Hiroshima: the happy night time side.

Fidget fidget fidget. That was all I could do for the last three minutes of the train ride as the shinkansen pulled into Hiroshima. I had been on a train since 1319h, and pulling up punctually at 1936h, I was dying to get out.

The humidity was oppressive in the station and I convinced myself it would be better once I got out; if I could get out. Several attempted exits and many flashes of my Japan rail pass later (just to exit?) and I found myself on what I was sure was the wrong side of the station. Depsite the heat, I felt like I could walk, being cooped up on speeding bullet trains all day urged me to exercise.

First a hilarious attempt to wedge me and a backpack into a phone booth to call ahead to the Mikawa Ryokan. Secondly the realisation that the river I wanted to use as a landmark was nowhere to be seen. Thirdly the observation that there were not a lot of street lights, nor street signs.

As I jumped into a cab, I noticed my Lonely Planet map had only two street names and the Ryokan didn't even have an address. A little detective work and the driver found it, though I reckoned on arrival I would have walked right past as the sign was in kanji.

I love staying in a ryokan. There's nothing that breaks the ice like spitting toothpaste in front of strangers in an austere traditional environment. Or like emerging from the shower moist (chamois can only get me so dry) in a sarong and bumping literally into a startled southern European. An English girl helpfully pointed out that she found her bathrobe under the mirror but as my mirror was on the wall, I found mine (minus the belt; how saucy) under the table.

A little ryokan information. I am staying in a traditional Japanese low end ryokan (23 euro). Last year I stayed at a high end gaijin ryokan (250 US$). A ryokan is a traditional Japanese inn where you stay conforming to certain traditions.

On arrival, you leave your shoes at the entrance and put on a pair of slippers. Rooms have tatami (reed mats) on the floor, which you walk on only barefoot. In the high end ryokans is an alcove (tokonoma) which has a traditional flower arrangement in it. It's not a place to store yourback pack! There is a sliding door cupboard in the wall which has your bedding, which in high end places is laid out by a maid after supper. In my current digs, the futon is already laid out on the floor.

You are brought tea and a small something to eat, served on a low table called a zabuton. In high end places, this is quite ceremonial.

You bathe in traditional onsen (high end) or communal bathrooms (low end), wearing a dressing gown (yukata) tied with an obi (belt). You have to cross it over you left over right because the opposite is how dead people are dressed. It might seem like a small detail but I don't want to get it wrong lest I offend someone and in a bid to correct me, they open up my dressing gown to cross it right over left, and find me starkers...

I was starving so picked a place that was recommended for both its bustling atmosphere and local pancakes. I don't ever follow LP recommendations for eating but figured that Okonomi-mura in the Shintenchi Plaze Bulding with three floors of okonomiyaki restaurants couldn't be a bad thing. When the doors opened on the third floor, I heard American accents and saw either very busy or very empty benches around hot plates. I don't mind making a fool of myself with chop sticks and charade ordering in front of Japanese people but I won't do it in front of Americans. So I faked the "oh my friends must be on the other floor" look and popped up to fourth where a okonomi chef took pity on me, produced a picture menu and talked me through it in Japanese.

Dinner was a pancake, topped with cabbage, bean sprouts, maybe dried onion, dried seaweed and bacon cooked in front of me, flipped (yes the whole lot flipped in one fluid movement) until the bacon fried, flipped again, udon noodles heaped on top, omelette style egg fried, placed on top and garnished with dried seaweed and local okonomiyaki sauce. I had a little trouble using my mini cement trowel to cut it, so the kindly chef took pity on me again, cut up my food and after 15 minutes of watching a clearly starving woman struggle with chopsticks discreetly brought me a fork. If anyone is intimidated by local eating and wants a kind mother figure to watch over them, I recommend the fourth floor, left out of the elevator, and the last booth on the right. Photos of face stuffing food here.

Hiroshima has a really defined night life and entertainment area (shintenchi and Nagarekawa) which I could have walked around in for ages but I got lost and my ryokan had a curfew. It was unthreatening, with a mix of bars that looked like they had a lot of potential (where are my divas?!), restaurants that I'd love to be understood in, pachinko parlours (coin operated games) and many girls on street corners that I could not work out if they were touts or pros. I got so lost in it all that I needed to take a taxi (actually I just love those automatic opening doors) whose driver also got lost, so lost he had to take off his little white gloves to think about where to go. Cute.

I'm done in, oysaumi nasai.