Live from Hong Kong, 5 April 2005:
Unrelenting ugliness. I mentioned it before, but Osaka is ugly ugly ugly. I've seen some pretty dismal cityscapes, (no, wait, let me rephrase that), some awful dismal cityscapes, but Osaka takes the biscuit.

I don't know how they do it, for each individual building isn't bad in itself. Clean, neat, well-designed, well maintained - each building is something to be proud of. Certainly Cari's block of flats looked every bit as good as anything I've seen in Australia, and probably more efficient in terms of habitability. I might have been sleeping on the couch, but I could not have been more comfortable (nor in friendlier company).

It must be the lack of planning. Shops are located next to houses beside railway lines, bus depots and apartment towers. There is very little in the way of open space, and parkland, honest to Bob green parkland, is very hard to find. Parkland in the sense of a land of car parks, maybe, for vehicles of all types are jammed into spaces the size of a wombat scrape. The efficient use of space means that tall, boxy cars abound - in fact the leading model is something called the "Cube3" which looks pretty much like its name suggests.There is no room for spoilers or fins. Smaller vehicles such as scooters are lined up in rows, and the railway stations have a solid mass of handlebars and bicycle seats forming a sort of thicket outside.

Maybe it's the lack of colour. Every building is grey when it isn't brown. The rare building that is coloured at all differently is famed as a local landmark. Not that I'd be keen to live next to a yellow office block, but it certainly helps you to know that you aren't just walking down an endlessly repeating laneway.

Streets are narrow and packed full of obstacles such as lamposts, signs, cars and vending machines. Street trees are almost non-existent, and lopped into stark shapes when they appear, lest they interfere with the real forest of power lines and poles.

The overall effect is hideous.

One might wonder what sort of people live in such a place. Ugly, drunken yobbos? Stupid, aggressive louts?

No. From my limited exposure, they are the salt of the earth, usually dressed conservatively, smiling, polite and helpful, immensely considerate of each other and never a raised voice. Cari and I needed an internet cafe at one point, and when a shop assistant found out what we wanted, she said "follow me please!" and ran out of the shop, up and escalator down a hall, and pointed out the actual computers we should use. We weren't even customers!

Cari told me that the standard way of seeking help in Osaka, if lost or distressed, is to stand on a corner and look confused. Within seconds some helpful local will appear and assist to the extent of their ability. Cari described how when she forgot her umbrella one day, a gentleman sheltered her with his all the way to her door, a good ten minutes walk out of his way.

This morning we braved the railway lines - or at least I blindly followed Cari, who appeared to have been born with a subway ticket clutched in her fist. Two trains with a change at Osaka Station - Hell's terminus, where the subways, local lines and express Shinkansen all meet in a maze of gates, signs, platforms and concourses - on a quick visit to Osaka Castle.

A funny thing happened as soon as we got off our final train and left the platform with its bright advertisements for electronics, colourful beverages and "SoyJoy" bars. We entered an area of greenery. I looked back and the rail station was a perfect. elegant, harmonious shape blending into the background. Ahead of us a path led between trees and lawns, artfully placed stones and banks of flowers. With cherry trees in blossom here and there.

The city had disappeared behind the trees, save for a few office towers looming over the horizon. And then we turned a corner, and there we were, foreigners amongst a crowd of Japanese, a great green moat before us, a steep stone wall on the other side. Old fortifications, looking like nothing more than a massive piece of landscaping in these modern days. The soldier's eye in me could see the lines of archers behind the parapet, but they were a century gone and all we had now were uniformed salesmen spruiking through bullhorns.

A stout gatehouse, a bridge over the moat, and there we were in a square little enclosure, high stone walls on every side, a perfect killing zone. I looked at the huge blocks of quarried granite, but Cari had eyes for the current occupants. Cherry blossoms and flowers. She was shooting them as fast as she could trigger her digital shutter. I photographed her instead.

We passed through another gate. And another. And yet another, where we had to pay a few yen for entry. By this stage we were underneath Osaka Castle, a huge, pagoda-like fortress, perched on the highest point of what passes for high ground in Osaka.

A reconstruction, a reconstruction which has lasted longer than the original, it is ancient indeed, and I remarked that this was the Japan I had hoped to see. "Yes," said Cari "and you would have if you'd been here five hundred years ago."

The Japan of that time would have been more elegant than what we see today, I am sure. The rivers would not be wide concrete ditches and the gardens wouldn't be poor stifled, cramped enclaves. And the skies would not have been full of permanent smog.

I don't have time to do the castle justice. Let us just say that it is impressive inside and out, and I wish that I had had more time to explore it and its delightful gardens.

But I had to leave, and it was with a heavy heart that I said goodbye to Cari, who has been a marvellous guide, hostess and companion. Thank you Cari!

And here I am in Hong Kong, about to close up for my flight to Paris.

Comments:
I said goodbye to Cari at Shin-Osaka, after the taxi had dropped me and my baggage off, we'd bought my train ticket(s) and I'd had a last round of odd-Japanese-snack-buying. My teenage children are always keen to sample new sweets from around the world ("Don't come home without Pop Rocks", she'd said when I went to the USA the first time) and I'd got some really weird ones in interesting flavours. BlackBlack, Watering Kissmint, Crunky and Poifull, among others. I'd also got a couple of doughnuts from the "Mister Donut" stall ("Thank You Beautiful People!" the wrapping said for the benefit of the customers) which I consumed on the train.

I aimed my camera out of the window and took movies of the ugly cityscape, to show the folks back home that it wasn't all cherry blossoms and parkland.

At the airport I checked in, found my lounge (a tiny little thing this time, nothing like the grand efforts in Hong Kong) and then we boarded the plane out just as the sun was setting. There was a camera mounted under the plane and I watched with interest as baggage handlers and ground crew performed their final rutuals, a tug was hooked on, we were pushed back, we followed a long series of yellow lines and then hurtled down the runway. I took a photograph of the screen as we lifted off.


"HOW did he do that??" wondered one friend when she saw it on my Flickr page.

All too soon the sun was gone altogether and the outside view was just a series of diminishing lights in the blackness outside, and I settled down to dinner and a movie, all served with Cathay Pacific's usual grace.

Back to The Wing on arrival in Hong Kong. A shorter transit this time, but still enough for a shower and a good catchup with email.