B-Side Travels, Japan! #1

dispatch 01. Wakayama city. fits & starts.

In red, it reads “In case a tsunami is expected:”

I’m standing by the door of the second train of the night heading to my first stop, Wakayama city. It’s past 7pm, winds are strong, and rain is forecasted for the next days. The train I’m on runs along the coast of the Kii peninsula, and this coastline is not a stranger to tsunamis.

The instructions had images, and English translations on where to evacuate, “follow the guide signs,” it says. That provided some relief. But still, what could a mere foreigner do? Luckily, all others on board were locals. I’d simply follow them.

I was tired, lacking sleep, as the plane landed in Kansai International Airport. I just wanted to get to the hotel. I wasn’t even feeling that excited. I get off the plane: familiar sights, familiar procedures, still fresh from my first time in Japan just a little over a year ago. The commute to the hotel is about an hour; 2 train rides. I get on the first train wondering if I can make it without falling asleep. Here comes Hineno station; I step off the train to transfer to the next line. Immediately, the cold breeze struck me, and the bareness of the station; no loud sounds and lights, no tall buildings. Just the cold dark night, the platform, and a handful of people silently walking.

For some reason this energized me. It was new. Far from the loud arrivals in the usual bustling cities. I was surprised by how almost rural it already felt (but it could also just be the anticipation).

On the second train, I read the in-case-of-tsunami instructions. I look around. Just one or two other foreigners in sight. The vibe was local. This is it, I thought. That B-side feel.

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Wakayama city, capital of Wakayama prefecture, is just an hour south from Osaka. However, not many people (that I know of) go out of their way to come here. Even most tourists heading to Koyasan or doing the Kumano Kodo bypass this city. It’s got a castle, a hillside temple and shrines (of course!), beaches, fishing villages, a decent urban life, and lots of modern cafes. I did not get to visit them all, of course. I’m staying 4 nights but I’m keeping it light. I wanted some buffer in case of jet lag. My plan: mostly to just walk around the neighborhood. Get a feel of the place.

“PICK UP BENCH, GO TO THE PARK!” I was intrigued. Why would I pick up the bench and why would I take it to the park (which was right across the street). But most of all, how did these become benches? I stared but could not figure it out. I walked inside the shop. It was a coffee shop—my first for this trip. I wanted to ask about the benches, and I did. I pointed to them, trying to ask how and what to do. But the young lady at the counter did not speak any English. And I, unfortunately, knew only a handful of Japanese words. Struggling to find (Japanese) words, I gave up on the bench and just ordered coffee.

“Kore,” “Hotto,” and “Arigatou Gozaimasu” were the only words that came out of my mouth upon ordering. There was some pointing, some pauses, and, well, awkward silences. Despite studying some Japanese words and phrases beforehand, I stuttered. At least I got to say thanks. The people there were kind and welcoming, despite the communication gap.

The space felt homey, so I stayed a while and took my time. The coffee cup had a letter “B” printed on it. It might be their logo. I don’t even know the name of the shop. But I took it as a good sign. B-side Travels.

The third night rolls around. What have I gotten myself into? I hesitate and struggle to even enter a restaurant. There are no English menus, and it feels like mostly locals are inside the shops. At the thought of being stared at for not knowing what to say, I chose to eat at the hotel restaurant instead. Better chances of understanding, of them accommodating me. Have I gone too far out of my depth? My confidence is low. But I remind myself: it’s the first stop. My goal is to change this.

I follow an elderly lady inside a small Kissaten—Kissa for short—those old, mid-1900s Showa-era coffee shops once abundant in Japan, now dwindling but still surviving. Famous for their simple selection of toasts that comes with a hard-boiled egg, and plain old brewed coffee with beans usually roasted to bitterness. Some modernized Kissas today are actually gaining popularity. Why? Because of the vibe. Retro. Nostalgic. Worn on the edges and accidentally quaint. But this one, the one I just stepped into, is not a modern Kissa. It’s classic.

Immediately after sitting, the old lady lights a cigarette. She’s a regular. I hesitate to sit at the counter right in front of the owner (I’d be forced to try and have a conversation). So I take a seat at the last table available (only two worn-out wooden tables in this Kissa). Speakers playing jazz music, the old lady next to me lighting her second stick, I order some toast and coffee.

Despite the thickening scent of cigar, I enjoyed my time. Another regular came and went. The old lady left. And the smoke slowly faded. I was writing in my journal when the owner—a man in his 60s—walked up to me, old-gen iPod touch in hand. And I see he was on his translation app. He wanted to talk.

He asked me where I’m from. If this was my first or second time in Wakayama city. Why I wanted to go to Japan. When I got here. Where I was going next. And so on. It was a struggle. But we managed. And it was also kind of nice. To think that he was the one who initiated, despite not knowing any English. I struggled to pick up some of the Japanese he was saying. And It took effort and time to dig up some of the Japanese words I know (not much). He seemed eager and curious to know who this foreigner was and why I was there. Running out of things to say, it was time to pay.

I picked up my things, said my thanks, and not being content with my answer to his question of why I wanted to go to Japan, I blurted:

“Nihon ryori ga suki de, Nihon ni kimashita.”

I like Japanese food. That’s why I came to Japan.

Days 1-3 in Japan. Wakayama city.

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