My first stroll around "my" hotel in Osaka lands me in Korea Town where consumerism is in full bloom. Not many people speak English, and not many (including me) are adept at reading electronic maps. One young employee at "my" hotel is however so fluent and without a trace of an accent that I wonder where he learned it. From listening to music, he says; he has never been abroad.
Ratatouille with chicken was among the dishes offered for breakfast. A first for me - it tasted fabulously. And then there were pancakes, pain au chocolat, salads, granola and ...
Yöu need to go to Namba, I am told. It is where everybody goes. And so, reluctantly, I go ... only to turn around almost immediately. Too many people, definitely. Instead I am opting for side streets next to "my" hotel that are amazingly quiet and remind me of "my" Bangkok of 30 years ago.
The bagel I later ordered I thought a bit overpriced until I realised that I had ordered a full menu with soup and iced tea.
In my younger years I often felt compelled to go and do this and that. I'm glad I do not feel like this anymore. When riding on a train, for instance, I nowadays rather often look out the window instead of educating myself with a book. To simply do nothing is new to me. Do I enjoy it? No idea, really; it's what I do.
The excitement I most of my life experienced when travelling (how exotic everything foreign appeared, and how cosmopolitan I felt to be where I imagined life was happening) is gone. A certain calm has settled in - which however does not apply when I have to rapidly change planes. Also, in recent years I have often had the sensation of being where I wasn't, physically that is. In the Hungarian town of Debrecen it felt like I was in Mendoza, Argentina; and here in Osaka it sometimes feels like I could be pretty much anywhere in Asia.
To aimlessly wander about town motivates me to concentrate on my walking. There isn't much more to do. It feels kinda numbing, like you're not really here. Also, it is rainy and warm, the sky is grey. In a cafe I start reading Shusaku Endo's The Samurai.
The times when I do not know what to do have definitely increased, the older I have become, things do not seem so important anymore or am I fooling myself?
I wonder why I fancy hotel rooms. Could it be because my stay will be temporary? I'm often simply lying on the bed doing nothing; this is totally new to me for doing nothing has never figured even as an option. Instead there has always been the imperative to do something.
As usual I take a lot of photographs, mostly of flowers. Quite some I know from Brasil, others from my native Switzerland. The one below however is new to me.
My sandals are falling apart; I decide to buy new ones. The people I ask for shops are shrugging their shoulders, save for the owner of a shoe shop who gives me directions in Japanese that I do not understand. I do however embark on the way she has indicated, ask again and then realise that I have given this man a headache because sandals for men are obviously not common in Japan. Don't worry, I said, and dropped my sandals-project.
All these people running from here to there, it is mind boggling.and, from time to time I'm asking myself: What am I actually doing here? No idea, really. In any case: Big cities are clearly a thing of the past for me
The young couple near the train station in Kyoto who is showing me the way to "my" hotel is about to get married. Tomorrow, their families will meet for the first time. They confess to be nervous and, after the wedding, plan to move to Tokyo where the future husband is from.
The check-in at the hotel works robot-assisted, I'm informed. This means you register yourself using an iPad while being observed by a dinosaur who's moving back and forth.
Finally, the sun shows up. This is the first time since I arrived four days ago. It is irritating how my soul is depending on the weather.
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