Saturday, April 24, 2004
The Southwestern peninsula of Hokkaido is called the Whale's Tail. But, we weren't driving as far as that. If the tail were actually connected to the suggested carapace of landscaped whale, we would have been driving along the smooth lines of her back on Friday, rested in her smooth side for the evening, and continued along her underbelly on Saturday. Heather didn't go to work on Friday. She had a sick day to get a prescription filled at the hospital (where anything that requires more than the basic over-the-counter pain killer is addressed). Usually, like in The States, a trip to the hospital means more waiting than actual medical attention. On Friday, though, we got lucky. I went along to the hospital because we had a big day planned afterward, and the hospital was on the way to our day. The Place of the Gods. Near Shakotan, which I kept remembering as Shaka khan. In the Summer, when the land is fully awake and blooming, in summertime, flowers cover the hills and trails to the place of the gods, ambrosia growing for the magnificent beings. As it is now only early Spring here, we found one small patch of purple flowers that grew like rock candy around the sturdy stalks. But, let me describe the site from a bird's eye view, just to help you form a map of the place. An idea to navigate. Mountains all along the coast and in this place a jutting out, a brief aberration from the now-habitual dramatic beauty of the place. But, this piece of overthetop geology was designed with sacredness in mind. Leave the bizarre to manmade landscapes. The jutting was a peninsula, a tall, rolling winding...like the mountain was a wave about to break perpendicular to the ocean, perpendicular to the mainisland. And beyond this frozen architecture, sliced off at the end and then worn smooth by time's wind, and time's water, there is a puttering of islands, an ellipses of stone. This place goes on forever, it says, this place of the gods. And in a final demonstration of exuberance, a stone rises up. We might say like a statue, because the civilized among us have the tendency to compare great and ineffable beauty with the arts and creations made by the hands of men, we say like a statue. But, the rock is not a statue, Perhaps even the name rock limits this presence, made physical by stone, but surely a god. A physical god, an metaphysical god. Anyway. There is a god that rises out of the stone, which rises out of the water, and if there were a ship buoyed along side it, the mast would reach the weathered first toenail. This god is robed and steady, spine straight, connecting sea, earth, and sky, and his gaze is set Northeast. I prayed a seagull to kiss his forehead for me, to send my reverence. I want to be a part of this beauty. The birds make a roost is his hair, they are his attendants, his wings to the far reaches of his kingdom. To send news, blessings, to carry them back from the shores, the inlands. The place of the Gods. It was windy on Friday and the waves crashed like salty seamless, a diluted emerald green, up onto the smaller rocks around the jutting, then flowed back down to the sea in a hundred tiny waterfalls. We wore jackets and hats and climbed like waves, up and down the curves of the peninsula on a path made recently, to make it easier for folks like us to reach the sacred. It is just a half hour hike now on wood and metal. Before I imagine I would have spent a whole day climbing, following the footsteps of those before me, grooves in the stone, in the sand, a clearing between the grasses and flowers. And following them back. Whole groups of people passed us by, focused on getting to the end of the path. To see what they could see. I wonder what they saw out there on the edge. Did they notice a god facing Northeast? And then they passed us on their way back. I swear in one place the mountain got caught in the sixties, near the beginning of the path, where it is wearing huge bell bottoms and bare feet getting wet in the spray. Heather and I sat out there a while, on the edge, watching birds and ocean and stone. At one point we got to talking about plans, what next, but caught ourselves. Here we are, in the Place of the Gods. Time formed a reef around us and we were alone there for a long time, and only on the return did the flow of people begin again.
IN the car we ate sticky rolls and resumed our conversation about plans. It was around two in the afternoon and we decided to go to Otaru instead of home. To see a movie in the mall. The drive was long for us. Heather was sore, I was tired. But, somehow, the tower of commerce at the end was restorative. We browsed the mall and found some Engrish shirts and hoodies.. Had a wonderful Italian dinner (one of the best Capreses I have ever had). Saw Something's Gotta Give, which was funny and touching. I cried and laughed through most of it. Our day felt complete and as the credits rolled, we made our way home. The plan for Saturday was to go to Noboribetsu to see Hell Valley, where the earth still spews sulfur and boils the lakewater.
Saturday started out slowly, lazily like a Sunday. I made French toast for us, we did the dishes, and then it was back to bed for a good siesta. I finally dragged myself out of bed at ten to one, showered and as I dressed, Heather opened her eyes. We were on the road by two for another gorgeous drive. In some places, the grass had already caught the breath of Spring. It shined in exuberant, unholy green. The sky was blue, with white clouds streaming and puffing along. Occasionally, though, we would be taken back to February, and for a couple of minutes be driving through white snow storm, on the black road between white snow banks on either side. Mountain weather. Funny to be driving through snow to get to Hell's Valley. As we navigated the town, moving closer to the site I could feel an excitement rise in my body. Things are happening here. Activity. Perhaps it was all the underground activity that I felt, my own watery body picking up the rhythms of the earth. Noboribetsu is the most famous onsen in the Orient. The water is full of sulfur and minerals, which as we found out later in the afternoon have a wonderful effect on the skin.
We found a parking spot near the crater and jumped out to walk around. I guess I expected reds and deep browns, some sort of science project color scheme. Instead, the hollowed out earth was a collection of mineral rich shades. Sandy oranges, fluorescent yellows and greens, a rosy pink, leady grays. The water that wound though the scene was a grey blue color, shallow, steaming. The smooth walls that rose around the crater broke into stalagmite-like spears of rock, varying in size, but no smaller than ten feet high and three feet in diameter. Orange, brown, Orange-brown. Against blue sky. Or hailing grey clouds. Mountain Weather. We hiked around the crater toward the boiling lake. I pictured it like a big pot atop a high flame. But, it was the lake that boiled not the water. The mud, charcoal-grey bubbled releasing what I imagine to be sulfurous gulps of gas. Steam rose up from what appeared to be calm water, 22 meters deep in some places. I wonder if anything lives in there. Feeling a bit like Japanese tourists that day, we looked at the clock and figured we should head back to the car if we wanted to onsen in the sulfurous water before heading to Date for Kaiten sushi dinner. We found a relatively cheap onsen along the way, and dipped in. There were two inside pools and one outside pool. The outside pool was cloudy grey and a moderate temperature. As we sat and enjoyed the view of clouds and water trickling over mossy stones, Heather noticed that another bather was rubbing mud on herself. I reached down into the murk and found that there were deposits of mud near the stone walls. I picked some up and rubbed it onto my arms. It was thick and grey, like the silt I can find in the mangroves near my house in Geiger Key. The stink was a little different, though, more potent here. When I washed off the odiferous mud, my skin was left smoother than before. Slick and shiny. I cupped another handful of mud and rubbed it onto Heather's back and arms. Then we made masks for our faces. And washed them off, from slightly sticky to smooth, goddesses of the sulfur pool. We rose and bathed inside. The cool bubbling pool was my favorite. I stretched out on my belly, letting the bubbles support the weight of my body and resting my head on the edge. My back ached as the bubbles drew the tension out of it. And my skin danced as bubbles slid up my sides, rushing towards the big air. A quick dip in the adjacent hot pool, to relax the shoulder, the quads...And we rinsed off in cool water, dressed and got back on the road, our bodies heavy with relaxation and our hungry stomachs looking forward to dinner.
You may remember me talking about sushi in an earlier blog. I admit that although I have managed to eat sushi frequently, most of it has been rather tame, as have been the circumstances. At dinner I decided to delve into some dually foreign foods. I ate octopus sushi, a brown squid-like sashimi, salmon salad rolled in nori, and little potato mochis with seaweed on the outside. The rest of the dishes were familiar favorites: salmon, scallop, shrimp, and eel. mmmm. When we sensed that our bodies couldn't handle any more raw seafood bacteria, we pushed the buzzer and paid. The night sky was clear with a thumbnail moon and lots of stars. We were sleepy and satisfied. But, wait, we weren't going home. Heather was taking us toward Lake Toya. I tried not to ask, sensing a special surprise treat, but when I did ask she answered that we were headed to Seicomart, a common convenience store. Sweet. We parked near the stony shores where we had played and lounged a different day, weeks before. We rested in the dark car from the drive, I unsure of what to do, why we were here. And then I heard someone bang the hood of the car, hard. What the Hell was that and I felt humbled when I saw the second firework travel up into the sky and explode. We put on sweaters and stood outside, cuddled up against the wind to watch fireworks. A wonderful surprise.
Today it really is a lazy Sunday, and it feels as if we got a bonus day because we already had such a busy weekend. I am curled up in Heather's room writing as she watches Harry Potter in the living room. Our JET hoodies just came by Black Cat mail and we are now wearing them. Heather's navy with white and green, mine black with red and yellow. It has been a wonderful weekend, and strangely, my last one before I return to The States. This week will be filled with packing and baking and sending mail and writing out recipes for Heather. Thursday is a National holiday and I have to decide whether I want to spend it in Sapporo doing the happy consumer thing or down South in Matsumae gazing at Cherry Blossoms. Life is pretty sweet to me right now, these are pleasant choices, and I am thankful for the lightness of this moment.
IN the car we ate sticky rolls and resumed our conversation about plans. It was around two in the afternoon and we decided to go to Otaru instead of home. To see a movie in the mall. The drive was long for us. Heather was sore, I was tired. But, somehow, the tower of commerce at the end was restorative. We browsed the mall and found some Engrish shirts and hoodies.. Had a wonderful Italian dinner (one of the best Capreses I have ever had). Saw Something's Gotta Give, which was funny and touching. I cried and laughed through most of it. Our day felt complete and as the credits rolled, we made our way home. The plan for Saturday was to go to Noboribetsu to see Hell Valley, where the earth still spews sulfur and boils the lakewater.
Saturday started out slowly, lazily like a Sunday. I made French toast for us, we did the dishes, and then it was back to bed for a good siesta. I finally dragged myself out of bed at ten to one, showered and as I dressed, Heather opened her eyes. We were on the road by two for another gorgeous drive. In some places, the grass had already caught the breath of Spring. It shined in exuberant, unholy green. The sky was blue, with white clouds streaming and puffing along. Occasionally, though, we would be taken back to February, and for a couple of minutes be driving through white snow storm, on the black road between white snow banks on either side. Mountain weather. Funny to be driving through snow to get to Hell's Valley. As we navigated the town, moving closer to the site I could feel an excitement rise in my body. Things are happening here. Activity. Perhaps it was all the underground activity that I felt, my own watery body picking up the rhythms of the earth. Noboribetsu is the most famous onsen in the Orient. The water is full of sulfur and minerals, which as we found out later in the afternoon have a wonderful effect on the skin.
We found a parking spot near the crater and jumped out to walk around. I guess I expected reds and deep browns, some sort of science project color scheme. Instead, the hollowed out earth was a collection of mineral rich shades. Sandy oranges, fluorescent yellows and greens, a rosy pink, leady grays. The water that wound though the scene was a grey blue color, shallow, steaming. The smooth walls that rose around the crater broke into stalagmite-like spears of rock, varying in size, but no smaller than ten feet high and three feet in diameter. Orange, brown, Orange-brown. Against blue sky. Or hailing grey clouds. Mountain Weather. We hiked around the crater toward the boiling lake. I pictured it like a big pot atop a high flame. But, it was the lake that boiled not the water. The mud, charcoal-grey bubbled releasing what I imagine to be sulfurous gulps of gas. Steam rose up from what appeared to be calm water, 22 meters deep in some places. I wonder if anything lives in there. Feeling a bit like Japanese tourists that day, we looked at the clock and figured we should head back to the car if we wanted to onsen in the sulfurous water before heading to Date for Kaiten sushi dinner. We found a relatively cheap onsen along the way, and dipped in. There were two inside pools and one outside pool. The outside pool was cloudy grey and a moderate temperature. As we sat and enjoyed the view of clouds and water trickling over mossy stones, Heather noticed that another bather was rubbing mud on herself. I reached down into the murk and found that there were deposits of mud near the stone walls. I picked some up and rubbed it onto my arms. It was thick and grey, like the silt I can find in the mangroves near my house in Geiger Key. The stink was a little different, though, more potent here. When I washed off the odiferous mud, my skin was left smoother than before. Slick and shiny. I cupped another handful of mud and rubbed it onto Heather's back and arms. Then we made masks for our faces. And washed them off, from slightly sticky to smooth, goddesses of the sulfur pool. We rose and bathed inside. The cool bubbling pool was my favorite. I stretched out on my belly, letting the bubbles support the weight of my body and resting my head on the edge. My back ached as the bubbles drew the tension out of it. And my skin danced as bubbles slid up my sides, rushing towards the big air. A quick dip in the adjacent hot pool, to relax the shoulder, the quads...And we rinsed off in cool water, dressed and got back on the road, our bodies heavy with relaxation and our hungry stomachs looking forward to dinner.
You may remember me talking about sushi in an earlier blog. I admit that although I have managed to eat sushi frequently, most of it has been rather tame, as have been the circumstances. At dinner I decided to delve into some dually foreign foods. I ate octopus sushi, a brown squid-like sashimi, salmon salad rolled in nori, and little potato mochis with seaweed on the outside. The rest of the dishes were familiar favorites: salmon, scallop, shrimp, and eel. mmmm. When we sensed that our bodies couldn't handle any more raw seafood bacteria, we pushed the buzzer and paid. The night sky was clear with a thumbnail moon and lots of stars. We were sleepy and satisfied. But, wait, we weren't going home. Heather was taking us toward Lake Toya. I tried not to ask, sensing a special surprise treat, but when I did ask she answered that we were headed to Seicomart, a common convenience store. Sweet. We parked near the stony shores where we had played and lounged a different day, weeks before. We rested in the dark car from the drive, I unsure of what to do, why we were here. And then I heard someone bang the hood of the car, hard. What the Hell was that and I felt humbled when I saw the second firework travel up into the sky and explode. We put on sweaters and stood outside, cuddled up against the wind to watch fireworks. A wonderful surprise.
Today it really is a lazy Sunday, and it feels as if we got a bonus day because we already had such a busy weekend. I am curled up in Heather's room writing as she watches Harry Potter in the living room. Our JET hoodies just came by Black Cat mail and we are now wearing them. Heather's navy with white and green, mine black with red and yellow. It has been a wonderful weekend, and strangely, my last one before I return to The States. This week will be filled with packing and baking and sending mail and writing out recipes for Heather. Thursday is a National holiday and I have to decide whether I want to spend it in Sapporo doing the happy consumer thing or down South in Matsumae gazing at Cherry Blossoms. Life is pretty sweet to me right now, these are pleasant choices, and I am thankful for the lightness of this moment.
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Okinawa. I played in waterfalls, swam with the sea creatures, heard the purring of a jungle cat, peered into tidal pool worlds at low-tide, held star sand in my palm, ate sea vegetables and fresh fish tempura, got a sunburn, and slept soundly through the nights.
Heather and I returned from Okinawa two nights ago...It was an amazing trip. The land is beautiful and dramatic. And I felt at home in the tropical air, thick with humidity. There is so much to tell about the trip and we took over 300 pictures...but, maybe the most incredible days were spent in Iriomote-Jima, a small island in the far south of Okinawa. It is Japan's "last frontier." Most of the island is still untouched jungle.
We biked and hiked around the first evening on our own...followed a pipeline towards the sea through the jungle and then back again as dusk began to creep in. We heard a loud purring that may have been the Iriomote wild cat, but we didn't investigate further. The next day a swath of raining cloud covered the island and so we stayed inside most of the day, but did manage to walk to town and find some fresh fish tempura...mmmmm.
The tempura sign led us to this tiny concrete slab of a store. Inside we found a gruff fisherman at the deep fryer working in his big rubber boots and a stained tee-shirt. Bustling around him was a woman I imagined to be his wife. She was wrapped in a canvas apron and selling seafood salads and working the register. We wandered in, dumb wide-eyed North Americans and asked what was in the tempura. The man pointed to a headless fish in the sink and then gave us gave us a taste of the deep-fried finished product. Wow. We nodded and exclaimed and the man cleaned the jus de poisson off two plastic chairs that barely fit in the room and asked us to please have a seat while he made a fresh batch for us. Such a good find.
The next day we hiked to two waterfalls and I stripped down to just my raincoat (it was still raining) and bathing suit and climbed up one of them. I played in the person-sized potholes that generations of flowing water had patiently smoothed, drop-by-drop, into the stone. I thought of the Spring when I played in the Waterfalls near Vassar.
In the afternoon, after we caught the boat from the trail back up the river, the van from the Youth Hostel, (wo)manned by a shiny old Japanese lady, drove us to the beach with star sand. Sure enough the sand is shaped like little stars. Pictures would really do the beach the most justice. We snorkeled there, too, and the reef begins when you step from the sand into the water. Fish surrounded me...They weren't scared at all, just curious. and beautiful...all different kinds.
There is so much more to these islands and our trip, so I will call this the first installation.
Back in Hokkaido, the snow has pretty much completely melted to reveal last year's dead grass. It's not very pretty and snow boarding is over, but the air smells like Spring and the crocuses and cabbage are unfolding. It's in the 50s now.
I made soap yesterday at the farmers' house. They invited friends over for a picnic and soap session. Lots of shaking (lye, old tempura oil, and water) and lots of smiles and laughing. It was the first time I have gone somewhere as myself and not Heather's guest, so I felt comfortable speaking and acting for myself and didn't feel the need to check in with her about my manners or answers. Just fumbled through on my own and delightedly so. I brought home three milk cartons full of soap as omiyagi (a souvenir) and offering for my help. This morning I cut the thick doughy blocks into smaller pieces. As I write they look like slices of thick shortbread dough drying under a warm panel of Spring sunlight on the living room floor. For the next month someone must flip the pieces every day. This both dries the soap into usable bars and weakens the potency of the lye.
Recipe: 250cc of lye. 500ml water. 1.65 liters of used, strained, oil. First put on long sleeves and gloves to prevent the lye from touching your skin. Then, combine water and lye, shaking the mixture in a heat-resistant sealed container (they used big heavy-duty plastic sake bottles), periodically releasing the hot gas formed by the reaction. Then add oil and shake until the liquid becomes thick. Before the mixture hardens, pour it into a mold that can later be cut away. Let it sit for a day, then cut the soap and lay it out, flipping it every day for one month. Then it's all over, use this soap on dishes and around the house, but not on skin. If you add two table spoons of Urea to the lye and water, the soap rendered is gentler and appropriate for use on the skin (Or at least that's what I hear).
Now, I am off to feed this body.
Love and Peacefulness.
Heather and I returned from Okinawa two nights ago...It was an amazing trip. The land is beautiful and dramatic. And I felt at home in the tropical air, thick with humidity. There is so much to tell about the trip and we took over 300 pictures...but, maybe the most incredible days were spent in Iriomote-Jima, a small island in the far south of Okinawa. It is Japan's "last frontier." Most of the island is still untouched jungle.
We biked and hiked around the first evening on our own...followed a pipeline towards the sea through the jungle and then back again as dusk began to creep in. We heard a loud purring that may have been the Iriomote wild cat, but we didn't investigate further. The next day a swath of raining cloud covered the island and so we stayed inside most of the day, but did manage to walk to town and find some fresh fish tempura...mmmmm.
The tempura sign led us to this tiny concrete slab of a store. Inside we found a gruff fisherman at the deep fryer working in his big rubber boots and a stained tee-shirt. Bustling around him was a woman I imagined to be his wife. She was wrapped in a canvas apron and selling seafood salads and working the register. We wandered in, dumb wide-eyed North Americans and asked what was in the tempura. The man pointed to a headless fish in the sink and then gave us gave us a taste of the deep-fried finished product. Wow. We nodded and exclaimed and the man cleaned the jus de poisson off two plastic chairs that barely fit in the room and asked us to please have a seat while he made a fresh batch for us. Such a good find.
The next day we hiked to two waterfalls and I stripped down to just my raincoat (it was still raining) and bathing suit and climbed up one of them. I played in the person-sized potholes that generations of flowing water had patiently smoothed, drop-by-drop, into the stone. I thought of the Spring when I played in the Waterfalls near Vassar.
In the afternoon, after we caught the boat from the trail back up the river, the van from the Youth Hostel, (wo)manned by a shiny old Japanese lady, drove us to the beach with star sand. Sure enough the sand is shaped like little stars. Pictures would really do the beach the most justice. We snorkeled there, too, and the reef begins when you step from the sand into the water. Fish surrounded me...They weren't scared at all, just curious. and beautiful...all different kinds.
There is so much more to these islands and our trip, so I will call this the first installation.
Back in Hokkaido, the snow has pretty much completely melted to reveal last year's dead grass. It's not very pretty and snow boarding is over, but the air smells like Spring and the crocuses and cabbage are unfolding. It's in the 50s now.
I made soap yesterday at the farmers' house. They invited friends over for a picnic and soap session. Lots of shaking (lye, old tempura oil, and water) and lots of smiles and laughing. It was the first time I have gone somewhere as myself and not Heather's guest, so I felt comfortable speaking and acting for myself and didn't feel the need to check in with her about my manners or answers. Just fumbled through on my own and delightedly so. I brought home three milk cartons full of soap as omiyagi (a souvenir) and offering for my help. This morning I cut the thick doughy blocks into smaller pieces. As I write they look like slices of thick shortbread dough drying under a warm panel of Spring sunlight on the living room floor. For the next month someone must flip the pieces every day. This both dries the soap into usable bars and weakens the potency of the lye.
Recipe: 250cc of lye. 500ml water. 1.65 liters of used, strained, oil. First put on long sleeves and gloves to prevent the lye from touching your skin. Then, combine water and lye, shaking the mixture in a heat-resistant sealed container (they used big heavy-duty plastic sake bottles), periodically releasing the hot gas formed by the reaction. Then add oil and shake until the liquid becomes thick. Before the mixture hardens, pour it into a mold that can later be cut away. Let it sit for a day, then cut the soap and lay it out, flipping it every day for one month. Then it's all over, use this soap on dishes and around the house, but not on skin. If you add two table spoons of Urea to the lye and water, the soap rendered is gentler and appropriate for use on the skin (Or at least that's what I hear).
Now, I am off to feed this body.
Love and Peacefulness.
Thursday, April 01, 2004
I am building a sandcastle,
I am sea bathing in the sun,
I am drinking coconut milk--
straight from the nut--today.
Well, not actually today, but soon. Heather and I are off to Naha, Okinawa on Monday morning, so Friday seems close enough to begin thinking about packing...digging out that sunblock and the unworn tee-shirts and Birkenstocks. This approaching reality of being in Okinawa encourages me in a pleasant way to conjure up some information on the place. Where exactly am I going? And so far these are the two things I know: Okinawa has the largest concentration of centenarians in the world, or at least of any country. Maybe while I am there I will get a glimpse as to why these folks live to be so ancient. The other piece of cultural information I have is that Okinawa has its own haiku form. 8-8-8-6 rather than the traditional Japanese 5-7-5. Knowing that the climate is tropical and sub-tropical along this string of islands, my theory is that okinawans are more laid back than the typical mainlander. They have a lot of time to chat into the late afternoon as they wait for the sun to chill into the West a bit. And, so, no need to be so efficient with the poetry, either. Let it loll a little...ahhhh...what's an extra 13 syllables if you are going to live into your hundreds...
I am sea bathing in the sun,
I am drinking coconut milk--
straight from the nut--today.
Well, not actually today, but soon. Heather and I are off to Naha, Okinawa on Monday morning, so Friday seems close enough to begin thinking about packing...digging out that sunblock and the unworn tee-shirts and Birkenstocks. This approaching reality of being in Okinawa encourages me in a pleasant way to conjure up some information on the place. Where exactly am I going? And so far these are the two things I know: Okinawa has the largest concentration of centenarians in the world, or at least of any country. Maybe while I am there I will get a glimpse as to why these folks live to be so ancient. The other piece of cultural information I have is that Okinawa has its own haiku form. 8-8-8-6 rather than the traditional Japanese 5-7-5. Knowing that the climate is tropical and sub-tropical along this string of islands, my theory is that okinawans are more laid back than the typical mainlander. They have a lot of time to chat into the late afternoon as they wait for the sun to chill into the West a bit. And, so, no need to be so efficient with the poetry, either. Let it loll a little...ahhhh...what's an extra 13 syllables if you are going to live into your hundreds...
