We left the train station to the tune of some truly bad hostel directions: 'Go northwest from the station. Find a shrine. Turn left.' Because street names are for wimps. The hostel, once found, was quite lovely in a converted family home way. We dumped our stuff and beelined to the supermarket for supplies.
I have inherited a fascination for foreign supermarkets from my mum. While Maddy filled a basket, I bounced from aisle to aisle taking photos and ignoring my assigned task [find cereal]. Here, bananas that smell extra bananary! There, sushi rolls the rough dimensions of a child's arm! Cereal does not exist! I was especially intrigued when the cashier placed certain feminine products in a special opaque bag before sticky-taping it closed. Such wanton disregard for our privacy. Where's the padlocked titanium briefcase chained to my wrist? Try harder, Japan.
We took a train to the city centre and found ourselves in the middle of bright and bustling Chinatown. Despite having just left actual China, we felt compelled to join the milling locals and grab some noodles and steamed pork bun. But we couldn't forget the local specialty. Oh Kobe beef, how I adore your luscious juicy tenderness. All the rumours were true.
Speaking of food, how about the plastic meal displays outside restaurants? Bit unappetizing. We flew straight from a country that embalms its politicians to a country that embalms its food. But I really shouldn't complain, as these shiny counterfeits are often our key to a meal. I've worked out the ingenious system of taking a foodstagram photo of Desired Meal and thrusting it in the waiter's face. Most respectful tourist ever.
Sunday morning was all about anti-rush. I found a park and joined the local dog walkers for some exercise. 90% of these dog walkers were old men with serious faces holding leads attached to very tiny dogs in very tiny dog coats. Blotchy faced from jogging slowly in circles, I cooed. The dog-walkers stared. They seemed as bemused by my behaviour as I was by theirs.
Tiny dogs are serious business here. I'll cite two examples to back up my case. Firstly, I have seen more dogs in prams than babies. Secondly, down by the harbour we watched an unsmiling middle-aged man take photo after photo of himself with his hoodie-wearing chihuahua happily lodged under his arm. Serious business.
Kobe's harbour is a ferris-wheeled and public artsy area. It's clearly the place to come and stroll about on a Sunday afternoon. Instead of climbing the Kobe Tower (big, red, overpriced) we decided to hop on a ferry for a 45 minute harbour cruise. We bought tickets from a woman wearing a cartoon-style sailor suit, incorporating a broad white collar, a blue bow and bell-bottomed trousers. And when the boat pushed off, two employees waved giant foam 'bye bye'-inscribed hands at us as cheerfully American festive tunes blared from the speakers.
Never change, Japan.
We followed up the cruise with a walk down Flower Street. There were several earthquake memorials, and also flowers. Most pedestrian crossings were manned by a police officer toting an orange baton. I found this slightly amusing as the motorists here seem much less inclined to mow down pedestrians than in, say, Europe. People don't jaywalk either. It's almost disconcerting.
We lost half the afternoon in Loft, this epic IKEA-scale store with an entire floor devoted to stationery. Think walls of notepaper, of photo albums, of patterned masking tape. Think bank-breakingly good. When we finally left the building, it was dark outside, and Kobe felt inclined to rain.
Soaked to the skin, we slunk into a nearby restaurant plastered with the (English) word 'curry '. Zoë had imparted wisdom to the effect that Japanese-style curry is the ultimate comfort food, despite appearing at first glance to consist of rice mountain + brown puddle. Zoë was (as ever) absolutely right. Curry was just the thing we needed.
And so ended our stay in Kobe. Kobe beef, I will not forget you. Unfortunately I can't say the same for my plug adaptor. I'm so sorry, Zoë, but I've already managed to land myself [you] a new one - but we'll leave that fascinating tale for Hiroshima.
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