Despite my oft-mentioned super hero ability of sleeping on airplanes, I didn't catch many winks during the red-eye flight to Osaka. I blearily tried to get my bearings at Shitennoji Temple, the first stop on our mega-packed itinerary and the oldest temple in Japan, and attempted a few weak photos. This was the only half decent one.
My travel companion and friend, photographer R, had tagged along not for the meagre per photo pay but because he had never been to Japan before.
I struggled out of my sneakers to change into slippers to climb up the pagoda. I struggled up what felt like 200 flights of steps. I struggled not to trip and fall on my way down.
As we wandered listlessly around the temple grounds, deserted except for a gaggle of Korean high schoolers, R turned to me and asked: "Where are you now?"
Bewildered and not a little sleep-deprived, I stared blankly at him while trying to come up with some deep philosophical answer, preferably with some Zen element to suit the raked sands we were contemplating.
"Ohhh-saaaa-kah!" he said with wide-eyed wonder.
Exhausted from greedily sucking in all the unfamiliar sights and sounds, R fell asleep on the subway. I followed suit not long after. (You can't see his palm, on which he had written "arigato" to remind himself not to thank people with "okinawa". Which he did at least once, to be met with very polite Japanese giggles.)
We were there to do a (near impossible) story about the Top 10 shopping spots with only two full days to cover all the places. In addition, we were to do "woman in the street" fashion shoots. We also had to grapple with inflexible stores which, strangely enough, did not want to be featured or told us we needed to apply for permission and come back never. No wonder I fell asleep on my feet.
Genpachi Mittera-ten, a hole-in-the-wall yakitori joint which only sits 12. Possibly the best food experience I've ever had in Japan, easily beating the exorbitant kaiseiki meal with interminable number of courses I once was subjected to.
Sizzling yakitori on a smokey charcoal grill, chilled plum sake, chain-smoking owner behind the bar, tipsy old men, elbow to elbow, great company. In between filling our stomachs with assorted chicken parts and squid, we asked each other, giddily: "Where are you now?" "Osaka!"
The outfit of Glico man cracks me up. The champion pose too. Where are you right now? (Yes, it never gets old, does it?)
Day Two of the whirlwind trip, in which we spent eight hours underground and didn't see sunlight or breathe fresh air. After getting thoroughly lost in four inter-connected labyrinth-like underground malls, we emerged like moles after hibernation (do they hibernate?) to find that it was already dark at 5pm.
I've always been fascinated by these standing bars full of baggy-suited salarymen slurping noodles or guzzling a mid-day beer, but felt that I would draw too much attention if I tried to go into one of these boys' clubs.
All too soon, we were at the end of the second and last night. A tree-lined avenue next to a small stream, in spring it is covered with cherry blossoms, in winter with fairy lights that cycle the spectrum of the rainbow in time to music. Much more magical than I can capture with my lousy night photography skills. You really have to be there. (Orchard Road with its silly candy hanging from trees looks like a garish teenager in a cheap dress in comparison.)
The next morning, as we stood in line at the airport to check in for our flight home, as sleep deprived as when we arrived, R asked: "Where are you now?" "Osaka!"
"Bye, Osaka!"
