November 2, 2025

Time to wrap up my stay in the tiny apartment in Osaka. In addition to the challenge of size,  the apartment was beholden to all manner of restrictions on the part of the owners, yet who weren’t able to get the wifi to work, which meant running regularly to the local Starbucks. All the hostels I stayed at in Japan had decent connectivity — but when I spent the money on a private place, it was just wasted.

Crossing the bridge to the subway station, I notice many locals dressed in matching shorts and lycra shirts, and also carrying paddles — there must be a rowing event on the river below, and yet I don’t see any boats on the water. A man shouts at passing participants, presumably instructing them where to go and what do; I lean over the bridge, waiting expectantly for boats to emerge, and finally, three long boats filled with rowers appear below me, each boat tethered to a rope held by an individual standing on the bridge. From the appearance of the boats, this must be a dragon boat race. The start is counted off, the paddlers dig their paddles into the water in unison, and are off. More groups of paddlers appear on the bridge, young, strapping men, older men, and groups of Caucasians, each team in their respective colours.

I wait for the next round of boats to appear, but lose patience, and decide to continue on my journey. I have to catch a flight today, but it is in the mid-afternoon, and I have a generous amount of time prior to the flight departure. Or so I think – it’s astonishing how easily the time slips away on what should have been a simple trip to the airport. I take the subway to Tennoji station, repeating yesterday’s journey, then through the morass of passages and signage, attempt to figure out how to get to the Kansai airport line. First I have to follow the signs to the JR station, then once inside the station, the signs leading to the platform that services Kansai airport. The train is crowded with Chinese visitors, their suitcases blocking the aisles; the train departs as announcements play back indicating that only the first four cars of the train go to the airport, but not the car we are in — and yet I can’t proceed to the next car because of the suitcases stacked against the separating door.

The arm of Osaka hugging the southern part of the bay the city is set on is not remotely memorable, just more bland, utilitarian housing that never exceeds a basic two or three level limit, with little in the line of adornment, greenery, or anything redeeming for that matter. Some visual excitement arises when the train arcs northward to Kansai airport, the anticipation building at the possibility of sighting unique or exciting architecture, but the passage is blocked by a continuous metal screen and the superstructure of the highway passing overhead.

We arrive at the airport, my immediate destination Terminal 1 — but where is the Departures Hall? What amounts to an unnecessary trek brings me to an upper level, where the check-in counters are located, and quickly I spot the Jetstar counter. There are few people waiting to check in for the afternoon flight to Taipei, but when the attendant walks me through the process on the kiosk, my documents are rejected, and I am directed to human attendants. Despite the few people waiting for their attention, the process becomes cumbersome, the agent repeatedly asking me questions about things that seem obvious — except when she keeps returning to the question of my departure flight from Taiwan.

It turns out that she can’t let me on the plane to Taipei unless I can demonstrate a proof of departure from Taiwan within the allotted 90 day timeframe. Unfortunately, I can’t; I should have dealt with this beforehand, but hadn’t. Fortunately, there is free wifi at the airport, which means I can buy a ticket online, although I should also run my VPN to prevent my credit card info from getting hacked … And there are still reasonably-priced flights available from Taipei to Seoul …

Kansai airport is expansive, including copious amounts of open space that offers scalability and the ability to handle large crowds. However, given the money spent on this place — they built an artificial island to make an airport of this size — and utter lack of character, I struggle to find any aesthetic aspects or design considerations that make the airport in any way memorable. It’s simply a functional space with no personality of any sort. And it was voted one of the best airports in the world?

A young British woman in the departure lounge is traveling to Taiwan on the last leg of a brief tour of China, South Korea, and Japan, and shares her frustration at the massive crowds she experienced in the Osaka-Kyoto area. Let’s see what Taiwan holds in store for us — at least it will be warmer! I have enough time to trek over to the Segafredo outlet for the last coffee in a country that has been far from ideal for a coffee lover such as myself, then return to the lounge to board the small Airbus for a cramped but relatively smooth ride of under three hours to Taipei. There are only a few Caucasians on the plane, which would suggest that Taiwan may not be the tourism magnet that Japan is.

The lineup through immigration in Taipei is lengthy, and by the time I make it to the baggage retrieval, my bag is the last one on the belt. Well, it arrived, anyway! On to business: For the last leg of my journey through Northeast Asia, I will get a prepaid SIM card for Taiwan, even if it is relatively expensive — not having a data connection in Japan definitely caused a lot of unnecessary grief.

Apparently, the banks in Taiwan charge minimal commission fees for withdrawals using foreign ATM cards, and in fact, I see no extra charges on the receipt for the withdrawal at the Bank of Taiwan. A stack of maps and brochures in my hands from the tourist information, and I am off to the MRT that connects the remote airport to the city centre. It will be a long journey — and the day has already been long. There is a food court at the entrance to the MRT station, but it would be best to continue into the city now …

A tall young Caucasian man ahead of me is pushing a large, canvass-clad object on wheels; asking him what is inside sparks a long conversation. Inside is his bike, the bag a contraption I haven’t seen before, a carrying case that offers advantages over shipping a bike in a box, as I have done before. The Belgian is on a multi-leg trip through Northeast Asia, having amongst others biked through Japan, which must have been very enjoyable. Having just come from China, Tao comments that the people were far more lively but also brusque and aggressive compared to other peoples in the region. We talk about the state of the European and North American societies and the disparities with the societies in the region we are currently in, and he continually pushes me to explain what I think the reasons for the underlying disparities. But I still have a long trip to my hotel and it is getting late …

I finally exit the Sanchong Elementary School metro station; it is already after 9 pm, and am hoping the hotel hasn’t cut off the check-in time, although that would seem ridiculous. The roads around the station are like anywhere in Asia, not particularly wide, and lined with a lot of brightly-lit eateries and drink shops. I cut through the hutong-style alleys and see an urban environment that is very familiar for the Chinese culture, an exceedingly narrow space lined with claustrophobically-spaced house- and storefronts, even in the dim nocturnal light the state of the facades is visibly both rudimentary and poorly maintained, but not to the point of complete dilapidation; nothing is new and impeccable, nor on the other hand utterly run-down. Clusters of parked motor scooters make the environment even more difficult to navigate, especially when cars try driving through.

On the street corner where the hotel is supposed to be located, I see nothing more than a bank (closed) that takes up the better part of the block. In the corner is an open foyer that provides access to a tower — but on closer inspection, it turns out that the reception for the Seeker hotel is on the 10th floor. The grubby foyer doesn’t set my expectations too high, and the elevator even less so — never mind the young woman with heavy mascara that gets off on a lower floor.

The rough-looking lobby makes a questionable impression as well, and I quickly get into a spat with the young woman working at the reception, who is insistent about preauthorizing a credit card payment for my stay, which I have an issue with for two reasons: I may have paid for the stay already, and secondly, I do not want to pay using the credit card I booked the stay with.

The room is on the 13th floor — already a weird start — and upon entering the room, I come into an entirely different world, the room evocative of a 1960s alternative thriller, along the lines of Dr. Strangelove. A queen sized-bed faces an enormous round room whose walls are covered in wallpaper covered in vertical wavy lines, with two vinyl armchairs facing an enormous T.V. screen mounted on the wall. Two nightstands are on either side of the bed, a door leading to a large bathroom with a tiled bathtub, sink with wide marble countertop, and shower stall and toilet.

The room also includes a low table with tall mirror, wooden writing desk, with all manner of lamps in addition to the overhead, ceiling lighting. The room and its appointments are on one hand incredible, but a lot of the furniture and room’s surfaces have suffered extensive damage, much of the wallpaper stained and mouldy, baseboards degraded, a large break in the windows taped over, the vinyl on the armchairs peeling, electrical plugs hanging out of their fixtures, and so on. Some items in the room that are brand new, such as the bathroom sink and the shower stall. The pervasive smell of cigarette smoke is annoying — after pushing her for answers, the receptionist tells me that I can expect the same in all rooms, meaning that the hotel is effectively not non-smoking. But they do offer an ozonation treatment, which presumably neutralizes odours such as cigarette smoke.

I return to street level to explore the neighborhood, most shops now shuttered, with only traces of vehicular and pedestrian traffic in the brightly-lit streets. The few people I see around the area of the hotel are of a rougher demographic element, wizened, slightly confused older men hobbling along, young, heavily-mascaraed women in revealing clothing, shady-looking younger male characters, a few restaurants still open, or at least with illuminated interiors. Fortunately there is a large grocery store only a block away.

Wandering through the store with the idea of stocking up on basic items I can enjoy for breakfast and snacks, I noticed that the prices are eyebrow-raising, much higher than in Japan, a sobering introduction to what I will be facing traveling in Taiwan. And yet judging from the environment around me, the country is much rougher and poorer. But these are only momentary initial impressions in this pocket of the giant city of Taipei at this late hour of the evening.

The only eatery I find open several blocks further along is a small affair where dishes are composed from the contents of tureens, my peppercorn chicken an admixture of white rice, glass noodles, boiled shredded cabbage, with a chunk of boiled chicken, the flavour vaguely spicey, but not in a good way, never mind the slop-like texture. Hopefully this isn’t representative of Taiwanese cuisine!