Bullet Train to Osaka

Zoom zoom from the shinkansen, my speed-loving friends! I'm writing this from a bullet train traveling at 285 kilometers per hour, which is approximately 400 times faster than I've ever moved in my entire cactus life. The Japanese bullet train, or shinkansen, is an engineering marvel—sleek, silent, and so punctual that the average delay is measured in seconds. SECONDS. As someone from a country where "the train was late" is a given, I find this level of precision deeply impressive and slightly intimidating.

The journey from Tokyo to Osaka takes just over two hours, which would have taken a full day by regular train. I bought an ekiben—those beautiful boxed lunches sold at train stations—featuring tiny compartments of pickled vegetables, grilled fish, rice, and mysterious but delicious side dishes. Eating a perfectly composed meal while Mount Fuji appeared in my window like a postcard come to life was a peak travel experience. The mountain was snow-capped and majestic. I felt very small and very lucky. Also, the ekiben mackerel was exceptional.

Osaka immediately felt different from Tokyo—louder, more casual, more food-obsessed (if that's even possible). The people here have a reputation for being friendlier and funnier than their Tokyo counterparts, and within five minutes of arriving, a stranger had told me a joke, complimented my spines, and recommended three restaurants. Osakans greet each other not with "hello" but with "have you eaten?" That tells you everything about this city's priorities. My kind of place.

Dotonbori, the famous entertainment district, is sensory overload in the best way. Neon signs stacked ten high. Giant mechanical crabs waving their claws. The smell of takoyaki (octopus balls) and okonomiyaki (savory pancakes) wafting from every doorway. I tried both repeatedly, because Osaka's unofficial motto is "kuidaore"—eat until you drop. The takoyaki were crispy outside, molten inside, with a tender piece of octopus in the center and a drizzle of sweet-savory sauce and dancing bonito flakes on top. I could eat these forever. I nearly did.

The okonomiyaki experience was participatory. At a counter spot where the grill is right in front of you, I watched the chef mix batter with cabbage, pork, and a dozen other ingredients, then pour it onto the sizzling surface. Some places let you cook your own—I was wisely not trusted with this responsibility. The final product was a thick, satisfying pancake, covered in mayo and sauce and more dancing bonito flakes (the Japanese really love their bonito flakes, and now so do I). It was messy and hearty and absolutely perfect.

My advice for visiting Osaka: arrive hungry and stay hungry. This is Japan's kitchen, and everything exists to be eaten. Take the shinkansen for the experience—the smoothness, the speed, the ekiben—but don't rush through Osaka itself. Stay a few days. Eat street food for every meal. Get lost in the neon maze of Dotonbori. And if someone asks if you've eaten, the correct answer is always "yes, but I could eat more." That's the Osaka spirit. 🌵🚄🇯🇵