That would be me.
Osaka (remember folks, that’s a long “o” sound in “Osaka”), historically known as the culinary capital of Japan, the “nation’s kitchen”. The joke is that in Osaka people are driven into poverty because they spend too much not on fashion or residences, but on food (this tidbit garnered from the Friday morning English class). You can eat practically anything here, and you can eat it anywhere, because there’s a restaurant every twenty paces.
So after a brisk three-hour walk yesterday in the evening chill from the hotel to Osaka Castle, around the castle (that alone took 45 minutes—Osaka Castle is an exhibition of gargantuan massivity), and back to the hotel, where do I stop for dinner? For the first time in the day I had worked up an appetite, but instead of sampling the local cuisine I decided I didn’t really care for anything Osaka-ish and instead opted for a plate of squid curry at the local CoCo establishment. And it tasted really good.
(Largely unknown Derek/Japan trivia: the first time I had curry and rice, it was at a CoCo restaurant close to Okayama Station five years ago. That was the only other time I have been to CoCo, and the first time I ordered the same item, squid curry. So yeah, maybe there was a bit of longing for a circular tie-up to this chapter of the Japan saga, and that’s why I went to CoCo last night.)
Same thing in Kyoto today. There are five million places you just have to go to if you’re going to properly tour the city. I got all sorts of recommendations—Kinkakuji, Kiyomizudera, Ginkakuji, this-or-that temple or shrine. Hah! I have better things to do, like pull out the skates and cruise around for an hour before reaching (quite accidentally) the picturesque and spacious beauty of the Imperial Palace grounds. There I stopped for a rest and watched the last half of an amateur pick-up baseball game. (They even let me play in the last inning, and I spectacularly demonstrated my utter lack of baseball skillz.) The next hour I spent lazily strolling around the grounds before heading back to the train station. No map, no destination, no timetable, no camera—it’s anti-tourism, and I am the anti-tourist.
Ah, but the wheels, they were not a-grippin’ today. I lost my edge and fell twice on the way back to the station. Kind of wish I had kept the Hypers on there instead of putting the factory wheels back on a few weeks ago. But it’s all okay. Some people buy stuff to remember their trip to Kyoto. Me, I prefer to engrave reminders into my flesh and carry them around like a medal. One day I shall tell great stories, and to direct my narrative I shall need nothing more than the scars on my legs.
I’m starting to sound overly magnanimous now, so I think I’d better get some rest.