The World Has Turned And Left Me Here.
Greetings all,
Yes, it's true, this blog is rapidly (cough cough) becoming a bi-monthly post about my experiences in
ANYWAY, there hasn't been a whole ton to write about in the past few weeks. Actually there has, I just need to remember what all has transpired, since I haven't written any of it down. So here goes; please pardon any misspellings, exaggerations, gross inaccuracies, gerrymandering, blatant libel, and references to constipation...
[Open Scene: Calender and notebook out, Thom sits on the couch and tries to remember what all he's done in the past month. Sigur Ros' new album 'Takk...' plays at a medium-to-quiet volume, coming from the TV, as he has no stereo. The wet sound of cars rushing by in the rain comes from the open sliding doors, bringing with it the cool outdoor breeze.]
About three weeks ago, Iain called down and invited me and some others out to the town of
Cormorant fishing, or ukai, works thus: a long wooden boat sets off from shore after dark, manned by the fishing master (wearing a heavy shirt, chest protector, and traditional grass skirt), his assistant (distinguishable by lack of grass skirt), the pilot (smoking a cigarette), and about ten cormorants (medium-sized black birds who catch and eat fish and are naked and non-smoking). When they reach a good fishing spot, the master lights a large fire in a metal basket hanging from the front of the boat, used to attract the fish and also to help the master see which birds have caught fish. (How exactly it seems like a good idea to light a fire while wearing a pretty flammable skirt is beyond me, but who am I to argue with tradition?) After the fire is lit, the master takes each bird individually and ties piece of string around it’s neck. This is to allow the bird to catch and partially swallow fish. What makes him the master (and not the skirtless assistant) is knowing how tight to tie the string: too loose, and bird eats all of the fish and becomes a pretty worthless pet; too tight, and the bird dies and become a pretty worthless anchor. After tying these “fish-blocks” (for lack of a better term, and a lack of knowledge of the actual term), the master attaches a “leash” (also for lack of better/actual term) to the birds, so they can be “reeled” back in to “deliver” the fish. After this is done, the master launches the cormorants into the river to dive for fish. When one of the birds has caught its fill of fish (they have rather long necks and can hold several), the master pulls it back to the boat, “disengages” the bird of its catch, and throws it back in, hopefully to catch more. And while this seems like a pretty easy task – leash some birds, toss ‘em in, and sit back and collect the fish – it is actually a whole lot more challenging. For anyone who has ever been fishing, and had the opportunity to battle with a reasonably intelligent fish - say, a pike - you know how difficult it is when the wily thing takes a dive under the boat – you need to spin and take the pole around the front/back of the boat, while trying to dodge the other fisherpersons, chairs, equipment, etc. and try to fight it on the other side. Now try doing that with ten fairly intelligent, fish laden birds. Or, more precisely, eight fairly intelligent, fish laden birds, and two novice birds whose only thought at the moment is “Hey, now’s a good time to make a break for it!”. Anyway, the master is the master for a reason – anyone who can keep ten birds-on-strings untangled, dislodge fish from said birds’ throats, and making sure the fire stays well-stoked, while simultaneously preventing his grass skirt from catching fire is, well, he IS the master!
From the bird’s point of view, however, the whole operation is rather sketchy.
Meanwhile, back on planet tourist, there are three boats of “birdwatchers” happily enjoying this night-time scene, and placing large bets on which bird can catch most fish. Just kidding; no bets (that I know of) were placed on the birds. Instead, we all crowded to one side of the boat to watch all the avian fishing action, and rather distracted bird, master, and fish alike with the bright flashes from our eager cameras.
About an hour of piscatorial prowess is all the excitement that can generally be handled by bird and tourist; so all four boats headed back to shore. After “catching” our own dinner at a local late-night izakaya, we headed back to Iain’s apartment to watch a movie, talk, and crash out.
We got an early start the next day (1pm), and headed out to the castle.
Iain came into town last week to check out a café I’d discovered, but hadn’t tried yet. The “Smash Head Café” caught my eye one day, partially because of the name, and partially because it has “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” written above the door. And partially because they serve Guinness. “Why,” you ask, “didn’t you immediately go in? Are you daft?” Well, y’know, I really don’t know. Anyway, I went there with Iain last week, and discovered that they serve the best hamburger in town. Most hamburgers in
Right now, future travel is kind of up-in-the-air; early plans to go to
In the more distant future are opportunities for travel in Southeast Asia, and post-Nova/Japan travel/living possibilities in Europe, and grad school options in
I’m currently reading “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” by Douglas Adams and “Underworld” by Don Delillo; and listening to “Takk…” by Sigur Ros.
This post hasn’t covered nearly everything, but I hope it gives you all some idea of what has gone on for me in this past month. I’m working on a photo-hosting site, and will hopefully have a URL for you to see more photos of my expeditions soon.
Blessings and peace for you all, and I hope to write again soon!
-Thom in
1 Comments:
I don't have an American Singles account, but thank you for publicly acknowledging my culinary genius. See you soon.
Iain
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