EPTI dragged myself into the shower around 9:00, and I was on the road, backpack shouldered, by 10:00. I remembered Trevor's advice as I arrived at the train station. "Make sure you change trains at Izumi-sano," he had said, laughing. "Otherwise it will take you like two and a half hours to get into Osaka." At that point, however, two and a half hours sitting on an air conditioned train sounded just fine. I sat down in a corner seat and sipped water while the train clacked along the track, stopping every few minutes for two hours.
When the train arrived in Osaka -- Namba, to be exact -- I felt significantly better. I wandered the streets for an hour before realizing that I was really, really hungry. I poked my head into the first cafe I saw that had Japanese people actually eating in it and blindly ordered the lunch special. "It is... chicken," the waitress said.
"Anything is fine," I said.
The other customers left a few minutes into my meal, and the waitress came to chat with me. "You are Australia?" she asked.
"No, California."
"Oh!" she cried, clapping her hands twice. "Very good! California!"
I asked her about clubs in the area. She drew me a map of the area and pointed at one of the clubs she had marked. "This one much, much fun," she said. Though I looked for it later in the evening, I never did find it.
After leaving the cafe, I happened upon a capsule hotel and got myself a room. I needed a nap, and at only $25 a night, the capsule hotel was perfect for my ailing wallet.
After my nap, I went for a stroll. Without knowing it, I had based myself in Amerika-mura, a sort of deranged, Japanese imitation of New York City crammed into a few city blocks. The neighborhood was jam-packed with clothing stores blaring rap music and selling t-shirts with nonsensical phrases written on them. Bars, love hotels, and restaurants rounded out the mix of establishments.
I made my way to Dotonbori, the entertainment district of Osaka, and dined a rice bowl with fatty salmon that had barely touched the grill. It had a slightly charred exterior but was otherwise raw. The salmon had no odor whatsoever and literally melted on my tongue. I devoured it with a bit of wasabi and continued walking for another couple hours.
I was going to return to my capsule when I realized that a) it was only 9:30 and b) I had nothing to do. Sightseeing is a daytime activity, and I had squandered most of the day nursing my hangover. I wandered a bit more before following the sound of the Beatles -- blaring from the stereo inside -- into the aptly-named Mojo Bar.
The bar was deserted, but I ordered a beer and enjoyed the music. A girl walked in and sat on the stool adjacent to mine. She whipped out her cell phone in typical, Japanese fashion. I assumed she was meeting someone, working out the logistics of her evening. A few minutes later, she asked me where I was from. I answered, and she immediately returned to her cell phone. A few more minutes passed, and she asked how old I was. I answered, and she again returned to her phone. This pattern continued for maybe 15 minutes. I assumed she was making polite conversation before her friends arrived, but when I leaned over and regarded her cell phone, I saw that she was using it as a translator. She was typing out what she wanted to say, memorizing the English pronounciation, asking me the question, and then typing any confusing words I used back into the cell phone, where they were translated to Japanese.
I had never had a conversation with a cell phone before. The whole thing intrigued me. I asked her name. She seemed confused, so I pointed at myself and said, "Andy."
"Me Rie!" she said, excited that I had finally asked her a question. She returned to her phone and then asked me what I thought about Japanese culture.
"Hard, hard. Me," I said, pointing to myself, "feel very stupid. In two weeks, maybe not so stupid."
"Me always stupid!" Rie laughed.
"No, no," I said. "You're not stupid."
She frowned and said, "Not stupid, but me very...." She pointed at her cell phone, which read "obedient; docile; flexible."
I choked on my beer before realizing that she had probably meant "easy-going." I never did find out, but there was no way that I was going to try and explain the miscommunication.
"My Sherona," by the Knack, came on over the stereo, and I briefly sang along to the chorus. Rie's eyes lit up. "You karaoke?" she asked.
"No, no!" I said. "Horrible, horrible singer."
She furiously keyed characters into her cell phone. "You come karaoke now," she said.
How could I refuse?
At this point, I should mention that Rie had consumed no fewer than eight alcoholic beverages and had sucked down nearly a pack of cigarettes, and she was a petite little thing. Still feeling the effects of the previous night, I had kept my consumption to a minimum -- just a few beers. Rie seemed perfectly coherent, however, skipping along as we made our way to the karaoke bar.
Karaoke bars in Japan are slick. For a small, hourly fee, you get your own, private room and watered-down, all-you-can-drink beverages. I also suspect that the karaoke software makes efforts to improve your performance by leveling out your tone or increasing the volume on the master track. All I know is that I have never sang that well before, and I will never sing that well again.
At Rie's request, I sang Radiohead, the Knack, Green Day, and a few other bands. Rie stuck with Beyonce and Avril Lavigne, though she did branch out and sing a bit of Japanese pop near the end of the set. I doubt too many of my readers are familiar with the Beyonce single "Brown Eyes." A portion of the chorus goes thusly:
And when he looks at me, his brown eyes tell his soul.
On the second or third time through the chorus, Rie looked at me through her eyelashes and sang, "His bruuuuuuuuue eyes tell his soul."
I have seen puppies and kittens and babies -- all types of small animals, really -- doing charming things. Trust me when I say that this was the most adorable thing in the history of mankind.
By the time we left, Rie had quaffed another four or five drinks and smoked another half a pack of cigarettes. A bit concerned for her safety, I walked her to her bicycle, which was parked nearby. I then watched her -- thirteen drinks deep, folks -- ride off into the night without wobbling even once. It was like watching an archer fire on arrow on a calm afternoon.
I got the feeling that Rie is one of those friends you are glad to have, but with whom you cannot hang out more than twice a month.
Keep blogs coming ´please ! Also if you can recommend some bars/hotels/towns etc, that'd be great.
