Generatin' steam heat

After a short abyss of do-nothing doldrums (in which my all-important tasks of laundry and kerosene purchase were accomplished- definitely nothing to write home about) I'm back in the adventuring business again. Business is good.

Saturday, a few friends and I decided to climb Mount Ibuki. It's the tallest mountain in Shiga prefecture, and it sits right on the Shiga/Gifu border. Google Earth it at 35°10'48.56N, 136°25'00.36E. Historical Note: It was the site of the "Sekigahara War", the pivotal battle between the west and east of Japan way back in the day- the Japanese civil war, as it were. This site's got a lot of details, but the writer's tone puts me to sleep. A shorter, and funnier (yay for bad English!), version is here.

Enough history. Now, the climb to the top of Ibuki takes about seven hours. That's a ridiculous 14-hour round trip- not the kind of climb to be taken lightly. I was all about it. My friends, however, opted for the better part of valor. The road goes a good part up the mountain, and cuts the climb from 7 hours to about two. At the top, it's about ten degrees (celsius) lower than on the ground- which pulled the temperature from a cool and pleasant 12 degrees to 1 degree in the sun, and -1 in the shade. I'll skip the gory details of the climb. This was the path.


At the top, there's a small shanty town of corrugated-aluminum shacks (all closed), a few old wooden buildings,a shrine,

and a weather station, which you can see from pretty far off.


It's also pretty cool up close.

It's pretty cold up there.

Here's a few views from the summit- I apologize to those of you with dialup connections, as all these pictures have to take FOREVER to load.
On the descent, we found an old graveyard- just a couple of graves and a pair of torii (Shinto gates) side-by-side. One of the torii had succumbed to the elements, and the graves weren't looking too well-kept. I made a mental note not to die on a mountainside- nobody ever visits. My friend Ryo translated the inscription on the grave, and they're evidently pretty old.

As in REALLY pretty old- pre-Sekigahara War- and as such not to be screwed with. We paid our respects, took a few pictures, and left.

The descent climb was like the ascent. Now,I didn't manage to get any good pictures of these, but every little while we'd happen across a "don't feed the bears" sign. Yikes. This implies that there are bears to feed- I didn't see any, and I'm glad to let it stay that way. Getting eaten by a bear on a mountainside pretty much guarantees nobody'll visit.

After the mountain, we went and poked around a cave- it was pretty commercialized, safe, small, and uninteresting. More interesting was the WWII ammo dump a few yards away from the cave- we didn't have flashlights, so the abandoned bunker built into the side of the mountain was explored entirely by the light of our cellphones. The soft glow of five cellphone screens makes for one creepy, blue-hued, Blair Witch lantern. The bunker wasn't much- just a big room and two guardposts- but someone had decided to dump an old pachinko machine in the corner. No electricity, so it didn't work- and wouldn't, even if we had power- but it was a cool find.

Saturday evening, Japanese class. I showed up to class in my muddy mountain-clamberin' clothes, looking no doubt like I had just fallen down the mountain rather than hiked up it (just below the frostline, it was pretty muddy), and afterwards went and visited the Foreigner Mecca: Starbucks.

While I was on the mountain, Starbucks went and converted to Christmas decorations. They use the same decoration materials as an American Starbucks, so no doubt everywhere in the world the appearance is the same, but only in Japan is the phrase "Creme Brulee Latte" a linguistic trainwreck. The clerks HATE it. Why, might you ask? Because the word "brulee" commits two unpardonable sins in the scripture of the language. It's got two consonants right next to each other (a no-no) and both an R and L in the same word- they make no distinction between the two sounds, so switching back and forth is nigh-impossible. Every time someone would order it (which sounds like a clumsy bu-ru-re), they'd smile real big, make a try at it, and just pass it back to the espresso machine guy as a "Cream Latte." Open letter to the Starbucks Japan Drink-Naming Comittee: Quit bein' jerks.

The next day, I woke up early to my frosty breath crinkling on my comforter. It's getting COLD here in Japan, and since it's a tropical island they build houses with neither central heating nor any measure of insulation. Driven from the house well before noon in search of somewhere I could just sit and be warm without asphyxiating on the fumes from my kerosene heater, I decided to go to Osaka.

It's Japan's second-largest city. It's the birthplace of takoyaki, a culinary delight consisting of one part octopus and two parts fried batter, and Kansai-ben, the strange and wonderful dialect of Western Japan. If Tokyo is Japan's megatropolis New York, and Kyoto its cultural/historic Washington DC, Osaka is Japan's Chicago. What it lacks in fame and beauty it makes up for in soul. It's about an hour by express train from where I'm at in Ritto, and so at 11:00 in the morning I rolled into Osaka Station, a bogglingly beautiful station (under reconstruction, so I couldn't see any of it) connected to a grand underground shopping complex, all of which smelled slightly of fish.

I left the station and went wandering in a random direction, happy to burn an hour or two of my early time aimlessly blundering around, since I figured that at 11:00 on a Sunday morning no-one would be out and about. I was hopelessly wrong. I struggled against crowds until I broke off the main thoroughfare and onto the sidestreets, and it still wasn't what I'd call deserted by any means. I did, however, manage to find something that surprised me.Gold's? In Japan?!

And then, towering over the buildings around me, I spotted the key to getting my bearings and looking like a dork at the exact same time. You'd think a 23-year-old guy would have second thoughts about climbing onto a ferris wheel and going for a ride.


You'd be dead wrong.

So from the top, you can see everything- and I got to see my next destination. I had heard (from Kansai Time Out!, the local English-speaker's rag for this region) that local college bands played in front of Osaka Castle every weekend. In the distance, I could kinda see the castle- and "kinda see" was plenty of incentive for me to hop on the subway and see if I could bumble my way over there.

On the way down, I passed a Disney store brimming with customers at 11:20 AM Sunday. My shock (as Disney stores in the US are closing at an astounding rate) was checked by the knowledge that I probably shouldn't stare. So what do we do? We take pictures. Note the middle-school aged girl in the Playboy shirt- here, it's a brand, nothing more.

Further down, in the shopping arcade that links into the subway system, there was a department store that had just put up its Christmas display. People were crowded around the windows, watching the displays and taking pictures. I wasn't sure whether I was in Osaka, Japan circa '05 or America in some bygone, romanticised "A Christmas Story" age.

Osaka's subway system is, after you've ridden it a few times, intuitive and well-planned. All the stations are numbered, there are stops every few blocks, and the lines run east-west and north-south, rather than off at odd angles. Still, it being a new city, I think I stared at the map showing destinations and fares frr a good ten minutes, reading through each of the kanji and hoping I had found the right stop. Osaka is suffering from a distinct lack of roman letters.

Luck was with me. I found not only Osaka Castle, but also the NHK Osaka Broadcast Building, which is an architectural marvel.
The path leading to Osaka Castle is absolutely beautiful. The leaves are turning to their fall colors, as mentioned before, and Sunday was a clear, bright, crisp day. It was perfect.


The castle's inner moat was drained long ago, and now is an overgrown, manmade valley. I spotted a chicken pecking around under one of the bridges. A chicken. In the castle. I curse my camera (well, really, my thumb) for toasting my picture of that one.

Inside the inner wall, contrast abounds. Standing in the exact same spot and rotating only ninety degrees, I took the following "east meets west" pictures. The building that looks like it belongs more on the campus of the University of Michigan than in the middle of Japan is the Osaka Cultural Museum. The other building is, obviously, Osaka Castle.

This squat chrome UFO is the Osaka 1970 Time Capsule. I just thought it made for a cool contrast picture. I'm a sucker for these- can ya tell?

The castle itself (as well as the grounds) were destroyed quite a few times. This is all concrete reconstruction. All the same, it looks pretty cool. The castle has been gutted and converted to a history museum, and the top floor is an observation deck. Here's the view- the grating's there because they left the wooden balcony "as is", so that's their method of protecting their customers.
As I came down, I crossed through the park and happened upon a Homeless Palace- they really get creative with blue tarps here, and make houses with better insulation and more square footage than where I'm livin'. It seems a misnomer to call them homeless.
Down a set of steep stairs, I got stopped by a pack of kids asking who I was, where I was from, the usual gamut of personal bodypart questions, and the like. Even in the big city, where I should be invisible, small children still aren't used to big foreigners appearing from nowhere and meeting their "Ha-ro!" with "Konnichiwa." After chatting for a few minutes with them and their parents (gotta be diplomatic, part of the job and all) I rounded the corner to find...

My new heroes. This band, a pair of Japanese girls in full American getup (the blond-dyed hair, the pastel dresses, the creamy flouride-colored instruments) playing punk covers with a weathered, studded-leather drummer, was one of the coolest, most welcoming moments I've had in Japan. Upon seeing me, the drummer pointed at me, raised the rock horns high and kicked the band into a wholly unique rendition of the Ramones' Blitzkrieg Bop. Now I have seen everything. Even now, it brings a smile to my face and makes me want to cue the song up on my iPod. After dutifully sticking around through the rest of their set (which seemed a Japanese punk band's tribute to surf rock), I bounced around the corner and into the subway again.

Osaka has two contrasting city centers, named (creatively) "Kita" (north) and "Minami" (south). The castle and all of that is in the North, which is supposedly the upper-crust business district. For the interesting shopping districts, the nightlife, and most importantly the awesome food, one has to go Southside.

A few subway hijinks later, I found myself elbow-deep in a crowd that seemed to have no end (and, indeed, I never really found a way out) and decided that this must be the place. Osaka was, originally, a city crossed by as many rivers as streets. A lot of these rivers were reclaimed as building space, but there are still a TON of rivers and bridges. The streets here are named, unlike the streets of many cities in Japan, and they're all named somethingsomething~bridge. This river runs through one of the big shopping districts.

On this river is, unequivocably, the largest Don K! I've ever seen. It's a pachinko parlor/arcade/discount shopping center/ferris wheel. It's absolutely amazing. Each of those dots around the edge seats four people. My man Dockett (see sidebar) loves the Don K! penguin, so this picture is especially for him.


A little down the way is this weird-looking hotel. I don't think there's anything that can be said that the picture doesn't say.

On the other side of the bridge is Osaka FM, the radio broadcast station. This building screamed "take pictures of me!". Should Godzilla need something to destroy in Osaka, or should the Thunderbirds be shopping for a new secret hideout, I can highly recommend this piece of prime real estate.
Back in the shopping arcade, where nine pieces of takoyaki can be had for 300 yen (a STEAL), I caught another unique sight.

The Japanese don't fly their national flag much, as a matter of principle or habit. It carries some uncomfortable political insinuations, even now, and as such they tend not to display it publically. As such, every time I see it I'm a little surprised. To see it flown in a crowded shotengai in which every store sold nothing but lacquerware was a touch unexpected.

This is a restaurant. It is also a boat.

I am wordless.

This is a spaceship. It is also a McDonalds.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

To finish the weekend off, I caught some awesome Indian food near "AmericaTown". Incidentally, everything in Osaka is organized by "towns". "AmericaTown" sells only American items. "DenDenTown" sells only electronics. You can guess what "EuropeTown" sells. Anyways, in this Indian restaurant, there is a Japanese woman who speaks perfect English (how do I keep finding these people?) with a strong Indian accent. Turns out she married an Indian guy, they speak English at home, she speaks a little Hindi, he a little Japanese. It is truly a world culture. Osaka people are, by and large, friendly enough to strike up a conversation with a foreigner with little to no prompting. It's crazy. I was stopped three times that day by different groups of people (two groups of kids, one in the restaurant) and the rest of the time I felt comfortably invisible. It was cool.

Next week: I'm returning to Tokyo. Gotta remember to pack the camera charger this time.

Pax.

Hey. Ho. Let's go.