What do you picture when you think of Tokyo? If you’re anything like me, you might expect layers of brightly colored signs stacked on a massive high-rise, or a river of outlandishly costumed teenagers silhouetted against an enormous televised billboard. You probably wouldn’t expect to see a tree-lined suburban street, or cookie-cutter subdivision. And yet, of these two contrasting images, the latter has become much more emblematic of my short time here. We live in a city called Kawasaki, in Kanagawa Prefecture, an affordable distance from the bustling hubs that comprise downtown Tokyo. Our neighborhood is quiet, and the people in it seem to have more in common with the commuters from our old neighborhood in Pinehurst, WA than they do with the flamboyant gamers and anime-inspired maids found elsewhere in the city. Despite being a welcome reprieve from raucous Saigon–and despite the the wealth of characters in our guesthouse– our new neighborhood doesn’t register very high on the adventure-meter. To make matters worse, the cost of any given trip into Tokyo ranges from between $6 RT, to $12 RT (unacceptably high for our unemployed souls). So I’ve started a daily routine that I like to call the Kanagawa Constitutional.

The process is pretty simple. Step outside. Pick a direction. Walk that direction until you get bored, or your back starts to hurt. Walk the opposite direction for the same amount of time. Repeat daily, or as desired.

So far, my discoveries have been pretty underwhelming, and include a police station, an orange tree, and a small city park resembling a moon crater in both shape and overall appeal. I’ve gone uphill three times, and downhill twice, but tomorrow I’ll attempt to follow the steps of our brave crewman, Kevin, who found a 99¥ store during his own Kanagawa Constitutional. Sometimes, on the walk, I close my eyes and envision myself stumbling upon a grove of trees tucked between apartment buildings, bearing ripe jobs –and the adventures those jobs would afford us– ready to pluck.