The Quiet Ripple Defines The Pond

The worst thing about yesterday’s typhoon was that it started too late so I could not see its full fury. It built during the afternoon and went totally crazy at about 9:00 – too late to see.

Barographs don't usually do much. The same old line just goes round and round for weeks on end with minimal variation. Check this: This is last night! The dip to the right is last week's storm which impressed greatly at the time.

Howling and screaming the storm scared me and I only went outside when I realized that my diving gear that I thought was in a place sheltered from the wind was about to be blown away. I rescued it but was literally blown off my feet. This very amateur video may give you some idea – it gets confused when I fall over.

All power goes and I go to bed in the pitch dark with only my IPad to light my way.

I wake at 6:00 and everything is back to normal except the countryside looks like a huge comb has been dragged through it.

"The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm." — Confucius

I watched a farmer plant each on of these whatever they are by hand. Took him the whole day

This morning

I think he will have to start again.

Shame

Poor butterfly with tattered wings. Where do butterflies go during Typhoons?

Roadkill

So here’s to you Captain McWhirr. I cannot imagine being out on a boat during that kind of thing.

Life goes on - on the balcony flowers as I write- where did she hide?

Big typhoon on its way. Hooray! Will I be tested like MacWhirr?

“Captain MacWhirr had sailed over the surface of the oceans as some men go skimming over the years of existence to sink gently into a placid grave, ignorant of life to the last, without ever having been made to see all it may contain of perfidy, of violence, and of terror. There are on sea and land such men thus fortunate — or thus disdained by destiny or by the sea”

Is this me?

Yikes

“The sea  had the surface and the shimmer of an undulating piece of gray silk. The sun, pale and without rays, poured down leaden heat in a strangely indecisive light, and the Chinamen were lying prostrate about the decks.”

Calm before the er um I mean

On its way

Stay tuned

Vegetation here is science fictionish. Spikey- bulbous –  alien – prehistoric. I expect to see a huge purple and yellow iguana  emerge and crunch a scarlet/navy terrapin.

spikey

Eat me

Spielberg

Take me to your leader

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the tropic air.

Douglas Adams

It is a truth universally acknowledged that no matter where you go you will find a group of people playing Irish traditional music. Okinawa ? A Japanese island  somewhat lost in the East China Sea.  I had resigned myself to the occasional playing with myself in the apartment rather than the healthy interaction with others when a stray conversation guided me to The Smugglers in Naha city.

http://smugglers.nahashop.com/index.html

The strains of “The Wild Rover” greet me as I approach the door. My nostrils flare with elitism. Inside there is a 5 piece band who appear to have taken a lot of ecstasy.  They are fronted by the best Irish band mouthpiece I have ever met – Maho Nakajima. The consistent problem with Irish bands is that they look very unhappy. They hunch over their instruments and concentrate on their haemmorhoids. “Thank you that was a set of jigs and now we will play a set of reels that we got from old Spike O’Luggage from Quilty.”

Psycho

Maho howls and wails between tunes. She speaks perfect English and is a very fine fiddler. However it is her stagewomanship that transforms the normally doctor’s waiting room atmosphere of the Irish session into frenzied Ibizan rave.  She and the other very talented fiddler even do dance routines while playing.  The crowd goes wild.

Good Golly Miss Monaghan

Colleens from Naha

I love the Okinawans. They really want to have a good time and you would have to explain the concept of condescension to them.

We play  – The Rakes of Mallow – The Irish Washerwoman – The Kesh Jig  and loads of polkas. Not usually cool but with rampant Okinawan colleens and Maho howling exhortations we have the best evening.

I think this is going to be fun – think I will buy a zoot suit.

In my mail box I find this.

Que?

Seika explains that this indicates that the postman called and there was no one at home. She phones and the postman will come by between 7:00 and 9:00 to deliver. At night that is. I get home at 7:00 on the dot and this is what it looked like from my terrace.

Gentle

7:02 the bell rings and there is grinning postman with a package for me. Thank you Japanese Postal Service.

It is a box of Black Magic chocolates sent by my sister from England. Black Magic have been around for a very long time – since 1933 apparently. One of my clearest childhood memories of joy was getting a cricket bat and an uber box of Black Magic for my 11th – I think – birthday. Now for my 59th birthday I get another.

Suffered a bit battling through the typhoons

I have not seen a box for at least 30 years. Tastes from childhood  – Raspberry Parfait- A luxurious creme perfectly blended with raspberry flavour dipped in fine dark chocolate. Caramel Caress – Flowing golden caramel caressed with dark chocolate.

Prince Phillip at it

Black Magic
the red ribbon tied in a neat diagonal bow
the red Turkish tassel
the pony-tail for show

Years later
the box still oozing chocolate fumes
a few old photographs a letter
the weave of other looms

You were Black Magic
that dark chocolate voice
your rich fruit centre
the most exotic choice

Almost back beyond memory
when porcelain women wore long tapered dresses down to their shiny shoes
you were the shapes of a fairy
a spirit a music a muse

Thanks Rosy!

Old friends are here staying in the house. We are planning the world’s greatest web site around here. What a day. Leave house at 7:15. Go diving.

Cape Maeda

Rubber gear

JD and Topher under the cruel sea at 7:30

Suffering Sea Snake

Early morning fish

Home – shower-shave- we at work by 9:15.

Meetings –  work – all very good. 1:00 Go to University of Ryukyus to meet President. We talk about Islay whisky and Wordsworth. He knows more about both than me. Back to work meetings-stuff. 6:30Fishing harbor to buy er fish. Back home prepare meal. Great party with old and new buddies. 12:00 hit the futon.

Fish pie

You can do a lot in a day in a life.

So Monday was my birthday. I have to say I felt a whole lot older on Tuesday morning than I did the previous day.  My new colleagues threw a party for Suzuki san whose birthday was the day before mine and graciously include me in the celebrations. I got a Jimbei!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimbei

We drank Bowmore!

I find myself stumbling home through the dark Okinawan night past fields of sugar cane pulsating with toads  – wearing strange Japanese clothes. Yeeeha!

Next day at work I was given the best birthday cake I have ever had. They even made me younger than I actually be.

I'm 59

Thank you

So one downside of life in the tropics is mold. The rainy season has come and with it the mold. I open my cupboard to take out a jacket and lo it is covered with white fungus. How did that get there?

“Like all fungi, molds derive energy not through photosynthesis but from the organic matter in which they live.”  Well Okinawan mold seems to have a taste for my blue jackets – my belts and especially my old Stetson hat.

Took it down from a shelf and this is what I found

Straight from the closet

So with the rains came the first Typhoon. Great excitement and anticipation but unfortunately is flagged a bit before reaching Okinawa and was downgraded to a run of the mill Tropical Storm. Pretty windy all the same and not good for my balcony plants.

Barograph records tropical storm and winds down in the middle of it.

Apparently the way to banish mold is to leave the AC on all the time. This offends my tightfistedness and overall energy conscientiousness. I also like the Conradian image of whitey in baking humid tropics with strange howls of monkeys and hoots of toucans hunched over his desk with glass of warm gin as the mold grows ever thicker on his clothes.

I have always liked bulls. On the farm in Scotland there was a bull shed where I was taken as a toddler. A huge – wild eyed – lump of muscle was chained up in there occasionally letting out a bellow that signaled the frontier of animal territory before it became the domain of magical and mythic creatures. As I grew I would always visit the bull shed and always got the same thrill of being close to real craziness and power. The bulls were always called Jock – sometimes Big Jock. At the same time I read and reread “Ferdinand the Bull.” Different bull theme – bull as sweetheart. Then there was “Little White Bull” by Tommy Steele.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVddTjF-CEM

Bull fighting is big in Okinawa. Not Spanish style – I am a man- I stick my sword right through your heart stuff – but bulls fighting each other. Sunday was a big bullfight day.

http://www.nihonsun.com/2009/07/03/bullfighting-in-okinawa/

Le Stade

The Bulls are led in and faced towards each other.They put their heads down and push. There are many fights and each is different. Some last about 10 seconds as one bull takes the path of discretion. Some take 20 minutes  to end with one bull giving up and wandering off to smell the flowers. Then again whoa! – one bull get its horns under the opponent and lifts him off his feet and nearly over the barrier that separates the animal and human kingdoms.

Bulls fighting

Golly!

Then the little white bull arrives. He is smaller than the other bulls and has a presence. He also has a big white patch on his face whereas all the others are uniformly dark.

Tommy Steele

He is pitched against a much larger – badly read – brutish – republican bull but he fights hard displaying great valor.

Play up - play up - and play the game

The bout goes through 14 rounds- the seconds are screaming advice – the crowd howling for a Tommy Steele victory. Suddenly the republican charges and our hero is pushed against the wall and loses his footing. He’s down! Oh no!

No!

Poor Little White Bull

Looks bad but just like a KOd boxer he gets to his feet and grins meekly as he is led out to huge applause.

The bouts go on.

Happy happy joy joy

This is the final

The champ

The afternoon comes to end with the two best bulls going at it hammer and tongs. There is  awinner. Everyone gets up and heads for the exits. Except for the champ who stands in the middle of the ring so little girls and boys can sit on his back. I am amazed. He is completely tame. His name is not Big Jock – it is Ferdinand.

Soppy bull

Here is a bad Disney take on the Ferdinand story.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGTVRbpAuRo

The Okinawa drink is Awamori. It is distilled from long grain Thai rice that has contracted the unique local black koji mold. You drink it cold with ice or to disguise the taste you can mix it with fruit juice or er coke or er Irn Bru http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mt_rU-Sh15g if you can find it.

Hai!! Zanpa!

Anyway just down the road from my partment is an Awamori distillery churning out gallons of the famous Zanpa brand.

Here are some tasting notes

“Clear with a platinum blue cast. Dried wildflower and honeyed wet grain aromas follow through to soft, silky entry leads to a lightly glycerous, dryish light-to-medium body of very subtle flavors and a hint of perfumed pear. Finishes with an almond oil and mineral water fade. Very lean, light and delicate.”  I would take that with a pinch of salt if I were you.

Anyway today I go visit.

Outside

Empties

European awards

Superior Awamori - distilled to honor the 50th year of the University of the Ryukyus

So after a quick sniff around I feel I should buy a bottle. However a bottle of Zanpa at the distillery is 850 yen. 500 meters away in the supermarket it costs 560 yen. I point this out to the sales ladies using elaborate mime and pig noises. They laugh and grin in classic Okinawan style. I end up buying a Tshirt.

I think this says "Drink Zanpa! Brewed in Okinawa from unexploded shells."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awamori