Newshot Article title: City Walk Guide | Late Summer in Osaka, the "awkward gap" season is just right
Body: At the end of summer, still hot but gradually freshening, my girlfriend and I took a trip to Japan. I tried to record what I saw and felt with my eyes and my heart, and turn it into words. When I reread these words and phrases and close my eyes, it feels as if I am back in Kansai. I hope to share this mood and these scenes with you as well.
Images in 4:3/3:4 ratio were shot with vivo x100 Ultra, and images in 3:2/2:3 ratio were shot with a Nikon F80 film camera.
Departure and Arrival
In mid-October, I took a trip to Japan. October is not Japan's peak tourist season; there is still some time before the red leaves of November, and the midsummer fireworks have long ended. But this "awkward gap" season is just right for me—fewer tourists, the typhoon season basically over, and a coolness in the air morning and evening.
There was also a practical, budget-conscious reason for this trip. Japan sharply raised the price of multiple-entry visas, which made the visa I obtained at the end of last year seem especially precious, so I thought I must go a few more times before it expires.
In the Greater Bay Area, taking low-cost flights from Hong Kong is a fairly common choice. We picked a set of flights with good value for money; for the two of us, including baggage allowance, it came to about 4,000 RMB. The plane took off at 11:30 in the morning, which seemed like plenty of time, but we got up at seven to pack, and by the time we reached the boarding gate, final call had already begun. On the way, we countless times felt lucky that we had not booked an earlier flight just to save money.
At the moment the plane rolled down the runway and lifted off, I vaguely recalled the scene from my last winter trip: bare branches hard and thin, the sky gloomy, occasional light snow. That was my first independent trip in Japan, unfamiliar yet deeply memorable. I wondered what sights I would see this time, at the turn from summer to autumn.
By the time we arrived at Kansai International Airport in Osaka, it was already past four in the afternoon. After exchanging our tickets, we smoothly caught the 5 o'clock Kansai Airport Express Haruka bound for Umeda. Japan has a rich railway culture; the Haruka we rode is mainly operated by JR West 281 and 271 series trains, and for collision prevention and safety reasons, the driver's cab and front window area are designed to be especially high.
With a soft sound, the train departed the platform on time and slowly accelerated. Only at that moment did I finally have the real feeling that "I have truly come to Japan again." Seven years ago, I thought that traveling to Japan would probably be common in the future; I never imagined that setting foot on this land again would take so long.
There were not many passengers in the carriage, and the ride was quiet and smooth. The setting sun slanted in, sweeping rows of shadows regularly across the seats. The woman in the next seat pulled down the small table, placed a rice ball on it, unscrewed the cap of her drink, and quietly ate her evening tea snack.
The sun hung very low, flickering in and out of the gaps between buildings. Outside the window were first rows of detached houses and tall, crisscrossing utility poles, and gradually the signs of chain superstores appeared one after another. Further on, we entered the core of the metropolis: a wide river separated the two sides, and on both banks stood densely packed glass-curtain-wall buildings, countless narrow-framed windows repeating across the facades, reflecting each other's light and shadow, like a precise and enormous glass labyrinth.
Umeda's Night Scenes and Everyday Life
In less than an hour, the Kansai Airport Express slowly slid into Osaka Station. Stepping out of the carriage, a cool evening breeze blew in our faces, accompanied by the faint sound of a clock chime in the distance; it was exactly six in the evening.
We were at Osaka Station in the core area of Umeda. This is Kansai's largest transportation hub, and even more like a vast urban complex. Deep underground, railway lines as fine as a spider's web spread out, with JR lines, the subway, Hankyu, Hanshin, and other rail lines running crisscross, connecting Kobe, Kyoto, and Nara in real time; above ground, ceaseless crowds weave among the buildings, and elevated walkways tightly connect department stores such as Daimaru and Yodobashi. On the walkways, people hurrying toward the malls brush past tourists carrying shopping bags and returning fully loaded. At street corners, aromas spill from the cracks of open restaurant doors, and bursts of laughter faintly drift over.
Looking up, huge posters and shop neon interweave in the night. The prosperity and vitality brought by commerce are concretely presented here, extending along the golden network of lights and continuously supplying the city with a vigorous sense of breath.
After checking in smoothly, we hurried out. Not wanting to make things complicated on the first day, we chose a soup curry restaurant near the hotel. This style, originating in Hokkaido, has a relatively light broth, suitable for mixing with rice or dipping vegetables and meat into. Along with the spoon came a substantial large chicken leg; when the spoon cut it open, the chicken skin still retained a slight crispness, and the meat inside was tender and delicious, a pleasant surprise.
After dinner we wandered aimlessly around the mall, and after two streets we arrived at Sapporo Black Label's official experience store "The Bar Osaka."
A little after nine in the evening, a small line had already formed at the entrance, with both tourists in shorts and sneakers and office workers in suits. The space inside was not large; in the center was a long island counter that could seat about a dozen people, and on the wall behind were neatly arranged rows of beer glasses covering the entire wall. There were no chairs in the shop; everyone stood while drinking—I suppose this is also the proprietor's gentle and subtle agreement, used to maintain a reasonable turnover pace.
Opening the menu, we chose two beers (Perfect and First). The staff's process of pouring the beer was like a precise ritual: first, invert the glass on the glass rinser to rinse and cool it, tilt the glass for the first pour; when the golden liquid reaches nearly three-quarters, straighten it, switch taps to add creamy dense foam until it overflows the rim; finally, skillfully use a scraper to trim the large bubbles on top, rinse the outside of the glass, and only then hand it to the customer.
The two beers each had their own character: one had thick, fine foam with a steady grain aroma; the other was refreshing and light. Paired with a cheese and wagyu sandwich, it left this night with a rather pleasant ending.
Castle Ruins, History, and the Streets
Waking up in the morning, I ate spaghetti, rice balls, and hot tofu soup bought at a convenience store, then hurried to start the day's itinerary.
We were going to take the Yotsubashi Line, whose entrance was right at Nishi-Umeda Station. This line, already in operation as early as 1942, has a platform with a vaulted structure, with two rows of silver-white metal columns extending into the depths. Cool-toned light diffused out, illuminating the floor clean and smooth.
On the train, the dark green velvet seats were not full. In the air was a smell like the woody aged fragrance of old furniture mixed with cleaning agent, giving off a unique scent memory accumulated over the years.
Walking out of the subway station, the Osaka Prefectural Police Headquarters building came into view. The whole building stood under the sky in a neat posture, with simple and brisk light-colored stone on both wings, and a sudden recess in the middle, where dark glass and grilles interwove into a profound curve, breaking the building's original heaviness. This building, designed by Kisho Kurokawa, looked to us more like a classic scene that often appears in Detective Conan.
From the subway exit to Osaka Castle Park, one must cross a stretch of flat road covered with gravel. After crossing the wide moat, we arrived at Otemon Gate. Following the passage forward, past Shudokan and Toyokuni Shrine, and turning toward Sakuramon Gate, we finally truly entered the area of Osaka Castle.
This castle was built by Toyotomi Hideyoshi in 1583 and was once the symbol of the Toyotomi regime. After Toyotomi Hideyoshi's death, Tokugawa Ieyasu launched the "Winter Campaign of Osaka" and the "Summer Campaign of Osaka" in succession; the castle fell, and the Toyotomi clan was wiped out from then on. The present main keep is a reconstruction from 1931; the heavy rise and fall of history is hidden deep in the architecture, and in our eyes, it will always be the landmark scene behind Hattori Heiji when he confidently introduces his hometown.
There were not many people in the main keep plaza. To one side stood a giant ancient ginkgo tree nearly three hundred years old, still lush and green in mid-October. Before long, a street performer doing juggling appeared in the open space, and his humorous body movements made the gathered tourists quite lively.
We did not line up to climb the main keep, but instead turned back along another small path. Walking north, the moat lay quietly below our feet; the bloody storms of those years had long faded, leaving only a few tour boats slowly rowing on the water. Walking down a few steps along the stairs, in the shadow of the castle stood an inconspicuous stone monument, marking the place where the twenty-one-year-old Toyotomi Hideyori finally committed seppuku in the flames.
Hideyori was the only son Toyotomi Hideyoshi had in his old age. Back then, in order to clear obstacles for this biological son, Hideyoshi forced his adopted son Hidetsugu to abdicate and become a monk, and even then, still uneasy, had Hidetsugu's wives, concubines, and children—thirty-nine people in all—executed, with retainers either killed or demoted. Yet such bloody slaughter ultimately failed to preserve the Toyotomi family's Edo realm. With the rise of Tokugawa Ieyasu, the two families completely broke, and the twenty-one-year-old Hideyori ultimately died in the flames of the "Summer Campaign of Osaka."
City Walk Guide | Late-Summer Osaka, the “In-Between” Season Is Just Right
Walking out of the park through the north gate, people along the riverbank were quietly enjoying this rare coolness of an autumn day. As we neared the intersection, a traffic light was hidden behind densely packed trees; the thick branches and leaves formed a green screen, as if the traffic light had grown straight out of the grove—a scene that brought to mind the fantastical settings of Studio Ghibli animations.
Back out of the park and into the city again, I was often drawn to the buildings and lines here. That extremely rigorous order makes you feel especially small before the vast city; but looking closer, it also feels as if precisely these tiny, repetitive elements, layered and stacked one upon another, are what finally assemble the scene before your eyes. Out at the big intersection, rows of arched balconies on the corner building repeat like honeycomb; high-rises of varying heights on both sides of the main road squeeze the sky into a narrow strip; turning into an alley, overhead power lines tangle, concrete utility poles, vending machines, and signs crowd tightly together, pressing rich layers out of the narrow space.
The Flowing Light of Nakanoshima and Midosuji
After walking for most of the day, we chose a yakiniku restaurant on the second floor of a building in Nakanoshima for lunch.
Two set meals filled the wooden table: one was freshly grilled hamburger steak, sitting heavily in a cast-iron pan; the moment the rich sauce was poured over it and touched the heated iron plate, juices splattered and aroma burst out intensely; the other was a neatly sliced grilled meat set meal, with the marbled snowflake pattern of the beef clearly visible and a piece of freshly grated wasabi at the corner of the plate. The white rice had a gentle sheen; dipping a little sauce and eating it with the meaty aroma, steam rising—it was all the most direct, honest substance of the ingredients.
After lunch, we took a walk along Nakanoshima.
Nakanoshima is a narrow sandbar caught between the Dojima River and the Tosabori River. Today, the Osaka Prefectural Nakanoshima Library, the Central Public Hall, and the Nakanoshima Museum of Art all stand quietly on the island. Walking the streets, I felt for a moment almost as if I were strolling on Berlin’s Museum Island. Traditional wooden buildings are almost nowhere to be seen here; in their place are many old European-style buildings with Baroque and classical touches, blended with modern minimalist style.
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City Walk Guide | Late Summer in Osaka, the "Between Green and Yellow" Season Is Just Right
By the time we stepped back out of the venue, the sun had already sunk. The sky showed a pure sapphire blue, but the edge near the horizon gave off a faint, warm glow. After nightfall the sea breeze carried a bit of a chill, and the shadows of the palm trees along the shore swayed as they were blown about.
We found a wooden bench by the sea and sat down, letting the wind blow over us as we faced the quiet water. Once the heat in our bodies and our thoughts slowly settled, we got up and left the aquarium, boarding the train for Kobe.