Same same, but different

I am taking far too much pleasure in discovering pockets of Engrish. The similarities between 'l' and 'r' in Japanese pronunciation (they use a hybrid sound of both) is a well known source of foreigner fun: laughing at missaid and even misspelt words. A small can of vended hot coffee (a great leap forward for mankind) which boasts on the side that the "beans have been loasted for a long time." Strangely, the next sentence claims that the drink is both "rich" and "rewarding", both sans the l. Another frequent source of amusement are directions for the 'Derivery' section of a business. Yes, I'm lonely. Yes, this is petty. I should be grateful that there is any English at all - without it, I'd be utterly fucked. The train system runs to the second; the trains are neat, clean and full, but the maze of intertwining lines puts London to shame. We embarked upon our first full visit to Osaka proper today; a strange city, an alien landscape, but still similar, still not so far from home. A large building which culminates in three seperate peaks, each covered by what looks like a sleek hankerchief. Massive freeways running on top of department stores; the stores themselves stretching at least five kilometres beneath it. Wires and phone lines everywhere, thick above the ground.

It was a lonely day; I'm getting sick (it's been about five degrees, and I'm typically underprepared) and so I was silent most of the time. My brother and I know each other so well that speech is often redundant. I kept hoping for some kind of new human contact (I can already spot a white face at a hundred metres) but had to settle for stilted exchanges of goods for money. This is quite a nice spectacle, but still such distance between us. Everyone speaks a certain code, everyone reads this code fluently, everyone connects with this. When I buy something, if I buy it from a girl she does this: head down, she murmurs a sing-song chatter which does not need me except for crucial moments - eyes up to mine, I mutter something inadequate, it does not matter, the singsong slips back in and the food is mine.

It's such a quiet culture, this. I was struck by it leaving the central station in Osaka: no conversation. The cars buzz, the trains hum and shake, the remarkably irritating tune the little blue man plays when it's safe to cross the road: all this and no talk, no connection. No, not true; there is some talk, muted chatter, occasional blips on mobile phones or small bowings and exchanges. But on the whole, it is so, so quiet. Toooo quiet.

We spent the whole day in a cone of alienness. Down at the City Hall, we had to register as aliens (nice) which involved several forms, much pointing and attempting to connect with each other, and a small piece of triumphant paper telling us to wait a month and then come pick up our registration. People are kind here, but I have the feeling it's the kindness born of sufferance. Then, towards dusk, the streets chilling quickly, the homeless men scurrying for cover; one moment, a young Japanese man in retailwear, two Japanese girls in matching but different, straining (uncharacteristically) in public to bend back a pole hit by a car. The metal groans but remains crumpled. A chance! We offer our services, feeling like boy scouts; there is laughter, awkwardness, wriggling to accomodate the five of us around the pole and then the pole squeals, lifts a little and halts. Our alliance falls apart (I touched someones hand) and we're back walking but I feel happier.

I'm starving. I'm always hungry. I have never been this concious of money. I'm going to have to lie to get a job, I can tell. Better that than to come home with my tail between my legs.

The kids and Young Adults here are hot. They look good. They look better than good. They've imitated Western chic so damn well that they're out the other side and pioneering away. But the strange thing (to me) is that their appearance says so much (subcultures abound: neo-mods, schoolgirl chic amongst the older girls, the lolita look) and so much time and effort is spent that it's as if they are the works of art of their generation, the vain generation, but still there is silence on the streets. Where do people talk here? I've been poking my tongue out at kids all day, just because I can.