Osaka, Day 2: Naked, Eel, and Reptiles — A Love Story

There’s a moment — standing stark naked in a Japanese onsen — where you question everything. Not in a deep, philosophical way. More like, “How did I end up here, stripped of all dignity and clothing, surrounded by strangers pretending none of this is weird?”

Let’s rewind.

The onsen (Aqua Ignis Onsen) is a sacred place, a temple of steam, minerals, and unwritten rules I absolutely did not know. This was not a “dive right in” scenario. No, this required reconnaissance. I paced between my hotel room and the onsen like someone trying to talk herself into defusing a bomb. Ten trips. Ten. Each time, I got to the door, stared at it like it owed me money, and turned back.

But on the eleventh go, I went for it. Clothes off, courage on. And you know what? It was magnificent. Absolutely freeing. Hot, soothing water melting jet lag and nerves away, and a silent, mutual agreement among all participants to ignore each other’s very existence. It felt like baptism, only instead of being born again, you’re reborn as a calmer, prunier version of yourself.

Post-immersion enlightenment achieved, I took a victory lap along the water to Rinku Park Osaka. I found a fountain — grandly titled The Fountain of the Four Seasons — and, feeling inspired, I sat down, popped in Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and people-watched in a fleeting moment of grace.

Then, the Rinku Marble Beach. The whitest pebbles I’ve ever seen, a place so pristine it felt like nature itself had curated it. Of course, the tsunami warning signs kept me humble — nothing says “enjoy the view” like a reminder that the ocean might casually flatten you.

Next up: Rinku Premium Outlets – an outlet emporium. A capitalist fever dream of every store you’ve ever heard of, and some you haven’t. ル・クルーゼ　ジャポン　Le Creuset Japon tempted me with visions of bougie stews and a whole pet section? If I had room in my suitcase (and a bank account to go with it Juno and Vimy would be eating like the princesses they are. The KitKat store? A shrine to culinary innovation — green tea, sake, strawberry cheesecake, wasabi… KitKats in flavours that shouldn’t exist but absolutely should.

Then came a critical moment: lunch. I nearly ate at a Reptile Café. Yes, a café where you eat alongside reptiles and, if you’re so inclined, touch them. I admire the entrepreneurial spirit behind “Come for the latte, stay for the iguana.” But hunger won out over curiosity, and I joined a line at the only packed restaurant in sight – Mametora Japanese Rinku Osaka.

Conga eel bento box. Miso soup. Pickles. A symphony on a tray. The eel was everything — tender, smoky, rich, and just oily enough to make you feel like you’re getting away with something. If they’d offered me a bucket of it, I wouldn’t have said no.

Back to my quirky little dinosaur hotel, where the restaurant was, naturally, closed. No problem — across the street was a glowing beacon of salvation: Trial. A massive Japanese grocery store.

Let me tell you something — nothing humbles you faster than wandering a foreign grocery store, wide-eyed and clueless. An entire aisle dedicated to matcha products? Sure. Skewered meat and vegetables displayed like edible art? Sold. Custard-filled puff pastry that practically whispered sweet nothings to me? Into the basket.

Dinner became a hotel room picnic. Tempura vegetables, meat on sticks, and a dessert so creamy and soft it should’ve been illegal. Washed down with a milky tea, the kind that warms you from the inside out.

I ended the night full, content, and vaguely proud of myself. One day in, Osaka feels like a place that simultaneously challenges you and rewards you for showing up. Naked or not.

Tomorrow? Who knows. Maybe I’ll touch an iguana.