I realize that I have not written much about food recently. Hmmmm, food in Okinawa is like the bass drone on the pipes, the continuum in Baroque music, the cicada racket in summer. It is always there. Rarely the star after the initial enthusiasm but without which the experience would be meager.
Tonight I eat fast food. I have another side of life which is rarely revealed in this blog that is called work. One of the great things at work is our restaurant where smiling people produce wonderful food, all of which is uber-fresh. They do kerry-oots.
There is also a sushi store just up the road that does unpretentious we live round here sushi.
Sushi 550 yen, taro simmered in fish stock, goya and tuna,mixed veg, from work, all 400 yen
Taro is my favorite vegetable at the moment.
Taro behind, rice before, Intermediate Egret in the middle.
Last night I ate horse steak with daigon and lotus root.
I have never understood the horse meat thing. Lambs are cute too.
“Then out spake brave Horatius,
The Captain of the Gate:
“To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his Gods.”
Well, maybe in a Tsunami?
Of late signs have appeared around the place indicating how far above sea level you are. I suppose the purpose is to let you know that you are:
1. OK
2. Have little chance
3.Have had it
in the event of a tsunami.
I think blue signifies sky and safety.
It’s all right Ma
I think yellow indicates that bladder release is imminent.
Red I believe has universal significance.
My house is like totally in the red zone. This does not bother me. I have done most things, actually I have never been to India, and feel that anytime from now on would be a good day to die – a quotation from the Sioux leader Crazy Horse, who shouted “Hóka-héy, today is a good day to die!” most of the time.
Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?’
I see myself like Horatius, standing defiantly in the French windows in the front room, rather than on a bridge across the Tiber, as a huge wave comes surging across the lagoon. “Hoka-hey!!”
I so much like doing not very much. Doing nothing bad, doing lots can be bad but doing not much I usually find very satisfactory.
On Saturday night I cleaned my flute. My wonderful flute, who has been my partner for 34 years, has been suffering in the heat and humidity and I have been neglecting her. I just use her but care little for her wellbeing.
A sorry sight – click on photo
Look at all the fungus
A shameful head joint
I sit down and watch the BBC news. The main story seems to be whether Andy Murray will win his next tennis game. I am riveted.
Can Andy do it?
I dismantle the flute and scrape off as much fungus as I can. I oil her carefully with almond oil and polish her silver with Silvo.
Tools
I do this very slowly and carefully. The sun goes down.
I have a boat
Nearly 200 years old
I should really remount the two bottom keys. Never use them and they tend to cause problems.
It is time to watch the Lions. Australia win. It seems that the scrum is how you win games. In my day no penalties were awarded at the scrum unless the scrum half put the ball in crooked. Now every scrum half puts the ball in crooked and no one cares. Penalties are awarded at nearly all scrums for offences that no one, including the referee, understands. I do not like this modern game.
Lets have a scrum
It takes me about 4 hours to clean the flute.
Next year will be her 190th birthday
Patrick Olwell makes the best wooden flutes ever made. This is a fantastic documentary on how he does it. It costs $6 to download. Best $6 you will ever spend
So yesterday evening I row the boat out to the reef for to go fishing as the sun goes down. I tie up to a convenient buoy that I believe has been left by coral study people.
Convenient
I gently fish in one Okinawan style. This means filling a little wire basket with tiny dead shrimp that you can buy at any corner shop. Once underwater the shrimp in the basket thing are released by jigging on the line and float downwards. Float downwards? Anyway below the little basket is a string of lures that look like shrimp. Fish in feeding frenzy bite these and are busted.
It is fun and leisurely. It is still 30 degrees. I catch 4 fish, all of which I throw back.
The sun goes down with usual splendour.
Kenneth McKellar
In the sunset of life
There is something about being in a boat as the sun goes down when suddenly there is an unmistakable tugging on the line that still thrills me, Doctor.
Thank you
I cast my eyes towards the land to see a huge spaceship moon creeping over the hill.
Hello
I row back in er in the moonlight. Will a 2hp chinese outboard spoil the silent moments?
The walk from my deck to the beach through a couple of meters of undergrowth reveals this.
Big. Do not walk into these guys’ web especially nose first.
Lepidoptera in love. Notice different markings of male and female.
Butterflies are everywhere
A black and white one
I wish I could find a butterfly book. The ones you see are of course only those who agree to pose. There are loads more that are more camera-shy. One resembles a big sheet of tissue paper that has been launched into the wind.
Off I go again and this time I turn on the fuel. Sure enough after some coaxing the Black Knight starts.
Can you see the smoke and cooling water?
Summer is here and I have a boat
However it is no good, there is no real power and he suddenly stops just as before. Mene mene Black Knight teckel upharsin. Black Knight you have been weighed in the balance and found wanting. You are not the solution to my engine dilemma.
However a solution has, I hope, been found. I go to eBay and find a delightful little 2hp Chinese motor. After a few emails it appears to be on its way to Okinawa.
I stand up from my desk to head off to Bedfordshire. There is the most incredible screeching noise and a huge bug flies up from the floor and crashes into my face. It then takes off to the kitchen wall and stays there.
It is a huge cicada, about 5 cms long.
Later
Anyway she seems to have gone this morning. What a great bug! Her alarm shriek is heart-stopping.
A common outboard motor bug is fuel starvation as I have explained in a previous post. I get up early on this beautiful Saturday. I bring the boat around from Deadman’s Cove, mount the Black Knight and row out into the er blue lagoon. I worked most of last Sunday cleaning gunge and detritus out the fuel system and now is my chance to see if it has made any difference. I pull the cord , nothing. I fiddle with different choke, throttle combinations but there is no sign of life from the Black Knight. Oh dear, but with outboard motors t’was ever thus. I row back in and take out the plug which looks just fine. It is then I spy the gas on /off switch, which is in the off position.
Who cares that I wasted all that time by being stupid? Not me really, I just like being outside with some kind of purpose.
It is a beautiful sub tropical Saturday. Note typhoon damage from last year, poor trees.
As I set off for work this morning I notice several things: Big Red has a puncture, there is a big, badass, black, bug sitting on the saddle and that I have forgotten my access badge to the university.
I rush out of a lunch with the conductor of the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra to the local mega hardware store. There I find a tyre, an inner tube and some tyre levers. The tyre and inner tube are a size larger than Big Red’s shoe size. You can’t always get what you want but you might find that you get what you need.
Cycle Parts is a very cool expression in Japan.
When I get home there is Billy, for so shall he be named, sitting on the bike. I shoo him away zennishly and remove the front wheel for repair. I prop the new tyre and the old against the wall whereupon Billy scuttles across and take ownership. He sits on top of the wheel daring me to move him.
He is telling me something.
I feel the time is not propitious for tyre repair. Billy will decide.
The first indication that things were diverting from normality came when I greeted a distinguished guest; composer and director of principal concert venue on Okinawa.
On learning that I hail from Scotland he starts to hum “Loch Lomond.” I join with the lyrics and we sit in my office singing. I explain the meaning of the song and we weep on each other’s shoulders. I only met him 5 minutes earlier. Aaah the power of song to induce states of emotion.
Next a colleague who hails from the US comes in and says that he overheard us singing and that his childhood was spent listening to Kenneth McKellar. So did I.
He takes out his iPhone with a flourish and plays me ” The Mingulay Boat Song” sung by bonnie Kenneth.
There is a background of Japanese and the hoot of the Pacific Reef Egret.
We cry on each other’s shoulders.
It is only 2:00pm and I am emotionally severely compromised.
Actually Kenneth’s versions of these great songs are horribly camp and over orchestrated but you cannot change your childhood.
The phone rings. It is my tax lawyer. My US tax declaration is ready and if I do not sign it today, I will incur grotesque penalties. I stop everything, jump in car and hightail it down to the Tax hacienda. I sign!
You have no idea what a relief it is to file my US taxes. I have fought the IRS before and the IRS won.
Gleeful, I return home to watch the best sunset so far.
The Mist Covered Mountains of Home
Kenneth McKellar will not go away and as I prepare an omelet I listen to his oeuvre.
I am slicing bacon whilst listening to Johnnie Scobie. I am in a dreamlike state and slice off the top of my finger with Japanese razor knife.
