lost, I got found. And tomorrow? We begin again—with clean hair, fewer tears, and (hopefully) less octopus.
