What follows is the fuller "director's cut" of my recent piece in The Japan Times.
The arrival of pleasant springtime weather, along with press coverage of the Osaka Expo 2025 reminded me of a walk I'd long wanted to undertake, following the JR's Osaka Loop Line (Kanjō-sen). The idea initially came from a blog, though the writer didn't finish (and did, surprisingly, the worst parts). I found a couple of others who too had done only part of the walk. The maps showed the route to be a total of 21.7 kilometers, which was manageable, but if the feet or mind grew weary, I could always hop a train and finish another day. The only real rule I'd keep was to pass before each of the line's 19 stations, close enough to hear the distinct departure melodies of each.
The Kanjo-sen didn't start out as a loop. The initial section was born in 1898 as the Joto line, connecting Osaka station with Tennoji, routed through eastern Osaka so as not to impede the large number of ships that passed through the rivers of the western city. A large section of the rails and bridges were destroyed during an air raid on the final full day of World War II, and the rebuilt loop was finally closed in 1961.
Today, an average of 12 trains per hour run the entire line, with trains leaving Osaka and Tennoji every five minutes, at a maximum speed of 100 kph. Close to 270,000 passengers per day ride the striped carriages, a toned down version of the completely orange carriages of the 1990s, a color befitting the Halloween parties held onboard by expats during that decade.
Standing within Osaka Station, the first question is which direction to go, inner or outer loop, clockwise or counter clockwise. As Buddhism is a profound influence, clockwise seems the obvious choice. But something is inexplicably pulling me counterclockwise, so westward I go.
Outside the station, a quartet of college students direct visitors to the line running out to the Expo site. Beyond them, the broad boulevards are eerily empty, a mere 15 minutes after the morning commute. This was all familiar ground to me back in the ‘90s, in those pre-internet days where before a bus return to the ‘Nog, I’d grab some CDs from Tower Records, a pile of books at Kinokuniya, and fill up on Mexican at Chico and Charlie’s. I’ve always felt that Umeda is the part of Osaka that looks most like Tokyo, with its tidy steel and glass towers. But the sight of the highway offramp passing through the Gate Tower Building reminds one of Osaka’s earthy pragmatism.
Not far off, I spy a humanoid robot sitting without irony in the lobby of HAL, the city’s fashion college. Beyond, more wrought iron climbing the side of the always eye-catching Monterrey Hotel. I always puzzle at the expansive empty space out front, at this hole in the middle of prime real estate, in one of the biggest cities in the world. I’d been its center once, to attend the Kinoshita Circus about a decade ago.
It was only a single station away where the glass high rises disappeared, and the neighborhoods began to appear. Fukushima helped set what soon would be a familiar pattern: narrow lanes running toward and along the station were a bevy of restaurants, bars, and shops, many built into the base of the elevated line itself. Befitting the cliche that Japan’s metro stations are veritable villages of their own.
City walking has its own hazards. Emerging from a pedestrian underpass, I begin to follow the wrong rail line, the Hanshin, westward toward Kobe. Other patterns appear. Between the stations is a forest of modest apartments buildings, I know that a block or two behind, modest houses will appear. What temples there are are of ferroconcrete, sitting on plots denuded by wartime bombings, or reduced by American Occupation policy. But the boulevards are still empty.
As the line heads further west, I find myself in an industrial landscape straight from 1980’s dystopian sci-fi, or the minds of 1980’s city planners. Overall, Osaka lacks Tokyo’s green spaces. Color tend to be more prominent around construction sites, the bright synthetic materials around cables, orange cones, colorful barriers. Like a venomous animal warning, come no closer. There was even greater color in the graffiti that covers a large number of walls and surfaces. Befitting Japanese aesthetic, it serves more as art than as vandalism. What I don’t see is the roof art painted atop many of the private homes along the line, with cryptic messages for commuters. Only two remain from the original seven, and you’d need to be on the actual trains themselves to see those.
Besides the ironic Hanshin line adverts on the front of JR Nishikujo station, the only real highlight at street level is Toda’s Osaka City Central Wholesale Market, the second largest wholesale market in Japan after Tokyo’s Toyosu. The markets were served by the city’s many rivers, befitting the “Venice of Japan,” but a bane to the long distance walker. A long pedestrian tunnel drops four stories to pass beneath the Aji riverbed, before opening to Bentenchō, gateway to Osaka Bay, with its new station built for the for Expo, and a vintage collection of bars and coffee joints straight out of 1950s film noir. No doubt reeking of eight decades of cigarettes. A delivery truck is parked tight against a wall, to hide its driver in the act of urination.
The biggest attraction along this stretch is the Osaka Dome, with its hat befitting a Turkish emir. Now owned by Kyocera, a name popping up more and more as if an attempt to be the Mori of Kansai. I’d rather see a game at Koshien any day.
The patterns further develop. Nearer the stations, the outer ring had the little alleys and arcades. Between them, the inner ring had more highlights. Osaka Taisho was a little slice of Okinawa, for the restaurants, rather than the weather. Its station front looked nearly as dated as its eponymous era, but more charitably had the look of the Showa, a neighborhood right out of Ozu films, the signages of bars climbing up the sides of the buildings. Ashiharabashi has the Liberty Osaka human rights museum, dedicated mainly to Japan’s outcaste, whose traditional work tanning hides reflects the numerous Taiko shops along the route. The area was also famed for its firefighters, being the origin point of the worst fire in Osaka’s history.
The sense of economic hardship continues through Imamiya, long a center of day-laborers, many brought to the area to rebuild Kobe after that city’s 1995 earthquake. While the number of laborers have declined due to age, the area has more recently become the base for bargain hunting tourists and backpackers, due to the low accommodation costs and easy access to better known sites. There is a well-lit cluster of stand-up food stalls before Shin-Imamiya Station, and I’m tempted, having walked for over three hours without a stop. But I carry on, getting a glimpse of Tsutenkaku, and with Tennoji just ahead, more and more foreign tourists begin to appear.
Tennoji is the gateway to the south. The station is underground here, the line not going down so much as the terrain rises up. The sheer number of attractions and restaurants and the accompanying crowds is almost overwhelming, especially bustling at lunch time. I did beeline excitedly toward some kind of beer event in Tenshiba park, only to find it won’t open until 3 pm. From Heaven to Hell in mere seconds. As this is one of the city’s most popular tourist spots, I choose not to linger, following the curve of the line as it turns north.
Maybe it is due to growing hunger, but there is a sort of food continuity along the Loop Lines eastern edges. Scents follow; fresh bread, malodorous pork oil for ramen. Due to the tremendous amount of eateries, this stretch was befitting a food tour or culinary walk. A generous proportion serve grilled meat, or okonomiyaki. The restaurants built beneath the line itself are cleaner, more modern, modern, more spacious.
Existing as usual in opposition to Tokyo, the city’s High and Low cities have been seemingly flipped, with the east here having more wealth and status. Things grow more colorful due to the numerous house-front gardens, especially this time of year. This part of the city is shabby chic, the slightly unkept look has a certain charm, more suburban than urban.
Tsuruhashi Station is dominated by Korea Town and its many yakiniku and Korean restaurants. The bustling atmosphere around the station has been selected as one of the 100 Best Scented Landscapes by the Ministry of the Environment. Back when I used to teacg my weekly yoga class, I used to love lunching on chimiji down these narrow lanes, playfully teased by the aunties within. It made me love Osaka and the humanity of its residents. This is the one city in Japan where people are apt to make eye contact. Nearby is Goryeo Market, selling food and items from the Korean Peninsula. The Tamatsukuri arcade further on has an unusual number of private residences mixed amongst the old-timey shops and small eateries.
Approaching the Osaka Castle grounds, I spy the only house of the day still made of wood. I cut off-trail through the expansive grounds of Ōsakajōkōen, happy to have some soft soil beneath my feet. A replica of the Edo period Kyōbashi bridge leads me directly into that eponymous station. During that time, the area was quite bustling as a staging area for those about to under take the long walk to the Tokugawa capital. The current entertainment district dates from that time. Kyōbashi bore the brunt of the Allied bombing on the last day of the war, with one bomb dropping directly onto the station itself, an act that some considered a war crime. A memorial to the close to 1000 victims can be found near the station’s south exit.
The neighborhood north of the station takes on the wealthiest look I’ve yet seen. Kindergartners in fancy private school uniforms walk beneath the weight of enormous randoseru bags. I pass Sakuranomiya Station, a famous cherry blossom viewing spot, and one of the oldest stations on the line. Remains of the original line are just north of the current station, though these are gradually being lost to development. After the Loop Line crosses the old Yodogawa River, I play peek-a-boo with the line down the side alleys, spotting a lone brick arch along the way.
I cross the 2.6 kilometer long Tenjinbashisuji Shopping Arcade, a walk in its own right to poke around some of its 800 shops, many with a long history. Ogimachi park leads to neighborhood that bend and twist on the final approach to Umeda. I spy my first Jizo of the day, whose numbers increase, along with that of street smokers.
The towering ferris wheel welcomes me to Umeda. I am further welcomed by the wrought irons gates of Hankyu Dept, like stepping into the Galleria in Milan. As I make my final steps, I spy a Loop scooter, which seems to be mocking me. Admittedly, that would have been a far better way to have done this route. (But at least there aren't any fucking Mario carts.)
If were ever to do this walk again, I’d only do half, clockwise from Umeda to Tennoji, bookended by meals. Does that make it half a walk? Or in the spirit of Buddhist clockwise perambulation, the Middle Way?
On the turntable: Thievery Corporation, "The Mirror Conspiracy"
