A slightly blurry, handheld smartphone photo taken at dusk of a lone wooden bench facing a dark body of water. Faint wisps of smoke are visible in the distance against a darkening sky, with the subtle glow of distant city lights reflecting on the water. The overall mood is quiet and contemplative, with a focus on the emptiness of the bench and the vastness of the bay
A close-up, slightly off-center smartphone shot capturing the texture of a weathered wooden bench on a beach at night. In the background, out of focus, are the indistinct shapes of people and the faint, colorful streaks of distant fireworks against a dark sky. The image should convey a sense of being present but slightly removed from the main event, with a focus on the immediate surroundings
A candid smartphone photo looking across a wide, slightly hazy expanse of water towards a distant, sprawling cityscape at night. The lights of container cranes and ships are visible, creating a utilitarian and industrial feel. The sky above is mostly dark, with a subtle, diffused glow from scattered fireworks that are largely obscured or out of frame. The composition should feel unposed, as if snapped quickly to capture the atmospheric contrast between the quiet foreground and the active port

Watching fireworks alone

It's 8:15pm and I'm sitting on a bench near Nishikinohama Beach, watching the last traces of smoke drift across the Osaka Bay. The Japan Fireworks Expo just ended - an hour of coordinated explosions that drew thousands of people to this strip of coastline.

I didn't plan to come here. This morning I had a loose idea about exploring Dotonbori, maybe finding some good takoyaki, getting lost in the neon chaos that Osaka is famous for. But when I checked the local events while having coffee around noon, I saw the fireworks expo listed. All seating required advance reservations. No free viewing areas.

The old me - the one who arrived in Amsterdam nine months ago - would have shrugged and moved on. Stuck to the plan. But something about those words "no free viewing areas" felt like a challenge. Or maybe an invitation.

I took the train out here around 6pm. The beach was already packed with people settling into their reserved sections, families spreading out picnic blankets, couples claiming their spots. Security guards checking tickets at every entrance point. I walked past all of it, kept going north along the waterfront until the crowds thinned out.

Found this bench about 400 meters from the official viewing area. No reserved seat. No perfect angle. Just a wooden bench facing the water, with a partly cloudy sky overhead and the temperature dropping to something comfortable after a warm day.

The fireworks started at 7:30pm exactly. From where I sat, I could see maybe 70% of each burst - some of the lower ones were blocked by buildings, and the angle wasn't ideal. But I could hear everything. The deep boom that hits your chest before the colors bloom. The collective gasp from the crowd down the beach. The crackling finale that seemed to go on forever.

There was a man fishing about 20 meters to my left through the whole show. He never looked up. Just kept his line in the water, occasionally reeling in and casting out again. When the grand finale started - the part where they launch everything at once and the sky becomes one massive explosion of light - he finally glanced over his shoulder. Watched for maybe ten seconds. Then went back to his fishing.

I thought about taking photos but my phone stayed in my pocket. There's something about fireworks that never translates to camera anyway. They're too much about the sound, the smell of gunpowder drifting across the water, the way your body responds to those deep percussion thuds.

After it ended, I sat here while the crowd dispersed. Watched the smoke clear gradually, revealing stars that had been there all along. The fisherman packed up his gear and left without catching anything visible. A few other people who'd been watching from unauthorized spots drifted away.

Now it's just me and the sound of small waves against the concrete barrier.

I keep thinking about that fisherman. How he came here on fireworks night and just... fished. Didn't let the spectacle change his routine. There's something very Osaka about that, I think. Kyoto would have stopped to appreciate the beauty, made it a whole ceremonial thing. Here, life just continues. Even during fireworks.

This morning feels like it happened days ago. I walked around Shinsekai neighborhood for a few hours, took some photos of the Tsutenkaku Tower, ate kushikatsu at a small place where the owner kept adding extra skewers to my plate without charging me. The neighborhood has this retro feel - like it's stuck in the 1950s but comfortable with that. Not trying to be trendy or preserved. Just existing.

Then I wandered into Tennoji Park looking for tall trees. Found a massive camphor tree near the entrance - must be over 20 meters high, with branches that spread horizontally before reaching up. Sat underneath it for a while, watching people pass by. Nobody else stopped to look at it.

That's been the strange thing about Osaka so far. In Kyoto, people stop. They photograph. They contemplate. Here, everything moves. Even when people are standing still, there's this kinetic energy. Like the whole city is on its way somewhere.

I should probably head back to my hotel near the station. But I'm not quite ready to leave this bench yet. The bay is dark now except for the lights from the port facilities across the water. Container cranes. Ships. The infrastructure of a working city.

Tomorrow I'm thinking about Dotonbori properly. The neon signs, the chaos, the food. But tonight I'm glad I ended up here instead. Watching fireworks from the wrong angle. Sitting on a bench that wasn't part of any plan.

The restlessness that pushed me out of Kyoto yesterday has settled into something else. Not contentment exactly. More like curiosity. Osaka feels like it has things to show me, but I'll have to find them in the margins. In the spaces between the tourist attractions. On benches 400 meters from where I'm supposed to be.

The fisherman had the right idea. Sometimes you just come to the water and do your thing. Let the fireworks happen around you. Or don't. Either way, the fish don't care.

I'm going to sit here a bit longer. Watch the smoke finish clearing. Then I'll catch the train back and figure out tomorrow when tomorrow comes.

215 days left. But who's counting.