Leaving Japan

Eto....the Intensive workshop on sustainability has ended so I'm headed back to the Good 'ole USA, even less sure about society and the meaning of life and all that than I normally am. Only had an extra 24 hours in Tokyo, but we did pretty good. Spent last night in Shibuya. I love daicon (see below) but I wasn't sure I could take one back with me.



We also spent some time (and a fair bit of money) exploring bizarre Japanese sub-cultures. I'm mixing my drink at the Lock Up bar....


It was ok. The best one I think came in a collection of neon vials. This morning was a disaster of wasted time. Went to check out the palace gardens; never made it to Akhiabara.


But I'll be back Japan, I'll be back.

Fish Market

The experience continues, rocking the erie Shonan Village center like the champions we are. Comraderie grows but specific reason for our being here becomes less clear. Spending 8:30 am to 9:30 pm roughly involved in lectures and group work. Looking forward to day trip to Yokohama tomorrow. All I've really had a chance to do is visit the fish market in Tokyo:

Tokyo from the Shinagawa Prince Hotel

Fish Market in Tokyo

Whale meat

Note the sword

Tokyo

I've only been in Japan a little over a day so far, but my initial impressions are, essentially, it's rad.

Totally impressed and eager to see more. All that being said, I'm currently in a pretty bad mood because

1. I haven't had enough to eat in two days
2. I don't have any money

The Japanese really don't know what to do with vegetarians. I'm not even sure there's a word for it. One of the Japanese kids here had to think pretty seriously for a while what the best way to even ask for a meat-free meal was. More over, I'm in a REALLY bad mood because apparently vegetarians aren't allowed to have cake. I'm super hungry and everyone else gets this buffet meal, the vegetarians get this little tray with a bowl of water-based soup, a tiny salad, and an egg. Later they brought out this tray of gourmet chocolate cake and the lady literally took it out of my hand. Vegetarians get a strawberry and a slice of honey-dew. :-| I nearly cried.

I don't have any money because there aren't many ATMs and the only one I have found that was useable doesn't take visa cards. I've been to 12 countries and I've never not been able to use my visa....it's my fail-safe for getting cash in the correct currency at the best exchange rate. So now I owe a couple nice people 2000 yen for train tickets and I have nothing else..... so....if no one gets a postcard, that's what's up.

Know Thy Enemy

Studying sustainability in Phoenix. No, it's not a joke. I don't think.

Return

I have returned to the United States only to throw whatever odds and ends of my life fit in the back of a Toyota Corolla and move once again from my beloved Oregon. In a whirlwind all the scenery of my life changes once more and I am trudging along sandstone ridges thinking of Edward Abbey,

"I sometimes choose to think, no doubt perversely, that man is a dream, thought an illusion, and only rock is real; rock and sun."

The present is so convincing; how could the past have been anything but a dream?

After a very long drive (I had briefly lost an appreciation for how big America really is) I base myself for the summer in Meeker, Colorado. The landscape is sandstone and oil shale, pinion-juniper forest, sagebrush, and all variety of threatened species etching meager survival in the path of oil development.

This is "The American West." The coastal states - California and the Pacific Northwest - may lie most west geographically, but their culture is all their own. It is the Rockies and their immediate vicinity where that archetypical breed of cattle-driving, denim-and-cowboy-boot-wearing, small-town, big-country American still thrive. And my impression after a week here is that it's no show. Everyone drives a truck - not shiny city SUVs, but muddy, dented 4x4s with tailgates. Boots are dust-covered, there is only one oddly stocked grocery store and most everyone is on a first name basis. It's cold here (snowed yesterday) but high and dry, and the sun is something fierce in the thin air. I've never lived for any extent much above sea level and hiking over steep terrain all week at 7000 feet plus a malfunctioning PDA nearly had me cursing and crying today. The combination of cold and parched has me in constant desire for a hot shower.

In the Footsteps of Giants

I have just come down off the Muller Hut track, which is the approach to Mt. Olivier, rumored to be the first mountain climbed by Sir Edmund Hillary (probably as a five year old). The track these days is nothing like what he climbed, of course. While the DOC officers warn of the need for serious hiking experience, the track is semi-improved and generously sprinkled with orange guide poles.

It being 1530 and “rain building” in the forecast, I made a scramble to throw together a pack and beat what foul weather I could (sleeping bag, headlamp, peanut butter: check). Mt. Cook National Park is truly beautiful, and the hike begins as a pleasant stroll through a golden valley leading up to the “cathedral” of jagged peaks for which the park is famous.

After 45 minutes, I put the pleasantries behind me, and begin what more closely resembles a stair-stepper workout. It is all very much worth it though; thinking the view of valley and mountains grand enough, I come over a ridge and find myself staring straight into a the rugged internal organs of the cathedral itself.

There are no trees here, hardly any liquid water. Lichen and moss cling in the leeward hollows of bare rocks. The wind whips past in gusts, throwing my feet forward, shoving me into tumbled boulders. The air temperature drops. The rain is beginning, and a few arrows of ice sting my cheeks. Just as I am debating the effort to pull off my pack and dig out another layer, the Mueller hut appears, an isolated beacon of hope.

I stumble in a side door, wedging down the heavy iron bar behind me. Silence. No wind. No rain. Only four Israelis, staring at me.

“Hey.”

There are 18 of us in all, and we huddle in the kitchen area, the warmest room from gas stoves and body heat. Some cook, some play cards. Two have proper down jackets, and a silvering Australian climber offers me his. How cold must I look? Too embarrassed to accept, I thank him and slip into the antechamber, where I proceed to do pushups and jumping jacks, trying to encourage my metabolism.

I spend the rest of the evening chatting, eating peanut butter, and watching a kea pick at decking. The rain builds. The night grows. Eventually we are quiet in our own tasks, and I turn to read Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the second time this week.

~

In the morning we all eat porridge and wait for the weather to clear up a bit. By 1030 it has mostly stopped raining, so I scramble the final ascent to Ollivier, and spend a good 25 minutes, gawking at the incredible scenery.

The descent is surprisingly easy. The sun is shining and occasionally Mt. Cook peaks out from white puffy clouds. As I descend I gradually drop layers: one, two, three, until I am in the golden valley once more, standing in my underwear trading thermals, fleece, and windbreaker for lightweight hiking trousers. I meander back to my car at the bustling tourist mecca of Mount Cook Village. It’s hard not to feel grand in these surroundings. As I walk past the hotel I am greeted by a statue of young Hillary, leaning on his ice axe gazing at Mt. Cook. I may never amount to much, but I can try to see the world through the eyes of men who have.

Made with Mana

In which I design....


and make....


(from good strong bone....)

refine


and finish (for now) a hei matau

Picton

I have at last made it to the south island. I have wanted to be here so much, so busy and stressed working, I finally arrived and instead of feeling excited and free I just kept stressing trying to decide what to do, where to go... when it dawned on me to take a deep breath. Relaxing in the sun room of a quiet, homey backpackers hostel, I simply can't be bothered to rush anywhere. Stress slips away. Steep and deep, the Marlborough fjords are my company, the masts in the marina, the high, dry sun... and I realize I have all the time in the world. I might go hire a bike and cruise around vineyards. I might go on a dolphin quest. I might sit in the sun and read....but it will be fantastic no matter what.

A gentleman this morning phrased it perfectly. He was sitting in the sun reading a book and drinking tea, when another guest came out to smoke. The man smiled broadly, setting down his book to roll a cigarette as well. "Another shitty day in paradise, eh?"

The 'Naki

Made the long drive to New Plymouth this weekend to climb Mount Taranaki. I decided to take the “direct route” which involved the Forgotten World Highway and a “no gas 150km sign.” Even for a New Zealand road, the twists and turns on this highway were enough to make my sense of adventure carsick.

New Plymouth seemed like a nice, industrial little city, but maybe I just get excited these days about being anywhere the population is larger than three thousand. The weather was fine and I had a lovely walk along the coast before meandering down for live music at one of the many parks, which happened to be lit up for their summer festival.

I was a little concerned about the weather - being a large peak right on the ocean, Taranaki can attract some pretty variable weather conditions. The weather forecast for the day before had said "fine with some cloudy periods" and when I arrived at the DOC (Department of Conservation) visitors center to check on the route, it was pouring down rain. Nevertheless, I was determined to be determined and rose at 5 fingers crossed. The world was clouded over. By the time I was at the trail head the sun was breaking through -

and I had a good feeling about the weather.

The track itself was quite scenic, beginning in the “goblin forest” and winding its way up (and only up….I don’t think more than ¼ mile of that trail was flat) along a service road to an alpine hut, and then through an atmospheric mix of basalt cliff sides and high alpine scenery. After a never-ending flight of wooden stairs (to protect regeneration of vegetation communities...though i did feel a bit silly) there was the obligatory scree field and a proper scramble to the summit.

At 8:45, the last wisps of cloud were blown away from the top of the mountain, and I turned around to this awesome sight:

A small glacial saddle sits just before the summit, but the snow was soft enough in the sun to walk across without feeling too unsafe. Eyeing the sheer icy runway to my right did make me wish I had an ice axe and definitely had me thinking about how unpleasant - and inaffective - a self-arrest with my elbows might be. All was fine though, and I enjoyed some inspiring views and company of several fine hikers at the top. The highlight of lunch was probably the guy who thought my gaiters were sexy. New Zealand is a funky place.

See album to the right for more photos. Peace.