Day 27

29 September, 2003

Awake at 0600 and try to stay snuggly as it is still cold, but anticipation gets me up, showered and dressed and out in my spot in the beautiful sunshine but freezing and blasting wind. by 0645. There is an armada of ships heading for Osaka's port. They must have done like us and anchored here just outside the entrance during the night. We join the crowd and blast in. Although Osaka is almost as busy as Hong Kong, Osaka's port is a warren of rivers and channels covered by bridges, whereas Hong Kong is a great big open port.

Sailing in through the back door as it will, kind of like coming into a city by train. You usually see all the grimy industrial sections. Osaka tries hard to dress everything up to make it look nice. Colorful walls surround and hide a chemical refinery. And there is a big convention center called the World Trade Center, which is next door to the Asia Trade Center and Hyatt on the harborside of the island we are going around.

We snake into a docking at 0830 after passing under a giant "Bay Bridge". Rather then one giant containerport, there are many smaller container ports all around the harbor. In the south harbor are the "public" ones, and they are overlooked by many restaurants and patios of the World Trade Center, so you can eat a meal while watching all this action. We should have more of that around Long Beach. The long dock at which we are at the end, is privately leased by three giant shippers in roughly thirds. First is China Shipping, sea foam green the livery of this giant company of mainland China, next is the, now, old time giant Evergreen Shipping of the brighter shade, out of Taiwan. Then there is us, Hanjin, the South Korean owner of the Senator Line and charterer of this ship. There are only two gantries so the ship takes longer to discharge and load, although the Japanese in their matching boiler suits, hard hats and great clean machines covered in lights are impressively on the case. After the agent returns from immigration with a landing card good for both Osaka and Tokyo. I am allowed shore leave by 1030, but it expires at 1530. Five hours in Osaka, and I had clipped an article out of the Herald-Trib, last June, called Six Hours in Osaka.

I get the impression this is a town about industry, one might have to dig a bit for culture and beauty, although I find everything here interesting to look at right down to the huge skyway hurtling traffic over my head as I walk through the industrial zone. There is a silly tour boat of the harbor, a two times size Santa Maria, yes Chris Columbus's ship. It leaves from a Museum of Maritime History which is on the next big island across from us. It rushes about putting a cloud of diesel smoke about that the original never dreamed of. Osaka's big attraction is a medieval castle, carefully scaled down, recreated in the thirties. I figured it might be as cheesy looking as the Santa Maria re-creation, so I decided to stay close to the port.

The Japanese are the closest people to the French in terms of innate elegance. But they have a lighter, sillier edge. They also like colors of a gayer, brighter and brasher sort. Like the name of a ferry we passed, Sunflower Cobalt. I seem to remember that Osaka got creamed in an earth quake some ten years ago or more. Lots of fallen freeways and such. That might explain all the marvelously modern looking structures.

I snake around in my walking, the only pedestrian for miles. The Japanese truck driver takes great pride in his truck and its appearance. Each one is painted and modified with lights and gadgets of all sorts, to an even higher level then US truckers. I walk through a lovely park, past baseball diamonds and a golf driving range and find myself in a development called Port Town.

Ten story apartment blocks set in a neighborhood of tree covered streets and water gardens with tasteful public art. Kiosks selling ice cream and newspapers and magazines. I find a Herald-Trib in a kiosk! It is a regular people kind of place, and I wander its shopping center, and grocery store. The only foreigner, white guy, towering over most. Although other seamen most come through here on occasion, there aren't many white seamen left. A playing child stops and stares. A slightly miniature elevated tram runs down the side of the development, heading for the World Trade Center and meeting with the larger subway line that goes under a tunnel to town. I walk in the direction of the trade center. An old, elevated railroad right of way has been transformed into a garden walkway. It takes me, after a mile or two, unto all the action. The Hyatt hotel in whose lovely and deserted restrooms I freshen up. The trade center, overlooking the outer harbor and public docks with millions of shops and restaurants.

Trying to avoid the western, I slipped into a Japanese place that had, like all restaurants seem to in Japan, beautiful plastic models of their menu in the front window. I had a very nice katsu-don and a sunimono salad. After weeks of utterly mediocre food on board ship, I almost go for a whole second lunch, but settle for a double espresso at Starbucks.

Having seen an inexpensive portable electric toothbrush (which I need) back in Port Town's shopping mall, and not finding one later in my travels, I hopped the elevated tram which is as cute as can be. The only way to travel. Figuring out the fare and operating the ticket machine is like playing a Japanese one arm bandit. Spotless, the Japanese have not yet found the need to put their mark on everything. Two stops and I was back at the mall where I made my toothbrush purchase, some Asian pears too and head for the ship a few miles away.

There is something in my body that wants to think I am going to miss my ship, no matter what. First, my mind starts whispering that I misheard the captain as to return time. I am walking hard through no man's land, the only pedestrian across huge streets, under massive freeways. In the distance, I catch a glimpse of the ship's funnel over a warehouse, yes it is still there! Heart pounds as it disappears from view again, there was smoke coming out! Surely, that must mean it's leaving and I am still fifteen minutes away! No, smoke always comes out as a big diesel engine drives the electric generator. I move faster, sweating in the humidity.

Most of the big industrial lots are bordered by thick, leafy hedges. They are sometimes a little unkempt on the sidewalk side as no one walks here, I push on through. The entrances to the big container lots are officiated over by private police. Elaborate uniforms involving hard hats, braids, spats and whistles. They take their jobs seriously as they spin and whistle the waiting trucks on and off the lot. They always seem a little surprised to have a pedestrian emerge from the bushes, and with a humble bow stop all traffic to make sure I can cross.

Finally I am on the Hanjin lot, I catch a glimpse of the gantries over the piles of containers, they are all still down (meaning there is a ship there), schwew! But my heart can want to make me miserable, "what if my ship is gone and a different one is there" it asks? I see the lot workers riding around on bicycles like at film studios, and wish I had one. Of coarse, I am back with an hour to spare.

It is curious, how on the ground protected by various structures and in the sun, you don't notice the wind so much. Back on the ship, the strong and blustery north wind is still obnoxiously making life on deck hard. I watch a large barge, being towed by two small boats, almost get away from them as the wind catches the barge and starts driving it broadsides towards the bank. But the two little boats pull and pull and succeed at the last minute.

When it is our turn to depart, around 1700, it is surprising how the skippers of other smaller boats play chicken with us (with a lot of ensuing horn blowing), trying to get around us before the whole channel is filled by our carcass being slowly turned around by two tugs. As we arrived at Osaka Bay at sunset, we leave at sunset.

By the way, I have learned how to discern our incredible horn from all others, if your bowels don't rumble sympathetically, it's not us! What a horn.

The Pacific really gets going this night, we are seriously rockin' and rollin'. I find out later that this was part of a typhoon that was to dog us for the next bunch of days.

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