Yuki was not the only friend I made in the Kansai region. Upon arriving in Osaka, I immediately got lost in a sketchy part of town. I had a few sets of directions to my hotel from various train stations all written in poor English, so I figured the best option I had would be to start from a different (theoretically nearby) train station and see if those directions were easier to follow.
I was fairly confident in my ability to ask where a train station was, and I hoped the response would be pointing. However, when I approached a grandfatherly man, the station name got stuck in my throat and I completely mangled it, denying me the chance to use my carefully prepared grammar.
“Dobuststsuuuuuu…” I coughed at him.
“Eh?”
“D-d-dobuuu…”
He magically understood me. Or possibly he didn’t, I really have no way of knowing, but his face lit up with (a possibly mistaken) recognition. He started talking to me, and other than him telling me that my Japanese was very good, I understood none of it. I thought I would help him out by looking extremely lost and then pointing in random directions. He kept happily talking away, and pointed first to the right of me, then to the left, and then behind me.
I thanked him and started walking in one of those directions, and was surprised to see him come with me. I mistakenly thought that perhaps I was so close that he was just going to walk the ten steps to make sure I saw it. While he led me around Osaka, we had a very animated, one-sided conversation. I imagine our exchange went something like this:
Him: “We don’t often see foreigners around here! Don’t worry, we’ll get to the train station in no time!”
Me: “…”
Him: “Actually I was just heading to the train station myself. What luck you happened to catch me just then.”
Me: “…”
Him: “Let me tell you this very funny joke! Hahaha! Perhaps if I laugh and nod enough you will suddenly get my very funny joke!”
Me: “Ehehehehe…”
Him: “But now I have something very serious to tell you. Given how most of your recent conversations with old people have gone, it’s probably racist. Or maybe I am scolding you for the actions of other foreigners, or possibly for your own ineptitude in learning the language of the place your are visiting. Or maybe I am telling you to be careful and not trust strange men who don’t speak your language and are leading you around in an unfamiliar city to destinations that, for all you know, could be slaughterhouses for unsuspecting tourists and you really should have Google-mapped directions to your hotel rather than relying on the directions they gave you that were clearly written by a translation website because now we’ve been walking for over ten minutes and you are certainly going to die.”
Me: Serious expression to show how seriously I was taking him.
Him: “Ha ha! Just kidding! Lots more words including a couple you recognize like ‘friend’ and ‘wife’!”
Me: extremely nervous laughter
I was despairing that once again I was facing the possibility of sleeping on the street in an unknown city when I saw the train station. I pointed at the entrance. “There!”
Him: “There? No, no, you don’t want to go there. Continue walking with me so I can chop you up and eat you for supper.”
Me: “Thank you so much! I go here!”
Him: “Well, suit yourself! Good luck, foreign girl! Ha ha ha.”
He gave me an incredibly warm smile, shook my hand, and bowed. As he happily walked away, I reflected that he was possibly the nicest ax-murderer in all of Osaka. I then proceeded to remain lost for the next half hour or so while searching for a hotel that was about a two-minute walk from my original starting-point.
Force-Feeding Duck Style 