Traveling alone is only as daunting as you let it be. Going where you want and doing what you choose to do with nary a chance of conflict or compromise, the only downside is the inevitable absence of a ready made scapegoat when the best-laid plans go awry. And savoring that Kodak moment all by yourself. Still, you can have fun, and lots of it too, if only you know how. Wandering through mesmerizing plains that time has forgotten, floating among clouds on squeaky pulley systems, recruiting NPCs (non-party characters) along the way, getting your hands on important keys (of the hotel room variety) and bartering in villages and towns, your adventure resembles a role-playing game in more ways than one. In fact it is, in want of a better name,

Just Like Playing DragonQuest!

Saitama Stadium

Some people stand on station platforms religiously taking down the serial numbers of bypassing trains. Yet others trek across the length and breadth of their country in grime and rain to visit every football league stadium while recording match statistics such as the opposition, team line-ups, attendance and final score. While I'm no train spotter or football anorak (yet), I did get to indulge in both activities on my first excursion in Tokyo on a bright and breezy summer morning.

I probably picked up the unhealthy level of interest in football stadiums after a school trip to England in 1994. Besides taking in a tour of Old Trafford, I also attended matches at Goodison Park, Anfield and Ewood Park. Five years later, a driving holiday through the English countryside with my brother incorporated matches at Goodison Park and Upton Park along with a stopover at Pride Park.

Watching a football match on television is one thing; stepping foot on the actual pitch itself is quite another different experience. There is nothing quite as intoxicating as jogging out from the players' tunnel onto the luxurious pitch, stretching out both hands as you drink in the all the tens of thousands of empty seats around you, imagining fanatic supporters screaming their lungs out for you. Hold on, that's probably the ground steward inviting you to get off his lush field.

Anyway the FIFA World Cup coming to Japan was very good news for this fan indeed, since it meant that the country would have to build world class stadiums in line with the hosting criteria; and the new stadiums would make very nice side-trips indeed on this hiking holiday. So I included in my itinerary to visit two stadiums around Tokyo: Saitama Stadium in Urawa and Ibaraki Stadium in Kashima; and if time allowed for it, the International Stadium in Yokohama.

Upon arrival in Narita Airport I caught a Tokkyu Keisei Limited Express train to Nippori and, still carrying my full-packesque luggage, hopped onto a Keihin-Tohoku train to Oji station before catching a Nanboku train to Urawa Misono station. Three-quarters through the ride, the spotless Nanboku train stopped at Akabaneiwabuchi station and saw a changing-of-the-train-captain drill before carrying on with its journey, but not before it had proclaimed itself to be a Saitama Railway vehicle. Anyway I found Japanese rail fascinating, what with a myriad of colorful crisscrossing service lines and men in caps and white gloves scurrying about waving their bright lights and tiny flags on the station platform. At least if SMRT must raise their fares again (and again and again), I’d like to see them introduce some of those neat precision drills back home.

Some three hours after touch-down, I had arrived at Urawa Misono station--- immaculately clean with vast open spaces and with the painstakingly polished floor gleaming under the relentless spotlight of the ceiling fluorescent lights. After passing through the ticketing death trap machine (always ready to snare unsuspecting commuters at the unlikeliest moment), you’d notice that the station had been converted into a mini World Cup shrine. Giant crayon drawings by local school children hung proudly in a corner, while two glass cases displaying the wares of the two top teams in the newly formed Saitama city--- Urawa Red Diamonds from the J-League (J1) and Omiya Ardija from J2--- lined up next to each other. Inside were giant flags, jerseys, team photographs and player signatures along with the clubs’ respective battle cry. The Red Diamonds’ was "Go! Go! Reds" while Ardija’s was "Do it for J1!" Hmm... Opposite the brand new train station was a purpose-built World Cup information center for foreign visitors; while to the left was a colorful track that ran all the way to the stadium. Spanning 2.4km in length, it usually took 15 minutes to cover on foot though it made for an excellent cycling track as well, as the father and two daughters who breezed ahead of me and my menhir halfway down the route demonstrated almost too enthusiastically.

Saitama Stadium is actually sited in a sleepy farming community and sticks out conspicuously amongst the meticulously lined shrubs and blossoms of blue and violet against a backdrop of everlasting green. Old grannies with white headscarves bent over tilling their plots of land, oblivious to the modern work of architecture planted in the midst of their landscape, their homes only a short walk away from an obscure footpath that opened up into a sleepy neighborhood.

The stadium didn't look too inviting as I neared--- all the gates were locked and there was no staff in sight. Undeterred, I trooped around the perimeter of the fortress, feeling the weight of my backpack while looking admiringly into the interior of the 63,000 capacity stadium towering above me. The innovative design of the roof structure is such that rainwater can be stored to water the pitch and flush the toilets, though hopefully there'll be no mix-ups.

Halfway around my pilgrimage, I chanced upon the opening that I was looking for. A cleaner had unlocked one of the south exit gates to access the toilet outside, so I wandered innocently on before doubling back once he was out of sight to step gingerly inside the stadium compound. While other cleaners around stared incredulously, uncertain if this trespasser had any right to be sauntering around, a flurry of doubts swept across my mind. But I had come too far to be denied thus, so I just continued my purposeful walk to quell the cleaners' questioning glares, and after a minute or so they just got on with their tasks.

Getting in was only the beginning; my goals were to sink myself onto one of the plastic seats to experience the aura of the stadium and to take a stroll around the lush pitch. A flight of stairs brought me up to the entrance of the seats, but alas, all the gates were locked! So the best I could manage was to peer into the distance, past the forbidding metallic gates into the rows and rows of plastic seats across.

Having now acknowledged that I would have a lot of explaining to do if I were apprehended, I decided to retreat without pushing my luck too far. I might well have been invisible as I walked past the construction workers doing some restoration to the stairs leading to the grandstand gallery, though they would probably have noticed had I mounted their scaffolding to get into the arena, no matter how tempting that option seemed.

Returning to the offending gate, my sense of uneasiness was vindicated as I found it now locked, with nary a cleaner around in sight. Wondering fans looked on enviously on the other side of the gate as I contemplated climbing my way out, but that would be the surest admittance to any wrongdoing. Instead I turned back and tried a different route: the players' entrance underneath the grandstand. Two bemused construction workers looked on momentarily before continuing on their way and I trailed twenty paces behind, certain that this would be my only ticket out. And it was, through another unlocked side gate that only an eagle eye could spot, but not before I had passed a footpath leading onto the pitch. But with some engineers deep in discussion at pitch side, it would not have been very wise to follow my heart's yearning and sprint onto the lush greenery.

So there I was, out at last. About 30m from my escape point I spotted two young policemen sitting at a table near an open gate. Trying my luck more than anything else, I walked innocently in only for the duo to spring onto their feet and tell me politely that entry was denied because of ongoing restoration work in the stadium. If only they knew...

It's quite a pity that Japan hasn't quite caught on to the concept of open day stadium tours. Fans can fulfill their dreams by getting a behind-the-scenes look at their favorite club while the relevant body running the stadium stands to make a sideline as well. And locking out father-son/daughter pairs having a kick-around outside the stadium while the mother and grandparents look on is no way to inculcate a football culture in a nation still predominantly obsessed with baseball. Anyway the no-show turned out to be a blessing in disguise as it discouraged me from visiting other stadiums and hence saved me from being caught in the wrath of Typhoon Number 6 that would sweep through Yokohama, among other prefectures, just days later.

Just to prove that I had learnt my lesson, as I was walking back towards Urawa Misono station, a Japanese fanning himself with a cute itsy-bitsy paper fan (that macho men are not shy to use here) asked me if the stadium was open to the public, and I replied with a resounding "No!" with an accompanying cross-arm gesture. "There is some restoration work going on."