Dreaming of the Osaka Sun (Or, Coldplay and Kansai)

Part 5:

Without You It's A Waste Of Time
-Osaka 大阪-

After Coldplay, our heads were shrouded in a lovely cloud of combined glee and shellshock. You know the kind of feeling after a particularly amazing gig is over: you wish you could immediately relive the show, still reeling from the awesomeness of it all, sweaty clothing gripping your clammy skin in the evening chill, skipping to whatever mode of transportation is carrying you home that night, singing along to nothing at all with a gigantic smile plastered across your face. That night was no different, but with the faint traces of Chris Martin's sweaty palm still clinging to Sandra's hand, I admit it took a lot longer for us to come down from the high.

The next morning, it was time to part ways. From Shinsaibashi to Umeda, back to the New Hankyu Hotel for the return bus to Kansai Airport. This would be good practice for my eventual departure a few days later, though I'd have preferred if our traveling duo didn't have to split in the first place. Waving goodbye at the thick protective glass wall of customs and immigration, waiting until the last speck of her rolled-up Coldplay poster was out of sight, I was suddenly and quite literally alone. With a heavy sigh and shrug, I slowly made my way back to the bus and began the solo leg of my trip.

In less than an hour, I was back at Umeda. With a full day to see the city, I tried my best to plot out the most efficient route. First, I needed food before I fainted in a pool of my own cold sweat. Across the street from Hankyu Hotel, a towering shopping mall beckoned. Like some concrete Venus fly trap, the big sign advertising an eighth floor Uniqlo and food court was too convenient to pass up.

You can see the Hankyu Hotel behind the band and Coldplay puppets. Mall directly across the street on the left. We must have crossed paths that day.
(From coldplay.com)

The first floor was a sprawling orgy of electronics and gadgets. Bright yellow paper signs with huge red writing hung from every available spot on the ceiling, advertising the latest sales and ridiculous bargains. The floor was buzzing with shoppers, but there was no racket, nauseating smell or wads of phlegm on the floor, as you'd find in any number of Shanghai electronics markets. Ascending floor to floor via the escalators, I eventually set foot in the upper reaches of the building's food court. I didn't expect it to be so daunting.

For some reason, my shyness took over in those first hours alone. I circled the sprawling food court, unsure and not ready to commit to anything. The place was packed with young people enjoying their Sunday over a plate of curry, bowl of ice cream, or set of curiously artistic dishes that I couldn't recognize. I wanted something Osakan, but couldn't make out all the Japanese on the menus. Finally, I spotted a window full of plastic food on display to passersby. On one plate, one of my Osaka-food-must-haves: omu rice, a big pouch of tomato-flavored rice wrapped in a fluffy egg omelet.

Rushing in, I was promptly seated. Eyes wide and sparkling with joy, I blurted out "Omu rice, domoarigatogozaimas'!" The waitress gave me a pitying look and replied, "Sumimasen, dinnah on-ly." Faaack. Thumbing through the menu, I was horrified to realize that I was in a Korean restaurant. So not only was my omurice unavailable, I couldn't even have Japanese food. Oh well. Stone bowl kimchi rice (bibimbap) it would be. Japanese or not, that shit is good no matter what country you happen to be in.

Next item of business: actual sightseeing. Since I didn't have the luxury of multiple days in Osaka, I settled on two main sites: Osaka Castle and the Osaka Aquarium.

From Umeda, I took the metro, switching at the Chuo Line, to Temanmachi-4 station, a mere hop-u, skip, and-o jump from the castle. This area was far quieter than the bustling shopping mecca of Umeda and Shinsaibashi. The Osaka headquarters of NHK - Japan's biggest TV station - towered above the spotless sidewalk and the wide avenues. In the distance, the bright ivory-colored castle glimmered in the afternoon sun.

Behold! Osaka Castle

The beauty of it all? It's free to enter the park and wander around the castle grounds (though you will have to shell out 600 yen if you want to enter the castle itself, sold conveniently via vending machines at the gate) at your leisure.

Ticket Vending Machine Genius

Outside the rampart walls, a group of Grease-wannabes were doing the jig and the jitterbug and mashed potato and the twist and whatever else you want to resurrect from the 50s. Leather jackets, polka-dot skirts, leggings and penny loafers, big old Harleys and slicked back hair. It was pretty awesome to see this crowd of middle-aged Japanese adults engaging in such a public display of fun. Passing the dancing gang, I ascended the wide cobblestone ramp towards the huge wooden gate that would grant my entrance into the grounds.

Happy Greasers

The place was packed with people on afternoon strolls, relaxed bicycling and dog-walks. Vendors selling the local snack specialties (takoyaki and grilled squid on sticks) and freshly blended drinks. The atmosphere was electric with children and pets running around, people jogging, and families laughing. It made me really happy to see everyone enjoying themselves. My solitude was beginning to take on a very unwanted brand of loneliness. I just wanted someone in particular to share all of the new sights and sounds with.

Mr. Pug, My Only Friend

Crossing the moat into the inner walls of the interior keep, the crowd started get denser. Like a giant picnic of sorts, families and friends were scattered throughout the courtyard, eating, drinking and playing games. Street performers and artists, jugglers and magicians. The entire scene reminded me of a sunny day at the fair, except I was in the shadow of a giant castle that was central to Osaka's medieval history.

Built and rebuilt a number of times, this restored version is a complete reproduction constructed for those tourist dollars. I'm quite sure the Tokugawa shogun did not have a functioning elevator in the 1600s. Though it isn't the actual structure that saw many wars and uprisings over Japan's bloody medieval period, it seemed to be authentic enough to provide some history and culture, as it is basically a museum. Starting from the top level - which is reached after an excruciating ascent via a steep staircase cut into the center of the castle - visitors get a 360 degree bird's-eye view of the city. Unlike China, you can actually see the city, and not just a cloud of pollution that muddies your vision barely 10 meters out. The cool, crisp breeze and golden sun were spectacular.

View From The Top

Dude In Uggs: OK, This Is Too Much For Even Me...

Making my way down through each level of the museum within, I tried my best to absorb as much of the area's history as possible, though it was quite hopeless: 99% of the stuff was in Japanese. Nevertheless, the scrolls and paintings were beautiful: intricate and minutely detailed masterpieces illustrating the bloody history of the castle and the shoguns that dwelled there. Most intriguing were the miltary relics, like the elaborate helmets, frightening face masks, and paper-thin sword blades.

Obasans

As the afternoon dragged on, it started to get quite chilly. The day before, I was sweating in the midday sun in a T-shirt, yet today I was starting to shiver under two layers and a scarf. Quickly making my way back to the Chuo line, I set off for the next stop: the Osaka aquarium.

Situation along the harbour waterfront, the Osaka Aquarium was perhaps the most important site on my list of things to do. Moreso than Osaka castle or the treasures in Kyoto that would come the following day, the aquarium was priority for one reason. Well, actually, two reasons: the whale sharks.

From a young age, I've always been obsessed with the natural world. From dinosaurs to modern mammals and everything in between, I devoured any book or Discovery channel program about animals...before there was even a Discovery channel. On my list of Holy Grail creatures, the whale shark occupies a space in the highest echelons. Not only is it the biggest fish on the planet (reminder, actual whales are mammals, ancient precursor to DEER over eons of evolution), but it's also the most peaceful of the generally scary shark family. I'd been waiting since I was a kid to catch a glimpse of these behemoths, which were now mere subway stops from where I stood.

Admission to the aquarium is a steep 2000 yen (about $20 USD), but I would have paid double. The anticipation was getting a little uncomfortable, especially since the flow of the aquarium forces you to start at the top floor (rainforest land) and work your way down to the eventual money shot of the ginormous tank that contains the whale sharks. Huge sea otters, tubby seals, waddling penguins, sleek river dolphins, glowing jellyfish, giant sturgeon, hundreds of species of fish and even a three-toed sloth call this place home, providing plenty of eye-candy and non-flash photo-ops for people of all ages. Apologies to those creatures, but I blasted my way through at a lightening pace. I couldn't bear to wait any longer.

Sorry, Mr. Sloth. Got whale sharks to see!!!

My first view of the tank as I rounded the sloping spiral ramp was filled with giant manta rays and sun fish. Depth perception was a little off, but I remembered this was one of, if not THE, largest indoor tanks in the world. So when I finally arrived at the thick glass, I could see just how deep and wide the tank was. I swear you could fit an entire mansion in this thing, it was so massive.

That is some thick ass glass!

Then, in the murky distance, I could see the silhouette of the first whale shark.

*Cue Burst of Tears*

Whether I'll ever admit to it or not, there might have been a tear or two that formed in my eyes. Unfortunately we'll never know. In any case, I was very moved. I spent a good 45 minutes watching the mighty beasts swim in circles, sitting on various benches along the way down to the ground floor. Personal wonder aside, this is a great aquarium for peaceful, relaxing and unrushed appreciation of the animals on display. Ironically, I must have come on couple's day, because it seemed like every bench was occupied by a different pair embraced in a loving cuddle. Even the whale sharks had company. As I sat by my lonesome, I would have liked to rewind to the previous day, when there was someone to laugh with me and see these magnificent sights together for the first time.

Holy Shit, It's a whale shark!!!!!

After I had my fill, I reluctantly said goodbye to the whale sharks. I could have sat there all night, but I was getting hungry and needed to fill my belly with some underwater friends of the whale sharks. There have been a handful of moments in my life where a glorious sight moved me to such a spiritual extent (such as the Sydney Opera House, the dinosaur display at Auckland's Natural History Museum, the first sighting of the Terracotta Warriors, my first Tori Amos concert, to name but a few), and this was no different. I felt very lucky.



Outside, the purple twilight air was perfumed with the fresh smell of the ocean. The seaside development that houses the aquarium is also home to a gigantic ferris wheel and big mall and food court. Whether I was being particularly sensitive that evening or it was just my luck, young Japanese couples were everywhere. Queuing for a romantic ride on the world's tallest ferris wheel. Sharing a drink and snacks from the food vendors. Making out. I tried to focus. It was dinner time.


Inside the mall, there was a huge food court laid out in a charming alley-like style selling all sorts of local eats. Since I didn't know which vendors sold the best of each specific variety, I wandered around for a bit. In the back of the maze, I happened upon a takoyaki stall. Lucky for me, it claimed to be the oldest and most revered in town. I popped in for a taste.

Takoyaki are fried dough balls filled with chunks of octopus and a creamy batter. Like a deep-fried fishball, fondue style. I'm probably not doing them any justice with that description, so trust me when I say they were very yummy. I ordered a plate of the basic "classic" balls, to be washed down with an ice-cold Asahi. Foolishly picking up a bottle of the soy sauce, the guys behind the fry-molds screamed at me "no sauce-o!" so I devoured them one by one with nothing but their natural flavor. Fifteen takoyaki for 500 yen - this was a steal. The chewy chunks of octopus nestled inside the elastic "skin" of the dough ball were a great contrast. And filling. By the time I reached the tenth or eleventh orb, I was already getting full.

Rock On, Calpis!

Masterful Ball Makers

Making my way back to Shinsaibashi, I passed by all the shops we'd seen on the first night. If you remember, there were a certain pair of red beauties waiting for me. I couldn't disappoint them.

Inside Sneaker World, I made my move. I tried on a bunch of other styles - much to the dismay of the store clerk who had to endure my stinky socks as I switched from shoe to shoe - just to make sure I really, really was committed to the crimson babies. Though the black versions were most subtle and stylish, I couldn't deny the desire for the far-more unique and special red ones. I dropped the required fundage with a grimace, looking away as the pile of money was pushed into the hands of the clerk at the register. So proud of my new conquest, I wore them straight out of the store.

I LOVE YOU

After one more stop in Uniqlo (purchases: dark green trousers and a cream colored, button-collar longsleeve t-shirt), I made my way into Dotonbori, the center of nightlife in Osaka.


At first, I was hypnotized by all the neon signs. This is like Times Square or Nanjing Pedestrian Street, but on steroids and with much cooler Japanese writing. The street was packed with fellow revelers, but it wasn't overwhelming. Restaurants, clubs, karaoke bars, souvenir shops, stores, food vendors. We should have come here the first night. Without a jacket, I was freezing in the night air. I decided to skip all the flashing lights, find the next food on my checklist (see below, or check out Bourdain in Osaka), and grab some takeout to be consumed in the comfort of my hotel room.

Okonomiyaki ("as you like it") is a thick Osakan pancake filled with whatever scrumptious ingredients you want, but usually seafood and egg. Topped off with ribbons of mayonnaise and bonito flakes, it is a carb-loaded and filling snack that must be tried.

For 400 yen, I ordered a basic seafood pancake, which the stall-keep covered in a fried egg, a few strips of fatty pork, and a literal handful of bonito flakes. Rushing back to my hotel, I scarfed down the entire thing. The last time I enjoyed okonomiyaki was in Tokyo, where we cooked it ourselves on a tabletop grill. This was different; this was so much better. Maybe it's the Osaka air that adds a special touch, or maybe I was just too hungry. After the pancake had completely disappeared into my belly, food coma came hard and fast and I konked out for the night.


Next episode: Kyoto, the original capital city...

Further Information:
Osaka Kaiyukan Aquarium
Address : 1 Kaigan-dori, Minato-ku, Osaka City
Telephone : 06-6576-5501
Business Hours : 10:00am - 8:00pm (A part of spring, a part of autumn : 9:30am - 8:00pm, Obon holidays and Golden Week : 8:30am - 8:30pm)
Access : Subway Chuou Line to "Osaka Minato", 5 min walk.
Fee : Adults: 2,000 yen

Part 6:
Now My Feet Won't Touch The Ground
-Kyoto 京都-

On the last full day of my trip, I would attempt to do Kyoto in one day. Many told me it was a crazy stunt that could never succeed, but I had no other options. I would see as much as I possibly could. In fact, unbeknowest to me, I had crammed so much into my itinerary that it would prove to my eventual undoing. Lesson learned, Neil, lesson learned.

The Plan:

1. Kyoto Station
2. Kinkaku-Ji (The Golden Temple)
3. Ginkaku-Ji (The Silver Temple)
4. The Path of the Philosopher
5. The Kyoto International Manga Museum
6. Gion, home of the elusive geisha

Looking at the maps and thumbing through the guidebooks, I figured it would be a piece of cake. However, I forgot to take into consideration the following:

1. Bus schedules
2. Unannounced relic renovation
3. Drastic changes in weather

I also failed to remember one of the cardinal rules of smart travel: never, NEVER, wear new shoes when planning on a day of steady walking. My vanity got the best of me on that note. So now let's begin this madness.

Kyoto, ancient Japanese capital and Boston's sister city, is not only home to Nintendo HQ and the highest concentration of UNESCO World Heritage Sites in Japan, but it is also an ultramodern mix of ancient relics and cosmopolitan charm. To be quite honestly ignorant, I had no idea it was this cool.

Is That A Deceptacon?

After a mere 45 minute train ride, I arrived at Kyoto Station, a massive glass and steel marvel that looked like a reclining Transformer. Across the street, the white-and-orange shaft of the Kyoto Tower stabbed the clear blue sky, jutting high above the neighboring skyscrapers like a needle in a pin cushion. The temperature was significantly lower in Kyoto, rendering my measly hooded jumper quite useless. With the blowing wind, I would have been better serviced with a thick wool overcoat. In these conditions, I feared it would be a very long day...

At Kyoto Station, a lovely obasan working at the tourist kiosk hooked me up with a bunch of maps and a bus day-pass, circling all of the spots I wanted to see and advising me the order in which to see them. My itinerary was now reversed, and so I decided to change everything up on the fly. First stop: Ginkaju-ji, the Silver Temple.

On the warm public bus, I regained some feeling in my fingers and toes. From the station, the ride to the Northeast section of town took about a half hour, as the tourist bus had to stop at nearly every major site along the way. Every stop was announced in Japanese and clear, understandable English. The effort and care that they put into the city's tourist industry was quite remarkable. Even though I couldn't even speak their language, this was far easier than traveling in most parts of China.

The bus dumped the last of us remaining passengers at the Ginkaju-ji area, mere yards from the Path of the Philosopher. In the interest of time, I decided to skip the lengthy and tranquil stroll along the pathway and headed straight for the Silver Temple. To my dismay, I giant sign outside the entrance announced that it was under renovation. Yet people still were paying admission and streaming in by the group-ful. I wasn't about to shell out money to see a temple covered in a tarp, so I backtraced to the bus stop to make my way to the Golden Temple. Unfortunately for me, the bus schedule was not going to cooperate.

Future Kyoto tourists take note: buses are not very frequent. Especially the tourist lines. The next bus passing my way would come after a phenomenally wasteful 45 minutes. As shops hadn't even opened yet, I had nothing to do but wander around in the frigid air and wait. In retrospect, I should have just run in for a quick peek at the Silver Temple.

When the bus finally arrived, I jumped on and felt the heat slowly thaw my freeze-dried limbs. Bus riding is one of my favorite activities, no matter where I happen to be resting my weary ass. Whether discovering new parts of an old place or being introduced to a completely fresh environment, riding a bus allows for maximum absorption of the surroundings. Like watching a documentary in real-time, without any narration to distract you. Kyoto was in full noontime swing at that point, so there were more people on the bus, a wild mix of young people and old folk. It was nice to see something other than a salaryman.

Kyoto Buses: As Peaceful As A Spa

Arriving at the Golden Temple (Kinkaku-ji), the sky began to turn and the sun poked through to bestow some much needed heat. Glittering brilliantly off the shiny surface of the temple, the sunlight shone as brightly as the bright yellow building. The crowds had yet to fill the temple grounds, so I decided it was time to get in a few jumps. Finally.


As I have continually lamented in these here recollections, it really blows without a travel partner. Not only is it lonely (so ronery), but it is a pain in the ass to get a good jump shot. Forget about trying to teach a Japanese local without the necessary language skills, I couldn't even get past the assumed embarrassment of asking a complete stranger to waste their time. I know, I dig my own grave. But in any case, I had to do it myself. Luckily some friends had recently given me perhaps one of the best gifts ever: a bendable tripod with rubber grip. Propping up my camera in a less conspicuous area - to avoid not only gawking crowds but also culture ministry guards who might take offense to jumping in a serene temple area - I began my experiment.

These Little Buggers Thought I Was Nuts

After many, many failed attempts with my 10-second timer, I finally got the hang of it. A group of schoolkids, likely on a field trip, giggled their way past me. No matter, this gaijin was elated to finally have a clear jump shot.

~SUCCESS~
JUMP!: GOLDEN TEMPLE

The Golden Temple grounds didn't have to suffer any more of my antics. I strolled peacefully through the rest of the site, into quaint, sun-bathed wooded areas and by old smoky temples. After the morning's failure with the Golden temple's silver cousin, I was happy to have had at least one successful sightseeing visit this day. A quick lunch of hearty hamburger curry and another frustratingly long wait for the bus later, I made my way back to the city center.

Traditional Chic

At this point, I realized that the bus system was not as accomodating as my elevated sense of efficiency would desire. At Kyoto station, I tried plotting the rest of my day's adventure according to the bus timetable, lest I waste any more time. Wouldn't you know: the next item on my list wouldn't have a bus passing through for another hour. I practically missed the prior bus by a minute or two. With nothing to do, I retreated to my old mistress, Starbucks, for a shot of caffeine, where I could further fine-tune my itinerary.

The *NEW* Plan:

1. Kyoto Station (done)
2. Ginkaku-Ji (The Silver Temple) (failed)
3. The Path of the Philosopher (glimpsed)
4. Kinkaku-Ji (The Golden Temple) (done)
5. Fushimi Inari
6. The Kyoto International Manga Museum
7. Gion, home of those still-elusive geisha

A mate of mine that had been to Kyoto highly recommended the Fushimi Inari, a shrine site situated at the base of Inari mountain. The main draw here consists of hundreds of radiant vermillion torii, towering gateways that are purchased by those who wish to show their gratitude to the gods in the form of a charitable donation. The Central Park Gates project of 2005 was likely inspired by Japanese torii. As far as diamonds in the rough go, this was truly the highlight of my day.

The bus from Kyoto station to the Fushimi Inari area departs roughly once per hour, so plan accordingly. From the station, it was a modest walk up a winding backstreet, over train tracks and through a residential neighborhood. The significant lack of pedestrians and city noise was welcome. Though the clouds had put an icy damper on the afternoon, my excitement provided enough energy to keep me heated. Between great big sign boards listing the names of all the torii-donators flanking the entrance path, I could see the hillside and a few huge temples. There was hardly a soul in site.

I had no idea where to go, so I made my way past the colorfully decorated temples in the pavilion, into the heart of the forest. As I came to the foot of the hill, there they stood, the rows of torii so dense that it was hard to distinguish one from the other. By chance, I entered the pathway from the back, separating me from the few people sharing the mountain with me that day. Then I really started jumping.

Going Up

Wrap Around

Tripod standing faithfully on the concrete pathway before me, I made a quick wink and prayer to the fox spirits lurking in the orange nooks and crannies that surrounded me and signalled for lift off. I think I got a bit too into the zone, because after a while, my feet started to hurt. You'll forgive me for being such an idiot, wearing brand new shoes on a day where I knew I'd be on me feet for at least 12 hours. After about twenty straight sets of press button - crouch in anticipation for 10 seconds - jump! - land - run to camera - press button - repeat, I was out of breath, a little high, and wishing I had bought a pair of Crocs instead (Lord save my soul).

JUMP! Fushimi Inari

Having got the hang of self-timed jumping, I slowly made my way along the path and up the hillside. The afternoon sun shimmered through the holes in the forest canopy and washed the trees and rocks and underbrush with a warm fuzzy glow. It was like Princess Mononoke without the little white ghosts and killer wolves. I can see why the Japanese revere trees and the forest's spirit; the energy is tangible, especially with no humans around to interrupt your personal commune with nature.

The length of the path wound up and down the hill, flanked by little villages of shrines, both tiny and grand, all guarded by stone foxes and their living, stray feline cousins who call the area home. Though I passed a few locals on my way, I still felt like the torii were my own, relishing the solitude and peace as much as I could. Plus I think I was still high from the elevation and constant jumping, so my brain may not have been functioning to capacity.

Cute Kids & Stone Foxes

As I neared the exit, some strange stuff started to fall from the sky. Funny, the sun was still shining and, though cold, it wasn't freezing. Investigating the little bits that had fallen on my sweatshirt, I realized it was ice. Snow, to be precise. After a brief WTF-moment, I couldn't help but smile like a fool. All around me, little bits of precipitation were glimmering in the afternoon sunlight like diamond confetti showering down on these ancient temples. From the heat in Kobe to snow in Kyoto, I was getting the full value experience.

Ahh, The Effects Of Climate Change

In the time spent walking from Fushimi Inari back to the bus stop on the main road, that pretty snow had turned into a bitter cold foe. The sun disappeared and the sky turned grey. It was freezing. Glancing at the time table, I had a good half-hour before the next bus. The fox gods smiled upon me: there was a coffee bar just feet away.

Inside the toasty bar, old time posters decorated the walls, a US radio station was streaming on the speakers, and a middle-aged man was drying cups behind a gorgeous hardwood bar. I felt like I was in a speak-easy in the Wild West, except here I could order a mean cappuccino without worrying about getting shot by a six-shooter. Plopping down at the bar, a faint sigh of relief drifted from my battered feet. Pointing at the menu, I ordered my drink and was surprised when the bar keep looked at me and said, "So, where are you from?"



Exchanging details, I learned that he was a former resident of San Francisco, which explained the decorations and Bay Area DJ who was announcing the next song on the speakers above me. It was refreshing to be able to converse with someone for once on this solo trip. I love Japan and would have enjoyed connecting on a deeper level with more locals, but language will always be a barrier until I learn how to speak Japanese. Over my steaming cup of coffee, my heart was warmed more by the human contact than by the caffeine streaming through my system.

I paid for my cuppa and said my goodbyes, darting out into the snowy wind gust just in time to catch my bus. The next item on the agenda: the Kyoto International Manga Museum.

Ever since catching wind of this world-class museum in the center of downtown Kyoto, I was antsy to get a peek. In hindsight (thwarting me again!), I probably should have gone to Tezuka Osamu World, a fun-filled memorabilia museum dedicated to the manga master responsible for my two favorite anime characters: Astroboy and Jungle Emperor Leo, the inspiration for Disney's Lion King.



From Kyoto station, I took a bus a few lengthy blocks north into the modern downtown area that strangely resembled NYC. Looking on my map, the museum seemed close enough. A half-hour later, hypothermia setting in and my feet reduced to bloody pulps, I finally closed in on the refurbished primary school that now houses one of the world's best collections of manga memorabilia. The Kyoto tourism website and my trusty Lonely Planet both assured me that closing time was 8PM. So, at 6:59PM, I ran up the entrance ramp, ready for one solid hour of Japanese comic appreciation.

Inside, exagerrated and colorful characters greeted me from every surface of the entrance hall. The gift shop was packed with goodies and some anime was streaming on the flatscreen televisions along the walls. Another white dude was in front of me with an look of equal excitement plastered on his face. As we both neared the ticket desk, I was horrified to notice a big red rope conspicuously blocking the entrance to the museum. The docile woman behind the country patiently tipped her head and pointed her open hand toward a new sign that notified us of the NEW closing time, 7PM. I made it just in time.

Until Next Time (Yeah Right)

Completely dejected and furious at my shit luck, I stormed out of the museum and back into the cold. Though I pride myself on being a solid and patient traveler, I think I finally reached my breaking point. For the first time in my heretofore glorious traveling career, I was bested by a museum dedicated to bug-eyed comic book characters. In the darkness of the early night, wind blowing through me and my eyes watering from the bitter cold, I would have traded anything for Astro Boy to come rocket me away to a cooler landmark or somewhere with suitable heating. Or the hotel room just sitting all alone, waiting for me, in Osaka... The prospect of waiting god-knows-how-long for another goddamned bus in the Arctic ice box made me want to throw myself in front of a passing Toyota. Though frustrated, I still had one item on the list that I had to go for: Gion, the famous home of the mysterious geisha.

The fastest way to Gion district was via subway and then another public bus that I luckily caught as soon as I emerged from the metro station. At this point in the evening, although it was relatively early, the streets were pretty much dead, save for a few rogue groups of foreign tourists. The temperature had seemingly dropped another 10 degrees and my teeth started to chatter. The discomfort would not help what awaited.

Batman?

The main drag of Gion is a strip of businesses, ranging from dessert shops and restaurants to souvenir stores and institutions providing suspicious entertainment options. I honestly felt like I was in a fabricated tourist trap, but this was supposed to be the holy site of Gion! Home to the Japanese geisha, that fetishized object of obedient desire that men, both white and yellow, secretly crave in their darkest submissive fantasies. Most obviously, there were no geisha roaming the streets as I had foolishly assumed. Even when I popped down a back alley, all I could see were sketchy dudes trying to lure me into a KTV or massage house. Maybe on better days I could have been seduced, but my mounting anger and frustration at yet another failed item on the checklist made me livid. Then, I just gave up.

Looking at my map, I had to switch buses two more times before I could reach the Kyoto train station and my ticket home to Osaka. It seemed like millenia away. My fingers and toes were getting numb, my nose was running and had to improvise a little jig in order to keep my blood flowing as I awaited the bus with a group of similarly freezing tourists. Finally, the bus pulled up and I dove onto the nearest comfortable seat.

Dozing off in the intoxicating warmth of the heated beast, I was jolted back to reality with a blast of cold through the opened door as we stopped to pick up more passengers a few blocks down. A portly and grizzled older man with crutches made his way toward the doorway, stumbling forward. He was also blind. As he lifted one leg to board the bus, he tipped backwards and toppled over, cracking his head with a mighty pop on the sidewalk. Floundering on the concrete like a turtle flipped upside down, he was groaning in pain. I quickly hopped off the bus with a salaryman and a middle-aged woman. The man insisted he was OK, assuring us he was fine with a string of Japanese peppered with the only words I could understand: "daijobu, daijobu!" ("it's alright, it's alright"). However, still immobile and flailing his crutches in a wild attempt to hook them on something to pull him up, it was clear that he needed some help.

Stuffing my hands underneath his moist armpits, I felt momentary solace from the sensation of heat returning to my extremities. I was pulled out of my split-second of joy after realizing that, indeed, my hands were wedged into a sweaty fat man's sensitive shoulder-crotch. No matter, we were here to help. The driver had stopped the bus and ran back to check on us. He dialed for an ambulance, which must have been a prospect too embarrassing for the blind guy to bear, so he started respectfully yelling some more "daijobu"s to avoid such a shameful fate. My ass was starting to freeze again, so I desperately tried to communicate to the others that we should at least lift the guy off the ground. "Up, Up, OK!?" They seemed to get it. After a quick ichi-ni-san, the three of us pulled him up onto the bus and he sat down on the nearest seat, no doubt feeling the uncomfortable gaze of a busload of gawkers.

The bus driver politely ordered us all off the bus, which mortified our handicapped friend even further. I felt really bad for him, as I would have been equally as embarrassed by it all. Luckily he couldn't see just how many people alighted. As we queued up to wait for the next bus, the driver pulled forward, killed the engine, and sat with the man at the back of the bus, waiting for the ambulance to come. Needless to say, I'd bet my left nut that this would never happen in China, the bus instead running over the unfortunate cripple with both back tires before speeding off like a bat out of hell. Back in the cold again, I waited patiently, secretly feeling a little warmer at having helped a complete stranger. And my hands didn't even smell that bad.

In the cavernous terminal of the train station, I boarded the express train back to Osaka with the horde of commuters during Monday rush hour. I was exhausted. I felt like I had run a marathon through Siberia and was still a train and a subway ride away from the comforts of my hotel. In some ways, I felt like a lightweight ninny. Who packed so much into one day? Who wanted to see as much as he could see in just one pitiful day? Who bought those delicious red sneakers and decided today would be the day to break them in? I only had myself to blame. No matter how things turned out, it was a day I'd never forget.

Part 7:
In The End We Lie Awake And Dream Of Making Our Escape

Dotonbori From My Lonely Hotel Window

When I returned to Osaka, I couldn't even drag myself a few blocks to buy some street food in Dotonbori. After the endurance test in Kyoto, I honestly had but one target in mind: McDonalds.

Now before you berate me for doing this again, in my defense, Japanese advertising works wonders! On the train from Kyoto, the current advert of choice was for McDonalds' Quarterpounders. They were plastered everywhere. And like a weary traveler in need of some familiar comfort food, that sweet, sweet burger called out to me like a bath house trollop.

From Umeda station, I took the metro back to Shinsaibashi and enjoyed one final stroll down the shopping street to Amerika-mura, the consumer district dedicated to all things American just a few blocks from my hotel. I distinctly remembered seeing a McDonalds there the day before, and would not be disappointed by my superior memory skills. Tucking in to my steaming burger fresh from the microwave and the scalding-hot fries that were just pulled from the grease vat, I could have cried tears of joy. The brain freeze I suffered from the icy Coke was masochistically elating.

Simple Pleasures of the Simple American

Back at the hotel, I saw two familiar faces waiting for the elevator on the ground floor: the Guam girls from the Coldplay concert. Cautiously approaching them so as not to cause alarm, I said hello and assured them that I was not, in fact, stalking them, and that I happened to be staying at the hotel as well. I even flashed my key card for good measure. They didn't hit me with the mace, so I assumed we were cool.

When I reached my floor, I waved goodbye to this pair of souls of equal insane devotion and crashed through my door and onto the bed. To my happy surprise, Sandra called to make sure I was alive and hadn't gotten myself into any trouble with the karaoke whores. It would have been ideal to share my day of Kyoto hardship with her, but on second thought, it probably wouldn't have been as harrowing, as she is usually the one to calm me down when travel-stress gets the best of me.

I slept like a hibernating grizzly that night.

Even The Sewer Tops Are Pretty

The next morning, I began the depressing process of packing up and checking out. Walking the familiar path that I'd traversed each day of this trip so far, I said bye to each restaurant, manhole, potted plant, pet store, coffee stand, convenience mart and quirky street sign that had greeted me for the past three mornings. The locals were all off to work and I joined the ranks on my way to Umeda station.

How Perfect, I Couldn't Resist!

As the airport shuttle crossed through Osaka and onto the web of highway overpasses, I noticed I had just barely cracked the surface of this amazing city. If not for the food alone, I will be back.


Back at Kansai, I whittled the time away documenting the trip in my travel journal, writing a pair of heartfelt postcards and enjoying my first coffee of the day. The post office near Starbucks was a convenient blessing.

As the hour of departure drew near, I went to check in for my flight. At the kiosk, I was unfortunately notified by two tilted heads and polite frowns that my flight would be delayed, I'm so-so-so solly, but that my troubles would be paid-off with a voucher good for use in any of the airports 50-something restaurants. Grabbing a coupon with a look of feigned sadness, I thanked those wily fox spirits for blessing me yet again and I ran off toward the 3rd floor eateries with only one thing on my mind.

I had my takoyaki. I had my okonomiyaki. I gorged myself on Kobe beef, hamburger curry and numerous bowls of ramen. But one item was missing: that omu-rice. Frantically searching each storefront, I knew I'd find it. As I burst into the nearest restaurant with the plastic, window-front display of that glorious yellow globule, I think I knocked over an unsuspecting waitress with my backpack. Before she could put the menu on the table, I bellowed "omu-rice!" with a crazed expression and the wide eyes of a mental patient that just broke out of the institution. I was shaking with excitement, splattering bits of salad dressing all over the table as I impatiently awaited the main course. When it arrived, steaming and fresh, I immediately put it out of it's misery with a swift fork thrust and devoured that tomato-y goodness within minutes. Osaka kuiadore checklist for this trip is com-plete.



Strolling out of the restaurant as if I had just proudly conquered the most beautiful woman in the land, I spied from the corner of my eye another beautiful sight: Uniqlo. This proves the Japanese are true geniuses. How else could you describe the pure smarts of putting a Uniqlo in an airport? I was beginning to wish the plane would be delayed even further, but my nagging sense of punctuality got the best of me and I decided to get to the gate.



Customs took minutes and I was left with a lot of time on my hands. I did some last minute shopping, made a huge McDonalds deposit in the airport restroom, and checked my email and Facebook on one of the many free high-speed internet kiosks that stand guard at nearly every departure gate. My Japanese winter paradise vacation would soon come to a close and, as always, I began to feel that intense sense of bitterness at the prospect of returning to stinky polluted China. Spirits of my ancestors forgive me, but I really love Japan. It just keeps getting better and better on each trip. With even more experiences under my belt from this weekend, I was confident that my next trip would be even easier and more fun. Assuming, of course, that I remember how to properly use the subway ticket machines.

Domo arigato gozaimasu to Ayako Yoza for all the help and support, as well as David Evans, Brian Sun, & Mike Chen for the travel advice.