How long is thirteen days?
Scenes from the outskirts of Taipei City flew by outside the windows of a taxi carrying Sam, Lara, and myself to a plane bound for Osaka, Japan. With nothing left to wring my nervous hands around, I began to let my mind wander from the flurry of a billion thoughts and worries. I spotted a woman driving a car in the lane next to us, counting money with both hands while steering with her elbows. Her passenger's feet were propped up on the dash in a way that made me double-take, thinking it was actually the driver that had her feet propped up, excruciatingly far away from the pedals. The ridiculousness of the scene surprisingly calmed my pre-travel nerves, just enough to free up some mindspace for the one question that had arrested me since day one of planning: How long is thirteen days?
On paper, thirteen days doesn't seem like much. It seems to be insufficient, to be unexciting: nine days of class, three days of sleeping in, one day of doing absolutely nothing beyond feeding my internet addiction. Thirteen days is just an odd number of days, each one of which something extraordinary could happen but often does not. It is an illusion, a lie; a superficial way to quantify my life into what can be accomplished and what cannot. How long is thirteen days?
We got through check-in and airport security with just ten minutes to spare before boarding and, after cramming some last minute dumplings and shaved ice into our faces, we subsequently crammed ourselves into our narrow seats on the airplane. I soon found myself staring out of the window at the familiar fog-covered hills of Northern Taiwan below and let my mind drift away into the surrounding sea of clouds.
I hear many stories of people who get into different aspects of Japanese culture for this or that reason; stories of people who eventually make it to Japan and find that everything they imagined Japan to be―an anime fairytale, a samurai classic―is everything that Japan is not. Perhaps it's not quite so black and white, as I have come to find, for there seems to be a little bit of reality in every work of fiction. Nevertheless, I had prepared myself for disappointments to the point where I felt I had eradicated all expectations―all of them except for a silly list of life goals I had made when I was twelve. I chanced upon this potential source for a good laugh while cleaning through some old files and discovered that a good portion of the goals had to do with destinations in Japan, places that we would soon be setting foot in. As the plane descended through the clouds and I got my first glimpse of the Japanese shoreline, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed that I was in the middle of a moment in my life I never thought would come to pass.
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| Kansai International Airport, Osaka, Japan. |
The plane landed and the three of us took off to try and beat the crowds at immigrations, stealing glances at the clean and modern Kansai International Airport interior when we could. We successfully made our way down to the train platforms to wait for our ride into downtown Osaka, grabbing some snacks at a small stand in the middle of the platform. It was here that I was reminded of an important lesson: you can spend your whole life learning about a culture from the outside but you are sure to miss the neverending details that make up daily life. After I chose a lemon drink and a cream-filled melon pan, I placed them in the only place that wasn't covered with merchandise, a small blue tray in front of the clerk, and watched the glowing numbers on the display for the amount. She smiled at me with a knowing expression as I handed her my money directly and took my purchases back. I watched Sam pay for his things after me and got hit in the face with a huge bomb of embarrassment as he placed money in the blue tray, not his purchases. We all laughed at the ordeal and I was happy to learn a little detail about Japan I wouldn't have thought to look up before going. Money doesn't seem to pass hands in Japan―even if there is no tray to put it in, it seems to be more acceptable to place it on the counter, rather than hand it over directly. I discovered this in a grocery store where I frantically searched the counter with my eyes but could not find any tray; the clerk was visibly awkward as a handed her my money. It's little things like this that people won't tell you about their trips to Japan or, perhaps, won't even realize at all by themselves. Stop, watch, and listen―getting to know the cultural context is one of the most enjoyable and rewarding activities of traveling.
Our train arrived soon after this brief exchange and, after a long train ride spanning dusk to night, accompanied by the scattered lights of Osakan suburbia, my first step into downtown Osaka was met with cold, rain, and, above all, utter excitement. We eventually made our way into an unimposing department store, hiding a five-story robotic wooden puppet inside that performed at certain times throughout the day. Too hungry to wait for the next show, we made our way up the escalators to try and locate an Indian vegetarian restaurant.
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| Sam standing in front of the gigantic wooden puppet. |
I had always heard that Osakan people were especially friendly and open and our server was of no exception but, as I would imagine most places in the world to be, there will always be a fair share of kindness and cruelty. I wasn't going to let one person represent all of Osaka, let alone Japan, but her interest in our travels seemed sincere, the restaurant was beautiful, and the food was fantastic so my first impression of Osaka was extremely satisfying.
We explored a bit of the area around Osaka Station before feeling defeated by the cold, making an early start to the Umeda Sky Tower, where an overnight bus would come and whisk us away to Tokyo. The clock struck midnight and our bus arrived; we braved the cold one last time that night to walk across a dark parking lot and scrambled into the reclining seats and thin blankets. I was unbelievably exhausted at this point, yet still too excited to go to sleep. After the passengers were all loaded and the bus started up, I pulled back a corner of a curtain blocking light from the window next to me and stared out at an Osaka whose insomnia mirrored my own, entertaining me with flashing lights reflected in rivers and faceless people walking under streetlights. I was eventually lulled to a fitful sleep by raindrops dancing on the window pane, waking up to the sound of the driver announcing rest stops in a gentle voice throughout the night. Although we had only spent a short amount of time in Osaka, I wasn't sad to leave it behind; our flight out of Japan would have us back in the bustling city in no time. Or perhaps I should say in much time.
In thirteen days.
つづく．．．
