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The Birds are Hungry

Imagine being surrounded by hundreds of pigeons. The sound of their warbles and flapping wings are all around you, getting louder as they descend to take up residence on your shoulders, backpack, and everything else you might be holding.

The birds are hungry.

You are an innocent traveler who has decided, either by choice or by some kind of error in judgement, to walk into the zone where patrons can buy pigeon food and, well... feed them. Regardless of your personal motivations, you are now their jungle gym to climb on, and you're either 1) a little freaked out, 2) hoping your friend gets a photo of your amazing new bird form, or 3) a little bit of both. Your entry into the pigeon lair may not be what you were expecting when you signed for a trip to Japan, but at this point, it's definitely going to become a fun story you can tell other people. You are, in essence, in your own wacky moment that feels like it could be the comedic beat of a slice-of-life anime, but it's actually happening – to you. Welcome to Osu Kannon Temple, a legendary Buddhist site (and pigeon playground) situated in the center of Nagoya in a neighborhood that shares the temple's name.

Since I first started working in the field of travel for anime fans, there's been a running joke among my guests: it isn't all that rare to hear someone remark that they “feel like they're in an anime” when we pass a park full of blooming cherry trees or ride on a rural train line to get somewhere. I definitely heard this bit crop up again in Osu as I watched guests hunting for Gunpla figures or vintage fashions suddenly on the receiving end of a bird tornado.

While saying, “feels like we're in an anime” does come off as a dumb one-liner, it also reflects a certain reality. For decades, the people who tap their creativity to bring us manga and anime have made no secret of their love of attention to detail. Editors regularly head into the world to get reference photos for manga artists, while animation staff have done the same to bring certain places to life in their work. In many cases, these references extend far beyond simple landmarks to side streets, stores, and even pavement markings, rendering spots many would call “unremarkable” with incredible detail. The examples of this dedication are boundless: manga versions of Kabukicho's neon signs are one-to-one matches of the real thing, while drawings of rural train stations are rendered with the same colors and tones that define the wooden waiting rooms and concrete platforms. Consequently, this has led to a small increase in anime-centric tourism within Japan; fans of The World Ends with You can often find their way around Shibuya on their first visit, while those who go to the Osaka suburb of Nishinomiya will have a different appreciation for the city if they're a fan of the Haruhi Suzumiya franchise. While “destination tourism” of this type has always existed to a point, for many creators in anime and manga, it's personal. For example, Studio Ghibli background artist Oga Kazuo has remarked in interviews how the rural fields and mountains of his childhood home in Akita were his reference material for creating the mood and feel of My Neighbor Totoro.

While not a lot is known about manga artist Tsurumaikada, what we do know is that they call Aichi Prefecture (where Nagoya is) home. Their first serialized manga, Medalist, and its anime adaptation by Studio ENGI both wear the influence of Osu on their sleeves, bringing the neighborhood and its temple to life in a way that locals find instantly recognizable. To me, the depiction of Osu in Medalist fits its tone perfectly; it's the kind of place where the tale of an impulsive young skater and her conflicted-yet-energetic coach fit the freewheeling, friendly vibe of the neighborhood to a T.

The history of the Osu neighborhood and the temple it is named after is all about transition and upheaval. Our tale begins in the 1300s, when a community-oriented monk named Noshin saw a vision in a dream of creating a monument to the benevolent Kannon goddess. Noshin established the first temple soon after, but not in Nagoya – the first Osu was in Gifu Prefecture to the north, in a neighborhood that also carries the “Osu” name to this day. The Kannon statue was moved to Osaka and enshrined there until the dawn of the Tokugawa era, when the Tokugawa shogun Ieyasu ordered that the Kannon statue be moved to Nagoya to anchor the town that lay just behind the first gates on the road leading towards Nagoya Castle. While the temple and its famous Kannon statue quickly became a focal point for the area, its location beyond the gates led to something else: the development of the kind of neighborhood that houses row after row of merchants selling their wares, places of leisure, and a not-insignificant number of businesses that offered weary travelers the chance to spend time with beautiful women.

Despite its unique flair and history, the fate of the Osu area following the Meiji Restoration in 1868 isn't all that dissimilar from the tragedies that befell other neighborhoods in Japan. The temple's massive five-story pagoda burned down in a neighborhood fire in 1892, and almost all of the neighborhood and the temple was destroyed in the 1945 air raids in Nagoya that also wiped the city's iconic castle off the map. In the immediate aftermath of the war, the area saw locals produce what would become some of Nagoya's most iconic brands, including the miso katsu (miso pork cutlet) institution Yabaton and local department store KOMEHYO. More critically to our story, Japanese figure skater and Nagoya native Mitsuhiko Kozuka formed a Japanese skating federation that would help spur redevelopment of an old baseball ground into the Nagoya Sports Center – better known to locals as the Osu Skate Rink. The rink helped transform Nagoya into the proving ground for some of Japan's most decorated figure skaters.

Unfortunately for the rest of Osu, the post-war boom was short-lived. As urban re-development shifted towards the areas around Nagoya Station and the centrally-located Sakae area in the 60s and 70s, Osu became one of Japan's “shutter towns” – a nickname that reflected the closed metal shutters that denoted closed or abandoned retail spots. With little interest from major developers to support Osu, local students and faculty from nearby Meijo University stepped in. Small electronics retailers, tiny cafes, and all manner of counter-cultural fashion shops began popping up in the extensive network of covered shopping arcades that lead towards the temple. By the time the 1980s and 1990s rolled around, Osu re-emerged as a destination for a little of everything just around the same time as the second incarnation of the Nagoya Sports Center/Osu Skate Rink opened its doors in 1984.

Today, Osu-dori and the surrounding Osu Shotengai feel like a strange amalgamation of other disparate elements of urban Japan, combined together as if their own existence was also ordered by Ieyasu himself. It's home to both gaudy flashing lights and homely tea shops with long histories; a place where a giant lucky cat statue towers over spots for seating in a plaza anchored by ticket resellers, izakaya, and a Nagoya outlet for the Maidreamin maid café franchise. To say that it feels like a combination of various neighborhoods from other cities feels appropriate at first, but honestly does the entire area a disservice. Case in point: the area's high density of shops catering to subcultures and anime fans have led some to call Osu the “Akihabara of Nagoya”, but many of the established shops selling used figures, manga, and toys feel more like a flea market, each housing a host of treasures for anyone curious enough to discover. The KOMEHYO department store now has multiple smaller locations around the area, but all of them still maintain a smaller, more distinct feel than the massive shopping malls of Shinjuku or Shibuya; even KOMEHYO's Kimono shop has a façade that evokes the textures and patterns of the fabric but doesn't resemble the look of their main outlet. Osu is a place where an odd mix of the past and future is on full display around every corner; the newest incarnation of the centuries-old Banshoji Temple even has an animatronic dragon that breathes smoke and a mechanical “karakuri” doll depicting feudal ruler Oda Nobunaga. Even the neighborhood's outpost of used anime goods retailer Mandarake carries the subtitle “Rulers of Time” over its entrance, as if to reflect the area's ties to its many past incarnations.

The unique feel of the Osu area very much carries into Medalist, especially that of Osu Kannon Temple's grounds, which play host to conversations between characters in many scenes. Young skater protagonist Inori hides in narrow alleyways that appear in the anime as they do in real life, with narrow shadowed walkways that lead to hole-in-the-wall cafes. The shadow of the shopping arcade roof appears over the koban (police box) in an early episode, while skate instructor Tsukasa weaves through the neighborhood in frequent scenes that bookend moments of skating that (of course) feature the Osu Skate Rink. Moments spent at cafes and other spots in the anime, even in brief, are reflected in real-world spots like Kannon Coffee and local clothing outlets that line the street.

Being able to visit a place like Osu after seeing Medalist gets at one of the magical things about “destination tourism” in anime and its impact. What makes a visit to Japan as an anime fan isn't always the shopping, the Instagram-fueled hip spots, or even the storied history. Sometimes, it's just the feeling of being in a simple, plain-looking neighborhood or place that takes on a whole new meaning for the traveler because you can feel just how much a manga-ka, their editors, and the myriad staff of an anime production team worked to bring that place to life in their work. As much as my previous guests have joked about how Japan as a whole “feels like anime”, it really is the truth.

In the third episode of Medalist, there is a brief scene in which Ema is sitting in front of Osu Kannon, blankly staring forward, as a flock of pigeons surround her and hop all over her. It's a scene played for laughs; one that appears to the casual viewer as a visual gag that would happen in the context of an anime, but never in real life. And yet, if you were to visit Osu Kannon, there's a good chance that you too could end up as an accessory to an unreasonable number of birds. Although I am biased as a travel professional, I assure you that while the internet may want to convince you that there are “must-have” experiences on a trip to Japan, there is no better feeling than walking into a place you've seen in media and having that place become part of your story. Maybe it won't be the highlight of your journey, but it is a testament to the power of anime: the power to bring its viewers just a little bit closer to the people and places that make Japan special.

What to experience it instead of reading about it? Join us in Japan and visit Osu Kannon and get an exclusive tour of Studio ENGI's actual animation studio. All this and a lot more on the ANN in Japan 2025 Tour by PacSet.

Trip Highlights:

• Visit Studio ENGI, Exclusive to this trip and this trip only!
• Exclusive meet and Greets with anime industry professionals.
• Explore the real-life places that inspire anime, and talk to the animators about how they inspired them
• Visit scenic towns featured in anime
• Visit an explosive live set
• Walk in the footsteps of samurai and feudal leaders in castles, temples, and shrines in Kyoto, Osaka, and Himeji
• Shop AKIHABARA, OSU-DORI, OTA ROAD, and OTHER LEGENDARY ANIME-CENTRIC NEIGHBORHOODS

More details here.