Why You Should Take the Wrong Train

Sometimes mistakes are wonder in disguise.

In Kanazawa, on my way back to Kyoto, I got on the wrong train.

I had arrived early to the station, checked the platform on the big sign, and headed there to wait. I sat, and I waited. I checked the clock, watching for the exact arrival time of my train.

The loud speaker droned in the background with messages in Japanese. I couldn’t understand more than a word here and there, so they faded to the background.

As the time of my train approached, the message on the loudspeaker became more urgent, the voice louder and more insistent. I thought, quite literally, “Why is he shouting?” The Japanese are so rarely loud or excitable in public that it came off aggressive.

Still, I knew I was in the right place, platform 11, as the sign had said when I came in. And here was a train just now, pulling up, a bit late, but this must be it… though the sign on the outside said Toyama, while I was going to Tsuruga to catch the Thunderbird… but maybe that was a stop on the way?… hesitating, already feeling like this might not be right, I got on the train.

Once on the train, I knew. The car where I was meant to be seated was completely empty, and as “Toyama” became clearer in my mind, I realized it was a city we’d stopped in on a daytrip I’d taken from Kanazawa, and it was in the opposite direction, toward the coast, away from Kyoto.

My heart sank as we raced, Shinkansen-style, away from my intended destination. I went to stand in the doorway, feeling too guilty to sit, since I hadn’t paid for a seat on this train. I looked up how to say “wrong train” in Japanese in case a conductor questioned me (they didn’t; I felt like they guessed my predicament when they passed me in the space between cars).

It took about 12 minutes to get to the next stop, Shin-Takaoka, but it felt like forever. I hurried off the train, down the platform, and up again to the platform heading back to Kanazawa. There would be another train in 22 minutes. All told, it wasn’t such a bad mistake to make; I would have to buy another ticket for the Thunderbird when I got to Tsuruga, having missed the one I had a reserved seat for, and there being no unreserved seats on that train, but this train I could simply grab an unreserved seat, and I’d only have added an extra hour or so to my trip, and I didn’t have any timed activity to make, so it was all fine.

Still I waited impatiently for the return train, knowing I would not feel settled until I was back to actually making progress rather than backtracking.

And then something extraordinary happened.

Unlike Kanazawa and Toyama, and unlike Kyoto, Tokyo, and Hiroshima (all the other Shinkansen stops I’d been to thus far), Shin-Takaoka is a small station. Not every Shinkansen stops at Shin-Takaoka — some of them pass through without stopping.

As I stood on the Shin-Takaoka train platform, anxiously waiting to “get back on track,” a Shinkansen barreled through.

You feel the weight of the air almost before you see the train. The largeness of it is overpowering. It feels like a building coming at you, like a 102-story New York City skyscraper has developed a laser-focused consciousness, like the Empire State Building has wrenched loose of its foundations and is now barreling relentlessly, intentionally toward you at a speed so fast it’s over, with the wind blowing behind it, before your brain can comprehend it.

And yet… it’s smooth. It glides.

It’s jaw-dropping, how this massive, unbelievably fast machine can be both made of power and so elegant at the same time.

It seems indestructible.

You are just a shocked, awed little leaf fluttering in the wake of its wind, eyes wide, mouth open, giggles escaping, because who in the world could do anything but laugh after that? And then you’re laughing for real, with a full throat and belly, because taking the wrong train has led you to an experience you would never have had otherwise, and certainly never have thought to seek out.

Now I recommend that other travelers do it on purpose. When you’re in Japan, head to one of the smaller Shinkansen stations (Himeji works, if you’re daytripping there, and Odawara, if you’re going to Hakone) and witness this amazing spectacle for yourself.

If you’ve felt it already, let me know in the comments, I’d love to hear about your experience. :)