Osaka Two: The Naked and The Nude: Posted Jan 11, 2016

JAPAN ENTRY NUMBER 4:

THE NAKED AND THE NUDE

I start this blog on the plane from Seoul to Manila. The Japan phase of my trip over, I'm starting a fortnight of new life in The Philippines.

More customs/immigration to come... and in a burst of honesty-- I've checked the COUGH list on The Ebola Card. (Crossed out NOT APPLICABLE) Let's see what happens.

(I'm adding to this blog on the plane BACK from Osaka... actually back from Taipei where I transferred from a Manila flight. I still have the cough... worse than ever.)

Flash back to Osaka:

The Japanese have a phrase: hadaka no tsukiai, literally naked relationship. It refers to a special bond formed by being naked with your friends or co-workers. More on this later.

Before we get naked, let's go to the first Drink Club of the trip. Check out this crew at a take-your-shoes off restaurant.

[NOTE: If you know me, you know I wear army boots... always. In a take-your-shoes-off culture like Japan... army boots are a pain in the ass. Others slip on, off, on again. I have to untie... loosen pull my feet out...usually the tight boots pull my socks off in the process. I've got to put my socks back on... then finally step into wherever. It takes me double digit minutes to cross a threshold. In Japan, a raised platform always means TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES. Everywhere has a raised platform.]

This drink club is in an izakaya... one of those eateries with raised tatami platforms where you have to (you guessed it), take off your shoes when you sit down, and put them back on again when you go for a piss.

What a great crew! Takashi, Kazu Yada, a Hong Kong co-worker of Takashi's who calls himself Jerry... and is one of the best new people I met on this trip. (Yeah, I saw him naked,,, we'll get to that in a little while.) Plus there was PYOKO!!! Drink Club Goddess^® ... my heroine, the woman of my dreams... the beginning and the end... THAT PYOKO!! Have I died and gone to heaven?

Over dinner Takashi asks me... “Hey Mykel, what do you want to do in Osaka?”

I explain that I've done the Skywalk, and Okonamiyaki and Takoyaki... I want to do something new.

“How 'bout SPA WORLD?” asks Takashi.

“Sounds like science fiction,” I say. “Like planet of the apes.”

He laughs.

“But isn't a spa where you lie on your stomach and someone with strong hands beats your muscles until they hurt?”

He looks at me like I've asked if a crowbar was a place where blackbirds get drunk.

“No!” he says. “It's like an onsen... but indoors. And there are all kinds of pools and showers. We could be hadaka no tsukiai.”

“Do boys and girls go there together?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says, “but they're on different floors. I thought you liked onsen, Mykel. It's the same thing.”

[In fact, one of the reasons I'm in Japan is to go to an onsen... with monkeys. It's been a long time dream of mine.]

“You're right,” I tell him. “Besides they don't call me Mykel ATM for nothing.”

“ATM?” he answers. “You mean like a bank?”

I shake my head.

“ATM,” I say. “Anything That Moves.”

Conversation stops for a few seconds.

“So we meet at Spa World tomorrow at 2PM!” he concludes. “Who's coming?”

“Me!” says Jerry, “I've always wanted to go there.”

“I'm in,” I say, leaving the double entendre for the (non-present) English-language native speakers.

FLASH TO SPA WORLD: It's in a faux luxury building that I wouled have called kitch at the time, but after seeing the Philippine Hotel Paradis, will just say is... er... a bit much.

Outside is a statue of some creatures arising from a hunk of marble. 

There's PAN blowing a flute, a horse, and another figure who seems to be fighting off the advances of the horse.

The building itself has faux marble pillars with a white-on-blue SPA WORLD sign, in English, over the same thing, but metal on metal, in Japanese. Here we are in front, ready to take the... er... plunge.

Inside, there is a little wooden space ground level. Then, a platform with a cashier and a lot of little rooms off to the side. (As I write this, it occurs to me that Takashi might have paid for everyone, but my memory often fails me.) After paying, you climb onto the raised platform.

My fuckin' army boots.

On the platform is an advertisement for a special HIP SLIMMING massage, available on the third floor.

“Can you pay extra for a happy ending,” I ask Takashi.

“Slim hips are the happy ending,” he says.

I let it go at that.

From the platform an attendant shows you the way to the SHOE LOCKERS, where you lock away your shoes and take the key. Then you move to the CLOTHES lockers.

We enter that locker room and find a few lockers together. Stripping down-- as in any lockerroom, sideways glances get covered with blinks and random dumb conversation.

“How 'bout that Bird Series?” I say

“What are you talking about?” asks Jerry

“Hawks against the Swallows,” I continue, “two birds.”

He sniffs a laugh.

There we are: naked, clothes locked away... unlike a gym lockerroom where you change from one set of clothes to another, here you change from one set of clothes to NOTHING. At least that's what I think... but we walk naked from the lockerroom into another room where we select longish blue robes (reminds me of hospital gowns) and put them briefly over our naked bodies.

Those robes, it turns out, are only for elevator travel. The same elevator carries men and women... and there's a prohibition of revealing the good parts to one another.

Takashi pushes 4 and the elevator goes up. There are no girls with us in the elevator.

“They switch floors,” explains Takashi, pointing to a coded calendar inside the elevator.

“Here's the schedule. You have to check it before you leave the elevator to make sure you don't get off on the girls' floor.”

“What if I WANT to get off on the girls' floor?” I ask.

“You might leave a bit...” He says something that sounds like dabokusho, I guess it means trouble.

Off the elevator... into the locker room... three lockers together... Bang! Off come the clothes. We're naked now, hadaka no tsukiai friends... with friend parts dangling... mine a bit shrivelled... lucky I guess in relation to the alternative. We go to another room to pick up towels... included in the price of admission.

“Don't look at my ass,” says Takashi... whose slim white nether parts contrast beachedly with the rest of his tanned body.

“How did he know?” I think to myself.

“Just checking to see if you need that hip-reduction massages,” I say. “You don't.”

He laughs.

The three naked us stroll into the first bath, a clear... rather shallow... pool with one guy... about 40, chunky, with bad skin... already sitting in it. I step in, surprised at its lack of scalditude....

NOTE: Japanese baths are notorious for their heat. Even the public baths... sentos... are supposed to be hot enough to boil a lobster. This was hot... but not killer hot... Tabasco rather than Death Sauce 2000. Comfortable really, easy to settle in... only necessary to hold the good parts for a few seconds before releasing them to the luxury of the water.

“Don't grab yourself there,” says Takashi. “People will think you have a disease.”

Jerry laughs.

So there we are... in the shallow bath... water clear and warm. The good parts floating free. They look like three tiny baby butts... just breaking through the surface.

We sit by the side of the pool across from the guy with bad skin... We talk about Japan... work... life... girls... my plans for my future time in Japan.

“I want to do this with a monkey,” I tell Jerry. “Just sit naked in a hot bath... talk about the weather... life in Japan... Just sit next to a monkey, put my arm over his shoulder...”

I put my arm over Jerry's shoulder... he does not flinch... he laughs, in a very non-simian way.

“Share a banana... ask about the wife and kids,” I say.

“In Nikko?” asks Takashi.

“I heard that the monkeys in Nikko were too unfriendly,” I answer, disengaging myself from Jerry. “They have monkey gangs... they're really racist. If you're not a monkey they attack you... you're an illegal alien... Sometimes they hit you, steal your camera... No thanks. Those monkeys need to learn a little tolerance.”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I heard that too.”

“I'm going to Nagano,” I tell him. “They have nicer monkeys there. Welcoming, liberal monkeys who enjoy diversity.”

He doesn't get it.

“Let's go to another bath,” he says, standing up. Jerry and I follow... down a short hallway... we pass a bunch of other naked guys. One of them has his upper arm wrapped in a bandage. At first I think, “Uh oh... there's gonna be oozing pus in the water.” Then I remember: Public baths don't allow tattoos. It's because of their association with the Yakusa. The bandage probably covers a tattoo.

We pass a few other naked guys-- several with bandages. I guess tattoos are becoming increasingly popular here... I'm waiting for the full body guy who comes in bandaged like a mummy... maybe covered with Saran Wrap-- if it's a fresh tattoo.

As fashionable non-Yakusa tattoos increase, the character of these baths will change. They'll look less like nude locker-rooms, and more like hospital wards for burn victims.

Before we enter the next bath, we go into a side room filled with... salt. Great sacks of the stuff... course... like kosher salt. Takashi takes handfuls and starts rubbing it on his skin. Jerry and I follow suit, pretending we know what we're doing. The salt dissolves into my wet skin. I rub it everywhere... in some places, it hurts more than others.

After we're covered in salt, we head to the next bath... this one a bit hotter than the last... Is that steam I see rising from the surface? Slowly we step in and sit our salt-covered naked bodies down on the shallow bath floor. I feel like I'm making soup.

From salt bath to outdoor bath. I take a plunge... breast stroke across the pool..

“Mykel,” says Takashi, “it's not a pool. You don't swim here.”

Jerry laughs.

“Should we go for a massage now?” asks Jerry.

“Happy ending?” asks I.

“Costs extra,” says Takashi, not shaken a bit.

“Wow,” I say, “who was YOUR English teacher?”

He looks at me and smiles.

I laugh.

We hit one more place before returning to the lockerroom to rid ourselves of our nuditude. It should have been weird... being innocently naked with people... especially one I've met so recently. The whole event was just fun... not arousing... not embarassing... just fun... even for an ATM like me.

FLASH TO LATER THAT NIGHT: Jerry and I are meeting Pyoko at her favorite tachigui bar. One of the few Japanese customs I dislike is the penchant for doing almost everything standing up... especially drinking.

[ASIDE: I guess there are some Americans who also love to drink standing up. Often, I go to a U.S. bar and the tables are empty... there are empty seats at the bar... a crowd of people will be standing... elbow to elbow... chatting and drinking... maybe with a few seats taken... by their coats and shopping bags.... like standing means “I'm on the sex prowl.” I just don't get it.]

In Japan, there's more: They have standing bars, standing noodle shops, standing takoyaki stands. Will there be standing toilets for girls? Standing hotel rooms? I'm going to a wedding reception in a couple days. Are they gonna have a standing reception? (Yep.)

Tonight, Jerry and I are meeting Pyoko. Takashi's gotta work.

[NOTE TO TRAVELERS: One of the hardest things to understand when you're visiting friends is that those friends have lives outside of you: work appointments, sex liasons, day-to-day stuff. Their lives don't get put on PAUSE when you arrive. Sometimes, it takes a while to get the message.]

We meet at the station close to the bar. Pyoko walks us though a maze of streets until we get to a series of toilet-stall sized bars. She stops in front of one and bows with an openhanded gesture like the maitre d' at the 21 Club before the an international celebrity enters.

We walk in. Pyoko follows. It turns out SHE is the celebrity!

Everyone greets her and waits as she introduces us. One of her long-time buddies comes over to ask where we're from, why we're here, and what we're drinking. It isn't long before we become friends and he joins us for a picture. 

Hey, this is fun. Standing and drinking isn't so bad... you can walk around that way, give gravity a chance to empty your stomach... look less paunchy... It takes less room. Maybe I'm beginning to get it.

Ah, so much more happened in Osaka, but I've got to move on to Kyoto and the story of Frog Berry... and Lola.

But before we go, I have to mention a most unusual invention. I it saw on Japan's largest indoor walking street. Everybody knows that bagels are fragile. If you drop one, it bruises. So what does the world need?

A BAGEL CUSHION... only in Japan.

-end-

[Contact me through facebook or via email: god@mykelboard.com]

Osaka One: Posted, November 26, 2015 Japan/Philippines Trip:

[NOTE: I have limited internet access in Japan, so these reports will be very far behind the reality. This was published in Tokyo at the end of my trip... after: Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya, Odawara, Nagano and Kusatsu. The best way to contact me remains through facebook. I write this blog from Niigata, on the Japan Sea Coast. About three weeks after the fact]

ENTRY NUMBER 3: Osaka DAY TWO

Anything that can go wrong WILL go wrong, --Murphy's Laws

Even if nothing can go wrong, it STILL will go wrong. --Board's Law

Osaka has a population of about 9 million people... bigger than New York, but only number 2 in Japan. Japan's Second City, is a sister city to Chicago, America's THIRD city.

We left off last time in Osaka... at the “office” of Screaming Mad George... actually an apartment with a bunch of stuff in it-- much of it mine. It's in the heart of the Osaka action area... on the fourth floor above a sushi bar.

I had a hotel reservation, but canceled it thanks to George's fine offer of his place. It's my accommodation in Osaka... a private apartment... my own place... free to wake up when I want and do that thing that boys do to help sleep at night-- if I can get my computer to connect to George's wifi.

My computer, that's the problem. Gone... vanished like a date when she finds out “everything.”

I had it in Korea... when I went to the fake “Internet Cafe.” Have I seen it since? I don't think so. I must have left it in the airport... gone.... Wait a minute! I used it in the hotel... where I canceled my reservation. I remember looking at it there...

“George!” I say, “Remember when I looked for an address on the Internet... in the canceled hotel?”

He nods.

“I think THAT'S where I left my computer,” I say. “Could you call them and ask-- in Japanese-- if it's still there?”

Interrupting some internet research of his own, George calls. In any other other country in the world that computer would be on eBay by now. But, this is Japan.

“They have it,” George tells me, still holding the phone.“They want to know what time you'll come by and pick it up.”

“Tell them the early afternoon, tomorrow,” I say. “I don't do mornings.

“Around 3?” he asks... sooo Japanese.

“Sure,” I say.

That settled, it's good night. George leaves. I plan to meet him, Yoshii and Junshuu early tomorrow. George has to teach (film, make-up techniques and other stuff... at the city art college... a quite famous school that his daughter has just started attending. Daughter??? attending??? Ouch!)

George meets me early and we go out for coffee and breakfast. On the way back to the apartment, I hear a voice behind me.

It's a shout, that sounds like “Mykel!”

So many things in Japanese sound like “Mykel” (For example, a geisha-in-training is called MAI-KO) I ignore the illusion of my name. Then I hear it again. Okay, who do I owe money to here-- and how did they find me?

It's Yoshii and Junshuu, just out of the train. I introduce everybody.

“You don't look as scary in person as I imagined,” Yoshii tells George.

George laughs.

We go to an Osaka walking street and ask a passer-by to take a picture. No fukin' selfie fuckin' sticks for me! Part of the fun of picture-taking is the social intercourse involved in asking someone to shoot the snapshot. A fan of all kinds of intercourse, I ask George to ask some stranger to take our picture.

Can you say motley crew? (NOT Motley Crüe)... something like fellow passengers on Noah's ark.

Soon after George goes to work. Junshuu and Yoshii have plans for me... a museum with a Buson collection. A trip to the SKYWALK BUILDING, and a bunch of other exciting and Osakan things to do.

“Great,” I say. “But I need your help with a few things first. It shouldn't take much time.”

“Mochiron,” says Junshuu, “Nihongo hanashimo ii desuka?”

“You're kidding,” I say.

He laughs and we switch to English.

(Proud note: today, in Niigata, I've been speaking Japanese 90% of the time. No choice, though-- and it won't last.)

“I need to get a SIM card for my mobile hotspot,” “I tell them. “I also need to ask my cellphone company how to use the fuckin' phone, get a charger for my old cellphone. It has all my phone numbers... and then we've got to pick up my computer.”

“Where is your computer?” asks Yoshii.

“It's at the STEP INN, in shin-Osaka,” I say. “I left it there last night. Chotto baka-na.”

“Shin-Osaka is pretty fuckin' far,” says Yoshii.

“Your English had improved,” I tell him. “And you're right.

First stop: BIC CAMERA... which-- since 1989-- I thought was BIG GAMERA.

We can take care of most of the electronic needs here. A charger for my phone, a last decade Motorola flip phone... no problem. Yeah, right.

Yoshii asks a saleslady... one of those uniformed girls in every department store... trained to speak in a Mickey Mouse voice. She refers us to a male expert, about 20 years old... probably a college part-timer, earning extra yen on the side.

Yoshii and Junshuu explain the problem and we go to the electrical charger section. I'll translate:

“How 'bout this one?” says the sales guy picking up a charger. We look at the phone... no go.

“And this?”

Nope.

“How 'bout this one?”

It looks good. They discuss it in Japanese, I don't understand anything except CHOW CHOW, which is Osakan for WRONG!

The guy gives up with a shrug. We go to another store. And another. And a fourth. Finally one of the salesmen suggests getting a battery charger, instead of a power cord... In other words, take the battery out of the phone and charge it separately.

Good idea!

My phone battery fits none of the chargers.

Time passes.

We return to Bic Camera.

We find the same guy who helped us the first time. Explain the new solution... BANG! He's there with a multi-battery charger that'll fit my camera battery as well as the cellphone battery... and anything else with a flat battery that has some gold squares on the side. DEED DONE!

Then it's the PORTABLE HOTSPOT. That should be easy. T-Mobile sent me the unlock code so all we need is a new chip and BANG... we're set. Yeah right.

“We'll sell you a chip,” says the salesman in the phone department. “But it probably won't work. There are no refunds.”

I don't think so.

We go somewhere else.

Nope.

A third place

CHOW CHOW

Time passes.

We try another place.

And another.

Finally we find a place nice enough to let us try a sample SIM to check the UNLOCK directions... it doesn't work.

“Fuck it!” I say, “I'll connect when I can. Let's go get the computer.

By now, it's around 4PM. We planned to pick up the computer by 3. After the subway to Shi-Osaka, we spend a half hour looking for STEP INN.

No luck.

“I have an idea,” I say.

I can see that Uh-oh look crossing their faces.

“We know that the hotel is near the station,” I continue, pretending not to notice their concern.

“Why don't we start here and just walk in ever increasing circles... uzumaki.. That way we can't miss it.”

They look at each other, telepathing Is he serious? in Japanese.

I start spiraling from my place in the station. Yoshii grabs the back of my shirt collar and pushes me toward the door. I feel like I'm reliving my lesbian bar adventures.

We walk out of the station. Stop in a FAMILY MART convenience store and find the hotel around the corner. My computer is ready and waiting for me.

“Okay,” I say. “Time for Buson.”

“Sorry Mykel,” says Yoshii. “It's too late for Buson. He's closed. Besides, we have a date for the first Drink Club Osaka... in ….....” I couldn't understand what he said. But we were off again. Back into the subway. Off to someplace... a row of sky scrapers.

We pass an incredible looking building. Tall with a giant hole through the top, like a HELLO KITTY eye-- on heroin..

Through the building top you can see a network of crossed staircases, random beams... metal bars... Blade Runner style.

“Wow,” I say, “what is that? It's incredible.”

“It's Skywalk,” says Yoshii. “Foreigners love this building,”

“You don't like it?” I ask.

He laughs.

“No, I mean it's popular... with everybody... like the Empire State Building... only more modern. It's a tourist attraction.”

“Let's go,” I say... pointing up. “We CAN go, can't we?”

He shrugs, smiles, and we go in. Each of us pays 1500Y for the privilege of taking an elevator to the top.

Most of my pictures of the building, as well as the views from there, you can see by clicking on the image below. We're there for sunset, which is a great slight from so high up in Osaka.

Skywalk Building Osaka

Since Double Entendre is my middle name, I'm especially impressed by the sign at the END of the Skywalker Skytour. Sounds like the end of many of my late night adventures:

I didn't try to explain the double entendre to my hosts, but lo and behind... I don't need to. There's another sign... in the building... right after this one and before the elevator...

But if it's really a place of love... you'd be able to enter again... that's what I think.

From the Skywalk tour we go to the basement for Okonomiyaki. Ah, Osaka without okonomiyaki would be like a beer binge without the morning beershit... just not complete!

Yeah, it's the real stuff... it MOVES when you eat it. Many of my favorite things to put in my mouth MOVE when they get there.

Here's a short video of the okonomiyaki. Watch it move.

Then to the city center, to be photographed with GLICA!! He's the town superhero who NO ONE is allowed to leave without being photographed with.

Ah, after a day half wasted with stupid electronics. The rest spent with great friends, with great plans for me... foiled by electronics and (my) stupidity. Redeemed by a skywalk... okonomiyaki... and the same great company.

All quite moving on day two in Japan.

--to be continued

Landed: Posted, November 16, 2015 Japan/Philippines Trip:

[NOTE: I have limited internet access in Japan, so these reports will be very far behind the reality. This was published in Tokyo, after: Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya, Odawara, Nagano and Kusatsu. The best way to contact me remains facebook.]

“If you have a screaming baby in a restaurant, the polite thing is to take it outside. The same should go for a screaming baby on an airplane.” --Mykel Board

ENTRY NUMBER 2: The plane to Korea... and Japan... and THE FIRST DAY.

Code Share is airline speak for MONOPOLY LIE TICKETING. You get a ticket through HoityToidy Air... and you wind up on the Flintsone Local.

My “Delta” frequent flyer miles put me on Korean Airlines. Delta, though, is the Flinstone line. While not as scummy as Spirit or Ryan, Delta is a typical US monopoly airline.

“Economy Class” means torture, with Vietnam era tiger-cage size seat space... pay for everything except the actual seat you sit in... (and-- if you want a bulkhead seat-- you pay extra for that)...

Koran Air has free movies, and-- get this-- two meals included in the trip price. The only minus I see here (2 hours early at the gate) is that the stewardesses wear the dumbest uniforms I've seen this side of a Bermudan Police officer. Check out the neckwear with one side sticking straight up in the air... like an aroused orangutan... the other side stiffly pointing at her shoes.

If you read my last blog, you know the plane leaves at the ungodly hour of 12:50... on Halloween. The flight will go from NY to Inchon in Korea. Then, a 4 hour layover in Inchon, where I can do my gift shopping. I still have about $12 in Korean Won left over from my 1998 trip.

I plan to get some ginseng products... they have a big cheap shop at the airport... and maybe a bottle of some whiskey or other. Then a short hour and a half hop to Kansai airport, where I'll be met by SCREAMING MAD GEORGE... who I haven't seen in 30 years.

“I don't even know what you look like now,” I text him. “How will I recognize you?”

“I've got white hair and black eye make-up,” he texts back. “I think you'll find me.”

At Kennedy airport I look around to check out my fellow passengers. Mostly Korean... I hear a smattering of Japanese... a few whitefolks... no Halloween costumes unless you count businessman drag, bag shlepper, or embarrassing American tourist in shorts and flip-flops as costumes.

There are few kids and NO BABIES! Yowsah!

I check for internet access. Only PAY service, sorry. I don't pay.

It's almost boarding time. The waiting seats at the gate have filled up. There have been several announcements... all in Korean... or English so bad it might as well be Korean. Here's another one, but this is accompanied by some shuffling. A uniformed airline man in creating an special aisle... from velvet waiting ropes.

Like a Broadway show where people appear from backstage, a crew of Africans... I guess they're African... colored people in bright clothes... about 20... in pairs... each pair, with one person of each of the standard genders. And each of the females in the group... you guessed it... carries an infant. They board the plane first.

On the plane, I have a seat by the window. I like to put my head against the window and sleep... and-- with window seats-- there's no one to climb over you. I'm sitting right over the wings on this 777. It looks like every seat is taken.

The Africans are mostly on the other side of the plane... in a reserved section. The babies are all quiet... for now. My row mates are an Oriental guy on the aisle and a youngish, softig Hispanic woman sitting next to me... not sitting exactly, but sleeping from the second she occupies her seat Before the plane takes off... she's out! Her knees pressed against the seatback in front of her. She remains sleeping the entire flight... leaning back when the plane takes off and leaves, otherwise slumped across the table in front of her... sometimes pushing aside her meal... sleeping next to it.

When I have to get to the bathroom. I doubt there's a way I can NOT wake her up. Do I climb over her? Stepping from armrest to armrest, balancing myself against the ceiling?

YEP

One lucky thing! The engine noise coming to the seats over the wings is as loud as a jet engine. Yep... it covers any screaming brats. I don't even know if there WERE any. Once, I heard the faint squawk of a diaper-deprived baby... but it was so background, I hardly noticed.

In Korea, there is no customs or immigration for us transferees. We're all shuffled to the transfer section where we go to our respective gates. We've arrived at 4AM local time. When I sit down with my bag I see that there is a big tear... halfway through the outer pocket.

Hey! I paid $4 for that bag and it falls apart after not even one use!

In the Inchon airport, it soon becomes obvious that this is NOT New York.

At the gate... right now it's only me... at least I'm the only one awake. Everyone else is sprawled on the benches... sleeping. The seats closest to THE CHARGING station are both occupied by sleeping young ladies. Everything is closed... the “internet cafe” doesn't open until 6. I'll go there as soon as it opens. Right now, I can use the free AIRPORT WIFI. A service provided in most airports of civilized countries.

The service isn't fast, but it is free... and it works. I'll move to the internet cafe when it opens at 6.

FLASH TO 6: The internet cafe opens. I buy a cup of coffee and some tasteless expensive “toast.” I take a table, plug in my laptop and look for the inet cafe router. I don't see it. KFAUN? HP-WIRELESS? AP-SECURITY? I don't think so.

I speak to the lady behind the counter. “What's the network name?” I ask.

“AIRPORT WIFI,” she says.

“You built something called an internet cafe that uses the same connection everyone else in the airport can use for free?” I don't ask.

“Sucker!” she doesn't answer.

Slowly the shops are opening up. It's time to go shopping and get back in the plane for the last leg of the trip. First the cheap GINSENG as gifts for my Japanese hosts. Last time I was in this airport (1998?) they had miles and miles of ginseng... at prices cheaper than Chinatown.

Ah, here's a store with a giant DUTY FREE sign. Maybe I can go the the ginseng corner and stock up. Tea, candy, special formula to turn a soft day into a hard night... yeah! Let's see now.... huh? $85. $93... $145... the cheapest thing ginseng costs sixty bucks... and it looks like a bunch of gummy bears. NOTHING!! Okay, I'll buy a $20 carton of Marlboro like everybody else... shit.

Back at the gate, I've still got a few hours to go to boarding... but you don't have to suffer with me.

BANG: I'm on the plane... in my window seat... ready for the short hop to Osaka....

HOP.

Out of the plane... I follow the line toward customs and immigration. Every few yards there are signs with pictures of camels on them. Around the camels are red circles with diagonal lines through them. NO CAMELS! Okay, I'm not bringing one in. I'm safe on that front... but what if they think I'm smuggling one?

Finally: on line with my customs and immigration forms... the long line for non-Japanese people...folds at least 10 times... It moves quickly, but it's still... On one of my forms is a cross out... mistook the line above for the box below. I wonder if they'll accept it or I'll have to go through some awful process a second... third time... they won't let me in the country. I'll be shipped off to North Korea... tortured...

Okay, I don't want to take the chance. I'm turning Japanese... risk adverse... I better fill out another form... make it perfect... I duck under the stretchy rope, go back to the entrance, fill out another form, and get back on the end of the line. I AM the end of the line, there is no one behind me.

Walk... walk... walk... a uniformed form checker stops me and asks to see my forms. (Actually, he stops EVERYONE to check the forms.) He frowns... uh oh. This is going to be bad... I just know it.

He shakes his head and turns the form over. In English it asks: Are you bring in any fruits or vegetables? Do you have more than $10,000 worth of gifts?

I shake my head.

“You have to check NO,” he says pointing to the questions.

I do.

I carry all my bags with me, so I march through immigration and go to customs. My 50 years of traveling have taught me: ALWAYS GO THROUGH THE RED DOOR.

For those who don't know. Most customs stations have two doors. The Green one, that means NOTHING TO DECLARE. And the Red one, that means SOMETHING TO DECLARE. If you're a smuggler, naturally you head for the green door. You're not going to declare your heroine or AK-47. But if you're an honest person and have something to declare, you go to the red door. I always hit the red door and declare something stupid.

“I have a computer I brought from the US... and a carton of duty free cigarettes,” I always tell the guy behind the inspection desk.

The immigration officer smiles and says, “That's okay, just go ahead.” and waves me out.

Except this time.

Of course, the officer is a young woman... they've always got something to prove.

“I have a computer I brought from the US... and a carton of duty free cigarettes,” I say.

“Open the large bag,” says the young lady.

“It's locked,” I say stupidly.

“You need to unlock it,” she replies.

Shit! Where's that fuckin' key? Shirt pocket. No. Left front pants pocket? No. Watch pocket? No. I continue to fiddle. The agent is patient.

Right pocket. Yep... as always, the last place I look.

I open the lock and unzip the bag. She looks at the books and ARTLESS CDs I've brought. She takes out my sleeping bag and shuffles through the underwear beneath it. Then she repacks it. (I've been in immigration for almost 2 hours now.)

“Have a nice stay in Japan,” she says.

“Fuck you,” I don't say.

Outside immigration, sitting patiently, is George!!

White hair, black leather jacket, hard to miss.

“Mykel!” he shouts.

“George!” I say.

“Mykel!” shouts someone else... girl's voice.

It's Lola! Her wedding is one of the reasons I'm here in Kansai. She lives in Kyoto, not Osaka. Why is she at the airport waiting for me? How did she even know I'd be here?

“My brother is coming in now,” she says. “I'm waiting for him... had no idea you were on this flight too.” She motions to an attractive young man standing silently by her side.

“This is my husband, Takashi,” she says.

“Your husband?” I answer. “I thought I was going to your wedding.”

“Oh, that's the reception. We've been married for months,”

I motion to George. “This is my friend George,” I tell her. “We've known each other for 30 years, but we're not married... at least not to each other.”

“My brother is due now,” says Lola.

“That's okay,” I tell her. “I've got to take a piss... and buy a phone.”

“Use Softbank,” suggest Lola. “There's one over there.”

I figure I'll like Softbank... they're the owners of my second favorite Japanese baseball team, the Hawks. (Winners of this year's Japan series.)

First the bathroom. YES!!! I'm not only NOT in New York anymore, but I'm really in Japan!:

From there it's pick up a phone. (I had to buy one... it was cheaper than renting. It's a smart phone... and I hate it.) and into town.

“Hey Mykel,” says George. “You want to stay in my office space? It's like an apartment... shower, bed, for free. Better than a hotel.”

“Sure!” I tell him. “That would be great, but I need to see if there's a cancellation fee.”

“No problem,” he answers. “I'll go with you to the hotel to make sure everything's okay.”

The hotel is not close. I only know it's in Shin Osaka... near the station. East Exit, I think it was. I printed out a map. I'm unable to find the map. The name of the place is STEP IN.

There is no East Exit. We leave through the South Exit. We ask. Shrugs. We ask again, at a FAMILY MART convenience store. More shrugs. But, they have heard of an EAST EXIT. It's at the same station, but a different train line. We get directions and try it.

Leaving the through the East Exit we find ANOTHER Family Mart.

“Step Inn? Hai... chotto toi, demo.”

He gives George directions that are more complicated than my fuckin' smart fuckin' phone. I don't have a clue... but George does. And we're off. Turning this way and that, into the station and out someplace else. Wow! I'm getting the feeling that the wild goose has gotten away when George says,

“Hey Mykel, look there.”

I see some street construction.

“No,” he says sensing my confusion. “That sign up there.”

And yes! It's the STEP IN... and we do.

And, there's no charge for cancellation. So we're safe. Now all we have to do is contact the other hotel. Cancel that... and we're home free.

I've got the information in my computer, I say, taking it out of my bag. Here it is... the screen is blank.

“Mykel,” he says, “I think you have to connect to the internet first.”

He talks to the hostess, we move to the free wifi area, get the information, and step out of STEP INN.

Then, it's off to drop my stuff at George's, go out for my first Takoyaki. You can see that in the blog header above. I donno, it looks like I'm not enjoying my food, but lemme tell ya. It's great! You can't get this stuff (at least not this quality) in New York. And, I can start taking pictures of bad English... always a source of enjoyment.

Here's George and I scaring our fellow patrons over takoyaki.

Osaka is a city of 9 million people. Bigger than New York, second in Japan to Tokyo. It's a beautiful maze of neon and water... with food food food galore.

It's an exciting walk to George's place where I'll rest for the night and take care of the second hotel-- actually a hostel-- cancellation.

“George,” I say, “could you call the hostel and see how much I have to pay to cancel my reservation.

“Sure,” he says, “just give me the information.”

It's right here,” I say, reaching into my bag. “It's in my computer.”

There is no computer.

--To be continued.