Today, I am leaving Kyoto. However, before I depart, I decide to visit the roof of Kyoto Station, specifically the sky garden known as ‘Happy Terrace.’ It requires ascending nine consecutive escalators to reach the top, where I can admire the breathtaking views of Kyoto for free. As I descend back on the endless escalators towards the train platform, I take a moment to appreciate the roof.

At the platform, a helpful staff member asks if I need any help. I tell him I’m okay and thank him. “Where are you going? Osaka?” he inquires. I nod. He points at the train I’m waiting for, saying, “This one is faster,” seemingly checking off his good deed for the day in his mind. I thank him again and resume waiting for my train. This has happened four times this week in Kyoto—staff members or strangers offering help. I guess I should be more grateful.

At 12 p.m., I board the JR Kyoto Line to Shin-Osaka. The 23-minute train ride costs ¥560. Osaka, the capital of Osaka Prefecture, is Japan’s second-largest metropolitan area. Over one-seventh of the Japanese population lives here, ranking it as the third largest city in Japan by population. I wander around the Osaka area for a while, passing time before I can check into my hotel.

Outside Shin-Osaka Station, I see my first real piece of graffiti:

At 2 p.m., I check in. I’ll be staying in Osaka for three nights. I selected this hotel based on a quote from their website: ‘For warm smiles, fastidious service, and first-class hospitality.’ Interestingly, the hotel also boasts another blatantly inauthentic motto: ‘The happiness of our guests is our happiness.’ The person checking me in hands me a breakfast ticket for a Japanese breakfast tomorrow morning. It’s odd because I don’t recall paying for any breakfast.

I am staying in Shin-Osaka, which Google says is a one-hour walk from Osaka Station. I opt to take the train to Osaka Station and walk back to my hotel, thinking it will be a pleasant way to explore the city. I stayed in Shin-Osaka two years ago, so I am familiar with the area around this station. In Osaka, people walk on the left and stand on the right side of the escalator, unlike almost everywhere else in Japan.

The train ride takes just six minutes with no other stops, and it costs ¥160. Exiting the station, I notice a sign indicating that cycling on the pavement is prohibited. Outside, the temperature is cool, hovering around 25°C, with a gentle rain falling—nothing to worry about, no need for an umbrella. At the foot of the station steps, there’s an outdoor beach volleyball game underway. It’s a Japan Volleyball Association match, likely being filmed, possibly for live television broadcast.

I continue my walk away from the station. To the left, there’s a massive construction site that seems to stretch for several kilometres. On the right, ‘Grand Front Osaka’ stands—a colossal building self-described as a ‘New town in a natural environment.’ Essentially a skyscraper housing numerous shops and restaurants. Adjacent to it, there’s an artificial river that spans the length of the building; it’s not exactly what I’d label a natural environment. However, concrete stepping-stones along the river add a touch of excitement.

I continue my walk through the chaotic Osaka roads. I’m accustomed to cities where streets form a grid-like pattern, always straight and easy to navigate. However, Osaka seems like someone picked it up and gave it a good shake—the city and its streets have turned into a tangled mass of concrete. The roads are chaotic, and the pavements strangely devoid of people. Suddenly, it starts raining hard—nothing to worry about, no need for an umbrella.

Since leaving Osaka Station, I haven’t come across a single convenience store, and I’m in desperate need of buying an umbrella. At this point, a considerable amount of time passes. I spend a good fifteen minutes attempting to reach the bridge that crosses the Yodo River, but inexplicably, an endless train platform obstructs any access. There’s no tunnel beneath it, no bridge over it.

Completely soaked and frustrated, I eventually find the way to the bridge. The rain appears to be intensifying with every step, my shoes now full of water. It takes me another ten minutes to cross the Yodo River. I realise that all I’ve done since this morning is kill time. I have days like this every now and then—nothing happens at all.

As I wander along with my wet clothes and my thoughts, I start to wonder if I’ll even have anything to write about today. Osaka Day One: Nothing Happens. I can already see the title. It’s 5 p.m. when I finally cross the bridge into Juso. A heavy sigh of relief escapes me as I spot, in the distance, the green and white lights of a Family Mart. A second sigh of relief follows at the sight of some neon. However, the path is somewhat spoiled by a single piece of rubbish on the ground.

I purchase an umbrella from Family Mart along with a single banana. Convenience stores appear scarce in this area, but at least I can buy just one banana. Osaka feels like a different country—people here act differently, there’s more litter on the streets, fewer bicycles around, and the locals also speak differently, using their own special dialect.

Drenched from the rain, I stroll down a street named ‘Happy Street,’ feeling as though the sign mocks me as I pass. After making a few turns, I decide to take a rest on a bus stop bench. I estimate that I’ve been walking for about two hours. Consulting the GPS on my camera, I realise I’m close to Nishinakajimaminamigata Station. It’s just one stop away from Shin-Osaka Station, so not much farther to go.

Near the station, the nightlife scene comes alive. Memories flood back as I navigate the interlocking streets filled with restaurants, bars, and neon signs. I decide to check if a bar I fondly remember, called ‘Meets,’ still exists. Finding it easily, I’m disappointed to see it closed today, or perhaps permanently shut down—I can’t discern which. It’s still early, though. Disheartened, I spot a Seven Eleven and opt to purchase a can of 5% Suntory whisky highball. Seven Eleven is the only convenience store I know that sells the 5% can; the other shops only offer the stronger 7% and 9% cans.

Upon returning to the hotel, intending to write about my day, I find that the two computers available in the hotel lobby are relics of the past. One of the machines operates on the Windows 98 operating system with an outdated Internet Explorer as the default browser, bombarding me with messages to update. It prompts for a password whenever I attempt to do anything. I try to download Google Chrome but face the same password requirement. Attempting to write becomes an exercise in patience as the machine’s slowness causes each typed letter to lag about five seconds before appearing on-screen. Frustrated, I abandon the effort and retreat to my room.

Exhausted, I fall asleep before 8 p.m.