Photo Day Whatever

part5

part4

part3

part2

mural part 1

sport store mural

trucks petropavlovsk

paint petropavlovsk

Deck Ten

In the middle of the night on deck 10 I can feel the steady lateral sway of this gigantic ocean vessel.  It is day something of, or rather night something of this two week Pacific crossing. We are four or five or six days since touching land and we sway.

In the spring equinox crossing through the Korean Strait it was bump bump bump bang, constant and unrelenting, until gradually, while counting the rhythm of the box tough breakers against the ferry that knows that water so well, I lulled myself into sleep. We reached port 2.5 hours late on that 22 hour crossing.

Here, on this open sea, we seem to be leisurely on schedule. There is no sense of urgency. We add an hour every night, well most every night, well, watches forward, so maybe we loose an hour.  Then we cross an imaginary line and we loose a day, or I guess we gain a day, well anyway, we repeat a day.  A Saturday.  May the Fourth be with you again, and again.

We know we are nearing the Canadian coast because we are pointed easterly, but there is fog and waves. It does not feel close yet. The temperature is moderating, above five maybe, but we are still two, or maybe three days away from land fall where we intend to scrunch through the tiny Strait of Juan de Fuca.  There is an another imaginary line running down the middle of it, so I think we have to stay on the north side.

This ship has music that you walk through at night.  This big deck-wide space high up, above the logic of nautical centre of gravity has flutey piano and pipes in esoteric, or mediation styles that change sometimes to wails of humanity or drums of deep unknown rhythms and equally as loud in the mix is the sound of crashing waves.  Relentless, to the beach, to the rocks, over the decks.  It all sounds the same.  It is not a quiet mix, but with the sway, it allows for sleep if that is what you seek.

Lights are dimmed but still reflect in the glass, back to you, barring view of the night white caps and swells ten decks below until you cup your hands around your eyes and press your face to the glass.  Yep.  They are still there.  Steady swell and lots of white.  The lower decks illuminate the ocean since we have no moon nor stars.  I wonder what is below deck one.  What keeps this bobbing aquatic megalith from raking starboard or port beyond this gentle sway?  Is it faith in the skipper?  The crew? The radar?

I fear the small wooden craft with no radar that ventures too close to the wake of this monstrosity.

But I can sleep.  We are lit, like a floating pyre on the Ganges, and no passing craft could miss us for nautical multi miles in any direction.  I hate day fog, but in night fog, yes, I can sleep. 

~~n Post40 Day 67/75

Russian Coast

There is a city about a fifth of the way up the  Kamchatka Penninsula, on its east coast.  It is a good sized city, 200,000.  Apparently it is the second largest city on the planet that is not accessible by road.  #debate That if you want. It has a fully protected port.  We backed in.

Petropavlovsk (city), Kamachatsky (province), Russia

I chose to walk off the ship so, had to relinquish my passport for review by Russian authorities.  They boarded us early.  Took their time, reviewing each and every passport of those who chose to leave the vessel.  We were warned that some would not get off until early afternoon and the process could not be rushed.  We were given group numbers two days prior, and had to listen for our group number then we were permitted to go to a muster station to retrieve our passport and could only then proceed to the gangway.

Upon my return, late in the afternoon, I learned that some passengers did indeed not get off until nearing 14:00, but inexplicably, I was granted exit at 09:30 and had a great 6 hours romping through #Petropavlovsk.  I walked many kilometers and took many photos.  No.  It is not a perfect city, not  like the ones I'd seen in Korea and Japan, where nary a brick is out of place, and litter is never to be seen, but it is well ahead of any tourist's expectations of a Mexican vacation, and gave me a sense that this place has been here for a long long time and that the northern indigenous people live among other Russians whose ancient heritage might be from other parts of the gigantic country.  Probably like Northern Canada, southerners migrated and still do migrate here for work.  

They have a university.  I met young people.  Listened to violent rap muzak in a skateboard store.  Saw beautiful, and seemingly openly sanctioned street art.  I found elders like me, selling socks and imported fashions from street stalls, in a gully below the main drag.  I saw lots of families, many with kids, out and about.  It was the day after May Day.  Most cars are right-drive, but again, inexplicably, they drive on the right side of the road, the same as us.  Lots of the cars need bodywork, so I am thinking they are not forced to have auto insurance. #NotSure.

Preteens in bikes rode past the tourists, "Hello, Hello" they would giggle.  Every young shop person spoke virtually perfect English. Every elder, spoke none, but were welcoming.

For example: <alert #tooMuchInfo>, I wear mens' underwear. (My reasons will be posted at length in another blog.) In the open market, I came across a woman with a table piled  underwear.  Mens' boxers, womens' thongs, bikini, jockey.  Very well made.  Every size, and ridiculously inexpensive.

I was on a shopping spree, which is against my modern nature, but I had withdrawn 5000 Rubles from the port ATM not knowing if I was getting $50 or $500ish, gulp (it was the former <I think>), so my eyes were scanning.  I needed toothpaste, but forgot to get some.  But the underwear was also a practical and justifiable purchase, so I began to struggle to  choose a pair. I like the the jersey fabric boxers and went to that pile.  The merchant a woman nearing my age, guided me to the womanly stuff and I insisted no. This.  To prove my point, I yanked the wasteband of my stanfields from under my vest and she laughed and yanked the same from beneath her sweater.  We shared the thumbs up and laughed some more.  We both know that mens underwear is twice as warm, lasts twice as long, fits ten times better, and is often half the price per unity of fabric.

I had a fabulous day.  I found a beer dispenary.  Take-home draft. R1.10 per litre. Terrifyingly stern seller.  Long line-up.  I found two shopping "malls" that were more like office buildings with small unites off random hallways.  Multiple levels.  Hard to find your way. I suspected that the merchants kept their own hours, or by appointment.  Most were open of course, because very few ships dock at Petropavolvsk, and outside money is #aThing, probably. Baked goods. Produce together, but 15 different sells.  A hat store, so well stocked I bought two. Stepped into a womens' clothing shop and pantomimed, skirt? ...no nothing here but finger wag... "follow me".  (rolls up steel door) More! Imports. Italy, Germany, Austria.

here.  This will fit.  Canada!  

Handshake! Hug!  Keep the hanger! Gold fillings.  We have northern landscape and age in common.  Zero language unity, but we  bonded in the10 minutes I knew her.

The gigantic ship had backed into the dock.  It was a small harbour.

We (to my shame) off-loaded trash, but I am sure it was for a fee.  Less cost than Japan, but undoubtedly acceptable to the peninsular jurisdiction.  A happy transaction for both parties.  Also, there was fuel purchased for the Pacific crossing,

Lenin - in the Square

Still at sea. I do not know how many days it has been since I left Petropavlosk. Their housing architecture is what you would expect in Russia.  The commercial architecture is varied. Some so lovely.  On such a pretentious touristic exploitative excursion, it is hard to generalize about these Yellowknifers of Russia, but they are modern, with it, and I felt a connection.

~n Post39Day63/75

Planet in Profile

Sailing north, still reporting in hindsight, but this post relays the most unexpected and spectacular memories of this final phase of my seventy5days.

Most of us know of the so-called, Ring of Fire. Until you witness the Kuril Islands, or just The Kurils, <Russian WIKI has better images> you cannot believe what our lovely planet once was.

The islands sweep down from the Kamchatka Peninsula, toward Japan.  They were once Japanese islands The most southerly four remain in dispute, "Four islands - which Russia calls the Southern Kurils and Japan calls the Northern Territories - are the subject of a 60-year-old dispute between the two nations". but most are assuredly Russian territory. Here is the wikiFile on the dispute. It is May, early spring, and these remote places remain solidly snow-covered.  (A fellow passenger showed me photos from a September crossing, last fall, and the same islands were green.) As a northern central prairie person, I understand a grey spring deciduous forest not in leaf, but I expected to see some coniferous.  No.  These appear not only glacial, but dramatically volcanic.

Volcano follows volcano.  Large and majestic.  Island after island.  Multiple volcanoes. I am told, there are 4 lakes on that one there.  A cultivated area on that island. We saw a few vessels in military precision, identical profiles and equidistant apart, stationary, between us and shore.  Some thought they were fishing, but I think we were being welcomed to Russian waters. And then a sunset.  It did not rival my Osaka Sunrise, but it was enduring and made me feel whole as we skirted north with the Russian motherland off our port bow.

It is a memory that I will keep.  Decadence aside, I do not know how else I would have ever seen this amazing series of volcanoes.  Dozens upon dozens.  Standing guard. Facing the north Pacific.  I love northern BC's coast.  This is not the same. Not in any way.  There were some of what I might call polygon cliffs, like I'd seen on the southeast of Jeju, but mostly they were bold and beautiful, graceful volcanoes.  The giants in the distance were the once that took my breath away.  Many little sisters, and then suddenly, between them, far in the distance, revealed between, in the blue, a giant mother, teasingly a white delicate profile screaming, "Hey you! Come now, pull out your binoculars and have a wee peek at me." Ghostly present.

Humble.  Isolated  beauty. Power.  The wintery North American Arctic likely generates a similar ownership of place. But I wonder if the volcanic underscore is a factor here.

I am Still writing in #dayFog.  The only weather worse than day fog is #DayBlizzard, if you are driving or sailing.

#whiteOut, but with the steady roar of gentle surf against midship.
~n Post 38 Day62/75 

Sea Legs

I am writing in hindsight now.  

I am living at sea, like as if in air, but at the mercy of our skipper, not our pilot.

Today we are in a dayfog on the Gulf of Alaska, having passed from north of to south of through the midst of the Aleutians yesterday, on our second Saturday May 4th in a row, as we struggle to make sense of time of day and day of week, on this Pacific crossing.


Who could be out here with us?  Why is Captain Theo blowing the big old horn, every fifteen minutes, loud and long?

This ship made two stops, after leaving Tokyo.

First stop, was in northern Japan on the Island of Hokkaido in the port city, Hakodate. With my Japanese passport stamped a week prior, in Osaka, I had permission to walk off for a few hours. The free bus with a white-glove clad driver drove us to the local morning market.  Fish and fish and more.  Kinds I could never name.

I do not like to be one among a bevy of foreigners, but there were four ships in port that morning.  It is good for the local economy. I cannot be arrogant about it.  I have chosen to be the voyeur, so shame on me.

I still am fascinated by the infrastructure and the landscape most of all.

The harbour was very beautiful and vast.  Here is a LocationLink for you.  We were escorted away from the harbour by a fairly large and agile tug.

~n Post37 Day61/75

Wee Paws

When a hilly city is also a megacity and the street signs are in unfamilair <to me> script, it is a recipe for confusion.
Thankfully, I have my compass with me.

Yes, the googleMaps and GPS technology are wonderful things, but when the markers and InternetOfThings added to the maps are very conjested, and also <to me> unreadable, I just walk and walk and walk.
Yesterday the place I sought had a Primary School and a Buddhist Temple near by.  I found both but..  Both were not the ones adjacent my destination but were rather, another different primary school and a different temple.
I thankfully, got to see the side streets <to me lanes>.  Everthing is so clean and organized.  Here, though, I had trouble finding my salvation coffeeShopWIFI.  I have no SIM now... only two more days on land.

A patisserista helped me find my way.  As usual, I'd over estimated my distance.  My destination was much closer than I'd guaged from the map.  I had wandered into a whole diffferent neighbourhood. I had gone under the tracks, thinking these were the tracks I'd just exited at Sakuragicho Station, but noooo, it was a completely different line.  So, my logic was sound, but my assessment of the landmarks was flawed.
Kudos to me though, I didn't need a TAXI.  I am though, sick of hauling luggage, and now, at this juncture, that is so very over. <Well, except for Vanc.>
In a couple of days, WIFI will be sketchy.  I will be on the Pacific, with pay-as-you-go internet, so might give it a pass, moreso than a play.  We shall see.
I have been writing, other than this blog, and am pleased about that.
Right now, I am listening to Hayden's Cello Concertos.  It is very soothing.
My room is teensy, but clean.
I cased out the local area last night and know now where I am in this Yokohama on the waterfront. 

I am happy and so in love with living.  People are marvelous, everywhere.
Do not believe what the media spouts.
Rain.  I have seen very little over the past 60-ish days.
And yes.  I do miss Maestro's wee paws.
~~n Post35 Day58/75

Recurring Thoughts

Forced Labour Cave.

While you read about my recurring thoughts, as you dismiss them as trivial, or as things you had figured out long ago, be listening to the birdies.
I captured 5 minutes of bird sounds with my phone on Mang Oreum. It was the first hottish day.  The leaves are finally popping out of their buds, and beginning to obscure my views of the pimpled landscape that exists as the slope of Hallasan and down to the sea.  The Oreums are little bursts of lava, creating little mountains (300+ of them) that pock the slope of their mother volcano.  These forests are so lovely and fragrant.  Lots and lots of pine.  The undergrowth is different from what we have at home, but the scrubby flowers and greens are the same.  There is lots of red clover, and forget-me-nots, and other familiar little greens. My recording is an m4a file, which was supposed to overtake mp3 but never did that and the sound is so compressed it is sad, so go into the bush and listen to your local birds.  Or wake up early.

Just another crater.

And as you listen to birds, I will be foolish with my recurring thoughts, and also give you a couple more recent crater and cave shots.
I have left Jeju, and am in Busan, awaiting my boat to Japan.
Recurring Thoughts
Chewing:  I have watched lots of pretty young women chewing.  Their cheeks are full of food.  Stuffed full.  And they chew and chew and chew.  With nice lipstick, untouched. Kinda like a gopher except for the lips.  So, I have been trying it, except for the lips.  Like my Mom always said, chew your food.  So, no more wolfing.  I am gonna gopher it now.

Pier Gasan East China Sea

Golf Scrapers:  I have not taken any photos but the landscape is populated with golf driving ranges that make ours look like toyland.  These are 10-storey green nets.  It seems the goal is to see how high you can hit the ball, not how far.  If I find a photo I'll add it later.
Masks:  The whole uncover your face or you will be stigmatized and criminalized and get sideways glanced is so outdated.  Everyone wears masks, especially on bad air days.  Flowered, black, medical, construction, full face, mouth only, nose mouth, balaclavish, grannies, fashionistas, children, everyone.  Bus drivers, barristas, fishers, bankers, yogis.  It is laughable that face covering has some kind of criminal or religeous significance when air pollution is the reason.  Protect your lungs.

Squid Shadows

Musak:  On the busses, in coffee shops, blaring from hotel atria across onto the beautiful sea.  It is the anthem.  No, it isn't Celine, but I am not a DionFan and whatever they are singing about, it feels like it is the mountain-top proclamation of the new world reality.  Young guys at pedestiran crossings are crooning and swaying to this IkMan.  I am not a friend of the soaring ballad.  Here, it is a universal #itsOK.  I find it exhausting.
Dogs: Two classes:  small in human clothing.  white coat and independent or placidly on a rope. Jindo is the Korean national dog.  Lovely, one-person dogs.
Cats: Furtive.  Sneaking around. Same.
Toilets:  Lots of heated seats.  I want one.
Age: Even with limited English, at least 30 people have manufactured, "How Old?" Really? I do not know from their reaction if I look younger or older. I have been pitched on wrinkle cream at least 3 times. I give the truthful answer. Le sigh.
Packaging:  WAYWAY to much.  Sadly, options are slim. Recycling is mandatory, but the trash is loaded with plasticy metallic brightly coloured packaging.

Last Gonae Sunset

It is a bad air day here today, the fourth in 35 days, so not bad.  But, it makes me grateful for the fresh air at home.  I will never be complacent.

~~n Post 34 Day54/75