Japan, 2025
“No strollers allowed,” the attendant said pointing to a giant escalator. I couldn’t see the top.
Next to it sat a model of the aquarium, a single passage completing a corkscrew through seven floors of exhibits.
It was our second day in Osaka, and we’d arrived when the aquarium opened. By then, both boys preferred being carried to walking.
“I guess you need to get out,” I said, folding down the stroller.
Then, one kid holding my hand, and one kid holding my wife’s, we stepped on, and world tipped up. Daylight turned to darkness as we rose—blue reflections flickered across the walls and glass.
Before us stretched a hallway. The ground sloped gently downward.
~
First, it was sand sharks, rays, and Japanese spider crabs—those otherworldly ones with impossibly long legs and claws. Show-stopping in the aquarium back home, they were domestic here. Still, they caught my attention. I moved ahead of Dani trying to buy a little time to see the exhibits before the kids passed me with their five-second attention spans.
The aquarium wasn’t empty, but the darkness swallowed most of the visitors, leaving the aquarium feeling dark and private. Then, ahead of me, a crowd temporarily formed around the glass. Cameras clicked. Conversations overlapped whispered tones. I squeezed past them for a view.
Endless blue.
And then shadow.
In front of me passed … a whale? No, something else.
First the head, then the body—too large to take in all at once. Its slate-gray skin was patterned with pale spots and faint checkerboard lines, a swarm of fish trailing in its wake. One, then another—whale sharks. There were at least three of them, circling through a vast tank that stretched through the heart of the building. Through the water I could see the aquarium on the far side, its hallway spiraling downward toward the sandy seabed below. One opened its mouth, a giant “O” as big around as its body, scooping seawater like a mighty basket. Inside too, were hammerheads, a great white, and sunfish.
I ran back to Dani.
“You have to see this!” I said, but her face was already pressed up against the glass. I’d passed the same window earlier. Without a whale shark, it had looked empty.
“Incredible.” She said, pulling out her phone.
Together, we walked—slowly now. We found seats nearby, and for an hour, we just watched the flickering blue. Next to us, the kids hardly noticed. Instead, they ate snacks, and they rested, happy for the break regardless. Then they stood up and left. A few moments later, I followed.
~
Three floors below, a seal rested against the glass. Dani and the kids were already there, pointing and laughing and squealing.
“Hey look,” I said as I caught up to them. “The sign says he’s from California too—Monterey Bay. We went a long way to find ourselves so close to home.”
“No, look!” Dani said pointing.
And then, I saw.
The seal was following with Corbin, pausing when he paused and moving when he moved. He pressed his hand on the glass, and the seal tried to nose him. He pulled back at first, then replaced it gently on the glass.
“My turn,” Avery said, as he ran to the glass. The seal nosed him too, then flipped over to show them its belly.
Wordlessly they played—the kids and the seal—curious and together, yet separated by the glass.
Then the seal disappeared.
“I guess he needed to breathe.” Dani said. Then, pointing into a hidden crevasse of the next tank, “Oh look, an octopus!”
Avery followed, but Corbin did not. He sat by the glass, still looking into the dark enclosure. When he at last turned to leave, the seal suddenly returned, eagerly flapping its tail and nosing him with its new lungful of air.
Corbin laughed at it, then made a face through the glass.
~
As we continued our slow descent, the whale sharks traced their endless circles through the blue.
Next to us, the seal followed the boys.