FLASHBACK: OSAKA -
part 1
I arrived at Tokyo station with plans to go to Hiroshima. When I found out that there were no trains leaving for there on Friday, I tried to explain that I'd take any train that would take me as far south as possible. The man at the ticket counter and I were having difficulty communicating in English (this is my
fault) -- but I was able to see that the language was not as difficult for him to grasp as was the concept. I gave up, and got out of line so I could stand back and make sense of the cryptic signs above the ticket counters. The signs are usually an odd, uneven mix of Japanese and English -- giving just enough information to mislead you into thinking you can figure it out.
"Where do you want to go?" I was given a start by a man who was geared up for skiing asked as he watched me losing myself in the signs.
His English and body language suggested that he had fine tuned his communication skills in the business world. I told him my vague plans and again the concept of "as far a possible" seemed to confuse him.
"Osaka?" he suggested.
"Perhaps," I said, "but I really would be happy to go further South, that way I can continue on to Hiroshima tomorrow."
"Osaka?" he repeated.
And so I was on the next train to Osaka. Within minutes on the train, I was already getting a closer look into Japanese culture than I had experienced in my first two
weeks in Tokyo. The salarymen in suits who, by day, looked to me to be only slightly more lively than Sony's AIBO robot dog as they marched to
and fro, had loosened their ties and has brought out the extra tall cans of Asahi. After knocking back a few, they started kidding each other, telling rude
jokes (apparently) and quite at ease with their bodily winds. Teenage couples cuddled lovingly while she occupied herself with her i-mode
mobile phone and he played with his Gameboy advance. At some point during the trip, almost everyone unwrapped a bento (?) box for one and
neatly ate a healthy meal -- unintentionally making me feel slightly less civilised as a chunk of egg-mayonaise squirted from my sandwich and into
my lap. Had anyone been watching I'm sure it would have prompted me to make an "uh huh" Goofy laugh, which is the only thing you can do in
that situation.
I arrived at Osaka, and found that it was nearly impossible to get someone to suggest a hotel. This wouldn't be the first time, but I would remain surprised that everytime I asked anyone about a hotel, or "hoteru" as my English-Japanese dictionary suggested, I would get a look of a complete lack of comprehension. My best guess in hindsight is that "Hotel" implies that I'm looking for a western, Hilton-style hotel and "Hoteru" implies that I'm an idiot and shouldn't be encouraged to stay anywhere in Japan. Either way, it was hard luck finding a place. I did see a lot of those "Love hotels" that release keys out of vending machines, but given what I've seen of the Japanese sexual fantasy life (which appears in even the most innocent looking comic books) and magazine polls that show a good percentage of high school age girls see "nothing wrong" with pay-dates with old salarymen -- there's no way I would go anywhere near these places. Otherwise, had I found any evidence of ... anything -- I'm sure I would be scarred for life.
I found a modest room. A bed and bathroom that is warm and clean is really all I need. Anything else is gravy. It was a very non-descript
room. I was in the middle of writing the description of it when I realised that I was describing the room I stayed in the next night. I
honestly have no recollection at all of this room -- all I did was crash on the bed and sleep until day. The room was the definition of non-descript.
I went to Kinko's and sent the last emails I would send for a while. I also looked up some youth hostel information I would
never use and tourist office addresses and phone numbers in all of the major cities that I would eventually lose. Finally, I stopped drifting wherever the wind was blowing me and made a conscious decision. I would buy a bicycle and ride it from Osaka to Hiroshima. I bought a map and made my plan. I had about 5 days to get
there, and then I would take the train back to Tokyo. This seemed reasonable in light of my ignorance.
I returned to Osaka station and went to the tourist information office. I told them I wanted to bike the countryside, but first I needed to buy or rent a bike. They looked a little confused, as if I was making an absurd request.
"Uh ... I don't know where you can rent bike. They don't rent bikes around here, or maybe for day -- just in Osaka."
"Well, I'll just buy one then."
The two ladies turned to each other, and while they were speaking Japanese, clearly they thought I had said something ridiculous.
"Um...do you have license for bike?"
I finally got it. I've made this mistake before, saying "bike" meaning bicycle when most everyone expects grown men to ride motorcycles not
push-bikes. I cleared that up, we all had a laugh, and then they gave me directions to a place called "Cycleland"
I wanted to get to Kobe, which looked fairly close to Osaka on my map, by the early afternoon. For the bike trip, I thought it would be good
to start out as early as possible, ride until 2-3pm, find a place to stay while it was still light, explore the area, eat, then go back to my
room and write or read the evening away. This all starts out very sensibly. After all, a man with a plan -- what could go wrong?
The first cracks appeared when I spent most of the morning looking for Cycleland. First I searched for an English yellowpages, because the
tourist information could only tell me that there was an outlet in Temma -- off of the B-Line on the Osaka Loop. After some time, I found a
yellow pages and phone number. As usual with calling regular places in Japan and trying to speak English, I found that the phone was passed to
two or three different people until someone could understand what I'm saying. You might think that if, by chance, the person on the phone
before understood some of what I was asking for he would communicate this to the next person he handed the phone to. You'd be wrong. Each time,
it was a new "Hello?" and a fresh start. Even when speaking English, there is a different pronunciation of vowels and consonants than I was
accustomed to -- along with the fact that I would try to make what I heard fit the model of what I already knew. For example, he said that
they were located on "Tenjinbashi Suji" but what I heard was "Tenjima street." I'd soon learn that all of that was irrelevant anyhow, because
trying to find your way around by street signs is nearly impossible -- especially since the map I had purchased contained just enough
information to point me towards getting lost and not enough information to show me where I was once I got there.
After asking shopkeeper after shopkeeper, I eventually found Cycleland. I picked out the ideal bike, silver with flat handles and a black
basket in front -- perfectly ordinary. I wasn't able to try it out, but I got the largest available frame, lined it up with my hip and decided it
would work. I asked the man to pick out decals for the back tire rim that would be the closest to sounding out "Kai." I got a lock & key,
the man assembled the bike and applied the decals. I couldn't have been more excited -- I hadn't been on bicycle in over three years when in
California it was my primary mode of transportation. I put on my huge backpack, put the smaller bags of things I'd purchased and jumped on the
bike, and pointed it towards the horizon, I was ready to roll! But as I started pedalling, I realised I was all knees. I half expected a
little kid to run up to me and say "Hey mister! That's MY bike!"
It was too late -- no turning back now. The total cost of the bike was about US$100, so if at the end of my time in Japan I had to ditch it,
that wouldn't be the end of the world. Besides, I rode around I began to feel my youth sweep over me -- it reminded me of those awkward
pre-teen years when I had outgrown my kiddie bike, but hadn't yet bought my ten-speed. It was a precarious balancing act. I had this huge sack on
my back, riding a push-bike without gears. Put me in a bear costume and switch my backpack with a juggling midget and I'd be a circus act.
Still, it wasn't long before I had the confidence to ride with enough speed to put the fear of god in old ladies and small toddlers. I can
honestly say I hadn't had this much fun in years.
It wasn't until I stopped and almost tipped over that I realised that there are other good things like eating and drinking that I should think
about too.
I bought a few sweet bean buns and ate them in a park. I noticed a pigeon doing a funny little strut in front of me. Walking closer,
looking, walking away, coming back again. I threw it a piece of my bun, which it promptly gobbled up. I then looked around at the other pigeons,
some of which weren't as big or healthy looking and wondered as I watched the pigeon do its dance in front of another guy to receive a small
treat -- "What sort of evolution is at work here? People are clearly fueling it, and there is some sort of survival of the fittest going on, but
to what end? And who is driving the situation here? The pigeon or the person who feeds it?"
Anyhow, I didn't worry about that too long as I had to get on the road if I was going to make it to Kobe. I rode along a riverside, since the
map I was using was useless in terms of any other land mark. Eventually I also found railroad tracks alongside the river for a line that I
was able to figure out was going in the direction I wanted to. It was well into the afternoon, and I was beginning to worry as I felt I should
be in Kobe by now. Instead I was at Universal Studios theme park and the end of my line. I was beginning to get concerned that the river
that I once rode across via small footpaths was now being traversed by huge sweeping suspension bridges ... and I had a sweeping suspicion that I
was on the wrong side. Woody Woodpecker was no help, on the signs he only seemed to be pointing into the theme park, directing me to the
nearest rollercoaster.
I rode further down and hit a series of industrial harbor along the water. Again, a warped sense of deja vu hit me as the whole scene resembled a realistic video game called Shenmue, which is set in Japan at this time of year and part of the game has you driving a forklift around an industrial harbor.
That game has been on my mind a lot lately as it touches on the potential of gaming. Being more than just frivolous pursuits, but as a way to learn or experience something meaningful. The Japanese seem to get this concept wholeheartedly. Arcades are frequented by all walks of life, and while on average catering to more boys and
men than girls and women, the community is far more diverse than the pimply teenage boys and arrested-development/frequently-arrested men found in the video arcades across America. In fact, until I got to London, video games were something that you kept secret unless they were sports games (with lots of other folks, cause then it's more like watching sports, or playing sports than playing video games, right?) Fighting games might be ok too, but that's because society has taken away man's natural right to attack and kill people. And anyone who has not repeatedly beat the crap out of a virtual Matt Jones has denied himself one of the finer pleasures in life.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, games. The true potential in games lies in their ability to educate. "Educational games" or "Edutainment" fail because they aren't fun, they are stupid. If you say "Edutainment" out loud, you should realise that. No one seeks "to be educated" or "to be entertained." You got an education, or you were entertained -- but that just happened, after the fact. Your goal was to learn something specific, or just to see or do something that struck you as interesting. It's more of a gut feel than something you can put into words before hand. On the other side, anyone that says "I will educate you" or "I will entertain you" probably falls somewhere between a dictator and a clown, and both should be feared. Only pure evil could hold a frown or smile indefinitely.
I finally was able to find a sign with a local area map and comparing that with the map I was carrying showed me that I had been following the wrong river. While I was going in the right direction, I was at the point where I couldn't cross the water and the closer I tried to get to the overpass and road across the river the higher up and further away it
seemed to get. There was no way I would be able to bike it, and it looked like the only way to find a feasible route would be to go all the way back to central Osaka. That realisation crushed me. The whole day was lost, and there is nothing I wanted to do less than go back the way I came. I made my way back towards Universal Studios park when I noticed one Woody Woodpecker that wasn't pointing towards the park. Upon closer examination, he was pointing the way to a ferry. A ferry was exactly what I needed to get back on track. I found my way down to the ferry, passing people that had just disembarked, some of them on bike -- but I missed it as it left. I stared at the schedule, hoping I hadn't missed the last one, but I wasn't reassured until someone else came and sat in the waiting area.
The ferry wasn't going in the direction I wanted to go. Instead it was bound for the Port of Osaka and a small town called Temposan, but the port was a point of departure for other ferries -- some bound for Kobe or even further. With any luck I'd be ahead of schedule. But I was out of luck. At the ticket desk, after a long frustrating exchange, I
learned that I couldn't bring my bike on the ferry unless I could disassemble and collapse it. Since I had an old fashioned, bolt together once and ride it forever, bicycle there was no way I was going to be able to take it apart with my little 3-inch swiss army knife.
Again I had no choice but to return to Osaka and try again. It was so late in the day, that I decided to stay in Temposan and try again in the morning. So I found a little inexpensive hotel. At first it was cold, and I there's nothing I like less than being cold, but I kept punching buttons on the heater/ventilation until warm air came out -- which is a trick that seems to work on most japanese appliances -- hit buttons until it does what you want it to. So if 10,000 monkeys banging on typewriters may not give you a work of Shakespeare, but one monkey banging on a ventilation system will definitely give you heat.
