The Barber Who Took Me for Takoyaki

I didn't plan to get a haircut in Osaka. It just started feeling necessary somewhere around day four.

One morning, somewhere between wandering the city and trying new food, I decided to do something about it.

So I did what most people do: I opened Google Maps and started searching for barbers.

Eventually I found one in Umeda and booked an appointment.

Cycling into Umeda

The morning of the appointment I rode my bicycle into Umeda from Awaza.

It was mid-morning, around 11am. Spring had technically started and cherry blossom season was just beginning, but the air still had that sharp chill that Osaka seems to hold onto in March.

The streets were busy in that familiar Osaka way — pedestrians, cyclists, and taxis all squeezing through the same narrow intersections.

At one point I missed a turn and got completely turned around.

So I did the usual routine: stop, pull the phone out of my pocket, check Google Maps, adjust course, and keep going.

Even with the confusion, cycling around Osaka felt strangely calm. Compared to riding in Australia it actually felt much safer. Almost everyone cycles there, and drivers and pedestrians seem far more aware of it. Being able to ride along the paths instead of the road also makes a big difference.

Eventually I made it into Umeda, parked my bike, and went looking for the barber shop.

Walking in

The shop was on the second floor of a small building.

Standing at the entrance I realised I was a little nervous. My Japanese is basically non-existent beyond the polite phrases most tourists learn, and I wasn't entirely sure how a full haircut conversation was going to work.

Still, I walked in.

That's when I met Yassu.

Communicating without a shared language

I explained, in my very rough Japanese and with the help of Google Translate, that my Japanese wasn't very good.

Yassu didn't seem bothered at all. If anything he seemed amused by the situation and welcomed me in with a smile.

His English was better than my Japanese, but still limited, so we ended up communicating in a mix of broken phrases, gestures, and translation apps. At a few points we would type something into Google Translate, pass the phone back and forth, and laugh when the translation sounded slightly strange.

It made the whole experience feel relaxed rather than awkward.

When it came to the haircut itself, I showed him a few photos of styles I liked. Then I used one Japanese word I had remembered: おすすめ (osusume) — meaning your recommendation.

He understood immediately and nodded.

From that point on, I just trusted the process.

The haircut

The haircut itself was calm and methodical.

Despite the language barrier, there was still a rhythm to the whole thing — the quiet hum of clippers, the soft snip of scissors, and the occasional glance in the mirror to check if everything looked right.

It struck me how much of the process didn't really need language at all. Most of it was communicated through small gestures and shared understanding.

By the end of it my hair looked completely normal. Maybe even better than normal.

Takoyaki downstairs

At one point during the haircut Yassu asked if I liked Japanese food. Then he asked about takoyaki.

I said yes.

After the haircut finished he surprised me by walking downstairs with me and taking me to a tiny takoyaki place nearby. It was one of those classic hole-in-the-wall shops with no fancy seating, just a small counter and the smell of hot batter and octopus cooking on the grill.

He introduced me to the owner, we said our goodbyes, and I ordered a serving.

I ended up sitting outside on a tiny stool eating fresh takoyaki while thinking about the whole experience. The takoyaki was hot and soft in the middle, the batter still steaming in the cold March air.

It was simple food, but it tasted incredible.

Riding home

After finishing the takoyaki I rode my bike back through the city toward Awaza.

The ride home felt different from the ride in.

There was a quiet sense of satisfaction in having done something that had seemed slightly intimidating earlier that morning. It also gave me a small glimpse into what everyday life might feel like living in Osaka — doing normal things like getting a haircut, navigating the streets, and figuring things out as you go.