A river runs through it

I have yet to read Norman Macclean's classic account of growing up in the mid-west (shamefully, it sits on the shelf gathering dust like so many other novels; I now reckon my remaining lifespan in terms of unread books. By my rough reckoning I have about 300 books I have yet to read sitting on shelves in the house and my office. Even in my most wildly optimistic scenario of reading two books a month and a couple more during the holidays [and refraining from buying any new ones in the meantime - an utterly fantastic notion I know, but indulge me], it would take me 10 years to get through the backlog. And don't get me started on all the back issues of the Dublin Review and the New York Review of Books that are piled up under, around, and occasionally, on top of the bed).
But I digress. To repeat, I have yet to read Mr. Macclean's short story (I will, I promise), but even unread I reckon there were more fish caught in it than what me and Cian managed last Saturday.
Our house is too small and family lifestyle too busy to justify having a dog or cat, so what we have instead for pets are various types of fish. At the moment we have one goldfish, one crayfish, nine loach, and an exceedingly large school (swarm? brood? host? gathering? team? collective? posse?) of tadpoles. However, all this aquatic richness wasn't enough for Cian Costeau, who wanted to add to his collection. So last Saturday we ventured into the woods beyond the University in search of fish. My colleague Mike had regaled us with tales of all the fish he and his son used to catch up there when he was younger. So, suitably inspired we grabbed our nets and headed up the trail.
Only to be nearly eaten by a grizzly bear!



 

Well, maybe not a grizzly bear, or even a bear really. Sanae, after looking at the photographs, says it was a Japanese racoon, and a small one and that too. But she wasn't there. It was a bear damnit, and if it wasn't for our Forest Kozan acquired consummate wilderness skills ("throw something at it! Stones, sticks, anything! Just make it go away!"), we would surely have been devoured.
Thankfully, we got to the river without any other excitement (though Daddy did have to extract a tic from his leg that was feasting on his rich, type O blood. Obviously, a geographically savvy tic who had no problem with taking Irish blood, unlike a certain scarlet shaded hospital. I still squashed the fecker anyway). Unfortunately, there were no fish to be had, no matter how many rocks we poked under, which led us to conclude that either (a) it is too early in the season for the fish to be out and about (still very cold, snowmelt water flowing down from the mountain); or (b) Mike is a lying sack of s*** (Cian's words). We vowed to return next month and if we still can't find any fish, then we are going to feed Mike to the racoon, sorry, bear.

The Japanese Red Cross

Last Friday morning I was sitting in my office doing various academic things like, ahem, checking the wave report on Tenki.jp, when there was a knock on my door. Being the convivial Irishman that I am, I said hai, (Japanese for 'yes'). A man I didn't know entered my room, explained he was from the Japanese Red Cross and they were looking for blood donations. They had a mobile unit parked in front of the main building and they were eager for both students and faculty to donate. He inquired as to my blood type and when I told him O, his eyes lit up and he strongly urged me to come along and give 800ml of the finest Irish blood this side of Howth. As Tenki.jp had shown zero wave action forecast for the day, I figured, sure, why not. Seems I would get a free pack of cup noodles for my selflessness.
So, I went down to the temporary reception area they had set up just outside the mobile unit. There I had to fill in a form asking all sorts of personal questions, such as 'Have you ever had risky sex', to which I replied, 'Only in my car whilst driving'.
Us Irish, red-blooded and funny.
Anyway, I was ticking all the 'No' boxes ('No, I haven't been to West Africa lately'), when I came to the following question: 'Since 1980, have you ever lived in another country for more than 12 months?'. To which my obvious answer was 'yes, Ireland, where I grew up. Greatest country in the world'.
This though, seemed to trouble the man at reception. 'Ireland?' he said, in the sort of voice he would have probably used if my answer had been 'North Korea'. He reached behind him and pulled out a large ring folder, blew the dust off it, and began to flip through it. 'Please wait a moment' he muttered. He got to the end of the folder and obviously having not found what he was looking for, started again from the front.
No luck either the second time, so again he said 'Ireland?', followed by 'ummm' and another 'please wait a moment'. Then he got up and went in to the mobile unit.
A few moments passed. I waited.
He reappeared with the classic Japanese head-partially-bowed-bashful-look on his face which clearly signals that an embarrassing apology is imminent.
'Ahh, I am very sorry but, eh, we have no information about Ireland'.
'What?!'
'We have no information about Ireland so, we, ehh, can't accept your blood. I am very sorry'.
I stumbled away shocked. No information about Ireland?! The Japanese Red Cross have no information about the Irish and their blood! How? Why? Who?
Are we so remote from the Orient that news has yet to filter through of modern Ireland's dynamic society where we have such things as running water, electricity, and gay marriage? Does the Irish Embassy in Tokyo know of this state of affairs? Is an affirmative promotional campaign necessary? - 'Irish blood is good. Accept donations now'.
And no cup noodles either.

Deforestation, the Gobi Desert and Me

My Mazda, just back from it's tour of duty.

For the past week Hokkaido has been buffeted by strong westerly winds which have brought with them vast amounts of airborne sand. This phenomenon is known as 黄砂 (kousa), literally 'yellow sand'. It originates in northern China and Mongolia where the sand is picked up by a passing low pressure system which then travels east over Korea and Japan coating everything in its path a golden yellow. Repeated tree and plant degradation (which is a polite way of saying the feckin Chinese chopped down or uprooted everything green) means there is nothing to stop the topsoil being, as Bono would put it, 'blown by the wind'. Unfortunately, the resulting dust cloud doesn't 'disappear without a trace', but ends up falling on my car.
This is bloody annoying as I then have to wash my car.
I don't particularly like washing my car as (a) it's boring; and (b) it just gets dirty again the next time the wind shifts around and starts blowing from the west again. Rain only makes things worse as it leaves big splattery splotches of mustard colored sand over everything. My poor Mazda looks like it has belatedly returned from active duty in 'Operation Desert Storm'.
To try and do our bit and prevent this from happening every spring, myself and Cian went down to our local garden centre, got some grass seed, put it in an envelope and sent it off to the Chinese Embassy along with a helpful note asking them to spread over the land pretty much anywhere west of Beijing.
We have yet to hear back from them.

Somewhere out there beyond the yellow haze is the Pacific Ocean.

Golden Week

We have had a series of successive public holidays over the past three days which means we have had an extended break since last Saturday. This period is known as 'Golden Week' here in Japan, so named after one of the great villains of the James Bond series. The weather was unseasonably warm and sunny so we got out and about a bit. Below are a number of photos form our spring wanderings and some accompanying notes.

First, next, and last, there was surfing. Three glorious days of it. Early morning down at kanisan.

We also took a stroll around Hachiman Shrine to see the cherry blossoms. Because we have to. This is Japan and they have rules about that sort of thing. They also have rules about purifying yourself before entering the hallowed ground of the shrine, so Cian washed his hands. Or else the watching dragon would eat him.

 She's my cherry blossom, ya'll.

 Such was the warm sunshine we were blessed with a lizard who made a surprisingly early season appearance.

 View from the top of Sokuryosan; a typical mixture of blue skies, fog, and smoke.

 A fern plant. Or an alien, depending on your imagination.

 Mizubasho in the park near Lake Poroto.

The woods around Lake Poroto beginning to turn green, and yes, I like my prosaic captions.

 Lake Utonai, in Tomokomai, where we usually go during Golden Week. They had a nature quiz at various spots along the walkway around the lake. We were set to get a clean sweep of correct answers when Mammy overruled the men on the last question on whether we came across a male of female willow tree. It was a male, damnit, a male! Easily distinguishable by it's adams apple, penchant for fast cars, and FC Barcelona replica soccer jersey.

To console ourselves, the men had some ice cream. Chocolate and ...

 Tricky vanilla.

On the bridge.

I know, I know... aawwwhhhh. But note how Daddy has to bend his knees in order to physically compensate for the difference between man and hobbit.

Cian and Sanae headed off to Sanae's mother's house for two days while Daddy did some thesis writing and, ahem, caught the occasional wave. Whilst there they visited Eco-no-Mori in Otofuke which has a giant bouncing area. Cian spent 2 hours on it.

Mammy had a go to. For somewhat significantly less than 2 hours.

Then it was also time for bike rental and some practice for the up coming Tour de France under the watchful eye of Coach Granny.

 Cian then retreated to his 'lair' to plot his next move...

...which involved a large chocolate and strawberry sundae, all part of his 'carbo-loading' for Le Tour.

AIB Part 2

Well, that didn't work. Myself and Sanae paid a trip to our local post office to prove my bona fides but they weren't having any of it. They politely but firmly said "No, we can't certify a copy of your passport", the implied subtext being "we will not be part of whatever Al Queda inspired global financial terrorism you are planning on unleashing, Mr. Brian lunatic foreigner Gaynor". And this despite me buying life insurance off them a couple of years ago. Oh, but they were oh so helpful then...
Hence, I will just have to wait I return home in August whereupon you may well witness a 'Dog Day Afternoon' like scenario occurring at the South Anne Street branch of AIB.