Osaka, unlocked
Osaka, Japan
I AM LISTENING to Taka explain all sorts of interesting things on this tour he is leading deep into the backstreets of Osaka. His tour will show the hidden, the shady, the shoddy, the seamy side of Osaka that tourists never see, the covert side of this big, bustling city founded 2500 years ago.
Our first stop is a gacha gacha machine, the ever-popular toy vending machine found all over Japan, sort of an oversized gumball machine. Insert your coin, turn the handle and retrieve your prize, a toy encased in a plastic ball. This gacha gacha, however, is for adults only. Taka points to a label that says no one under 18 may play and turns to the group, asking, “Does anyone want to try?”
We are nine people on this tour, from Europe, Canada, South America, the USA. A rather staid group, no one wants to win a prize slated for adults only. They are embarrassed, looking down, avoiding Taka’s questioning glance so I say “I will!” I insert a 500-yen coin, about $3.50, and crank the handle, praying the prize isn’t something like condoms, or worse, a sex toy.
Out pops my plastic ball. I twist it open and inside is a skimpy, lacy, yellow thong, size XXS. It’s cute, harmless, not offensive at all, thank goodness! The group visibly relaxes. I give it to a Spanish guy on the tour who had talked about his Japanese girlfriend. I assume she wears size XXS because I certainly don’t.
We continue walking down a quiet alley of small shuttered wooden houses, fronted with pretty little gardens, a couple of tidy steps leading up to dark doors. Outside each is a sign reading “Gentlemen’s Club”. Taka asks what we think that indicates. “Strip club?” I offer. “A speakeasy?” someone else suggests. “No,” Taka tells us, “it’s a gay bar.” Despite Osaka’s liberal, LGBTQ-friendly atmosphere, discretion prevails
Next, Taka shows us a pachinko parlor, a cross between pinball and slot machines, and next door a storefront where through the windows we see groups of serious men playing a very old board game. Gambling is illegal in Japan but…
We cross the street and walk under a bridge where homeless people camp out, just like I see in every big city in the States. I am a little surprised at this tent city of the destitute, surrounded by shopping carts full of belongings, tarps and cardboard providing shelter. I know how close-knit Japanese families are, how structured the society, yet this happens here too.
After that we enter a dodgy neighborhood as Taka asks what illegal drug do we think is most prevalent in Japan? The group guesses marijuana, cocaine, opium, hashish. Surprisingly, we learn meth is the most popular illegal drug in Japan. Taka points out a yellow sign the municipality has posted, a caution or perhaps a warning, stating, “Don’t sell meth in your restaurant.”
We walk past an onsen, a public bathhouse/hot springs, found everywhere in Japan. If you have a tattoo, you aren’t allowed in the onsens as tattoos are hallmarks of the criminal yakuza, the Japanese mafia. This onsen, however, has a sign on the door that reads “Tattoo? No problem”. Hey, yakuza like to bathe, too!
We make a quick stop at a takeaway takoyaki stand for octopus balls, a specialty of Osaka. I’m not a fan of the big, round, doughy balls with pieces of rubbery purple octopus inside, spring onions and bonito flakes sprinkled on top, but I gamely eat one.
Next, we approach the entrance to the oldest red-light district in Japan. No photos are allowed but I take a hurried picture at the beginning of this historic street. The working girls sit in open air cubicles, each accompanied by a no-nonsense older woman wearing an apron, sitting alongside her. This woman is sort of a madam, managing customers, handling the money.
Prostitution is illegal in Japan, so a man will purchase “tea and snacks” and go upstairs with the girl of his choice. After they’re done, he is given a lollipop to lick so the other working girls won’t waste their time propositioning him, as he’s already finished.
Taka instructs the men on our tour to walk ahead of the women on the tour. A lot of the working girls proposition the men, make suggestive gestures, brazenly flirt. When we women walk by, they turn away, cover their faces with their hands or a fan, modestly or shamefully, I’m not sure which.
The girls are beautiful, very young, in their early 20s, fresh-faced, wearing gorgeous lingerie or stylish clothing, their hair carefully arranged, makeup artfully applied. They look nothing at all like cliche hookers dressed in sleazy clothing and torn fishnet stockings, beaten down and worn out by the world’s oldest profession. These girls are just darling. I can’t believe they are prostitutes.
I feel disheartened. They’re so pretty, so young. They look so sweet. What happened? Why are they here, sitting in a cubicle soliciting sex from strangers? Taka says many of them are paying off debts owed the yakuza, drugs most likely involved.
Lastly, we pop into an izakaya, a tiny local bistro that’s like a little diner, counter seating only, just a few selections offered on the menu posted on the wall. Only half the tour group chose this last stop, an add-on for a light Japanese meal, and they clearly look ill at ease, uncomfortable in this eatery of dubious cleanliness and uncertain quality. Taka orders a noodle dish, yakisoba, for all of us. The others eat quickly and leave hastily.
I’m sitting next to Taka, chatting with some of the locals in English and Japanese, all of us eating and drinking together, enjoying a late-night snack, no boundaries, no borders, no differences at all between us.
It’s the best yakisoba I’ve ever eaten.