Score two more for O-town

Okay maybe two-and-a-half. The Starbucks in Shinsaibashi's subterranean shopping town pulled one from the tranportation industry's book and, much like all Japanese cities do to their subways, heated my sammich to an even five-zillion degrees. But I am prepared to forgive it and give it half-credit because my chai latte was so very exceptional.

That was the end of my day in Osaka - the middle portion involved a little reconnaissance and just the right amount of wandering around like a tourist except I am getting to know this city quite well now so my inner compass will actually kick in and prevent me from having to wander too much.

The first evidence of this came about during the start of my day. After escaping the limited express train that just went to show Kintetsu does not, in fact, lag behind JR in torturing me through the clever and precise mismanagement of small details, I hopped the local subway to the aquarium. Now it being Children's Day, and fishies and otters and penguins generally being attractive to small children, there were thick hordes of people swarming about Osaka Port. This was actually surprising to me for all of 10 seconds, whereupon I mentally smacked myself upside the head for believing I could go to a landmark attraction on a long-weekend holiday and AVOID crowds. Sometimes I have a problem with my brain not working.

So back down the main road I go, thinking alright, at least I can get a good lunch down here by the port, and I'll use the 70 minutes I would have spent just standing in line outside to wander about a bit. Surprise me, Osaka. Two blocks later, there's a cute little curry shop on the corner with the most magical name: 星の森 ~ Forest of Stars. I love that image. I loved the interior even more than I loved the name. I loved the seasonal-vegetable curry, too, and the soy-milk hot chocolate, and the photo albums brimming with pictures of the shop teddybear Loreley all the hell over the world, and the way the proprietress unabashedly took a lunch-break on the corner bar stool next to me and let me chat her up about the bear, the music, stuff.

Her husband, who takes the orders and refills the water glasses, has a kind face. He reminds me of Steve Tomasula somehow. I think it's the beard-glasses-smile combination, but mostly the smile. If I lived in Osaka, this place would be one of my haunts. A little pocket of calm and warmth in the midst of all the bustle and hurry and dodging that goes on right outside the door.

It occurs to me that I never found a place like that in Nagoya, despite having lived there for a semster. It also occurs to me that I was 20, which is one up from 19, which was a stupid age, and that my life as an exchange student was quite insular and extremely repetitive from week to week, and only some of that was Japan's doing. It was still a good semester away from Notre Dame. It's just what worked for me then would make me crazy now, and does sometimes, when I catch myself falling into routines. Ironically, it was a Japanese Zen master who once said, "To become accustomed to anything is a terrible thing."