DARE TO EXPLORE A DIFFERENT SIDE OF OSAKA.
TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY TREVOR MOGG
An old man walks up to me and gives me a warm smile, revealing dentures long past their use-by date, but he’s friendly and curious, and starts talking faster than a bullet train. I can’t make out whether he’s speaking Japanese or English, but I vaguely recognize the word Fukuoka, a city in western Japan. I assume he was from there some years back. With his deeply lined face and leathery skin, he looks like a day laborer or probably once was one.
Following our brief exchange, he wanders off down the dingy shopping street, a street lined with kushikatsu (skewered food) restaurants, tiny tachinomiya (standing only) bars, bustling yakitori shops and large rooms full of old men playing mahjong and shogi (Japanese chess). Welcome to Shinsekai.
Most people who get off the plane in Osaka make a beeline for the bright lights of Namba and Shinsaibashi. But more adventurous types can choose to venture a few stops south on the subway instead, to an area of the city long considered out of bounds by many Kansai residents — one rarely given coverage in guidebooks. Although safe, parts of Shinsekai appear to be pretty seedy and a bit rundown. Roppongi Hills it ain’t, but fascinating it is.
Recently, more outsiders are coming to visit this unique part of Japan. They come to experience a bit of how life used to be, for in many ways the area seems stuck in another era. Other times, people drop by for a feed at one of the highly regarded kushikatsu restaurants here.
Shinsekai is a great place to spend a couple of hours simply wandering about, soaking up the atmosphere. Prepare for a city of contrasts: some streets are old and gray, while others are splashed with neon lights and frequented by curious looking characters that add even more color to the place.
Part of the appeal is the bargains you’ll get here. You can order a beer for less than JPY300 (PHP152) a glass, and dinner for not much more; hotels charge JPY500 (PHP252) a night (yes, JPY500 — though you won’t see these advertised in brochures); vending machines tout JPY50 (PHP26) canned drinks. You’ll also marvel at the fashion finds you can score here at great prices. They may not be the latest styles, but have a good rummage through and you’re likely to find an interesting piece you can slip on for a night on the town.
I emerge from exit one of Dobutsuen-mae subway station, hang a left and enter the dimly lit underpass that takes me beneath the train tracks. It echoes with the voices of street vendors peddling their wares — cut-price knickknacks and the like.
Out of the underpass, I walk into Janjan Alley, a narrow shotengai (shopping street). “Janjan” refers to the sound of the shamisen, the Japanese three-stringed guitar-like instrument which waitresses used to play for customers in days long gone. Today it’s not the sound of the shamisen drifting down the street that I can hear but instead that of a tuneless elderly crooner belting out an enka (a form of Japanese country music) on a karaoke machine inside one of the cheap restaurants. His valiant efforts bring a smile to the faces of a young couple passing by.
Though the shamisens have disappeared, many of the businesses from those days still remain. Shinsekai may mean “new world” but it seems authentically old world to me.
I catch sight of some pictures spread along the wall that depict the history of the area. Shinsekai was built in the early part of the last century with its northern half created in the image of Paris (think boulevards radiating out from Tsutenkaku, a structure built to resemble the Eiffel Tower), and a southern half inspired by New York’s Coney Island. However, following WWII, Shinsekai and the neighboring district of Airin suffered from lack of investment and fell into neglect. Parts of the area remain a magnet for day laborers, and it has a sizeable homeless community.
Continuing along Janjan Alley, I notice a long line outside one of the ubiquitous kushikatsu shops, and decide to join it. A long line means either great food or terrible service, but this is Japan, so my guess is that the experience will be nothing short of impeccable.
After a 15-minute wait, I enter and take a seat. This kushikatsu place is one of the bigger ones — there must be 30 seats or more along the counter. The shop is buzzing with diners young and old, half of them in deep conversation and the other half munching on freshly deep-fried bites in crisp golden batter. The aroma has me salivating, and I quickly order from the menu on the wall. Soon after I’ve poured myself a glass of beer, my order appears in front of me. Impeccable service indeed. The chef identifies each piece and then intones the rule of the house: “No double dipping!” Before taking a bite, you must dip your piece into the shared tonkatsu sauce just once. Shinsekai may be a bit grubby but restaurants have hygiene standards to maintain. The skewered food is tasty and with a cold beer, it hits the spot.
With a bellyful of beer and the best kushikatsu in Osaka, I head out of Janjan Alley, past a barbershop offering haircuts for JPY1,000 (PHP505). Around Shinsekai are statues of a chubby chap with an ear-to-ear grin. This is Billiken (the so-called “god of things as they ought to be”). It originated in the States, gaining popularity 100 years ago. One is enshrined at the top of Tsutenkaku. If you rub his feet and make a wish… well, who knows? Here the people seem younger, the shops newer. There are couples on dates. Some stand with arms outstretched as they compose a photo of the illuminated Tsutenkaku and a sea of neon with their camera phones. With Osaka sprawling out from beneath me, I spot Billiken and am not able to resist the tradition. I rub his feet and wish that this new world endures, keeping a piece of old Japan intact, like no other place in the country.
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