Getting lost in Osaka

Today was my first full day in the city that didn’t involve travel, money, or jetlag woes.  I woke up right after 6:00 am, feeling great.  After a shower and some room cleaning (they apparently don’t have room service here, which is fine by me), I headed back up towards Namba.  It was raining slightly, and would continue to do so on an off for the rest of the day (sometimes it came down in torrents).

Yesterday on one of my journeys uptown I had spotted a little place called ‘Jazz Coffee.’  I hadn’t any money to go in at the time (see previous post), so I made a mental note to return.  The back of the sign had the cover of ‘Saxophone Colossus,’ so it seemed legit, and this morning I took upon myself to see what it was all about.

I got there shortly after 7:00 to find the place closed.  Determined to scope out the joint, I decided to continue my mid-morning jaunt.  Hundreds of suit-clad businessmen and women hustled and bustled about, all going to work.  Their walking pace was astonishing.  I couldn’t keep up with them (Korsgaden would fit right in).  I bought a little can of coffee from a machine, and I started looking around for a place to sit down and people watch.  To my astonishment, there was not a bench in sight.  I walked block after block through the business district, and there was not a bench to be found.  Even some of the bus stops were ill-equipped.  It seemed to me that the thought of wasted time to a businessman/woman was an unholy premise.

By the way, not to sound like Pat Bateman here, but the suits on these guys are cut quite well.  The three-button suit seems to be the norm here.  Black is the most common, with grey coming in a close second, usually with pinstripes.  No pleats or cuffs on the pants.  Almost every jacket is double-vented and short-cut, and the ties err on the skinner side.  I wouldn’t mind visiting a Japanese tailor if I could find a cheap one (I’d mail it home, of course).  There are also young, what you might say punkier guys running around the entertainment districts in tight, shiny suits, usually with bits of metal and chain hanging from them.  They’ve all got crazy hair, and I could be wrong, but I think they’re trying to look like badasses and/or anime anti-heros.

Eventually, I crossed the canal I had crossed Sunday for the jazz-fest, but this time I took my first right, then made another right unto a bridge over the canal.  I stood there looking out for a while, then I started strolling down the canal.  There was a wooden boardwalk on both sides, and I was practically the only one there (I saw an old man, and that was about it).  I finally found a bench and plopped down for a bit.

It was then that I noticed something, or should I say, I remembered something.  My friend Aya had told me where the best Takoyaki in Osaka could be found, or rather, she sort of told me.  She couldn’t quite remember where it was, but she gave me these three clues:

1)     It’s near a river…

2)     … near a Ferris Wheel.

… and my favorite…

3)     Look for the dragon with the lazy eye

Intrigued by the rather Arthurian-sounding quest, I committed her riddles to memory.  Upon arriving in Osaka, however, and realizing the size of the city, I had given up hope of actually located this small shop.

Back to the canal I was sitting by, I looked out across the water to see this sort of ride.  It was oblong, and not quite a Ferris Wheel, though the principle was much the same.  At that point I realized I had already met two of the criteria for finding this place.  I got up, headed up some stairs to a bridge, then I turned right down and alley and… BAM, there was the dragon with his left eye lolling up to the sky.  It was about 8:00 or 8:30 still, and I didn’t quite feel like balls of fried octopus for breakfast, so I continued my wanderings.  Before I left the area, though, I spotted a jazz club called St. James.  Another mental note, and I started heading back towards the coffee shop.

Just an observation here, but it seems pornography is less of a big deal here as it is in the US.  It’s sold openly in convenience stores and there are little street side shops offering (not that I’ve stopped to categorize) videos, magazines, and books.  One shop seems to be family run.  While passing by another store on my way to the coffee shop, I saw an old woman placing a pile of new magazines on the stand outside.  The top magazine was simply titled “RAPE.”

I got to ‘Jazz Coffee’ to find the place just opening.  The place was run by a middle-aged guy who appeared to know a thing or two about stereo (his sound system appeared to be entirely handmade… there were tubes and wiresv everywhere and the speakers were giant solid things made of beautifully polished wood… even the tweeters were wood).  There were a few ladies in there, and over the course of the next two hours, numerous people (all middle-aged or older) came in, left, and came back again.  The owner seemed to like model aircraft, as there were several lying about.

Musically, the place was tops.  It was all old school, classic straight ahead jazz.  He started off with an Ahmad Jamal record that I didn’t know (no drums… bass, piano, guitar).  I really enjoyed that.  He followed that up with some Ben Webster, some Jim Hall, and then Stan Getz.  I split halfway through the Getz  The coffee was tasty and full, but a little on the weak side.  Still, he ground the beans with a crank-operated grinder, filtered the coffee with a hand-held filter, and did a few other assorted tasked unaided by electronics (save for the boiling of the water).

I felt pretty good leaving there.  I headed back to the hotel, stopping at Flets 100 Yen Shop to pick up some food for lunch.  Skip ahead an hour, and I was ready to set out again.  I thought I might try and go to Osaka Castle, though that’d be too far to walk.  It seemed like a good a time as any to figure out the subway, so I headed East, through some more markets and the passed a small zoo before descending into the subway.

Some of the larger stations are practically shopping malls!  It’s astonishing.  I came down the steps and literally found myself in the ladies department at some clothing store.  Bras and dresses surrounded me.  I almost ran back upstairs to check to see if I had really just entered a subway when I saw another set of stairs leading further down.  I took them and eventually wound up in what clearly was a subway station.  A nice lady helped me figure out the machine, and five minutes later (the subways run clean, quiet, and fast) I was at my stop.

What happened next I’m still not entirely sure.  To make a long story short, I got very, very lost.  I started walking South, thinking I was walking North, and by the time I realized I was turned around, I had already walked more than halfway back to the hotel (the castle was going to close in an hour at that point, so I just decided to head back).  I walked non-stop for a good four hours through all parts of town, a lot of it very old.  I mean VERY old.  Here are some things, of note, that I saw:

1)     Several temples and shrines, some surrounded by beautiful parks and gardens

2)     Many old homes that are still occupied.  The only modern aspects were cars sitting just inside the rustic gates and mailboxes on the street-side

3)     Two or three ‘Love Hotels.’  I’m not exactly sure what those are, but I get the general idea

4)     About a dozen pink kimono-clad women pouring out of a shrine

5)     Taxi-cab drivers on small, nearly deserted side streets, all taking naps (most wear tuxedos, by the way)

6)     On the second story of building behind some stone walls, I caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman in a beautiful, ornate red kimono wearing lots of a makeup.  I’m not positive, but she appeared to be a geisha (she was far more exquisite than the women in pink).  I only saw her for a second, but it was kind of breathtaking.  On top of that, my inner-nerd flashed back to ‘Don’t Look Now’ with Donald Sutherland (substituting Osaka for Venice and geisha for malignant, dwarf serial-killer, of course)

7)     Young Japanese schoolboys having a pitching practice in the pouring rain (one could throw HARD!)

I had a map with me that I was constantly struggling to comprehend (not realizing I was going the wrong way).  I was enjoying being lost in this strange, very non-touristy place, but part of me was a bit frustrated because I thought it would be really hard to miss a giant, ancient-looking castle sitting on top of a mountain, and yet I was managing to do so.  At one point, while walking through a park, I realized I had dropped the map somewhere back down the road.  There were some crows circling above me, and a moment after I realized I had lost the map (not that I knew where I was anyway), they started to caw at me. 

The Japanese crows, undoubtedly a slightly different breed than their American cousins, have two very noticeable features that I have never seen in crows: 1) their beaks are substantially larger than any crow/raven I’ve ever seen, and 2) their cawing honestly sounds like ‘Ha-ha!  Ha-ha!  Ha-ha!’  So there I am, sitting in the rain in the middle of park, trying to find what I shouldn’t be able to miss, having now lost my map, and the crows start laughing at me.  I feel as though my expression at that moment may have been priceless.

My feet were killing me at this point.  I cursed myself for not wearing my walking shoes, and I vow to do so from now on.  Eventually, I spotted a building in Namba that I recognized.  I knew Namba was to the West, so seeing that made me realize that I was going South, away from the castle.  After hunkering down beneath my trusty umbrella in yet another park, I pinpointed my locale on the map (I had doubled back and found it after being called out by the crows).  I was already closer to my hotel than the castle, so I decided to bag it and come back another day.  I beat feet towards the Hotel Mikado.

On the way there, I passed a small art gallery that I seen on my way to the subway.  It was called something like “Swing MASA Jazz House.”  Earlier it had been empty, but now as I walked by, an older man caught my eye and beckoned me in.  Not thinking much of it, I followed.  He was the artist whose works were on display, and they were all pretty much derived from two themes: jazz and cats (there were also ghosts and basketball in a number of his paintings as well).  He had many different mediums, but every single painting, pendant, fridge magnet, vignette, or diorama featured housecats playing jazz.  Some had specific names, like Mal Waldron, Sonny Rollins, Monk, et…  The only one that seemed to bare a resemble though was the Rahasaan Roland Kirk pendant, in which the cat was wearing sunglasses, a top hat, and was blowing into three horns at once.

He sold me a cup of coffee for 100 yen (quite cheap in this town), and gave me some pistachios.  Apparently, the place is owned by a saxophonist named Masa, who lives/plays in NYC (I think Masa is a woman, but I’m not sure).  I was content to sit there a while, look at strange cat art, drink my coffee, and listen to whatever Paul Chambers record he had on (didn’t know the album, but it was Paul Chambers for sure, and it was very bass-oriented so I figured he was the leader).  It was then I noticed a piano in the corner.  I asked (or rather gestured) if he would mind, and he said no, so I played a few tunes.  It felt good.  I was rusty, and the place was so cramped I was pushed right up against the keys, but I was grateful.  Not grateful enough to pay for some cat art, although maybe I’ll go back and get one of the cheaper pendants before I leave.

After leaving the art gallery, I made a bee-line for the hotel.  My feet were killing me.  Upon arriving in my room, and taking off my shoes, I discovered that the rain had got my shoes so wet that the dye in the cloth on the insides of the shoes bad bled unto my feet.  The soles of my feet looked dried out and purple, like plumbs left in the sun.  My socks were also ruined.  I changed them, ate a banana and a Kit-Kat bar, put on my good walking shoes (oh, what a different that made), and set out into town for the third time.

I took the subway up to Nipponbashi station, which also spills out into an (even larger) underground mall.  Trying my best to keep my bearings, I eventually popped up to the street.  Osaka at night was amazing.  Even on a Tuesday, thousands of people were out, young and old.  All the lights and sounds were incredibly distracting.  It’s a big city, which is something I’m not used, compounded with the fact that it’s in a foreign country.  It was a lot to take in, but I kept my course and made way back to Dotonburi.

Dotonburi was where I had found the takoyaki stand earlier that morning, along with the jazz club, the latter of which I was intending to frequent (although I was planning on post-jazz takoyaki).  Dotonburi is major tourist destination, though it was so crowded I assume it must also be very popular with the locals.  Apparently, it used to the old theater district, though now it’s covered with big, eye-catching restaurants, shops, casinos, and other entertainment facilities.  It’s like a combination of Times Square, the Vegas Strip, and Coney Island (Dotonburi is actually a single street that runs parallel to the canal).

Pushing through the throngs of humanity, I made my way to St. James (strangely I had to pass through an arcade first).  It’s on the 4^th floor, and quite small.  It’s basically one long room with a bar to the left and some booths to the right.  Towards the rear the room widens a bit, and there are some more tables and chairs centered around the performance area (there was a nice looking Yamaha grand there, though it was a little bright for my taste).  Upon being seated by the waiter, I realized this was going to be quite the expensive visit, but I decided to stay the course

After ordering a Kirin (the cheapest beer on the menu at 500 yen), I had a look around the place.  It was dimly lit, and a layer of cigarette smoke hung over everything (I stunk of it when I got home later that night).  The waiters wore bow ties and vests.  I was the only younger person in the place, and one of three men (not including the players and the staff).  They were playing a Bobby Hutcherson record over the speakers at first, then they switched abruptly to Sarah Vaughn.  I milked my beer and nibbled periodically on the complimentary salty crackers.

The music started a half-hour late.  The band was led by a tenor player who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, while the bassist was maybe about 45 and the pianist was surely pushing seventy if not older.  They played two sets, all consisting of standards I know by heart (though, through watching the bassist’s left hand, they did some of them in strange, probably tenor-friendly keys). 

The saxophonist started off pretty conservative, but as the night wore on, he took more and more liberties.  The pianist and bassist were locked in pretty solid, having, I gathered from the clubs schedule, played together a lot, though it seemed the pianist was a little uncomfortable at the faster tempos (of which there were maybe two).  Almost everything was medium swing, with a few bossas in there for good measure.  I really liked the pianists attack.  It was sharp and crisp, although he lacked a great a dynamic range.  He did, however, take some mean chord solos (a style very dear to me).  The bassist also had a strong, gutsy attack that really helped propel the time sans a drummer.  Overall, the group sounded straight out of the 1950s or ‘60s, with hardly a note temporally out of place.  I don’t mean that as a criticism.  I really dig that stuff.

Everyone was there solely to hear the music, and they were all listening 100% of the time.  The only time anyone in the band ever addressed the crowd was at the end of each set when the pianist made what sounded like the simplest of band introductions.  I was surprised.  In America, they usually yap a bit to the crowd.  Hardly a word was spoken.  I almost prefer that to a bunch of mindless gibbering in an attempt to come off as more personable.  It’s kind of unnecessary.  Let the music speak for itself.  If you want to talk, that’s one thing, but I for one do not mind the music being the only means of communication.

When the second set finished up, it was 11:30.  I seemed to remember something about the hotel locking its doors at midnight (it turns out its actually 12:30, so I could have dawdled a bit), so I quickly paid my bill, attempted to compliment the pianist (whose name was Takehisa Tanaka), talked briefly to a lady who spoke some English, and then moved as quickly as I could back to the subway.  As luck would have it, I caught the LAST train back to my part of town (which is known as Tennouji).

I made it inside at 3 to midnight, headed up to my room and that’s where I’m at now.  It was a good day today.  Osaka is an amazing city to explore.  It’s vast, varied, and though I’ve only been here a few days, I feel very safe.  If I want to turn down a small alley to see where it goes, I don’t worry about set upon by muggers, murderers, and the like.

Getting lost was in many ways better than finding what I was looking for.  That’s true in lot of different respects.

Soupy twist,

Ed

PS- My computer keeps freezing.  I could be wrong, but I think it’s due to overheating (that seems like a contradiction in terms, doesn’t it?).  I think I’ve solved the problem, though.  If it set it on a flat surface, then raise it off the surface by about an inch (I’ve currently got it balanced on two remote controls), it’s able to cool properly.  We’ll see if this continues to work.