The Rush of Rush Hour

AM

Least: At 9:45am, I surfaced in Kyoto after walking for several hundred metres underground in an unknown direction. The smug blandness of the shops above meant that a few minutes later, I was walking straight past my destination. By the time I asked a tissue-man the directions, I had walked seven hundred metres too far. It was not the first or second time I have been lost in Kyoto - it was the third. There is something strange about the orientation of the city that I just can't put my finger on - it's probably just me. I'm yet to love Kyoto.

Most: By 8:20am, I was being swept along with the wild Osaka rush hour (see stolen photo). Even on my local train, a constant ribbon of people walked through the train to get to the first carriage in the hope of saving a few precious seconds. By the time I reached underground the ribbon had turned into a wide black suited flood of people clopping along in their dress-shoes. Most people seemed to be in robotic mode as if they make that same dash to work every day - I'm sure they do. When I reached the Midosuji platform at Namba, thousands of people were waiting patiently in line to board the next train. Seconds after stepping into the carriage, people began pushing themselves after me and I was helplessly moving with the crush. At the first stop I only saw one person step out of the train  - four or five joined the mayhem.

PM

Least: By 5:20ish, I was trudging back through the Midosuji station beneath Namba. Although my head was down, I heard my name being called by a strangely familiar Japanese voice. It was my boss from one of my schools. Immediately after some minor pleasantries, she began piling on the pressure for me to attend a drinks party for work on Saturday night. I replied with a lot of erring and mighting then went on my way. Thankfully, I have far more interesting plans for Saturday night which will make it impossible to attend the threatened work function.

Most: Some time after 8:00pm, Rosie and I walked in to the previously mentioned T's Kitchen. We planned to stay for a single drink and a snack, however, it wasn;t long before events overwhelmed us. Just as I as emptying what I assumed would be my last beer, a middle-aged Japanese guy in the corner piped up. The first thing he said to Rosie was aimed at detecting her marital status. As it turned out, the man was a real estate agent and had to of his minoins with him. In the hour and a half that followed, we spoke to the three agents and drank more and more beer. For some reason the agents insisted on buying us sashimi. The food, though was to no avail and did not prevent the beer hitting its target with devestating accuracy. It was a long and windy trip home.