Day 1: Osaka

Monday, March 25, 1991

My youngest brother, MJN, arrived from Las Vegas this afternoon. We're going to spend spring break kicking around Kyushu. Last night, I took the overnight ferry from Beppu to Kobe. From Kobe I took the train to Osaka to get the "lay of the land" before he arrived. I was also supposed to find a hotel. I know I should have gone to Beppu's Foreign Tourist Information Office for help, but I thought I'd be able to do it on my own. So I blew most of the day and still hadn't found a hotel when it was time to pick MJN up at the airport.

I haven't seen much of my brother in the last ten years. My first impression is that he takes up a lot of space. He's big and tall, and although I cautioned him to pack lightly, he brought a large bag and his guitar. He talks softly, but he gestures largely and he seems unaware that the guitar case on his back nearly takes out the row of people behind him every time he moves.

At the airport, we were able to make hotel reservations. We decide to stay at the Hotel New Hankyu because the airport shuttle bus stops there and it is convenient to Osaka station. When I went there this morning they said they had no rooms. I guess they reserve blocks of rooms for the travel agents to fill.

After we check in, I play a little trick on him. The lobby of the hotel is a modern Western style, light and spacious. There is a corridor that leads to a door that opens on the underground mall where the main subway lines converge near Osaka station. So we're walking down this corridor, immersed in our conversation, basically alone. We open the door and, on the other side, it's wall-to-wall people, the flood of rush hour traffic. MJN is momentarily stunned. As we wade through the current, he clings to me. He knows if he loses me now, he'll be really lost. Brother, welcome to Japan!

Posted by M Sinclair Stevens
March 25, 2003

Comments

Now that we can make online hotel reservations it's difficult to imagine how difficult it was for me to such simple things.

Of course, part of my problems were the result of my personality. Admitting that I need help is painful. And I'd learned early on that asking people at my school for help put a burden on them, while taking away any privacy or feeling of control I had over my plans.

Comment by: M. Posted March 28, 2003 09:04 AM.

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