Anonymous

28 Nov 2025

Field Notes
Field Trip #03: Osaka


200,000. That’s how many people show up daily at the World Expo Osaka at its peak, rain or shine, in freezing cold or baking heat.

Today was the last day. I came the day after it opened in April and wanted to see what the finale would feel like. Would it still have the same energy, or would everyone be dragging their feet, counting down to the exit?


Exiting the train station, I saw people juggling bags, ponchos, portable fans, foldable chairs, snacks, and drinks. The sun was out, and I was excited to return to the pavilions I missed and catch the closing ceremony. Dozens of staff held signs pointing to different lines depending on the ticket you had. I followed along and joined a queue.

Around me, umbrellas popped open, chairs unfolded, and bags of snacks were unpacked. Some people even wore jackets with built-in fans. Everyone looked ready. Attending an event here often feels like an all-day activity. Queuing is part of the experience. I’ve noticed this before at malls and shops across Japan, where lines form an hour before opening even without special releases or events. People seem to like the anticipation as much as the thing itself.

Then drops of water started falling. More umbrellas popped open. Before I knew it, it was pouring, and there I was, standing among thousands of people, gradually getting soaked. And yet, everyone stayed calm and orderly, like they were playing their part in some giant, well-rehearsed game. I can’t think of many other cities that could pull this off with such ease.

 _ World Expo Osaka

Compared with the opening days, the Expo was now packed. Every pavilion, every showcase fully reserved. Lines stretching into the hundreds. Visiting a single presentation felt nearly impossible. Lines snaked from the front of the pavilions to the sides, out toward the wooden Grand Ring designed by Sou Fujimoto.

Staff with loudhailers barked directions, Keep moving, turn back, don’t block the way. Wayfinding signs showed wait times for those without reservations. Even 7-Eleven had a line. Merchandise stores? Hundreds waiting. Food stalls, water coolers, and vending machines, everywhere you looked, people waited patiently for their turn.

_Sure, the Expo had its share of hiccups. The online reservation system was clunky. Not enough tents to shelter people from the sun and rain. Food stands weren’t always affordable or well spread out. And moving people in and out of the Expo? Probably could have been faster and smoother.

Still, nobody seemed to mind. People had travelled from all over the world for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Queues were long but never chaotic. Everyone knew this was their last chance. They respected the process and came prepared. There are few cities on earth where this could have gone any better.


The main draw, of course, was the country pavilions and special presentations. A chance to experience the culture of different countries all in one place. For art and design lovers, it felt like visiting over 180 museums in a single venue. Pavilions blended architecture, craft, and culture. Countries shared their heritage through pop-up food stalls, music, dance, stand-up comedy, and more.

And then there was Myaku‑myaku, the mysteriously shaped mascot born from the Expo’s logo.
_ Myaku-myaku

Designed by illustrator Kouhei Yamashita and named through a public contest with over 30,000 submissions, Myaku‑myaku was everywhere. Train liveries, street banners, billboards, keychains, tote bags, t-shirts, sneakers. Socks. Notebooks. Chocolates. Coffee bags. You name it.

“Rather than smart or good-looking, I thought people would like a clumsy character,” the creator said. Myaku‑myaku captured the imagination and hearts of visitors. At every merchandise stand, long lines formed of people hoping to take home something in the mascot’s signature blue-and-red colours.

The gentle, clumsy mascot was a perfect counterbalance to the abstract, conceptual, and detailed structures of the pavilions. It made the Expo feel friendlier, less intimidating, and most importantly, cute enough to win over Japan and the world.


City mode

 After the Expo, downtown Osaka felt like another world compared with a week at the Seto Inland Sea. The number of people I saw in an hour matched the total I had met in a week at the Setouchi Triennale. Food and drinks cost more. Streets were louder. People looked tired and seemed constantly in a rush. Around the train and bus terminals, the smell of piss and alcohol hits first. Signs reminded people not to smoke on the streets or loiter. Trash overflowed from bins or lined the curbs. This wasn’t the Japan I remembered from my first visit in 2005. The city felt strained under the surge in tourism after the pandemic.

In Japan, it’s common for people to carry a small plastic bag to take their trash home. Public bins are rare, and everyone takes responsibility for sorting and disposing of their own waste. Visitors don’t always know this, which is part of why bigger cities like Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto aren’t as clean as they once were.

I stayed in Tanimachi district, and on my first night I walked a few minutes to find food and noticed signs and posters in Chinese and people speaking Mandarin. It felt like a little Chinatown in Osaka. Shops sold mala hot pot, grilled meat sticks, and goods from mainland China.

I’d seen similar pockets in other countries. Bangkok has Hwai Kwang, the unofficial second Chinatown. In Da Nang, more shops are opening with Chinese signs and menus. But this felt different. An entire district that felt more like Shanghai than Osaka. I wondered why people moved here.


Japan’s foreign population is growing, and it shows in Osaka. During my five days there, I saw Chinese, Korean, Filipino, Indonesian, and Vietnamese residents, along with a smattering of other nationalities. Restaurants and shops catered to migrants looking for a piece of home. Despite this, there didn’t seem to be any visible tension from locals. They’ve adapted, understanding that Japan needs migrants to keep the economy running and fill jobs locals no longer want. In convenience stores, staff from South America or South Asia spoke near-perfect Japanese. Japan is changing. It has to.

_ It reminded me of a conversation I had with a film director in Tokyo years ago. He asked what I thought the challenge was for Japanese brands, and I said, “Japan has always struggled with staying Japanese while becoming global.” That tension is more visible now than ever. Still, I’m optimistic it will shape a Japan that stays open to the world distinctly its own.
Travel is a way to learn from and about the world. Field Trips is a new series of notes about the people and places we meet along the way.
—
Felix Ng
Co-founder, Anonymous
@felix.anonymous

View all Notes

Explore