You can spend a whole day on the Tokyo rail network for just 90p. Here’s how

Your carriage awaits: a Japan Rail train. Image: Getty.

Let’s cut to the chase: you’re here, reading this website, so you probably like trains. Trains are cool. Rail network maps are cool. Spending a day on trains is cool.

But the cost of travel can add up, especially if you venture far afield. So here’s the part that’s going to blow your mind: there’s a way to spend all day on trains for about a pound.

Have you ever, just for larks, gone the long way round on a rail or metro network? Travelled between Cowcaddens and Buchanan Street in Glasgow, but via Govan? Between Mornington Crescent and King’s Cross in London, but via Kennington instead of changing at Euston? Got the lower fare on London Overground travelling between Clapham Junction and Highbury & Islington?

There’s a name for this in Japan: 大回り乗車 which is pronounced “oomawari jousha” and literally means “big ride”. It means you can buy the cheapest ticket available and travel round the whole network, and staff will nod at the practice. (Hopefully. If they don't, do your best stupid foreigner face, say “oomawari jousha” and point out your route on a map. Should work.)

Like everything brilliant in this world there’s a catch, though, and here it’s that you can’t leave the rail network and explore. But why would you want to do that? You like trains, remember?

We first learned about this practice from excellent website Tokyo Cheapo, which you should absolutely check out if you’re ever planning a trip. (Full disclosure: I occasionally write for sister sites Japan Cheapo and London Cheapo.) It works like this.

  • Buy a ticket for the metro. The cheapest on the Tokyo Metro is 140 yen, which at the current exchange rate is about 90p.
  • You can only travel on Japan Rail (JR) lines. You can ask about oomawari jousha on a private line, but your language skills probably aren’t up to that and anyway, JR has the most extensive network.
  • You can’t travel on the bullet or express trains. You’re paying a pound, come on.
  • You can’t go beyond the gate line until you’re finished or you’ll have to pay the full fare. You also have to be back by the end of the day else your ticket won't be valid.
  • You have to start and finish your journey within the paid-for fare zone. So in Tokyo you would, for example, start in Shibuya and finally exit at Ebisu, one stop along the Yamanote line.

That’s the basics over. Where can you actually visit? You’re limited to the suburban networks but in reality that means you can go miles out of the way. Here’s a map:

Let’s look at some potential routes.


Go west

Start at Shinjuku station, partly because it’s the busiest station in the world and you might as well join in. Pick up some food for the journey – some larger stations have shops and restaurants within the gate line, but you don’t want to be caught out. Buy a 140 yen ticket and head for the Saikyo line and catch the 09:46 train to Akabane. From here, catch the Takasaki line to, well, Takasaki and enjoy the view as you travel into the mountains of Gunma prefecture.

At Takasaki, switch to the Joetsu line to Minakami, which is the technical limit of how far you can go – the line continues, but it’s at your own risk. So far you’ve travelled 161km and it should take around 200 minutes to get here.

Let’s go back a different way, because we can. You should have got into Minakami at 13:07, so take an hour to admire the view from the station platforms before catching the 14:19 train to Shim-Maebashi, then hopping on the Ryomo line to Oyama. Congratulations, you’re now entering Tochigi prefecture. At Oyama, change for the Mito line to Tomobe (in Ibaraki prefecture, you’re really racking them up now).

At Tomobe, catch the Joban line back towards Tokyo, changing at Nippori for the Yamanote line (Tokyo’s version of the Circle line) before getting out at Shin-Okubo – one stop down from Shinjuku.

Your return journey from Minakami takes six hours and covers 295km. You have paid 140 yen to travel 456km. You are the train monarch.

Go south

If mountains aren’t your thing, how about the coast? The Boso Peninsular juts out to the south-west of Tokyo, with the Pacific to the east and Tokyo Bay to the west. Railway lines hug the coastline. So let’s eyeball all that scenery for 140 yen.

Start at Tokyo station (that’s the specific station called Tokyo in Tokyo, because nobody ever said Tokyo was easy). Buy your 140 yen ticket and catch the 09:43 train on the Sobu line to Chiba, where you change to the Sotobo line. (Actually, I suspect this is the same train, as there’s a one minute transfer window and the arrival and departure platforms are the same.)

Anyway: you’re now headed to Kazusa-Ichinomiya, where you switch to a train for Awa-Kamogawa. This section takes around an hour, and you’ll start to get an ocean view. At Awa-Kamogawa, catch a train to Tateyama, which will carry on down the coast before cutting across the bottom of the peninsula after Chikura.

So far you’ve travelled 166km and it’s taken 200 minutes, assuming you catch all the connections. Now you need to travel back up the west side. Get on the Uchibo line to Kimitsu, where you switch to a rapid train to Chiba. At Chiba you’re getting back on the Sobu line (again, pretty sure you just stay on the same train), where you can either go straight back to Tokyo or make a couple of changes via Kinshicho and Akihabara.

But you can’t get out at Tokyo! You have to exit one stop along, so get on the Yamanote line and leave the network either at Kanda or Yurakucho.

The route back is 130km and takes 160 minutes. The whole journey is 296km and gets you back in time to enjoy your evening.

Go Osaka

Tokyo’s not the only city you can do oomawari jousha in. Osaka is perfectly positioned as a hub for many fascinating Japanese cities, so let’s see how many you can hit up in a day.

The limit in Osaka is almost, but not quite, the blue section on this JR West map (you can compare it with the Osaka map, second one down, on the Japan Rail website). Your ticket is even cheaper than in Tokyo too, at 120 yen.

Start at Osaka station by catching the 08:59 train to Kyoto, where you change for a train to Nara, famed for its ancient wooden temples and free-roaming deer. Not that you’re going to see any of that (though if you really want to get out, the fare for the journey so far is only 800 yen, you cheapskate).

Now you’re heading further south. Catch the 10:41 train on the Manyo Mahoroba line heading for Wakayama; looks like the train turns into the Wakayama line at Takada, after which you get a nice two hour trundle through Wakayama prefecture.

At Wakayama it’s time to head north again. Get on the Kishuji line for Hineno, where the train will magically turn into a Kansai Airport train bound for Osaka. Back at Osaka, catch a train to Himeji. This is a famous castle town, and lucky for you it can be seen from the station.

There’s about an hour waiting at Himeji, so watch the shinkansen whizz through and eat the food you hopefully bought before setting off. At 18:11, take a brief hop to Kakogawa where you change for a train to Nishiwakishi, because we’re taking the long route back to Osaka. At Nishiwakishi, take the Kakogawa line to Tanikawa, where you change onto the Takarazuka line back to Osaka. Now you just need to hop one station on the Osaka loop to Temma or Fukushima to finish at 10pm.

This route covers 496km. If you paid normal fares it’d cost 6,460 yen (roughly £43). Haha, suckers.

For more details on route planning, use HyperDia and JR’s suburban maps for Tokyo, Osaka, Fukuoka, Niigata and Sendai, which are the cities oomawari jousha works in. The maps are in Japanese and image-only so you can’t even copy and paste the city names into Google Translate – but the regional train companies will have English language network maps that you can spend ages flipping between the two trying to compare and contrast.

And if this isn’t how you like spending your evenings, this whole article has probably not been for you.

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How the rise of anti-crime politics caused lasting harm to Black Americans

"I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become," James Forman Jr. says. (David McNew/Getty Images)

The police killing of George Floyd, and the protest movement that emerged from it, has reinvigorated a national conversation around reinventing criminal justice policy in the United States.

At the same time, reports that violent crime is rising in many US cities have resurrected talk of the much-disputed “Ferguson effect,” a theory put forward by law enforcement professionals, and some researchers, who argued that police slowdowns in the wake of the first wave of Black Lives Matter protests resulted in elevated rates of violent crime. President Donald Trump is trying to weaponise this narrative, paired with images of federal officers clashing with protesters in the streets of Portland, to wage a 1968-style backlash election campaign.

“People who want to mobilise a lock-them-up style of either policing or prosecution have tried to weaponise those short-term increases,” says James Forman Jr., professor of law at Yale Law School. “Criminologists will say you have to be very, very cautious about short-term movement [in crime statistics]. We don't know whether or not what we're seeing right now [with violent crime increasing] is going to sustain itself. But the fact is, it's here and people are talking about it.”

In 2018, Forman won the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction for his book Locking Up Our Own: Crime and Punishment in Black America. Drawing on his experience as a public defender in Washington, DC, he traced the emergence of anti-crime politics in late 20th century Black communities. Forman showed how newly empowered Black politicians fought for policies they believed would protect and uplift Black Americans, but inadvertently contributed to mass incarceration. 


CityMetric recently caught up with Forman to discuss crime trends, where he sees reason for hope in this moment and how the Black political class’s attitude toward crime and punishment has shifted since the latter part of the 20th century. 

This interview has been edited and condensed. 

There is talk right now about a resurgence of crime and violence in American cities. We saw similar, more localised concerns after the initial 2015 Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson and Baltimore. Do you fear this could reinvigorate the kind of politics you describe in your book among segments of the Black community and political class?

I fear that it could be reinvigorated nationally and also in the Black political class. Look at the political conversations that are happening in Atlanta right now, for example, a city that also has seen a short-term uptick in crime as it is a site of a lot of protests about George Floyd and Breonna Taylor on the national level, as well as Rayshard Brooks and Ahmaud Arbery more locally in Georgia.

I think that you can already see in some of the language of the local elected officials this idea that we have to be very careful about pulling back. [They are saying] “while the protesters may make some valid points, we can't risk returning to the ‘80s and ‘90s.” Those decades really traumatised the United States, and particularly traumatised Black communities. There's a deep fear about returning to the levels of the violence that we saw in the crack years.

You write a lot about class divides among Black Americans, where middle income and elite Black people don't suffer as much from extremely punitive policies. They also have closer ties to the politicians who are creating these policies. There are very specific groups of people, even in marginalised communities, whose voices are heard.  As a result of these dynamics, you write about Black politicians fighting for things like mandatory minimum prison sentences or against decriminalising marijuana. Is there still that disconnect between those who suffer the most from criminal justice policies and those who are actually heard in political discourse?  

Let me just say a caveat, that when we talk about class divisions in the Black community it's important to hold two truths in our head at the same time. Bruce Western and others have shown the way in which class, educational status, income can dramatically reduce the likelihood of being hardest hit by the criminal system – namely incarcerated. Middle class and upper middle class Black people get some measure of protection. It's also true at the same time that Black people of all classes are worse off relative to their class counterparts in the white community. 

One area where class is least protective is policing and police stops. The police do not know how many degrees you have. They don't know how much money you have in your bank account. I want to be very clear that in making this point about class, I'm not making the argument that race or racism don't matter in this context. 

In terms of how it plays out now, I see an awareness that has developed in the Black community in the last 10 years or so about how deeply racist the criminal justice system has become. Twenty or 30 years ago they had a consciousness, but there's levels of understanding. Many of the people I write about in the book wanted to promote the interests of the Black community. They weren't motivated by indifference or callousness. When presented with mounting evidence of how awful this system has been in Black lives, they're reconsidering and recalibrating. 

Lots of former elected officials have said to me some version of “I didn't know at the time and I appreciate that you showed us in our full complexity. I appreciate that you showed the pressures we were under. If I had known then what I know now, maybe I would have been less quick to go along with some of these harsh measures.” 

The second thing that has affected the Black political class has been the emerging movements, led by Black people in particular and led by young people. They not only educated leaders, but pressured them and made them understand that there is a political cost. If you're not moved by the moral argument, then you'll be moved by the political argument. You'll be moved by the people protesting outside the office of District Attorney Jackie Lacey in Los Angeles, for example, where Black Lives Matter LA has held, I believe, a year of consecutive protests against a Black district attorney who has had really some of the worst practices.

From what I can tell, she's been pressured by the movement to change some of her positions on important issues like prosecution of low-level drug offenders, for example, and the aggressiveness with which she prosecutes police officers for acts of violence.

What do you make of the calls to defend or even abolish the police?

What I find so compelling about abolition, initially in the prison context and extended to the police as well, is that it shifts the conversation and forces us to go through experiments in which we imagine what it would take to build that world. I think that exercise is very important, because it pushes us further than we are naturally inclined to go. Cultivating a broader imagination is an incredibly important part of this work, because as you know from my book, often it was lack of imagination that caused people to fall back on [punitive policies]. 

That's what caused D.C. Councilmember David Clarke to call the police rather than public health experts when he was overwhelmed with letters about heroin addicts in public space. He was anti-drug war, but he couldn't imagine responding to a call for help with heroin addicts with anything other than police. That's a very common move from even really good and progressive people. 

People who are for defunding, for abolition, are absolutely right about reinvesting that money into alternative structures that support communities. But the reinvestment part doesn't follow naturally from the terms. We might want to come up with a term that captures the new stuff we want to do. I think that's particularly important because one of the reasons Black communities have ended up supporting more police is that Black communities have always wanted their fair share of the resources.

Then, the evidence suggests the United States has too many police officers doing prophylactic, preventative, or stop-and-frisk style policing. The style of policing that leads to district level harassment, pulling people over for no reason. But we have too little investment in the parts of police departments that investigate unsolved crimes. I'm talking about the investigator or the detective who comes to your house after there's been a robbery, an assault, a rape, or homicide. 

As compared to European countries, in the United States we actually underinvest in those parts of our police departments. Jill Leovy’s book Ghettoside shows this in dramatic detail. She describes an LAPD that's stopping and frisking Black drivers wantonly and yet the homicide detectives are still relying on a fax machine and the fax machine is broken. They have to go with their own money to Staples to buy a printer. Meanwhile, other aspects of the department are kitted out in this ridiculous riot gear that makes them look like they're in Fallujah. 

That under investment is particularly damaging to Black communities because we're disproportionately victimised by crime. Because of racism and this allocation of resources, the police are less likely to respond in Black communities. The kids I used to work with in the charter schools in DC, we talk about no snitching, but one of the reasons they would never call the police after they'd been victimised by crime is they would say, “They're not even going to come. You're wasting time.” 

I did a Q&A with Jill Leovy too and her argument is one I've struggled to articulate in our present moment. She argues the state doesn't have a monopoly on violence in low-income Black neighbourhoods, because investigations of violence are deemphasised and crime victims or their loved ones often take retribution into their own hands.  But right now, establishing or preserving the state's monopoly on violence isn't an appealing talking point. 

Yes, this is another thing nobody's talking about. Whatever we're going to do instead of the police has to be accountable to the public. The best, most direct way to have accountability is to have the individuals be public employees. As long as we have 300 million guns in this country at least some of those state employees are going to themselves be armed. It's unreasonable to ask them to do the job without it. Not as many need to be armed as are armed now, but some of them need to be. But they can't be hiding behind union contracts or civil service protections which make it impossible to remove even the worst performing, most abusive officers. 

We can not call them police if we want to. That's semantic, but maybe symbolism matters. But those people have to be state employees. They can work with community-based nonprofits, but there are also communities that don't have as robust of a nonprofit network, and they deserve protection too. These [community] groups have to be accountable to the state and, when they don't exist, the state has to be there. 

Progressives get all the points I just made when it's applied to education. The notion that things be public and accountable to the state is understood when it comes to schools. It's exactly why so many people on the left are opposed to charter schools, because they say they don't have public accountability. They want these things to be a state function. But this point about the difficulty in removing this entirely from the hands of the state is, I think, one that liberals and progressives understand from other contexts.

Jake Blumgart is a staff writer at CityMetric.