It's 10:00am at New Chitose Airport in Hokkaido, Japan. I'm one day late writing this and about to get on my flight to Tokyo. I'm wired off drip coffee and have decided to fast for this intermediary travel day.

Despite not physically writing this in Osaka, I spent most of my time there last week. In this post I'll be covering my experience in three cities: Osaka, Kobe, and Sapporo.

For all intents and purposes, this is Live from Osaka— part 2/3 from the Ball Knowledge series from Japan.

In This Post

• Osaka

• Kobe

• Sapporo

Osaka

Osaka is grungy. Relative to what I've seen of Japan, the city has a more relaxed culture and vibrant atmosphere. That's largely an appeal to the youth here— less formalities, more fun.

Street bites and divey bars sprawl outwards from the city's heart in Dotonbori, and the surrounding area boasts some of the nation's best fashion and entertainment.

I didn't love Osaka, to my own surprise. Crowned the 'Kitchen of Japan', I'd have to disagree. I had good takoyaki and okonomiyaki, but I don't have much to report on besides the street food. By the end of my trip I was desperate for a place that could serve me a vegetable but there were none.

I parlayed my vitamin deficiency with lots of beer as I crawled through the nightlife offering. There is an undeniable buzz in the air around the Dotonbori River (more of a canal).

Unfortunately you're met by a thick wall of smoke in most (good) bars. The rest of the scene is comprised of gimmicky clubs (you can pay women dressed as maids talk to you and call you a good boy) or run-down watering holes.

I ended my 4 days in Osaka content with leaving. I had fun trying new things: unagi bowls, 16-story shopping malls, Japanese garments, baked cheesecake, suspect yakitori, and fake sumo wrestling (don't ever do this).

Overall, the concrete-bound nature of a city elevated by vertically-stacked commercial abundance, overflowing with endless signage and protruding advertisements, creates an inescapable sensory experience of bright-colored redundancy that I can't make any sense of.

My experience probably would've been better had I been able to speak the language or been with a big group of friends.

I have more to say about Osaka but that’s what I’ll leave you with for now. I'm open to giving it another shot down the road.

Kobe

Kobe! You know, like Kobe beef. Or Kobe Bryant. It's a cool port city situated between the Osaka Bay and a small mountain range, about an hour's train ride from Osaka. The best comp I can give in terms of geography and vibe is Santa Barbara.

The first thing we did upon arrival was head to the ropeway. I'm not one to ever say no to a gondola ride. The views of the town were incredible even on a cloudy day, and we leisurely wound our way down the hill through the Nunobiki Herb Gardens, stopping many times to smell the roses.

After having mapped the terrain from above, we took a bus to the waterfront park. The development was exactly what you'd expect from a gentrified seaport development in the states: luxury apartments, millennial breweries, lots of uninspired angular architecture. The one stamp of modernity that you won't regularly find in the west was the massive anime convention we happened to stumble upon.

Congregated around a JPOP-blaring stage full of performers, hundreds of cosplayers gathered to dress up and … well I don't really know what else. The plaza was lined with food booths that centered around a car meet for those brave enough to rock life-size anime decals on their passenger doors.

It was a cartoonish and amusing spectacle that I observed from a great distance before taking one photo with a nice girl who had a killer costume. Not my scene.

The day trip concluded with an excellent Yakiniku dining. It was an homage to the once-tribal experience of cooking raw meat over hot coals with your family. The beef was truly that melt-in-your-mouth, marbly stuff. Ayooooo!!!

Sapporo

Sapporo, you know, like the beer!

From the get my Dad was dead set on the Sapporo Beer Museum tour. Choosing to be difficult and critical of his propositions as always, I countered: "If you were visiting Colorado for the first time would you be dying to go to the Coor's facility?" He responded, "No, I don't like Coor's."

Which, in all fairness, is a great answer. If you haven't yet had the experience of ordering a Sapporo at a sushi spot, I feel sorry for you. My Dad and I were both fans of Sapporo long before ever setting foot there.

Sapporo is a mountain town on the Northern Island of Japan (Hokkaido); the downtown area is charming and walkable. It sports large grid-like blocks complete with wide sidewalks, multi-lane streets, an above-ground trolley, and lackluster subway transit. It felt a lot like contemporary western cities I've been to, namely Salt Lake City and Vancouver.

I had the best sushi of my life on the second night. We went to a humble establishment a little out of the way. Our chef was a one-man show, and he gave us a special, special experience.

The fish, rice, soy sauce, rolls, draft Sapporo, everything, was perfect. He has been running the place himself since 2006. 19 years of pure artisan craft after he returned home from a stint in Atlanta as a sushi chef at a high-end restaurant. All for the love of the game.

Hokkaido milk is also of renowned quality, so I had to try some ice cream after dinner. I ordered myself a 550 yen chocolate/vanilla combo swirl waffle cone at a counter ice cream shop. What ensued next was despicable.

I paid with a 10,000 yen bill because I'm like that, and jokingly said to the kind old lady at the counter that she could keep the change. Then I remembered she spoke no English and that my joke actually wasn't even that funny.

My gesture confused her and I had to regesture that everything was fine and that she had the correct amount and that she could hand over my change. Part out of habit and part out of embarrassment, I dropped a few coins into the tip jar on the counter. Then I realized that tipping is not customary in Japan and that the tip jar was actually a mini trash can.

The nice lady returned to the counter with my chocolate/vanilla combo swirl waffle cone in hand to see me wrist-deep in the trash jar sifting through cone wrappers, fishing out the change that I had seemingly disputed earlier. She still probably wasn't as confused as I was in that moment.

I grabbed my cone, thanked her, bowed, and was on my way into the cold Sapporo night. The ice cream was quite good.