Category Archives: Travel

JAPAN DIARY

April 26, 2022 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Jūni – Familiar and unfamiliar paths

Bare trees encircle the top of the steps to the Takasu Shrine.

Snow melt

Snowy footpaths were ‘normal’ four weeks ago. Now they are a distant memory.

Back on 18 March when I disembarked from my bus at Toyo Hotel, it was still wintry, with snow piled everywhere and people hurrying about their business, not keen to be outside in the chilly air any longer than necessary. After settling in, I’ve tried to keep up with a daily walk, not just for exercise (and to counteract the extra food I’m eating), but also to get a feel for my new surroundings. To begin with there was little sign of spring growth, and I often had to negotiate deep snow and slippery icy footpaths.

Some lumps of snow certainly take their time to melt.

Gradually the snow has become less and less and has for the most part completely melted.

Different views of the same waterway, taken about a month apart (23 March and 18 April).

Each neighbourhood has a small children’s park, but the swings and other equipment are often not freed up until long after the snow has melted.

First pleasures and small disappointments

What have I most enjoyed so far? Well, being reunited with my daughter, her husband and my two grandchildren after a long and uncertain two and a half years, would have to claim 1st place hands down. But after that I think that it’s just nice to be back. And of course I love the interesting items that can be purchased here, and the varieties of food. And because it’s Spring and I love gardening, it’s especially interesting to see which plants are coming up now that the snow has gone. I can barely keep up as they are they are forcing their way into the light and flowering at a much quicker rate than they would in a New Zealand October.

A popular game for my first several days was, “Where am I Grandma?”

What I’m disappointed with is the fact that even though I’ve been studying Japanese relatively steadily over the past few months, the things I’ve managed to learn are of little use in real life. My Japanese language is too slow and I lack confidence. My ears aren’t tuned in to the individual syllables and I still haven’t been able to learn katakana well enough. My hiragana is fine, but I’ve realised that you do really need to know katakana equally well if you are to read any of the instructions, menu descriptions and the various signs. I suspect that you can probably manage without Kanji to a certain extent… But as far as actually speaking the language, I’ve found that even the simple phrases that I’m really familiar with, the ones I know well, they just fly out of my head when I have the chance to use them.

A Kiwi in a strange land

I’m always on the look out for someone how might speak English, but of course one can’t assume that a gaijin speaks English.

Perhaps that heading should rather be, “A strange Kiwi in a new land”. I don’t usually post photos of myself but I think my expression probably captures what I look like when I’m out and about. Or it would if I wasn’t usually wearing a mask. I forgot about that!

My daughter tells me that there are other foreigners here, but so far I haven’t seen a single one in all my walkings around. Small Japanese children look at me sideways and older children, aged about nine or ten, often openly stare. Those locals who are unfortunate enough to have to interact with me, such as customer service staff at the supermarkets, konbini or cafes, are very kind and helpful. And my Japanese extended family are wonderful. Kind, courteous, they have welcomed me with open arms and have truly done everything they can to make me feel part of their family.

Being in a country where no-one speaks your language is a good way to make you think about how you behave yourself, when encountering people with English as a second language. I think that Pakeha New Zealanders can be a bit smug about the whole language thing and be very impatient and intolerant of those who struggle with English.

Takasu Shrine

I was curious about where those steps would lead to. If nothing else I was expecting a view back over the city.

Last Monday I walked to the end of one of the main roads nearby and came across an interesting flight of stairs leading up to a tree-clad hill.

I was expecting possibly a leafy suburb or a small park and was surprised to discover the Takasu Shinto shrine at the top. In Summer when all the trees are clad in their greenery, it will be very pretty up there.

I was hesitant to venture too far within the enclosed area but later learned that it would have been okay to have gone in to look around the gardens. Instead I walked around the grounds in front of the building but outside the Torii. There were a number of large rocks with inscriptions on them, as well as the trunk of an old tree that had been cared for.

I took a photo of the text written by the remains of the tree as I was curious about it. According to Google Translate, (and we all know that it’s not the ideal translation tool), the words say something like this;

Rising cherry blossoms – An old cherry tree that had fallen from its roots due to a typhoon in September 2001 was repaired by Makoto Sugawara, who visited for prayer in May 2003, using a 50-ton crane. Mr Hitoshi Igarashi, the priest at the time, named it ‘Okiagari Sakura’.

Something different

On the left, a ゆたんぽ , a Japanese style of hot water bottle. On the right, the cuddly version I purchased online.

When I first arrived in Asahikawa the nights were very cold, and although my room was well-heated, I was given a Yutanpo, a Japanese hot water bottle. I used this for a week or so, then decided to order a more familiar type online. These days, the most common versions of the Yutanpo are made of hard plastic! Exactly like the one in the photo above, and even though it comes with a soft cotton sleeve, it’s very different from the rubber version I had as a child. Though I suspect it’s also less likely to perish and fall apart in your bed than those old rubber ones were.

I’ve since seen many of the same type for sale in shops and online, but I was glad when my new soft more familiar version arrived in the mail, complete with cuddly hedgehog cover.

Travel, Writing

JAPAN DIARY

April 18, 2022 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Jū – Heading North

Until I travelled to Japan, I hadn’t realised exactly how far north Asahikawa was. A long way from Aotearoa.

I found my allocated seat and settled in for the two hour flight. Beside me was a young Japanese woman. We had plenty of space, both being of slight build; I often wonder how uncomfortable it must be for taller and larger travellers. As soon as we were airborne I could feel my attention wilting but managed to stay awake for the safety message, conveyed in both Japanese and English. After that, my eyelids were no match for the drone of the engines.

A Wintry Patchwork

I did wake up at one point over the stretch of ocean that separates Honshu from Hokkaido. I saw steel blue water water, flecked with white caps. Before dozing off again and now over land, I saw tiny snow-coated fields in subtle shades of soft greys and whites, interrupted by the dull bleakness of hills. A flash of sunlight reflected iridescent threads of water and accentuated the jagged charcoal lines of roads. I stretched my weary legs and wiggled my toes, enjoying the sensation of peacefulness, high above the clouds. My nose twitched at the enticing smell of hot coffee.

Coming in to land at New Chitose, Sapporo, the scene reminded me of an intricate etching.

A smooth landing at Sapporo and there I was with luggage in tow. My only task that of locating the bus stop for my trip to Asahikawa.

Second Breakfast

A Japanese vending machine means ‘spoiled for choice’ when it comes to quick beverages. Hot or cold.

With time in hand, I homed in on a pair of vending machines and picked up a hot coffee. Then visited another konbini to collect my next snack. Ah… onigiri and a chocopan! About NZ$5.00 in total.

Shrimp mayonnaise onigiri, chocopan and a hot vending-machine coffee. Happiness!

(If you’re curious about Japanese breads, check this site out! For those of you who learnt French all those years ago at school, you’ll recognise the word ‘pan’ for bread. (French = pain, pronunciation is the same).

Travel, Writing

JAPANESE DIARY

April 12, 2022 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Hachi – Return to the Land of the Rising Sun

Waiting for the 12.22 am shuttle bus from Terminal 1 to Terminal 2, Haneda Airport, Tokyo.

In early March, Japan finally opened up its borders to a limited range of international visitors. I was fortunate that one of the categories was, ‘close family member’ which allowed me to at long last make my way back to Asahikawa.

I commenced my return journey on 17 March, which was a full two years since the trip I’d had to cancel in 2020. Prior to my flight I was required to be fully vaccinated, with two shots and a booster, and to take a Covid test within 72 hours of my departure.

You can imagine my trepidation as the day drew closer and I had very real fears that I might contract Omicron somehow in the last few days before my flight. Of course, this was somewhat unlikely as living in the country meant I wasn’t in contact with any potentially contagious people. But I did have to drive to Auckland to the Japanese Consulate to drop off my application papers and NZ passport, and later to collect my VISA, and I also had to undertake the pre-departure saliva test. For my trips I donned a P2 mask, to be on the safe side.

It’s usually impossible to find an empty chaise lounge in the Koru Club.

The Air New Zealand International Lounge at Auckland airport was busy, but not crowded. Everyone was wearing masks, except for in the dining area. I couple of guys sat really close to me, one older than me and one younger. It was annoying enough that the one who decided to sit beside me on the bench seat was close enough to almost touch shoulders, but he started coughing and snuffling a lot. And then his fellow-traveler began a long-winded story about a mutual friend (I could hear every word) and began to swear with just about every other word. I moved away and found that all the lying-down type seats were empty! So I was able to settle down in a quiet corner.

The Flight

If I expected Auckland Airport to be quieter than usual, I wasn’t proven wrong, but even so I wasn’t prepared for the lack of passengers on the flight itself. While I sat and waited to board, I noticed that most of my fellow passengers were Japanese, and that I was most likely one of only three gaijin. I had chosen an aisle seat, but was the only person seated in the entire row.

I was tired. The previous two weeks between when I discovered I could apply for a visa and when I actually held the stamped passport in my hand, had worn me out. It wasn’t just the fear of being turned down, despite all the work that my daughter and her husband had done to get the paperwork sorted, it was the fear that my visa wouldn’t arrive in time, or that I’d get sick, or that something else would change, the rules would change, the troubles in the Ukraine would develop into full scale war, a new mutant of the virus would cause borders to close, that kind of thing. So when I was finally on the aeroplane and was in the air, it was hard to believe that I was actually on my way.

Waiting at the Airport

I was already aware that when I touched down in Japan that afternoon, I’d be required to undertake a Covid test, and that I would have to wait at Narita airport until my results came through. If I tested positive I’d be required to go into quarantine in Tokyo, but if I was negative, I’d be free to travel to Hokkaido, as long as I reached Asahikawa within 48 hours.

I was a little worried about the timing of everything. My flight would land at Narita around 5 pm, but the connecting flight to Sapporo departed from Tokyo’s second airport, Haneda, at 9.30 pm, and I was booked onto the Limousine bus (the shuttle to Haneda) for 6.35 pm. Surely it would all work out. But as soon as I walked off the plane and turned a couple of corners into the arrivals corridor, my heart sank. Ahead were two extremely long rows of single seats. Each seat had a large number attached to the back and the one I was to sit on was numbered ’75’.

The line was long, and it wasn’t moving.

For the first hour, not one person on any chair moved forward. It was hot and crowded, I had with me my 23 kg tightly packed suitcase and my 7 kg backpack. There were people around me with children and babies. There were elderly people. There were constant announcements being conveyed through speakers, but I could understand nothing. The time ticked by and when I finally managed to attract the attention of a young staff member, and to explain my predicament, i.e., how likely was it that I’d be able to catch the 6.35 pm shuttle, she apologetically gestured in such a way that I had no doubt that it would be impossible. Little did I know that I wouldn’t be finished with the whole process for another five hours. In that time, the limousine bus, my connecting flight and my hotel in Sapporo had to be cancelled.

Fortunately I was able to connect to the airport wifi and contact my family in Asahikawa, and thanks to them, my flight was changed to one the following day, and I was booked in to the First Cabin hotel at Haneda Airport for the night. For anyone who was reading my blog in 2018, you’ll possibly remember that I stayed there then. I was extremely relieved.

Three Trains Late at Night

At around 10.30 pm I was finally through Customs and baggage control and had ahead of me the task of purchasing tickets for, and negotiating three different trains, to get to Haneda airport before the last train, the Tokyo Monorail, ran its final trip for the night.

This is me on the train to Nippori trying to take a photo through the train window of the lights of Tokyo. All I managed to get was my own reflection!

My Asahikawa family had sent through been instructions on the route I should take, so I made my way to the railway station, dragging my luggage up and down the escalators. I was particularly grateful to the young woman in the ticket booth for the Skyliner. Despite having very limited English, she gave me clear instructions and walked me to within sight of the exit to the first platform. I was also grateful that after the first leg of my train escapade (Haneda Airport to Nippori Station) that the platform there also had an escalator. I was so weary by this time that if I’d had to somehow lift my large suitcase up a huge flight of stairs, I don’t think I’d have managed it. Not that I can actually lift it far off the ground. Being short, I can only just raise my suitcase high enough to get on and off a train–thank goodness it has wheels!

Haneda Airport, Terminal 1. All alone by myself. Luckily there was one more shuttle bus to Terminal 2, scheduled for 12.27 am.

The triple train trip is something of a blur. And to top it off, when I got to my final stop, Haneda Airport Terminal 1, I went to the wrong side of the carriage and stood there waiting for the door to open, which of course it didn’t. By the time I realised my mistake, and hurriedly turned to the other side, the door shut in my face and we were moving again. Exiting at Terminal 2, all the shops and counters were closed and the airport was completely empty, except for some security personnel wandering around. They kindly showed me the way to the Free Shuttle Bus stand and I was relieved to see that the last bus was scheduled for 12.27 am. I had only eight minutes to wait. And it did arrive. Thank goodness.

Sleep at Last

At Terminal 1, it was much the same. I was met at the bus by a couple of security personnel who escorted me to the hotel. There I was, trundling along, dragging my sodding heavy suitcase, shoulders drooping after five hours of wearing my backpack, hot and sticky. With a tiny pod type room awaiting me. Barely enough room to swing a cat. But when I slid the screen closed, I was just pleased to be somewhere with no-one else. Just me. A clean bed with a puffy duvet. And to be at Haneda, rather than still at Narita, with only the morning’s flight to Sapporo ahead of me in the morning, before I could connect with my midday bus to Asahikawa.

Travel, Writing

By the Ishikari River

April 18, 2019 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Stopbank walk 02 — Walking at dusk alongside the Ishikari River.

Walking along the bank above the grey green waters of the Ishikari, running full and fast due to snow melt, I disturbed a fox. It was up ahead, sniffing by a wooden post, tawny-coated below the silver-gold sky of a setting sun. It turned my way then ran down towards the water, a dark blur against the snow, brush tail flouncing.

There it rested beneath a bare branched willow and I saw that there were two. They were larger than I expected and I later read that they were most likely Kitakitsune. I tried to capture them with my iPhone but it was twilight, they were far away and on the move, and after three attempts my phone’s batteries expired and it shut down.

two foxes — Two foxes in the distance, bounding over the snow.

I walked on a little then turned and looked back. They’d stopped running and were standing immobile, heads raised, watching. I resumed my walk with a feeling of loss. It’s unlikely I’ll see those two again. Ahead, the sun dropped below the clouds and a sharp wind picked up dry leaves from the snow at my feet. A solitary Tobi circled high in the sky above.

The Kitakitsune, the Tobi, the fluttering leaves, the roiling river, and me. Nothing else moved in the silent landscape. To my left, the Ishikari flowed swiftly to the north, banks stacked with dirty piles of snow sculpted into strange shapes by wind and sun. To my right, rows of pastel houses, shabby-seeming in the twilight, displayed yellow-glowing windows.

You can walk in a foreign country and forget to see the differences while you tread the unfamiliar city footpaths and unexplored tracks by the river. You can investigate routes through powdery snow or earthy tree litter, while disregarding the strange smells and ignoring the different angle of the sun. You can choose to be in the moment or to let your mind drift away.

Travel, Writing

A Very Short Stay in London

August 31, 2018 Irihapeti 1 Comment

SBM 03 — Putting on a brave face at Shepherd’s Bush Market station

Why it pays to double-check bookings

Our flight touched down at Heathrow too late in the day to fly on to Helsinki, so we’d booked one night at a hotel close to the airport. I felt comfortably smug that I had it all organised. Imagine my shock when I discovered that I’d booked for the 29th of the wrong month. And it was a ‘no refund’ booking.

My distress quickly turned to disbelief and then to dismay. I suppose we were lucky that there were still rooms available for the night we were actually there, so I had to swallow my pride and fork out another £65, adding the experience to my ever-growing list of ‘lessons learned’.

Blocked up and miserable

To make matters worse, on the drive to LA airport I realised I’d contracted a cold, and by the time we arrived in the UK I was feeling pretty grim. The next shock was the weather. After the 40+ temperatures in California, the 16 C with drizzling rain was hardly a warm welcome.

Back in New Zealand a few months earlier, I’d been browsing ‘What’s on in London’ for the night we were there, and had been surprised to read that The Modern Māori Quartet were performing a ‘one and only’ gig in London on the exact same day. The show was scheduled for 4 pm at Bush Hall in Shepherd’s Bush, so we’d booked tickets thinking it would be a fun thing to do. We’d also be able to say ‘Hi’ to our son’s friend, Maaka. But now that we were actually in London, I was questioning the wisdom of that ‘bright idea’. We were both still recovering from the non-booked room screwup, the weather was crummy, and we were a long way from Shepherd’s Bush. Nonetheless, we decided to stick with our plan, so caught the shuttle bus back to the airport, purchased a couple of Oyster Cards, loaded them with some cash, negotiated a couple of different routes on London’s Underground, then walked as rapidly as we could to Bush Hall. We arrived at our destination with just a few minutes to spare, despite having to switch trains due to delays on one of the lines.

Bush Hall

BH SB — Bush Hall, Shepherd’s Bush, London

According to Bush Hall’s website, the venue was originally built by a publisher in 1904, and is one of a trio of London dance halls he built for each of his daughters, Bush Hall being the only survivor of the three. The hall has enjoyed a varied existence since then. In WWII it served time as a soup kitchen, before being reinvented as a bingo hall, a rehearsal space, and a snooker & social club. It was restored to its former ‘musical glory’ in 2001 by its current owners.

TMMQ — Left and Right: The Modern Maori Quartet performing at Bush Hall, London.

At the hall we bought a couple of cheap red wines and settled in to enjoy the performance. The place was fully booked (well, as far as I could tell, as they had to bring in more chairs from the back) and the audience seemed to only comprise of Kiwis – a motley assortment, at that. The Modern Maori Quartet was as polished as ever, and everyone around us was having a good time, singing along and channeling their ‘kiwiness’. I can’t say my heartstrings were plucked, but then we’d only been away from home for less than a week. Unfortunately we didn’t get to catch up with Maaka as he wasn’t on that particular tour.

Shepherds Bush both ways — Shepherd’s Bush Market station on a rainy July evening. Looking left, then right.

After the performance was over, we wearily trudged back along the road in the rain, ordering a £4.95 meal from an Indian restaurant on the way to the Underground. We thought this a good deal, until they stung us £2 each for two small bottles of water. When I’d asked earlier for a couple of glasses of water, I’d thought we’d be given tap water. Won’t do that again. Then back on one train, then another, then the airport shuttle, then the short walk (still in the rain) back to the hotel.

Once again, it had been a long day, starting with our departure from Indian Wells at 6.30 am and moving on to the drive to LA airport, the disposal of the rental car, the horrors of US Customs, UK Customs, the non-booked hotel, negotiating public transport in London… perhaps we’d overestimated our energy levels, but at least we did manage to achieve all that we’d planned.

Winding down

That night in the hotel we barely unpacked, just fell into bed and slept fitfully until our alarms woke us up around 4.00 am. The flights to Helsinki departed at 7.30 am so we had to get organised early. But as we departed from our hotel in the grey early light, I was filled with a sense of optimism. That feeling of being ‘on the road again’ with a whole new country ahead of us. Helsinki meant summer and seeing family. The air b n b we’d booked looked lovely (online, at least), and we wouldn’t have to travel anywhere far for the next five days. And surely my health would improve.

Travel, Writing

No Smoke without Fire

August 22, 2018 Irihapeti 1 Comment

Cranston Fires

Blog 2 01 — Clouds of smoke began to appear over the western ranges

We stayed at Indian Wells for four days, which was the duration of the conference that had sent us there to begin with. During that time, an out-of-control fire raged on the other side of the San Jacinto Mountains, sending dark plumes of smoke into the western skies. I first noticed the change in the light on the second afternoon, when I asked one of the bell boys whether the dark clouds above the ranges were thunder clouds. It was then that he told me it was from a purposely lit fire and I immediately noticed the smoky smell in the air, and the unusual golden tinge that was beginning to affect the quality of the sunlight.

Blog 02 Indian Springs 02 — On a visit to Palm Springs, flecks of ash were dropping onto our clothes and vehicle

As the day progressed, and indeed, over the following four days, the smoke became worse, and the conflagration became known as the ‘Cranston Fire’, spreading until it had engulfed over 13,000 acres of land, destroying at least five houses and leading to the evacuation of 7000 people. At one point, on a visit to Palm Springs, the sun could barely be seen through the haze.

Exploring the Coachella Valley

To make the most of our rental car (if not to enjoy the air conditioning inside) we made several short excursions into the Coachella Valley. I’d pored over the tourist brochures and circled the places that looked most interesting and were within local driving distance.

Blog 02 Oasis Garden 01 — Oasis Date Garden, Coachella Valley

The first we investigated was the Oasis Date Gardens. There we could expect to see, ‘a video show on date history and cultivation, a picnic area surrounded by our beautiful palm garden, a date palm and ornamental palm arboretum, a cactus garden and an antique farm equipment exhibit’. This sounded all very interesting, so we turned on our GPS and made our way there.

Blog 02 Oasis Garden 03 — The cactus garden at Oasis Date Gardens.

I think the information in the tourist brochure was somewhat out of date (excuse the pun) as there weren’t any gardens you could walk in, just a neglected patch of grass to the left of the run-down looking shop-cum-café. The cactus garden was a bit sad-looking, too, in fact the whole ‘garden’ area was very neglected.

Blog 2 Oasis Garden — The antique farm equipment exhibit at Oasis Date Gardens.

Despite the less-than-encouraging exterior, we swallowed down our trepidation and went inside to investigate – we were hanging out for a cup of coffee, if nothing else. There was one girl working behind a counter and no-one else in sight. The left half of the room had some tables and chairs, and the other side had a table with bins of dates, a set of scales, bags, tongs, etc., surrounded by some packaged date products, and other ‘for sale’ items. In a back section there were some tired-looking posters with historical information on them.

The café didn’t appear to still be running, but we ordered a coffee anyway, only to be told that the machine wasn’t working. There was a comprehensive array of date-related products on the café menu, but we didn’t really care to try any. They all sounded too sweet and milky. The date shop itself was well worth the drive. There were about twenty different varieties of dates for sale, and you could taste them all before purchasing (which I did). We ended up buying quite a decent-size bag of Barhi dates. The usual ‘fancy’ and expensive dates you can get in New Zealand are Medjool, and I do like those, but to my taste buds, the Barhi* were the best of all. Smaller, very sweet, soft, tasting like butterscotch or caramel, and with very soft skins. Our bag cost us about US $3.50, which we considered very good value.

Blog 02 Rows of date palms — Acres and acres of date palms grow in the Coachella Valley

I was also fascinated by the date palms with their enormous bunches of dates. There were acres and acres of these in the area. If you can picture barren, arid, jagged hills, dusty ground, huge blue skies with tinges of smoke around the edges, and row upon row of date palms, then this would possibly give you an idea of the look of the place.

La Quinta

On another day we drove to ‘old’ La Quinta. The old part of town had the classic southern US border town look – dazzling sunlight, white plastered buildings, palms, fleshy plants (such as yucca and aloe), dark shade, tinkling fountains, and a hot, dry smell. Streets empty in the middle of the day, shop doors closed to keep out the heat, and the necessity of scurrying from shady patch to shady patch.

Blog 02 La Quinta duo — ‘Old’ La Quinta. Left: An ornate water feature; Right: The main street.

We’d encountered this same situation on a February trip to Hawker, north of Adelaide, where the locals know not to venture outside in the middle of the day and the place ends up looking like a ghost town. In the Coachella Valley, mist machines are deployed to keep the store entrances and outside seating areas, cool. We were intrigued by these as we’d never seen them before, so walked into the cool clouds whenever we could. And they worked!

Palm Springs

Blog 02 Indian Springs 01 — The smoke from the fires was especially evident in Palm Springs

We drove the thirty or so minutes to Palm Springs a couple of times. The smoke from the Cranston Fires was more evident there, as the city is nestled against the foot of the La Jacinta mountain range, and the fires were directly on the other side. A nice touch was that Ben’s brother Dennis and his wife Lauren drove all the way down from northern LA (about a 3-hour drive) to meet us for lunch the first time we visited. They suggested meeting for lunch at El Mirasol Restaurant and it was an excellent choice. The restaurant served very inexpensive, enormous Margaritas, and after a few gulps, there was no way the meal could go badly. But even without the Margaritas, we’d have loved the meals. The service was great, too.

Blog 02 Indian Springs 04 — Palm Springs: The use of water as a soothing medium to the eye, doesn’t really help when the thermometer is hitting 47 C.

On that visit to Palm Springs we were inside most of the time and didn’t really notice the heat, but on the second visit, it was so hot, I felt I could barely walk up the street, and it felt like the smoky air was sucking every drop of moisture out of my body. Needless to say, our visit was brief.

Blog 02 Indian Springs 03 — Westfield Mall in Palm Springs.

We fled to a mall, which turned out to be another Westfield – I guess they are everywhere, but I was still surprised (and not in a good way) to see the identical logo to that of our local mall in West Auckland, on the wall as we drew near.

Blog heat — Left: The projected temperatures over a 5-day period; Right: TV warnings about excessive heat.

In summary, the California leg of our trip was interesting and opened my eyes to a completely different part of the world. It was hot there… and we had expected this, but according to the local TV channel, the weather we experienced while we were there was the hottest for several decades and quite a few records were broken in the area. Only the smoky skies kept the heat from soaring even higher. Our only disappointment was the final night ‘gala dinner, of the conference.

The dinner cost the equivalent of NZ $145 per person, and the gap between my expectations and the reality of the meal, was enormous. We were given only one measly glass of wine for the whole meal, and the entrée was a small bread-and-butter-plate sized, flat selection of salad greens, just like you might purchase bagged up in plastic at the supermarket all ready to serve, but it had no dressing and nothing other than leaves in it, (i.e., no tomato, or carrot, or red pepper or cucumber). It looked very tired and as if it could do with a good rinse in some fresh water. The Main was okay… it was a piece of filet steak, cooked medium rare and tender, but small. Alongside this was a smear of possibly Béarnaise Sauce, with two spindly strands of asparagus trapped in it, and a tiny piece of roasted potato with skin on – perhaps the size of my watch face, and hmm… I think there was something else – perhaps a small flat mushroom or two. Dessert was some kind of ready-made tart – the kind you could buy from a generic cake shop. You had to crack the pastry crust to break into it. It was okay but adding the three courses together, plus the one small glass of unmemorable wine… well, we were very disappointed.

Blog 02 Leaving California — Driving back from Indian Wells to California, we once again passed rows of wind turbines.

On our final day, we arose at around 5.00 am, and were on the road by just after 6.00 am. Then we retraced steps and drove to LA, dropped off the rental car, and joined the very long line crawling its way through the US Customs. This line moved somewhat quicker than on our entry and even though we’d been told to arrive three hours prior to our flight, we actually had a good two hours to fill in before our 5.15 pm flight to London.

Blog 02 Indian Wells fire engines — A row of fire engines lined up in the hotel car park, ready for fire-fighting service the following day.

Blog 02 Oasis Garden 02 — Ripening bunches of date on a palm, covered in muslin bags to protect them from the birds and insects.

* Barhi Dates – “Barhee or barhi (from Arabic barh, meaning ‘a hot wind’) – these are nearly spherical, light amber to dark brown when ripe; soft, with thick flesh and rich flavour. One of the few varieties that are good in the khalal stage when they are yellow (like a fresh grape, as opposed to dry, like a raisin). (Wikipedia)

Travel

Into the Hot Country

July 26, 2018 Irihapeti Leave a comment

First Stop California

We touched down at LAX around 1.00 pm on Tuesday, after a twelve-hour journey out of Auckland. The flight was uneventful, although I only managed to doze for a couple of sessions of about thirty or so minutes. Once we’d disembarked, the customs and security procedure was tiresome. Not the process itself (which was relatively straight-forward) but being sorted into a zig-zagging line of tired travelers, squashed together like an assortment of irregular human peas completely out of their pods… like zombies, even, shuffling forward a step at a time… tired, crumpled, barely able to communicate. The line took over two hours.

I felt sorry for a young couple behind us who had a connecting flight, and for the people who had babies and young children in tow. People were remarkably patient, however, and the little ones coped, somehow. In comparison, fetching our luggage and finding our way to collect the rental car was a walk in the park, and we negotiated our way out of the city without too much trouble.

view from ar — Traveling east on Interstate 105

The drive east to Indian Wells took about three hours and for most of the way there was a steady stream of traffic. Fortunately we could use a faster ‘ride share’ lane as there were two of us in the car.

wind turbines 01 — Lofty turbine giants stride alongside the western entrance of the Coachella Valley.

When we finally arrived it was after 6.00 pm and the sun was setting, and the heat hit us like a physical blow when we exited the car. The only way I can describe the feeling is to say that it was as if someone was holding one of those electric bar heaters about six inches away from my body (every part) and that it was on full. Interestingly, I’ve since heard on the local news channel that this part of the US is experiencing record highs. So it’s not just me.

hill view — Blue skies, craggy mountains, palm trees and bubbling fountains.

Indian Wells – population c.5000

Describing Indian Wells, the local City Council website states somewhat wistfully that “a century before Zane Grey immortalised the Old West, an Indian village had formed around a hand-built well in the Southern California desert”. It goes on to state that “the characters in this tale were to be the same he (Zane Grey) celebrated: Indians, explorers, pioneers, and prospectors; their actions framed against a rugged backdrop of mountains rising from a raw sand floor”. Although there was a thriving Indian village situated here in 1853, the discovery a decade later of gold on the Colorado River, changed everything. Indian Wells became an important stop-over on the way through the desert from Los Angeles.

I’m sure there are sites where evidence of the old history can still be seen, but for those of us who are just passing through, staying perhaps a few days for golf, or in our case, to attend a conference, there’s not much to see of the historical side of things. The Indian Wells that Ben and I are experiencing comprises low-lying sandy-coloured buildings with terracotta tiled roofs, a variety of tall palm trees (including the statuesque Saidy Date Palm), manicured lawns with misty sprinklers, and a surprising number of tinkling fountains. Oh, and there are the fancy resorts that rise up above the low-lying buildings like giant anthills. The place is a verdant oasis sprouting in the arid grey Coachella Valley, which in turn is surrounded by the sharp craggy peaks of a number of mountain ranges. It is very hot, very tidy, very quiet, very clean and very different from South Head.

Resort Life

hotel

To counteract the heat, we took a dip in the pool last night. The water was tepid and we splashed around for about five minutes, before realising that we were exhausted. Surprisingly, despite it still being 42 C, we felt chilly when we slid out and scurried for our towels. It was a very beautiful scene, though. A clear blue sky packed with stars, an almost full moon, turquoise pool, palm trees, subtle lighting… the whole resort thing. And the air-conditioning indoors is a welcome contrast to the heat outside. If you wished to, you could come to a place like this, swim in the pool, drink cocktails at the bar, eat at one of the in-house restaurants, head back to your room to watch cable TV, and never go out of the hotel for anything.

You could be anywhere in the world… except for the heat.

fountain — The view from one of the windows.

References

http://cityofindianwells.org/about/history/earlyyears.asp

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Japanese Diary

June 1, 2018 Irihapeti 1 Comment

Shichi – Sleeping in a Capsule

first cabin

When I initially checked-in to First Cabin, I was asked to confirm that I wouldn’t be playing loud music, or producing inharmonious sounds, or using a noisy alarm clock, all in the interests of my fellow guests. The counter displayed a box of earplugs, ‘free of charge’, and I was soon to discover why. The ‘capsules’ are never entirely closed off from everyone else. Basically, they’re little cubicles open at one end, across which runs a stiff vinyl curtain.

Despite my tiredness, I could tell straight away that it was going to be a difficult night, sleep-wise. The bed was very hard and flat. It reminded me of a well-stuffed vinyl bench, except wider, and of course, it wasn’t vinyl, or if it was, it was well disguised under the bedding. There was a light duvet, a pillow, and a large flattish bolster affair that served as a head-board. The opaque vinyl curtain had a gap of about 10 cm at top and bottom, and let through light from the hallway. And even with everyone trying to be quiet you could still hear people walking back and forth, curtains scraping on their tracks, the rustle of papers, the sound of coughing, or of people going through their bags and getting ready for bed, or getting out of bed, and this went on for the whole night, as people checked in or departed at all hours.

I decided to take a shower before bed, so donned the rather uncomfortable tunic and pants and made my way to the shared bathroom. The series of rooms were dazzlingly bright after the subdued lighting of the hallways and were well-stocked with mirrors, hair-dryers, low stools and toiletries. Removing my slippers, I followed the signs to the shower section where it was clear that I was expected to remove my clothing and place the items into a basket, then cross the Tatami matting to the shower on the opposite side of the room. I was hesitating – weighing up the possibility of taking my towel in with me, when a naked woman appeared from the shower opposite and walked past me to her basket of clothes. At this point I realised I’d just have to go with the flow. And I also felt annoyed that I come from a culture where I still feel self-conscious in my own skin. The shower was great! Hot, clean, and with good water pressure. A nice touch was the Shiseido shampoo and conditioner. I felt much better afterwards.

I settled down for the night at around 10 pm and eventually fell into a restless sleep. At around 3.30 am I was startled awake by the sound of music, a woman singing… in my half-asleep state I couldn’t tell if it was in Japanese or English or some other language, and for a moment I thought I’d somehow left a radio on. The music played on for a few minutes before it stopped and the relative silence resumed. At 4.30 am I got up to go to the bathroom and was surprised to see that there were many more capsules with closed curtains than there had been earlier. And in the bathroom itself, there was an astonishing number of women sitting at the counters, applying make-up, drying their hair, etc. I guess some people start their days early, and it seemed to me that they were dressed for work, rather than travel.

I’d asked for a wake-up call, just in case the vibrations of my watch alarm didn’t wake me, and right on 6.00 am, I heard a gentle tap on my curtain, which was then drawn aside, and a cheery face peeped in. “Arigato!” I called out softly and the figure retreated. Despite having spent a week or two studying Hiragana, and learning a few Japanese words prior to my trip, ‘Thank you’ was the only word I felt confident of testing on anyone.

Next stage of the trip: Haneda to Asahikawa

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Japanese Diary

May 31, 2018 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Roku – Japan at Last!

The flight from Auckland to Narita takes about 10 hours. I’m not particularly fond of flying. But perhaps nobody is. It’s not so much the thought of being up in the air in a huge metal machine, it’s more about the claustrophobic aspect of being crammed into such a small space for several hours, sharing the stale air with a few hundred people you’ve never met.

The new aeroplanes, while comparatively roomy and equipped with all the mod cons, are not designed for short people, (just as they aren’t designed for tall people, or large people). The position of the head rest isn’t quite right, the flow of fresh air completely misses my face, that kind of thing. To distract us we’re provided with movies or TV programmes, music and refreshments, and these just about do the trick, especially if you’re traveling alone and don’t have to entertain a child or comfort a baby.

We were served ‘lunch’ a couple of hours after departure. I chose the salmon, which was accompanied by a small egg roll, some green beans and rice. The other option was scrambled eggs and chicken sausage – definitely unappealing, even mentioning it here makes me a little squeamish. Then a couple of hours out from Narita we were served dinner. The choices were either a chicken dish, or a beef casserole with peas and roasted potatoes. I chose the latter and polished it off at a speed that surprised me.

My seat was situated on the left-hand aisle, adjacent to a guy aged around late-40s and his son (about 10). They didn’t bother me on the trip, but nor did we communicate, except for when they needed to squeeze past me for some reason. At one point I became aware that several babies were crying inconsolably. It was a somewhat bizarre situation – playing out on the screen in front of me was a sex scene in the movie ‘The Shape of Water’. A very wet scene with water dripping and flowing everywhere, and then there was the sound of babies howling from several sides. I felt sorry for them, and for their caregivers. A long trip is difficult when you have little ones in tow. I was also glad they weren’t my babies.

Thanks to a tail wind, we landed a little early at Narita, just before 5 pm, with a reported outside temperature of 28 C. Looking out the plane windows it appeared overcast and smoggy. I’d packed some of our own honey as gifts and was half expecting the contents of my luggage to be queried, but I passed through Customs and the security check speedily. My first task was to purchase a ticket for the Limousine Bus that would take me from Narita to Haneda airport, a trip of about an hour, across the city.

Limousine bus views — From the Limousine Bus I caught glimpses of rural scenes and cityscapes.

The bus was only about half full, but every window seat was taken so I couldn’t see much of Tokyo or the surrounding area. I did, however, catch glimpses of rice fields and greenery, along with grey industrial buildings and motorways.

Limousine bus — Sitting on the Limousine Bus.

Nearer to Haneda we drew close to the ocean, which looked dark and choppy in the late afternoon light – visibility restricted by the smoggy atmosphere. By the time our bus reached its destination, the sun had dipped to a position only a little above the horizon. The sky was a dirty gold changing to smoky apricot with the buildings standing out starkly and I was feeling very tired.

I’d booked a first class capsule at First Cabin hotel, situated in Haneda Airport’s Terminal 1. I located the hotel without too much difficulty and checked in at around 6.40 pm. I had to wait twenty minutes for the room to become available and then curiously walked through the narrow corridors to find my ‘home away from home’ for the night.

The room was adequate and I wish that I’d taken a photo when I first slid the curtain open and hadn’t disturbed anything. For about NZ $60 I was provided with a clean room with a bed, a TV (which I didn’t use), a small side table, a lockable drawer, a towel, wash-cloth, pair of disposable slippers, and a set of cabin wear consisting of a simple top and trousers, made of a thick, brown fabric.

onigiri — Onigiri – something I LOVE but can’t find in New Zealand.

By this time I was so exhausted I was almost dead on my feet. But I was also terribly thirsty, so once I’d undertaken a very basic ‘unpack’, I left my gear in the capsule (trusting that it would be secure) and roamed the airport in search of something to drink and eat. I walked back and forth a few times unable to make a decision then settled on a bottle of Mirin brand Sparkling Lemon (which I guzzled as quickly as the coldness of the liquid would allow) and a Convenience Store-style Onigiri of some kind. It was time to retire for the night.

Next stage of the trip: My night as a guest of First Cabin.

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Japanese Diary

May 18, 2018 Irihapeti Leave a comment

Go – Return to Asahikawa

At 7.45 am on Tuesday 15 May I was sitting in the Koru Lounge of Auckland International Airport, struggling to keep my eyes open. It had been an early start, made a little more complicated by having to jettison a couple of items at the last minute (my Kindle, a bottle of shampoo and my pillow), in order to get the weight of my bag closer to the 23 kg limit.

Koru breakfast — Scrambled eggs, kransky sausage and toast, a la Koru Lounge

The day had begun with my Apple Watch vibrating me into awakedness at 3.45 am. In theory, I should have been ready to go, having packed and separated out the items I might need with me on the journey, the previous day. The trip itself, would be a little different from that of the previous year; on this occasion it would be undertaken in two legs: Auckland to Tokyo (Narita airport) and Tokyo (Haneda airport) to Asahikawa. Last year I’d flown directly to Sapporo, before traveling by rail (the Kamui) to my final destination. Another difference was that it would involve an overnight stay in Tokyo, as my Asahikawa flight wouldn’t depart until mid-morning on the Wednesday.

The drive from home to the airport was uneventful. It was a clear, calm morning and South Head Road was dry, only broken by puddles of fog whenever the road dipped into a hollow. There was little traffic through Parakai, Waimauku and even at Kumeu, which an hour or so later would be bisected by a long snake of commuters. We tanked the car at the Gull station there, and leaving the last of the fog behind, hit the northern end of the South Western motorway. Even the road works leading down to the Lincoln Road off ramp didn’t hold us up and before long we were driving through the Waterview Tunnel, and out the other side where I was surprised to read on an electronic sign that it was 18 C.

Ben dropped me off at the international terminal at around 6.00 am and headed back to wrestle his way to the city centre through the early morning traffic. My bag weighed in at 23.4 kg but the attendants let it through; fortunately I didn’t have to implement my backup plan of transferring various items (such as computer cables) from bag to back pack. After clearing Customs and the security check I wandered a couple of times around the duty-free shops, then headed to the Koru Lounge. I had a long wait ahead of me.

The lounge was full with the best seats taken. There are always plenty of comfy chairs but they are the wrong dimensions for a person of my height. They force me to either sit forward awkwardly on the edge, or to sit back with my feet barely touching the floor, so the best chairs for me are the regular ones beside the dining tables. I plonked myself down into the best of the worst and opened my laptop. My intention was to get some writing done and to avoid alcohol – it was, after all, still very early, but after 30 minutes of listening to a nearby group of women talking firstly (and at length) about who they did and didn’t like in ‘Dancing with the Stars’ (a new series is apparently running on TV3), and secondly, about how irritating Winston Peters is and how lovely Jacinda Ardern is, and then having another woman beside me coughing and sniffling, I decided I needed something. And there’s nothing like a glass of bubbly at 7.32 am.

Looking around, I observed that the area was mostly populated with grey-haired, or no-haired individuals, most of them, paired off. Yes, there were a few younger couples and singles, and I did observe one child aged around eight, but I was definitely on the younger side of the majority. Most of us were tapping away at laptop keyboards, or peering closely at mobile phones. Reading glasses were ‘de rigueur’. I thought this somewhat odd. Perhaps it was to do with it being the international lounge – I knew from experience that at that time of the morning on a week day, the domestic lounge would be filled with business types, all suited up.

The noise level was high, too. Across from where I was sitting, the barista gal was regularly bashing the coffee grounds out of the portafilter, plates were being clattered by the breakfast bar, glasses were clinking on a trolley being wheeled past, the buzz of many conversations was reaching a crescendo – the cacophony peppered with abrupt peels of laughter and muffled coughs. I could catch the odd phrase of a conversation, but it was mostly just noise, the kind that makes your eyelids grow heavy until suddenly you realise that you almost fell asleep. Or perhaps it was the one small glass of wine that was beginning to affect me. It was time to zone out.

Next stage of the trip: The flight from Auckland to Narita airport, Tokyo, and the subsequent journey between Narita and Haneda airports, and my experience as a guest of First Cabin.