Osaka's Wild Night

So Last night was a bit crazy. Got in to Osaka at about 4:30, had some dinner, did some wandering, and checked into the hostel to relax for about an ninety minutes or so before it was 10:30. Though I was still a bit tired, being so fired up all day, moving fast packing and traveling on my own—its another world when you have no one to rely on but yourself, I recommend it to all people—I still wanted to get out there: to see the people and really discover what it was about Osaka that made it the way it was. Because it didn’t take a person with acute senses to immediately feel that something was very different from the Tokyo area. When I first walked out of the station if seemed more Modern somehow. Like of course Tokyo is modern, but modern isn’t the idea that comes into your head when you see Tokyo. It more like “yabai” which is a slang everything word, probably most similar to “crazy” in English when used in a way you are stretching the dictionary definition. However the feel of Osaka was initially very modern and business seeming, tall modern buildings, up-class stores and tactful people, at least around the station as I got in. But something else was different. Standing in a line up the escalator I felt rather strange and backwards. Japanese people love to line up ha. I swear I’ve seen some Japanese people get into a line, be in it for a while, then realize what the line is for and get out of the line—though of course I didn’t know the exact context. But what was it this strange feeling. And then I saw. People were lining up on the right side of the escalator. Now in Tokyo they always line up on the right. Now this is a unspoken rule—as in: people will push past you if you are the only one breaking it: those who want to walk up, or down the escalator move on the right and those who want to just stand and let the forces of Jah take them carriage (what train car’s are called in Ireland by the way) these people stay on the left. But it’s Different in Osaka. I was stunned. Also people J-walked. People didn’t care. Now if I may generalize its astounding the obedience that Japanese people possess in general when it comes to cross-walks. In Tokyo and the surrounding I have only seen 1 person j-walk in the five weeks I’ve been here. But it’s Different in Osaka. And finally, after getting into the district of out Hostel, things were dirty. While in Tokyo I can honestly say that I have never seen a homeless person. There is quite literally no such thing as begging on the street and furthermore if there are homeless individuals, which I know there are because I’ve found them out—however this aren’t quite homeless as I’ll explain—you could never tell or not because of the clothes they wear. This was one of the first things that astounded me when I was fresh off the boats. However on a jog by the Tamagawa river, which is actually redundant as gawa/kawa means river, I notices small little shelters made in with the small trees and natural foliage of the riverside. They were tarp, or scrap metal, or black plastic or whatever, strapped together in various ways. I realized this is where all the homeless people must live. And of course I must look like an ass, a foreigner coming for a jog up and down their private drive (it hadn’t exactly been the main path that I had been running on, I had taken a rather small more personal and local looking one …oops—though I had a feeling in my hearth they would be cool with me. However just as these three thoughts passed through my head I saw into the side of one of them and was extremely impressed. Not only was there a very nice looking business style button up shirt hanging to dry, but there were organized Tupperware bins and wash stations. I realized this person could quite honestly be a business man and I would never know. Maybe he just chooses not to pay rent. Not to mention their makeshift homes were rather nice, and positioned quaintly next to the river and fishing spots while also being along side a plethora of community gardens, which were also awesome to run through. So in Tokyo even the rejects, which historically have always been pushed to the west of Tokyo to live by the river, were rather clean. But it’s Different in Osaka. Our neighborhood was dirty, run down, even abandoned in places, and there were quite a few homeless looking individuals—though still no begging.
So things were different in Osaka, I had seen now I was curious why, and curious of more. So David, my irish lad, and I decided to go for a couple of beers, where we figured some “locals” would be. We ended up walking around Nambu for about ten minutes, a rather wild part of Osaka, until we found a hookah bar, that looked quite friendly—yellow bubbled out letters reading “Lapichu” over a red chili pepper. Now David and I had had some very nice experiences in hookah Bars around Kawasaki (where we live near Tokyo)and so we decided to go in. Now hookah isn’t popular by any means in Japan. To be quite honest most Japanese are like children when it comes to it, pretending they know what it is, but when alone asking you. However perhaps for this very reason the people who were in the Hookah bars we had experienced were really quite friendly and open for conversation, which generally is rare for being in public. The spot was stylish enough, being posted up on the second floor of a small building that we entered from stairs on the outside. It was rather Japanese for its size. You entered into a slightly smokey, dim room with two small circular tables on the wall to your left and a small bar at the center. The smell was pleasant enough, having a slightly sweet taste to it, and there was a mid-volumed minimal trance playing from around the bar. The mood was quite ...chill.
We were greeted by a slightly bigger, but in a happy way such as some portrayals of Buddha, south American looking man who addressed us in a very friendly manner in Japanese and then switched to English—perhaps seeing which we seemed more comfortable with. It was a slow night at first a few folks, obviously regulars. They smoked and drank, and talked in private conversation. At one point I had a brief conversation with the girl sitting at my left however her man friend didn't seemed that interested in our conversation. The barkeep mostly spoke to us, most likely relishing the opportunity to speak English. He was from Columbia in fact his name: Oscar. And I won't forget him soon. The conversation was pleasant. Us both happy to find another so easy to become comfortable with strangers. He was a rad travelerman, with a great vibe. The type who had gone all around the world and found someplace he loved and stayed. He didn't say this at first but as you go around the block a few times, which are actually are made of slight arches in the real world, you learn of this type of person. They are totally rad free spirits, quick to become good friends but just as quick to never be seen again. I respect and love this type of person but I wouldn't count my self among them. He had a kid on the way was married, was pushing 39, though he looked more 30, and co-owned the bar with his partner who was quite literally the chillest looking Japanese guy I've ever seen. Turns out this very same man was the DJ rocking the trance that was making me feel like I was home in my room molding myself that further with my ki, as the Japanese call it, or Ka as Stephen King might call it. Came to find that the name of the bar was meaningless and was simply a made up word because the partners liked a name close to it but it was taken already. Ha. They seemed chill with their settlement though I was a bit stumped as his explanation made it sound like the decision making process took a five minute conversation and didn't really involve any actual thought. The few drinks we had were soon over and we were about to leave to take the last train when for no apparent reason we didn't. It was only one stop away maybe increase out walk by fifteen minutes and Mr. Oscar seemed to really want our company to continue. Quite soon after deciding to stay and ordering another drink and another hookah, we learned it was his birthday last week. He insisted he pour us a shot to celebrate. It was Jager and both David and I were game to especially considering we had stayed and really given our selves up to the night. And that was the beginning. There soon followed another. I don't remember her name but it was something like Kaki, though that also could just be my brain remembering how to say persimmon. She was a bit chubby in the face but still a very striking hawain/japanese woman. She proved interesting. At first she was rather friendly kind speaking to us in English and me in Japanese and later turning into a totally deva who liked to be the top bitch (as a play on words for top dog ;), though all was fine with me as apparently this position comes with buying shots for your patrons who graciously received. Sure I will take some pictures of you being very drunk, even if you are rather demanding, I have no problem. Soon after some more locals stumbled in and the vibe began to accelerate, not that it had ever slowed from the moment we had arrived. Perhaps he wanted to show everyone a great time, as seemed his style, it maybe it was the fact that the recent guests that entered were Spaniards. Our conversation turned into talking and our talking faded into banter, and “faded” is putting it sarcastically. Mr. Oscar had to pour another round of Jager for his friends, and his birthday of course, and we had to order more beers. David had to talk about bar tending and I had to talk about music. The reasons don't matter but it was within another hour that I was Djing, dubstep, and David was behind the bar making everyone drinks. David shared the pleasures of the Irish Car Bomb, and I shared the experience of what going hard really is. Birdy Nom Nom, Going hard Skrillex remix was one of my favorites. It was one of the most desultory 8 person dance parties I have ever had, especially their was rather little room, and a quarter of the participants were the owners of the bar. An ocean of sound and we were swimming like fish—or drinking like fish? Or smoking like fish? Doesn't matter. We were rather drunk fish, fueled on by a sea of tumes, and a current of sickly sweet sheesha. Which is worrisome because lively fish don't last long in Japan. But not to worry, none of us were fishing ...well David and I weren't fishing, though two of the spainiards were along with our good friend Oscar, though we later reflected he had a wife, baby on the way, and even a girlfriend as he told us. But Talon doesn't judge people. Especially when their moral perimeters are incongruous with their sexual exploits. But it was a wild night so I really can't say nothing for the kindness they showed both us. And she seemed to want something as well seeing as that one point I believe I was bit I believe. ..hmm.
Anyway before we knew it it was 6 in the morning, and we are stumbling back to the hostel that this guy Oscar also seems to run, a rad dude. And this was with not only him, but the Hawaiin lady as well. I'm actually rather thankful for this, because though I think we would have made it back, this was a whole lot easier and a whole lot closer, and he was very kind to let us sleep for free. Our heads touched some pillows and we were out.


BLAA BLAA BLAAA. The clock struck 8am. And we were up. David was planning on going to universal studios that day with the fellas, for his first roller coaster experience. I personally was wrecked after barely 2 hours of sleep, and a tad too much over-indulgence. But my wrecked head preferred to undermine that fact, and simply auto pilot until we got home. It was brighter than I remembered it outside and it smacked me pretty hard. Though I may have uttered ouch it wasn't one of the times when you actual say “ouch” but instead when you open your mouth as if to say ouch but instead soft grown a “aouuguhhh” that sounded just as deep as the painful hells of your body's retribution from which it came. Of course the other hostel , the one I had actually paid for was a welcome site, as was the blackness of the extra hour I got to sleep before checkout.


To come was an awesome day around Osaka. I saw some temples, went to Osaka castle which is quite amazing actually, though its a rather recent reconstruction. Thoughts were had and times were spent, but since this time was alone it would be difficult to decipher all the thoughts of that day. One I remember was the relationship between language and creativity. I ended on the blanket generalization statement that language is creativity. Which I'm sure some would agree with, which is good—because that's why I chose that answer ha ;). Isnt language conformity and the opposite of creativity, or do we need a system from which to break out and by which to compare. What are your thoughts?

Anyway my time in Osaka concluded with a very small, very foamy cup of pure Joy: the first good cup of coffee I've had in Japan. It was a cappuccino, a bit wetter than I would have preferred, from Starbucks, and it made my world, very lovely for about 280yen 円. However my heaven was brief as I soon after met up with the fellas I had separated from and took to the train for Nara, which you should definitely Go to, please. Writing about it soon. Wait for them pics.
Love and living, cracking and tripping, bending and changing, cant conclude conversations, so Ill keep chatting and thinking, keeping growing and typing, the fruit that seems sweet now, but will never cease to ripen. Loving this trip. Thanks for all who support me. Never stop being confused. Appreciate being uncomfortable because its what helps us think, grow, learn and be human. Love yall.




Oh also I'm currently riding the fastest train in Japan, cruising speed of 623 kilometers per hour, a bit over 400 miles per hour. ...no big or nothing.