Nishinari and The Way Things Ought To Be

March 10th, 2015

Nishinari is widely reputed to be the most run-down, crime-ridden, and dangerous part of Osaka—and about as close to a slum¹ as you are likely to find anywhere in Japan. This may explain the preponderance of cheap backpacker accommodation² in Shinimamiya, the area just south of Shinsekai (新世界), literally “New World”, where I stayed for a single night in May 2014 before returning to Taiwan. Although I only had a few hours to work with I couldn’t resist wandering around Nishinari to see just how bad it was. I figured it couldn’t be any worse than the Downtown Eastside, the festering carbuncle of Vancouver, which I had wandered through on many occasions.

Hotel Toyo, my cheap hotel in Shinimamiya. It’s not a bad place at all. I’d stay there again.

When I arrived at my hotel from Nara it was already late in the afternoon. I dropped my stuff off in what amounted to a musty tatami-laden cell—though for about USD$15 a night I was not complaining—and raced downstairs to hit the streets and capture something of Nishinari’s seedy charm and faded glamour.

An abandoned hotel in Shinimamiya. I hadn’t previously seen much evidence of decay on this trip to Japan.

An abandoned storefront in Shinimamiya. Or perhaps it wasn’t opening time just yet.

Daylight was fading by the time I hit the street to walk around and take some photos.

My first stop was Shinsekai proper, the old neighbourhood just north of the railway line loosely modeled on Paris and New York City. It was mostly empty, with just a few stragglers passing through, most of them looking like they were on their way home from work. It was not a lively place, nor was there an unusual degree of decay, but it was clear that the area had seen better days.

The eastern entrance to Shinsekai in Nishinari ward.

Crossing under the railway line to Shinsekai.

The streets of Shinsekai were mostly empty.

A rather fierce statue outside a closed street food vendor.

One of the more mysterious features of the urban landscape of Osaka is the Billiken, a cherubic statue emblazoned with the description “The God of Things as They Ought To Be”. I knew nothing more than that at the time but have done some reading into the topic since then. Turns out these idols are American in origin and they came to the creator in a dream. Deposit a coin in the box and rub the feet of the Billiken and your wish may come true.

Tsūtenkaku (通天閣) is the name of the towering landmark at the heart of Shinsekai. Built in 1956, this retro-futuristic throwback is the second tower to stand at this location. The first was dismantled for the war effort in 1943 after suffering a fire. It has the look of something from the dawn of the Space Age.

Having finished with Shinsekai I cut south into the seedy covered shopping streets of Nishinari ward.

Having completed a brief tour of Shinsekai I circled back to the other side of the railway line and began my exploration of the streets to the south. I didn’t have far to go before chancing upon a bunch of old people sprawled out in front of a boarded-up storefront sorting cans and smoking cigarettes. I made my way deeper into the zone, passing 100 yen vending machines, crummy karaoke bars, and cheap grocery stores. There were many street people around, almost all of them old men, barely sparing me a glance. I certainly looked out of place, gliding around corners with my camera in hand, but I never felt like I was in any danger.

Street traffic in Nishinari. Things are starting to feel very weird by now.

The infamous 100 yen vending machines common all over Nishinari ward.

An old corner lot building in Nishinari.

With a rosy orange glow consuming the western sky I arrived in Tobita Shinchi (飛田新地), a traditional district surrounded on all sides by the urban decay of Nishinari. I hadn’t any idea what I had stumbled upon at first³. The buildings were all historic in appearance, much more so than anything else I saw during my brief stay in Osaka, and the area was clean and well-kept, faintly illuminated by orb-like street lights and paper lanterns wrapped in plastic to protect them from the rain. Each business was identified by a glowing white sign over the doorway, most of them in kanji. It felt like a place out of time, a throwback to the pre-modern era.

Tobita Shinchi revealed its nature to me as soon as I wandered into view of the first doorway, or genkan (玄関). Here, old women perch on small chairs, sizing up potential customers with strategically placed mirrors. Some made inviting gestures, others turned aside and ignored me as I sauntered on, a loose grip on my camera to indicate understanding of the unspoken rules of the district. Beyond the threshold, inside every open doorway, incredibly bright lights shone down on a raised dais surrounded by ornate floral arrangements, decorations, and maneki-neko (招き猫), literally “beckoning cat”, a lucky talisman now seen in East Asian businesses all around the world. The centerpiece of these lavish displays: a woman kneeling in supplication, fancifully adorned in garments to suit all kinds of fantasies, dazzling eyes and a wide beaming smile hoping to bewitch passing salarymen. And it just goes on and on like this, street after street.

I didn’t do anything more than window shop, not having the time, the money, nor the inclination to find out what transpires upstairs. Even so, I have to admit that this part of my tour of Nishinari was as fascinating as it was unexpected. I have wandered around several of the infamous red-light districts of Bangkok and Amsterdam, most of which were more melancholic than they were titillating, but Tobita Shinchi, with its fantastical atmosphere at dusk, was almost bewitching in a way. I don’t mean to glorify it, but walking through the area was an interesting experience I wouldn’t hesitate to suggest to adventurous travelers. Be respectful if you do pass through—and not only because the whole operation is reputedly run by yakuza.

Deeper into the covered streets of Nishinari.

I wandered deeper into Nishinari, following the many shōtengai (商店街), or covered shopping streets, more or less at random. Most of them were lined with metal shutters that might not have been opened in years. Maybe one in ten shops were open, most of them dingy karaoke bars or dollar stores, although several of the cut-rate grocers and pachinko parlours appeared to be doing a brisk trade.

Deeper into the dark heart of Nishinari.

One of many cheap supermarkets in Nishinari.

After dark in one of Nishinari’s many covered shopping streets.

An anachronistic espresso bar in Nishinari ward.

Not much remains apart from cheap grocery stores and seedy little bars.

Daylight fading and another night begins.

Yet another cheap supermarket in one of Nishinari’s covered shopping streets.

Day turned to night and my feet began to swell from the amount of walking I had done these few days in Japan. Without suitable lighting for even grainy, low-quality photos, I made my way back to my hotel. I hadn’t a map nor cellular access so I navigated by instinct, thankfully without mishap.

Inside one of Nishinari’s cheap supermarkets,

On the uneventful walk back I pondered Nishinari’s notorious reputation. Was it really all that dangerous or merely poor? Had I been lucky? Most of the time I felt like a ghost passing through the ward, capturing moments without interacting with anyone hardly at all. No understanding seemed to pass between me and another mortal soul. I can’t even recall making eye contact with anyone apart from the mamasans of Tobita Shinchi.

Later on I took a brief trip to Dōtonbori for a more conventional tourist experience. I passed through Shinsekai once more, curious to see if it had come alive at night, but it wasn’t any busier than when I was there in the late afternoon. I wondered, is this what people wish of the Billiken? Is this how it ought to be?

Japan Today: “the Nishinari district in southern Osaka, which holds the inglorious title of Japan’s biggest slum, is really quite impressive in its squalor”. ↩
A title bestowed upon the distrct by Tofugu. ↩
This Battered Suitcase: “Beckoned by streetlamps, I turned down a road I had never been down before. It took a few minutes for what I was seeing to set in: dozens upon dozens of brightly-lit windows, all filled with candy and oversized toys. In the centre of each window sat a young girl, dressed in a schoolgirl uniform or a maid’s costume or in frilly pajamas.” ↩