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Well, it all started long ago, in the mystical month of April. From the kingdom of Bend I shouted my farewells to all who stood with open ears. To those who stood with closed ears I simply waved and perhaps blew a kiss. I then, with my fair lady at my side, traversed the at-one-time snowy and treacherous pass to the distant village of Portland, from whence I climbed into the belly of a large metal bird and took to the grey skies. It was to be the first of many magical birds that I would soar within.
Arriving in Hawai'i, comnsidering the stereotypes of its beauty, considering its status as a destination for newlyweds, surfers, businesspeople, and other forms of tourists, and considering the fact that I just decended upon it from thousands of miles away, was completely antclimactic. I only took brief note of the warmth in Honolulu as I hurried to catch a transfer flight and absently notices the palms and other largely-leafed trees on the Big Island. I hopped aboard a flight to the Big Island, where my brother and his family live. I hadn't seen him in well over a decade and I'd never met my neice, nephew, or sister-in-law.
We stayed up for a few hours chatting. The TV was on and a McDonalds
commercial advertised "Spam in the AM". They aren't on the grid, so
their generator can power either one light and the TV or one light and
the internet. Blake showed me the knives that he makes. They told me
all about the island and how ready they are to leave and about the house
and what it's gone through. I was honored to be the only one on
Sandford's side to ever see the house before they sell it. I learned a
lot about what's happening on that island with politics, crime, drugs,
ecology, family, etc.
We went to bed and, when the lights go out, the light go out. They're
backed up to the jungle and I went to sleep to the sound of loud frogs
and an occasional sudden rainburst.
The next morning, I got a garden/yard tour. I was impressed the whole
time with what a strong family they are. They move and act as a little
pack, very cohesively. Blake and Hannah were great to chat with. Blake
showed me the musket he's building. We were up around 6am and left the
house around 7:30. I had to be at the airport at 10:00. They gave me a
quick flash tour, driving all over the coast, telling me stories of the
past few decades, about lava flows and vanished beaches, about tourists
and roads and surfbreaks and the limitations of the island.
I saw surf raging against rock, learned about the crime, the economy, the politics, the unreasonably loud frogs, and other frustrations of the island which have lead my brother and his family to abandon the island and move to Oregon; his children (one already out of high school) have never left the state.
The photo is of me, my brother Sandford, and my nephew Blake, taken by my neice, Hannah on the big Island.
That morning I flew to Honolulu, then to Tokyo.
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I arrived in Japan late. The flight out of Honolulu was late due to the plane's starter not working. Less consequentially, the audio system was broken and they started the movie "Marley and Me" seven times before they got it going. The flight was very light so I got a full row of three chairs to spread out on, and I certainly did.
They also fed us well. My vegetarian meal was surprisingly delicious. I did watch most of the movie, about a family and a dog, and I cried a little when old Marley died at the end. Luckily the lights were out and I could quietly drown my sorrows in my orange juice.
We arrived in Tokyo 2.5 hours late and all connections to Osaka had left. They did, however, arrange a small plane to carry the 16 of us to Kansai airport. Several agents were waiting for us and a young, stern, little woman led us across the airport to our gate. Several people lagged behind, but I stuck right with her, knowing she was my only line of logic for the moment. She periodically stopped for the slowpokes and at one point gave me a sincere "So, so sorry sir!" I said, "Not a problem at all, thank you!" "No, no, thank YOU! [something in japanese] Why are they so slow?? Hmph!" and she stomped her foot.
That little plane took awhile to leave the runway, so by the time I got to Kansai Airport in Osaka, it was 11pm. I wandered around for an hour or so, figuring out what my options were. Knowing no Japanese, I decided to check the Thorn Tree (Lonely Planet's travel forum site) regarding the airport hotel (there were internet kiosks at the airport, 10 minutes per 100 Yen). It was recommended for its convenience, so I got a room. It was far more expensive than I expected (17,000Y!!) but my only real option.
I checked in and got a room on the 10th floor (huge hotel). I took a bath and fell asleep in the tub. I turned on BBC news and got into bed at about 2pm. My mind was still coarsing with "did I REALLY just spend $170 on a room?" I kept rethinking the exchange value, "Maybe it was just $17." But BBC flashed currency exchanges periodically and a $1=Y100 is not a hard conversion.
After the missed flight, NWA agents gave me a form letter apology that says, "We have booked you accomodation." So I emailed them in hopes that they would pay me back for the room. They did and also gave me flight credit. It pays to complain.
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I woke up just before 6am in the Kansai Airport hotel in Osaka, after just 4 hours of sleep. I went to the airport again (just across a bouncy treadmill-walkway) to explore.
I checked out around 7:30 and figured out the train system. I purchased a 1-day Osaka/Kyoto/Kobe area pass, allowing me unlimited rides on JR trains.
I hopped on a random train and off I went, in the oposite direction of Osaka. The further from the airport I went, the less English was included on signs, including station markings.
There were gardens and small fields throughout the city and towns around it. They kept jumping out at me, surprising me amongst the concrete, brick, and roads. Almost every apartment building had ledges filled with clothing, drying in the overcast day. Many people wore dust masks, about 1 out of every 15 as I casually counted on the train. Lots of men in business suits and girls in school uniforms. I wrote a couple of haikus, which I never do, one about conductors who bow to the car upon entering an exiting each one.
I got off and on a few random trains, intentionally getting myself a bit lost. After all, I had all day. When it seemed I was really getting out into the country with zero communication skills, I made my way back towards the city of Osaka. I was the only non-Asian-looking person on any of the trains I rose on and I only saw what looked like 4 Europeans or Westerners, all of whom looked like travelers. I wondered what I looked like, a traveler or a casual city-dweller. I was intentional about walking and moving with confidence. raely stopping or slowing. I do that automatically, it allows me to see what I'm up against before attempting to interact or integrate. I do it no matter the language barrier, widening the territory with which I'm familiar.
I think if I went back to that region I could navigate confidently, though I'd probably move on to Kyoto and Kobe, and would love a friend present who could interpret. I hope I can see Ty next time.
The alleys of Osaka were a trip, narrow, busy, and full of colors and cartoon characters and happy music. There were intense smells (good and bad) as I walked past each door and stall, but I never slowed for fear of language issues. I navigated around many bikes ( I love their kickstands that are attached on both sides to elevate the bikes).
By 3:30 I was back at the airport and hungry. I got the aforementioned meal and checked in, once again the only obvious American on the flight. I've heard Japanese, Chinese, Bahasa, and, perhaps, Korean in the lounge and the plane. Every announcement is repeated infour languages (not Bahasa Indonesia) and it's funny to think that the English probably is really just for me.
Off to Indonesia, in the air, with nobody to talk to beyond "Hello" "Where are you from" and "Do you know (english/japanese/mandarin/etc.)."
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The white dogs of Bali probably don't believe in gods or demons. They do, however thrive, relatively, as they scour streets twice a day for the offerings that have been set out in front of every shop, home, river, on every statue, car, in every altar.Each offering contains a little bit of rice; once the offering has been set and the essence has been taken by whichever spirit it was meant for, its usefulness and significance is nulled entirely. The rice is eaten by dogs, songbirds, chickens, geese, ants (so many ants) and who knows what else. Eventually, if it hasn't been kicked away or scattered by the wind, the remains of the offering is swept off, usually to a convenient canal or ravine.
Most of the dogs are loyal to nobody, reliant on everyone. They are patient and independent, accepted in many restaurants, a casual thing to swerve around as they lay on the warm roads. The white dogs of Bali know there are no gods or demons here, but that faith is what keeps them alive and aware.
More shortly!
--trav--
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