The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

I am afraid that I have fallen behind. After the wedding I flew back to Okinawa as things had to be done. I also thought a few weeks of summer sailing would be a good idea. I have not written about any of this as I was waiting for the photos of the wedding from the professional photographer. Did not think I could post on Okinawa trivia before recording the amazingness of the wedding. If you see what I mean.

The first thing to do was to get a car. Tragically my great friend Kano san, who usually rents me one, had an aortic dissection in May. I am not sure what this is but it sounds bad. I am contacted by his wife who says she will bring me a car. I say forget it, you have more important things to worry about but she insists. Such kind people.

I have to renew my boat operator license; I cannot believe that 5 years have passed so quickly. I have to attend a refresher course that is in Japanese. The authorities insist that I come with a Japanese speaker. Kano san was going to do it but the best laid plans went agley. At the very last moment I contact an old friend and colleague, Teruya san, to see if he could help out. He can! Phwew!

Now I have the license I can get on with the main business of fantastic sailing adventures. Well no, when I go to the boat I see that the the Sampson post and the bowsprit have been rotted by Okinawa’s dramatically destructive climate and are totally busted.

I will have to get new parts hand made.

It is debilitatingly hot. It is pretty much impossible to do anything outside after 10:00 am. Dismantling the broken parts and re rigging various stays so the mast did not fall down was an ordeal.

On the bright side the food is as good as ever!

I introduced Ichiro san to Tomomi san and to a certain extent promoted the start of their relationship. They asked me to take on the formal role of “go between or matchmaker” at their very traditional shintoist wedding at the Chusa Shrine in Togakushi. What a privilege!

The ceremony is complex and thank heavens we have a full rehearsal the day before.

I have two roles, first in front of the altar, I receive a decorated branch. This I manipulate in a prescribed fashion and make a wish. I then re- manipulate the branch and lay it on a table in front of the altar. I bow twice, clap twice, bow again and return to my stool. Towards the end, I have to make the congratulatory toast to the bride and groom – in Japanese! Amazingly I don’t blow it.

So this was, as they say in California – unreal. I am so honoured that Ichiro and Tomomi asked me to play a role at their wedding. I don’t think that many Gaijins get to do this.

Above all I wish them every happiness! They are exceptional people.

We go to the very holy town of Togakushi https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Togakushi_Shrine We stay in a ryokan.

Yuko san runs the place. She does everything from cleaning, cooking, business stuff. Her husband watches baseball and does the garden.

The three of us are the only guests. Tomomi and I stayed here 2 years ago and Yuko san has decided to reserve the whole place for us!

The food is the best. Yuko san cooks it all, especially the hand made soba that my Japanese friends hold in great reverence.

So we have to get ready for the big event. This means an hour of being dressed by hilarious ladies who do this for a living.

I love Japan.

I go to Nagano.

Not much cooler.

At zebra crossings in Japan, they play ‘Coming Through The Rye’. This is another demonstration of what a civilized country Japan is.

Here is a Japanese take. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDuCBVhFRKE

I go to Zenkoji. It is amazing.

I meet my friends and we creep through a black tunnel under the holy Buddha.

We stay at a local guest house and have a fabulous meal.

Here is a tip for squeezing out pleasure in Japan – travel with Japanese friends.

I am in Tokyo. Sleepless and jet lagged, I set off for Ueno Zoo. I walk there at 07:30 which is very pleasant as the tremendous heat of the day is still nursing its wrath. The zoo does not open until 09:30 so I sit in Starbucks and drink iced coffee. I have never understood why some people, especially the British, don’t like Starbucks.

I do not have a hat and before long I feel bad.

There are announcements warning us of the exceptional heat. To avoid death we should hydrate and walk slowly.

I sit panting in the shade whenever I can. I soon realise that I will not be able to walk around the major part of zoo. Defeated, I head back to my hotel. It is only a kilometre or so but, dizzy from heat, at times I am not sure if I can make it! I spend the rest of the day in bed in a dark, heavily air conditioned room.

Next morning, I walk to Kappabashi where there are lots of knife and kitchen stuff shops. I am there too early as most of the shops do not open until 10:00. Somebody has turned up the heat again and fascinating though the dozens and dozens of knife shops may be, I can only think of dark rooms and air conditioning.

I learn from yesterday’s ghastly stagger back to the hotel and get a cab. The news on TV is about the exceptional heat – 35 degrees made worse by concrete.

I venture out late in the afternoon to Ameyoko market. Hundreds of small specialist shops and even more crazy restaurants of every description. This is a wonderful place and despite the heat, my wilted enthusiasm is totally restored.

I find myself surrounded by hat shops. I have little hope of finding a hat that fits as my head is grotesquely swollen due to years of self adoration. Two hilarious young Japanese ladies find me just the thing.

I stop to get some Takoyaki and ice cold beer. This I eat standing in the street like everyone else. One of the best meals.

Tomorrow to the cool, I hope, mountains of Nagano.

I head North to find bears, which make the above noises.

I drive deep into the redwoods in the North Pacific forest near the Oregon state line and wait for bears.

I reason that bears like meat so if I cook and eat a lot, then they will come.

Anyway I have a glorious time snuffling around in the undergrowth, snorting, huffing and woofing. No luck- I must practice.

As I leave a diner in some tiny mountain town, the lady says, “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast, sir.”

“Snort, huff, woof.”

“Why sir you must be a bear. Would you like some more coffee to take with you?”

4 days in the woods but I see very little fauna but lots of trees.

I swing by Colusa Wildlife Reserve on the way home.

Driving back into San Francisco is terrible. After the empty mountains and rivers, it comes as a shock to be confronted by so many people.

I finally pull the truck onto the sidewalk in front of the house to unload all the bear stuff. I creak out of the driving seat, straighten out and stretch my arms into the air. Suddenly someone bear hugs me from behind. Am I being mugged? No, it is the wonderful Mia, who is now a rock star. https://thequietripple.com/2019/02/28/so-long-san-francisco/

Bay to Breakers is a San Franciscan tradition that has been in abeyance due to the virus.

Thousands of people, most dressed in outlandish costume, many naked, run or amble across the city from the Bay to the breakers on Ocean Beach The route passes right in front of the house.

I miss the very first runners, but these people are taking it pretty seriously.

I think there are fewer people this year. Not surprising really as normality claws its way back from the lost virus years.

Jacques, Claude’s husband and Claude, Jacques’ wife, have a party on their deck. It is 10:00 am but we drink Mimosas and eat freshly baked croissants. All the folks live in the area. It is nice to have a local community of funny people.

Life is good. Thank you San Francisco.

I set off East like a wagon train in reverse. Up the Sierra Nevada, over the Donner Pass, down to Reno and then off across the Great Basin of Nevada. The wagon trains followed the Humboldt River as do I but backwards. The distances are immense, the country is dry and unwelcoming. What people! What did they do about sunburn, foot rot, jock rash, cracked lips, the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to? 

The first night, I camp by the Humboldt River in a place much used by pioneers.

I trundle along Interstate 80, which follows the California Trail. Nevada is vast, hours at 65mph in a climate controlled truck only inches me East. Those wagon trainers basically walked. They don’t make them like them any more etc.

I get to Elko. I know I have to buy food because I do not have any. I turn South towards my destination, Ruby Vally, but I get lost and end up on tiny roads with no food stores. I finally draw into Jiggs Bar, a building in the middle of nowhere. https://www.google.com/maps/place/Jiggs+Bar/@40.4272737,-115.6656734,583m/data=!3m1!1e3!4m6!3m5!1s0x80a58924f9f644e9:0x7eb81f64a35c6464!8m2!3d40.4271683!4d-115.6659517!16s%2Fg%2F11gm6z_581

Go there everyone, it is a wonderful place!

I stumbled in out of the bright sun at 2:30. There is no one there except the bar lady/person. Her name is Diana and she is the best. She serves me an ice cold Coors and we discuss the availability of food. “Sorry, I only got jerky, potato chips and candy.”

At this stage a real cowboy whose name I have forgotten, but was either Ty, Buster, High Noon or Lonesome Jethro, wanders in. He is wearing boots with spurs.

Where can I get food? “Well, your best bet is to turn around and there is a a store about 30 miles down the road.”

Jethro is a great guy and we chew on the problem of getting to Ruby Valley as the passes are probably still closed by snow. I have the best time! It is history! Can I get my rig across the passes. Diana, Jethro and I have a very cowboy conversation.

I am about to leave, after one of the most enjoyable 40 minutes that I can remember, when Diana pushes food into my paws. I think it is her own evening meal.

So here’s to you you Diana, the best of women. At each social gathering I will raise a glass to you.

The Ruby Valley is one of the more remote parts of the country but back in the 1860s it was in the thick of things. It was on a wagon train route, the ill-fated Donner party came through here. The Pony Express rode along it. They even built a fort. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fort_Ruby

However, I have not come for the history but for the thousands of wildfowl, principally Canvasback, that rest in the wetlands on their migration South. They are here in May and June. I get there on 11 May. There are very few ducks. Perhaps they missed the bus. Not to worry lots of other stuff to see.

I set off South from Ruby Valley on one of the great roads. 90 miles of dirt road through emptiness.

Well done truck! Thank you America!

Divisadero is a street a few blocks from the house. It used to be pretty run down and a bit shady. It was the home of the much lamented BBQ place Da Pitt. https://spikekalashnikov.wordpress.com/2010/10/13/da-pitt/

It is now much gentrified. James and I go for a Saturday morning stroll.

We go for a cup of tea. This is not tea as I know it.

Lots of fun shops.

San Francisco is a great city to wander around.

Mice in the kitchen. We go hunting behind the fridge.

The Godhead, the mighty Trinity, looked down from heaven a couple of days ago and noticed that Neil Calder had been having more than his fair share of good luck. This offended their innate respect for fair play and they decided to do something about it.

I start the truck and am greeted by a very loud roar and bark! I check and notice that someone has sawn off the catalytic converter during the night.

James and I head off to the Smog Shop.

This means a drive through the centre of San Francisco making a lot of noise. I am embarrassed, James is not.

The people at The Smog Shop are typically helpful and efficient. However the repair is wildly expensive.

“We get about 12 of these a day. Catalytic converter theft is one of the city’s bourgeoning industries.”

The guy at the shop is very frank. “These guys target trucks because the high ground clearance allows them to saw off the converter without jacking up the vehicle. They will be back for the new one. You can’t even shoot the mothers if you catch them at it.”

I get a protective cage than will hopefully persuade the baddies to try another truck.

Anyway the Godhead is placated, er hopefully.

They, not the mighty Trinity, but a gang of fun Hispanic guys, have been renovating the house for well over a year. This is wonderful as we only pay 50% rent. They don’t seem to be making much progress. Keep it up muchachos.