Emails are sent, pancakes downed, that pack so heavy.
Wandering back to the ryokan in the milky morning low angled sunshine, last night’s corner flower shop looks renewed. It’s $7 mandarins look tempting, especially to bowels which haven’t seen a fruit in a week. Last fruits I recall was a kilo of cherries for $5.99 from good old Fresco. Here, when in season, ¥490 for six cherries (AUD 6) might be the price, and each individually wrapped, so far I can’t recall seeing a naked anything, well maybe not quite everything, those ladies and gentlemen in the mags at the entrance to the Internet cafe were all smiling, I was shocked!
The chill air of the morning had brightened me right up. A waxed lidded Florida Paramount oranges box to the left of the flower shop entrance caught my eye. Sliding round the corner I eyed it off, it was clean though holed for orange breathing,
“Why not just nick it?” I thought.
But I picked it up and entered through the spotless centre opening glass doors.
“Arri..something or other, saga…more words not understood, hosaku … Less understood said faster, namen Sakai …. And so on with a bow to finish”
I offer the box forward, point at me, then make the “speed bonny boats like a bird on the wing over the sea to Skye” motions I’d learnt in primary school. It’s a wavy motion so that the box appears to float whilst rocking on waves towards the door, I smile all the while.
An amazing mime performance, for which I am awarded a smile from the owner and a grin from his toothy assistant, more likely his wife, his open hands pointing to four and eight with slight upward lifts to indicate.
“Please take with our gratitude, thank you”
I back out, soft smiling my way into the street, and take my prize to the ryokan.
Earlier I’d tried the shoe man. Eying off stacks of empty cardboard boxes outside his corner shop I asked with the same gestures as at the florist later for a box, please
“Nameste”
He said this with his back half turning from me, Addidas written on his jersey.
Using more words like
“Excuse, me may I have an empty boxo?”
He turned to me repeating for my benefit
“namaste”,
this time with facial expression. I finally got it, and learnt my first japanese word
“No”
He has risen from his squat and makes the five and seven hand semaphore signal, with the push away motion.
“Arriegato” I say not wanting the police called.
Though this means thank you or so I thought, he then uses the well known two ten signal with arms opening forward combined with multiple finger flicks.
I take take this to mean,
“Go! Leave! Piss off!
I do, shooed by the shoeman.
4.4 kg of things fit in nicely into the Florida box, so a quick trip to the Family Centre convenience finds tape and a marking pen.
At the PO the service is a delight tho not in English, the box is despatched simply, after many forms, the counter lady chases me down the street to give me a small cellophane bag of nuts, for what I take to be an award for the first person to send a box of personal effects to Australia from her post office.
Down town I wander towards the spiral tower, the shape reminiscent of the top peak of a soft serve ice cream. Food who mentioned food! I descend into the bowels of the subway where Nagoyians live, acres of food, the shops would shame the most upmarket in Oz. I’m marvelling, a new level of sensation multiplied by something. Can’t work out the multiplier for senses taken to another level is yet. But it’s all too much , everything is so perfect and still the buyers prod poke and inspect, when any of whatever is stacked before them is perfect. Heading for the underground exit into the subway, I thought I knew how to get a day pass for the subway trains. No matter how many times I pushed the English explanation button I was no clearer than had I read poor instructions to make a video recorder work. Maybe I go see someone, the stationmaster? There’s no information booths and all the literature and machine signage is kanji. I go back to the machine and stand watching but all that happens is folk getting regular thickets or adding value to their cards .
I try to ask a man and two women, but they are rushing, and I am ticket less. I slip aside the silver metal disc cover of what looks like an alarm switch and press the enclosed button. All hell breaks loose, the screen shows a very very red sign flashing and some sort of alarm starts to ring from the back of the machine. I think I have set off the fire alarm. Shit! From the office behind a ticket inspector appears , pushes his head around to see the problem on the screen face, then indicates
“What fare type”
A minute later I possess the prized day ticket, savings after two trips for the day. Simply not having to buy another for the day is worth a few bucks!
I ride the lines to Komehyo, then get totally lost walking 90 degrees and a kilometre from where I was meant to go. And this with a compass, or thank god for it.
The streets are so different, a rag trade area and street after street of department stores. In an up market store the sixth floor is given over to sale by weight. ¥1 or 2 or 3 or 4 per gram. What a way to go. 1.4 kg heavier I have managed to net my pack by three kilograms at about AUD 30, the likes of which would have been AUD 150+, though the irony isn’t lost.
The Hobart Chinaman 