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.

Things are looking up

What a couple of days I’ve had, let me tell you.

When I last left off I was setting forth with Franz to head up to a place called Namba via the hotel-provided bicycles.  On the way, he was gracious enough to show me where the nearest 7-11 was (they have ATMs inside them that accept foreign-issued cards).  Unfortunately, my card was denied.  Mystified, I followed him to the post office (or ‘Postbank,’ as he called it).  The post offices also have ATMs that accept American cards.  Again, I was denied.  I did call Wells Fargo prior to leaving the US to make sure they wouldn’t lock my card overseas.

Somewhat worried, we continued on to Namba.  Once there, he departed, heading East to meet his girlfriend.  I spent the entire afternoon at the jazz festival there.  It was pretty good.  I saw three school bands; one junior high, one high school, and the other college.  Each one was pretty damn good for their age group.  The drummers all swung, and the horn players had great tones.  I don’t believe I ever heard a cracked note.  It was very impressive.

I spent some time talking to a guy named Hironori.  Very nice man.  He’s from Sakai, about 15 km South of here.  He likes jazz and American rock, and is quite a good illustrator (he showed me his sketches).  It’s great connecting with people.

In addition to the school bands, there was a singer stage.  I saw two singers backed by small combos, plus a four-piece jazz vocal group (no instruments, but one of the singers played decent trumpet and there was a saxophone sitting there as well… I’m not the biggest fan of jazz vocal ensembles, so I left before I saw it used).  Lastly, the third stage had what you might call heavily stylized jazz bands.  The first I saw was gypsy jazz band (complete with two Selmer Maccaferri guitars, a clarinet, and an accordion), followed by a decent Dixeland band.  They were okay, but I have soft spot for that stuff, and it really reminds me of home.  Lastly, there was SMOKING New Orleans-style brass band.  Their tubist was quite the badass.

In addition to the music, there was also dance, art displays, food (which I couldn’t afford), some traditional dancing, and some AMAZING taiko drumming.  The streets (the festival was held in the middle of a major business district) were absolutely jam packed.  It was astonishing how many people came out.  I didn’t have a bike lock, though, so I had to haul it around with me everywhere I went, which got annoying, since I could never get too close to the players.  The areas around the stages were already crowded enough, and I couldn’t get in there with this giant bike (which incidentally was way too small for me… it may have been a girls bike).

After the festival, I made my way back to the hotel.  I took a different route, but managed alright.  I biked some of the way, but I ended up walking for most of the journey.  Even though I know Japanese drivers are more conscious of cyclists, I’m still in American mode, and biking a big city (Osaka certainly qualifies) just screams dangerous to me.  I had biked all the way earlier, though.  The way to the festival I had been following Franz, who a) had a nicer bike, b) was used to biking in the city, and c) knew exactly where he was going.  It had been a game of ‘Don’t Loose Franz,” which I did a couple of times.  Fortunately, he would occasionally look behind him.

On the way, I tried several more 7-11 ATMS with the same result.  After I got back to the hotel I spent hours on the internet trying to figure out what was the matter.  I won’t bore you on the details, but suffice it to say I wore myself out trying.  I had very little money, two bananas, and some rice candy to my name, and that had to last me until I could solve the cash flow problem.

I eventually went to bed.  In the morning (this morning), I woke and set forth into the city once more.  I had made some changes to my Wells Fargo account, and I was hoping that would work.  I walked a good mile or two to the 7-11, but again, it reported the card was invalid.  Frustrated, I walked yet another mile or so the post office, only to also be denied.  Tired and hungry (I hadn’t eaten anything except two bananas for the past two days), I walked the 2+ miles back to the hotel and did more online gruntwork. 

At one point I spent 500 of the 650 yen I had left to buy a phone card, only to have most of my minutes wasted on hold.  I had just told him the problem.  He explained what was the matter, and asked me if I wanted him to solve it.  Right as I was about to answer him, my time ran out and the card was disconnected.  It was a genuinely depressing moment.  I felt terribly alone.  I was on the far side of the planet, had the equivalent of about $3 to my name, and only two bananas and some rice candy to eat.  My reservation was set to expire the next morning.  I had exhausted all options, or so I thought.

Salvation came in the form of my mother, her tech-savy friend Kristen, and Skype, which can apparently be used like a phone.  I got a hold of a Wells Fargo rep, solved the problem, then walked back to the 7-11 and withdrew 10,000 yen.  I felt very relieved.  On the way back I bought a drink out of a machine.  It tasted like Sprite, but it wasn’t carbonated.  Weird, but refreshing.  After a few more phone calls (Kristen, my brother Al, and my mom), I set out to get something to eat.

There’s a long system of enclosed shops near here, sort of like an arcade (in the older sense, not in the modern, gaming-oriented sense).  All sorts of shops, though most of them are little restaurants.  There are little stores selling clothes, electronics, home products, pets, porn, computer parts, books, magazines, shoes, kimonos, sports stuff, floor mats, coffee, and other stuff that I just can’t recall (there was also a large 24-hour grocery store and a casino).  The arcade ran on and on, and branched off several times in different directions.  After walking around for a while, I eventually picked a little place off the beaten path and walked inside.

After a somewhat awkward pause, I indicated I wanted to eat there by rubbing my stomach.  She sat me down at the bar (the place was empty), and gave me a menu.  I told her in Japanese to “decide for me,” because the menu was completely written and I couldn’t understand a word.  She said ‘yakisoba,’ since I knew what that was (fried noodles) I said that would be fine.  It was more than fine.  I was starving, but I don’t think that biased my opinion too badly.  I washed it down with a large mug of beer, which tasted so good to my dry tongue I nearly wept.  I had been very stressed the past two days, and a good meal and a beer was just what the doctor ordered.

After the meal, I headed back here to the hostel.  I’m now up in my room.  The sun’s gone down.  I might hit the hay in a bit.  All that walking got the best of me.  I’m watching a nature program on TV.  Strange thing, though.  It’s all about predators on the plains of Africa.  Cheetahs, lions, hyenas, jackals, the like.  There’s shot after shot of these gazelles and other herd animals being set upon by single predators or even packs, all to tense background music.  However, in none of those shots does the predator succeed.  It’s amazing to watch a tiny baby gazelle dodge a full grown cheetah, but after a while, you start to feel bad for them.  They gotta eat, too.

Soupy twist,

Ed

On the groud in Osaka

I made it.

Backing up, I flew into Hong Kong.  Their airport is massive.  After making my way through security, I went up to the boarding area to look where my flight was coming in.  Try though I did, I could not locate some sort of sign indicating where I should go, nor did my boarding pass specify a gate.  After wandering around near gate 69 for a while, I tried finding out online, and the HKG website said CX506 was going to boarding at Gate 25, so I made my way over there.  It took about 15 minutes to walk there, with people movers (that’s how big that place is).

After getting there I was puzzled by the sight of a different flight number on the sign above the gate.  Having hours of free time, I sat down, people watched, and waited to see if it would change (maybe another flight was coming in first).  It did not.  Getting antsy, I got up and headed further down the terminal to explore.  Soon I was rewarded by a sign showing all the arrivals, their ETAs, and their gates.  The sign informed me that CX506 was coming at Gate 2.  Another long walk (even longer than before, because there were these massive mall complexes in-between), during which time, caught up with people watching, I nearly walked headfirst into two soldiers, both wearing blue camo, black berets, brandishing MP5s.  I made a sheepish expression, leapt rather comically out of the way, and smiled at one.  He looked at me, but did not smile back.

I found Gate 2, naturally, at the extreme far end of Terminal 1.  I let my heavy pack fall to the floor and sank into my chair.  I’d been awake about 33 hours at this point.  I had just closed my eyes when an announcement came over saying that CX506 had been diverted to Gate 44.  A guy came up and started waving us back.  Brudgrudgingly, I obliged.  It took another 15 minutes of walking to get back to Gate 44, which was swamped.  No chairs anywhere.  I went to the nearby Starbucks (I had no yuan, so I couldn’t have bought something even if I wanted to), turned a chair around so it faced the tarmac, and watched through the massive window all the cars, trucks, machines, and people run around, like some perfectly choreographed industrial pageant.

The flight was a little under three hours.  Totally uneventful.  For some reason I had reserved 38K again, and it was the same model of aircraft (a Cathay Pacific Boeing 747), so it was being right back on the same flight as before, except both my seatmates passed out immediately for the length of the flight.  I wish I could have, but it was a lost cause.  I can’t sleep on planes.  As a matter of fact, I think I really hate flying.  It dries me out, my sinuses go to hell (eyes, ears, nose, and throat), and it’s the most stressful activity I’ve engaged in where I’m just sitting down.

Once arriving in Kansai International, I made my way to a train which took me through to the disembarkation/customs area.  I then had to maneuver through a series of dreary DMV-like rooms, answering a few questions.  I never had to lie or even present that damn ticket (that thing turned out to useless, and I will be canceling it as soon as I can get to phone).  Once I made my way though the bureaucratic hurdles, I emerged into the airport proper.  Where the other rooms where sterile and governmental, the front of the terminal was grand and spacious.  After exchanging money (I had only $30 on me), I made my way out of the airport.

Just to go back a bit, when I caught that train I had to run as the minute bells were going off.  I jumped in just as the doors were closing.  Everyone was looking at me.  I was also the only Westerner on the train.  I did a overemphasized wiping of my brow with back of my arm, exhaling ‘WHEW!’ at the same time.  I got a fair bit of laughter, even from the old man in the wheelchair.

Fortunately, $30 was enough to buy me ticket on the Nankai railway towards Shin-Imamiya Station (actually, the ticket was only 890 yen).  A few people were nice enough to help me figure out the machine.  The train was quiet and fast.  It left Kansai, crossed the bridge over the bay, and tore into the city, flying through quaint neighborhoods.  The houses near the train looked very traditional and had slanted roofs.  They were packed in so close to one another, too.  What’s more, they weren’t laid out on a grid.  They were all tucked into each other at strange angles, giving a more organic effect.  There were small plots of farmland (for rice, I’m guessing) all over the place, tucked in between groups of houses, and baseball and soccer fields where kids were playing.  Lots of folks were on bikes.  I instantly felt it was pretty peaceful place.

I got of my station in slightly less quaint part of town.  It’s a little dingy, but it’s not so bad.  I’ve heard Osaka likened to Chicago, and from where I’m at, I can see why.  There’s lots of industry where I’m staying, it appears to be geared towards the automotive.  I left the station, having only vague directions in poorly written English to go by.  Naturally, I went the wrong way.  After a while, I realized I was going nowhere fast.  I used a pay phone and called the hostel, asked if they spoke English (in my piss poor Japanese).  A man came on the phone who did.  I think he realized how lost I was, and offered to meet me back at the train station.  I hustled back, met the man (very nice guy, speaks pretty good English), and threw my pack into his car.  He drove me the opposite way I had been walking.

Just for the record, allow me to reproduce the directions I was given… verbatim:

From the station:

5 min walk

1)     Come out from

2)     Go to right and cross by the crossroad the name of

3)     Turn right at in front of bass stop

4)     Then turn left next small crossroad

5)     You can find our hotel on the left side

This might have worked if they specified what exit out of the station was the starting point.  I never got to find out what ‘bass stop’ meant.  I figured bus stop, but who knows?

The man drove me to the Hotel Mikado, where I’ve made reservations until Tuesday (Osaka time).  I checked in, then went upstairs to my room.  I’ve got a single, which is quite nice.  This place is more of a business hotel (a cheap, but clean, hotel for business men looking to save money) than a hostel, though there are some younger people here also.  My room consists of a simple bed, a small table, a smaller chair, a TV (which I haven’t turned on), and a small fridge.  They also provided me with a few towels and robe, the later of which I’m currently wearing.

After settling in, I went for a little walk to a) get the lay of the land and b) get something to eat.  I wandered down a long covered-road full of shops and small eateries, all were closing down or had the last few customers of the day in them (except for the casino, which was roaring!).  I did not have the strength to deal with anything complicated (language or food wise) so I eventually went to Fetts, a 100 store, and bought some instant noodles and a small bag of rice candy that tastes a lot like kettle corn.

At this point I hadn’t slept in about 44 hours, but was in pretty good shape nevertheless.  Jetlag isn’t so bad if you’re really excite to be somewhere.

I got back to the hotel and started making the noodles.  A young Finn named Franz helped me figure out some of kitchen aparti.  We sat down and started talking.  His English is very good, grammatically too.  Occasionally he’ll pronounce a word funny, but it does not matter.  In fact, I really feel foolish for not knowing a second language, especially *ahem* Japanese, which he speaks a bit of (more than me, at least).  I believe he also speaks Italian, in addition to Finnish of course.

We chewed the fat for a few hours, covering everything from the Onsen, the Alamo, Picketts Charge, Finnish beer, and the recent Japanese quake/tsunami.  In a few hours from now (I’m writing this following morning), he’s going to meet is girlfriend (who’s Japanese) and has offered to show me the way to Namba station on the way, where there’s supposed to be a jazz festival going on this afternoon.  The hotel has free bicycles.

After a few hours, I headed to bed.   By the time I went to sleep, I’d been awake for 48 hours straight,\ and traversed over 15,000 miles.  I’m surprised I only slept eight hours.

That brings me up to date.  I’m about to try and find something to eat before meeting up with Franz at noon and setting out into the city.  Hopefully, I can find either a post office or a 7-11, as they seem to be the best ways for me get money.  I only have 1032 yen on me, which is about $12.87.

Soupy twist,

Edward

Picture time (pre-flight and en-route)

One last flight for the cleaning fairy

 Tetris for subletters

 Harley is a champion bed-mover

 Last check

Thank you for humoring in me, Chris

 First of three flights (SD-SF... SF-HK... HK-OS)

 SFO

SFO II

En route

As I write this, I’m sitting in seat 38K on a Boeing 747, hurtling at around 640 mph about 38,000 feet up.  We’re in Chinese airspace, I believe.  Our flight path was an arc, stretching North over the Pacific, through Russia, and down into China.  Our destination, Hong Kong, is about 2 ½ hours away.  It’s hour 12 of a 14 hour flight.  I’ve been up for 28 hours.  I don’t believe I’ve slept, though I may have dozed a few minutes here and there.  I’ve been making use of the in-flight entertainment system.  I’ve watched ’12 Angry Men’ and ‘True Grit,’ as well as a documentary about the recent Gulf Coast Oil Spill, as narrated by Steven Fry.  I also listened to the better part of a Michael Brecker album. Breakfast is on in a bit, and I think I’ll be having eggs and turkey sausage.

All that is terribly interesting, I’m sure.  Nothing too exciting has happened.  I suppose that’s for the best, though.  Excitement and plane travel don’t usually mix, and when they do, it’s usually not good.

My final hours on the ground were horrifically frantic.  I really haven’t planned very well.  I barely got everything I needed done.  Harley came through like a champ and helped me store the bed in the garage (not an easy task… pictures later).  There were computer problems when I went to the bank, clerical issues at AAA, a faulty ATM at Albertsons, and lots and lots of traffic.  I made my final farewells to my family, picked Lehnig up at SDSU, drove to the airport, made my way through security (all went well), and proceed immediately to the bar to calm my nerves. 

I’ve been drinking somewhat steadily, but not heavily.  I’ve stayed clear of liquor thus far, but it’s long layover in Hong Kong….

The flight to San Francisco was a cakewalk.  I could have blinked and missed it.  Not to sound like a consumer review, but Virgin America is quite the hip airline, from the lights, to the crew, to even the damn safety briefing (there was funky cartoon of these people demonstrating proper safety techniques in perfectly calm ways… totally unrealistic, of course, but the animation was hip).  The jazz selection wasn’t bad, either.  I took off to George Shearing playing ‘I’m Through With Love,” then switched to Tony Bennett once we got above the clouds.

Back to the current flight: we just hit a pocket of turbulence.  I just chugged my OJ in case it should spill on my laptop.

SFO is huge.  Spacious, too.  I got off the plane, then sat around for about 10 minutes until I figured out I was in the wrong terminal.  I took something called an ‘Airtrain’ and made my way to the International terminal.    I found my airlines station, waited in line for a while, then checked in.  Then I hit a snag…

Japan doesn’t like foreigners entering their country without a return ticket.  I knew this, but I suppose… well, I don’t know what I suppose.  It’s just more evidence of poor planning.  I feel kind of stupid, actually.  However, I talked to someone who works for Cathay Pacific, whose airline I booked for this trip.  He said this thing happens every other day.  He suggested buying a fully refundable ticket, just so I’d have something to show customs upon entry into Japan.  I could cancel the ticket once I’m in Osaka and get my money back.  I went ahead and did it, though the ticket was not cheap.  I’m a little uneasy about it, but the guy seemed on the level.  I’ll feel much better once I get to Osaka and get that money back.

That pretty much brings me up to this moment.  I’m tired, weary, hungry, and nervous.  I’ll be in Hong Kong in two hours, and Osaka in about eleven.  I can’t wait to be in the city, on my way to the hostel.  I’m not sure if I’ll want to go anywhere today.  I might just get settled in, find some nearby food, and go to sleep before sundown.

Pictures will follow once I arrive and can find a charger.  My computer is about to die.

Soupy twist,

Ed

The day has come

I just woke up.  I’m still in bed.  I’ve been hit with an allergy attack, but that’s nothing new.  My room is all but empty.  In a little while, I’m going to get up, eat breakfast, then break down my bed.  That task will be easy, but getting the mattress into the garage… not so much.  I’m praying either Isaac or Kris will still be here to help (Harley had to split early this morning).  After that, there’s a just a little sweeping to do, a shower to take, a backpack to secure and double-check, and then I’m gone.

I’m going to get my oil changed and tires rotated if I can, and I have to get a replacement vehicle registration card from AAA (Lehnig is taking my car while I’m away, and apparently I threw the old card away when I cleaned out the car).  If there’s time after that, I’m going to drive to Escondido to see my mom, both to visit and to make use of her copy machine to photocopy my passport, my credit cards, and other important documents.  After that, I’ll be driving down to SDSU to pick up Chris from school.  I’ll be driving myself to airport, then passing to keys to Chris for him to take it home, and that’s it.

The panic has actually subsided quite a bit.  I’m really interested at what’s going to happen on my trip, what I’m going to see, find, discover, and feel, and what’s going to change in me.  It’s not fear anymore, just trepidatious curiosity.  I want to be on that plane, on my way to the unknown.  I’m dreading the 27-hour travel ordeal more than my actual destination, which is a good thing.  I still don’t where I’m going to be staying my first night.  Hopefully one of the airports I’m in will have Wi-Fi, and I arrange something.

Last night was great.  I did some last minute recording with the Dime Novels in PB.  We laid down four tracks in the studio, in addition to two others we’ve done before (I’ll at least be on half of the new album).  Somewhat appropriately, we ended my share of the evening laying down stomps and claps.  The five of us just stood around the room, stomping on the one and clapping on two and four.  It was fun, a good representation of my time with the band.  Five guys having one hell a good time.   I’ll miss playing them while I’m away.

On another note, I found out our audio engineer is A) practically my neighbor, and has heard every party we’ve had here (including my going away thing last week), and B) was the bassist for ‘Buck O’Nine,’ a band I listened to in middle school during my ska phase (HA!).

After the session, I drove back home to San Carlos.  Laurel came over and helped me pack.  I didn’t realize it, but I was screwed.  I had no idea what I was doing in terms of packing.  With her international travel expertise, she saved me from what would have been a disaster.  I have even more room than I thought I had, and now I’ll be traveling with a comfortable amount of gear, and it doesn’t even feel like it weighs that much.  More importantly, though, I’m just glad I got to see her before I left.  She’s a true friend, and I’ll miss her very much.

I feel as though the goodbyes I’ve been saying have been somewhat inadequate.  I haven’t been open enough in telling you all what you mean to me.  A big part of me doesn’t want to leave.  I am going to miss you all very much. I suppose that’s a little dramatic also, haha!  I am returning, but not for a while, and I’ll be thinking of you all while I’m away, no matter what’s happening to me.

Okay, that’s enough writing.  It’s time to for breakfast and breaking beds.  I’ll post some pre-trip and in-transit photos later.

Soupy twist,

Ed

The Panic Phase

It’s two days until my departure, and you could say I’m excited.  You could also say I’m terrified, stressed, scatterbrained, and even a little agitated at times.  In a little over forty-eight hours time, I leave my family, my friends, my job, my home, and my country for an unknown land (unknown to me, at least) on the far side of the world.  I decided to do this trip because I felt myself getting a little too complacent where I was, both in the physical sense, the emotional, and, dare I say it, the spiritual.

Since graduating college two years ago, my life has been in stasis.  It’s been a good time for me, granted.  I’ve grown both as a musician and as a person.  Being able to live sans academia has done wonders for me.  Still, I needed a change, to bust the cycle of doing gigs and practicing (though I love those two activities with passion).  Recalling my experiences traveling abroad in 2005 (the summer after high school, when I was 18, I backpacked around Europe with two friends), it seemed this trip is just what I need, and so I’m flinging myself across the Pacific to find…

What?  I have no idea.  I haven’t the foggiest plan for what I’ll be doing for next six months, or where I’ll be going once I leave Japan, or even where I’ll be staying my first night.  I have only a cursory knowledge of Japan, its history, its people, and its culture (let alone the language…  “Eigo wo hanase masu ka?”).  Not only am I sailing off into the unknown, I’m completely without a compass.  Still, I can’t complain.  I could have made rigorous plans.  I could have drawn up an itinerary.  I chose not to.  I want this journey to unfold as I go, however that may be.  It’s the unknown that fills with me abject terror, but also excitement at the same time.  It’s a strange sensation, and difficult to explain.

When I was a kid, and my mother was teaching late at UCSD, I’d stay with my grandmother.  She’d often take me out on adventures around Escondido at night, and I’ll never forget one in particular.  She drove me to this tiny lane on the back side of a hill (I was too short to see out the windows, so I’m not sure where we were exactly).  There was this long, high chain fence with a row of bushes behind it, blocking the view of the property.  She called me over and then rapped on the fence with her knuckles.  Suddenly there was noise, and the bushes started shaking.  Something was coming through.

I feel the same right now, sitting here writing this, as I did when I was six, staring at those bushes, frightened at what was coming but also exhilarated at what it might be.  Continuing to stare wide-eyed at the tremulous bushes, I was rewarded by a sight I’ll always remember: a giant emu striding forth from the brush and walking up to the fence.  Never could I have expected or predicated that outcome, and what’s what made it so amazing.  The unknown can be scary, but it can great also.

On another note, I have no clue why a man in Escondido was raising an emu on his property (there might have been a few of them, but it clearly wasn’t a farm).  Eggs?  Feathers?  Meat?  Or do emus just make great, if somewhat awkward pets?  Whatever the case, I’m glad to call Escondio home.

Forgive my odd, nostalgic tangent.  I do hope that didn’t bore you, and that you’re still reading this.  I decided to make this blog for several reasons, namely: 1) To let my friends and family know where I am and what I’m up to, 2) To establish a lifeline to my home, so I don’t feel completely alone out there, and 3) Because, frankly, I enjoy writing (before music, it was my favorite thing to do).  I hope I’ll be able to fill it with stories of the unknown, however it manifests itself.

Anyway, this what I’ve taken to calling the ‘Panic Phase.’  It’s a frenzied rush to get everything ready before I leave.  There’s still a precise packing to be worked out, a recording session to do, a car to be dealt with, a bed to be broken down and stored, initial accommodations to be booked, emails to be sent, friends to be seen, and lastly, but not least, nerves to be settled.  I haven’t even been thinking much about the trip (save for the writing of this blog entry).  I’ve been too busy focusing on getting everything done.

I don’t mean sound glum.  I am, at my core, so thrilled to be doing this.  It’s big, and whatever happens is going to be amazing.  I’ll come back changed, hopefully (all the jokes about marriage and radiation aside).  I am afraid, but as one friend told me, that’s just an indicator that I’m going in the right direction.  It’ll be uncomfortable for a while, maybe even scary, but it’ll also be something life-defining.  As another friend told me, I will embrace the fear.  I’ll take that nervous energy and channel it into something great.

Lastly, I just want to say how much it’s meant to me having the friends and family that I have.  These last few weeks have been incredible.  I’ve never felt so loved.  It makes it harder to leave, actually.  Thank you all so much.  I don’t think I could do this thing without you.  I’ll miss you all while I’m away, and I’ll be carrying your kind words and love with me wherever I go.

In the words of Douglas Adams, “DON’T PANIC.”

Soupy twist,

Edward

PS- Here’s a link this blogs namesake: