Off to Japan – Friday 17th August 2019

I am finally on the way to a country that I have dreamed of visiting for years. I had a dawn start, too early to take advantage of the inclusive but minimalistic breakfast. I heaved my heavy daypack on to my back and bumped my small carry-on suitcase down the two flights of stairs, passing the entrance to the first-floor restaurant that was taking food deliveries. Outside the air was a pleasant temperature and fortunately, I was now a seasoned commuter on the all-stop airport line so the journey was marginally less stressful. I knew which of the 20 plus entrances at City Hall subway to use to avoid the stairs and at the interchange station, I could even help a young woman struggling with a pair of heavy silver wheelie suitcases heading for the airport. Triple-checking my itinerary to make sure my flight to Osaka left from Gimpo Airport rather than Incheon (it would be a disaster to be at the wrong place at the right time) I stood with my new friend for the next hour all the way to Gimpo. She was a cheerful soul from Moscow and explained she had been visiting her boyfriend in Seoul, who she had met on the internet. We shared our experiences in Seoul, it seemed she had partied while I had been slightly more cultural. I learned all about her life in Moscow, where she was studying music. I asked her if she had not been scared to come all this way to meet a strange man – yes she had replied but it had been really fun. She told me I was a great woman and I should try it! I explained it was early days and at the moment I was not ready for those kinds of adventures. “No, no” she insisted, I would have loads of fun. I am not so sure. At the terminal we gave each other a brief hug goodbye, wishing each other well for our futures. She a pretty young 25-year-old with her whole life in front of her, I determined to make the most of what I have. Do I regret the decisions I have made? Sometimes but I console myself with the fact I have three handsome, healthy bright boys who have fledged from my nest and now are busy forging their own life paths.

I check-in for my flight and am relieved to be unencumbered with the carry-on suitcase that I have chosen to check in to the hold. However, that is not an entirely smooth operation. The case is whisked away up the conveyor belt through the flap curtains but I am told I must wait for 5 minutes for it to clear security.  I stand alongside a group of people, watching the screen showing luggage being x-rayed. There is an endless flow of suitcases flickering across the screen but mine does not seem to flash through. I realise something must be amiss and I am advised I must knock on the door behind me. I present my boarding pass and luggage receipt to the officious white-gloved security officer and am told that there is something disallowed in my luggage. “Please empty your suitcase for inspection.” Really? I begin emptying my possessions and am ashamed to discover I have overlooked one lithium camera battery but the grumpy official wants me to continue spreading dirty underwear and smelly clothes on his bench. When I finally unpack the Johnsons’ Baby Powder I am allowed to stop – what is this he asks. I explain and to my relief, the powder is not confiscated. I cram my belongings back in my case, in the knowledge that I will be able to keep all my creases powdered after showering.

With all the fuss just to get my checked bag through security, there isn’t much time for me clear emigration and security. By the time I reach my gate I am hot and flustered and recalling the disgusting breakfast offered by Korean Air on a previous flight I buy a bowl of noodles topped with shredded chicken as a precaution. I am not sure if it breakfast or lunch but it tasted surprisingly good for airport nosh. It is not long before the flight is called and I am leaving Seoul for Osaka, Japan – a short flight of just over 90 minutes. Korean Air has the technology to fast-forward the films so at last, I am able to watch the ending of Tolkein which brings tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m such a silly old sentimental. There was even time for a second breakfast, the blueberry yoghurt was like a pot sent from heaven – how can I have missed yoghurt so much?

As the plane descended through the clouds I could see lots of islands in a deep blue-green ocean, we were soon to be landing in Japan.

The queues for passport control and immigration were huge and for over an hour I snaked up and down between the tape barriers queuing in the polite, orderly way that the Japanese are so well-practiced at. Eventually, I shuffled forward to plant my feet on the yellow footsteps painted on the floor. I was next and more than ready to start my holiday in Japan. But it was not going to be that straightforward… I presented my documents to the lady in her immaculate uniform and white gloves. She scrutinised them and she was clearly not happy with the information I had provided. The address I had given was insufficient – I needed an exact address in Echizen and phone number. I could feel trouble looming. “Show me confirmation email” she barked at me. I tried to explain I didn’t have confirmation from the guest house as it was organised by the Washi Studio but it fell on deaf ears and anyway her English vocab seemed to be restricted to stock sentences. I didn’t get a chance to argue my case, she simply pushed her buzzer and immediately another official arrived to frog-march me away from the counter.

I needed a plan of escape and thinking on my feet I asked if I could access the email on my laptop before being taken to the interview room. I was taken to an area behind the back of the queue where I had started an hour ago. I sank down onto the bench and tried to think about how to get out of this tricky mess. The problem was that I didn’t have an address for the guest house in Echizen and anyway I wasn’t due there until Sunday night. My intention had been to book a hotel in Osaka while waiting for my flight but the battery/powder incident had spoiled that plan. The whole thing seemed absolutely ridiculous to me anyway – I should have put down the Japanese equivalent of Joe Bloggs, with any old address and they would have been happy. I decided to do just that, putting down the name of the person organising the workshop and his office address and telephone number. I was told I would need to re-queue but thankfully the queue attendant took pity on me and opened the strap barriers so I was “fast-tracked” to the yellow footprints to wait to be called forward again. My man, sporting a crisply pressed shirt with a  ton of badges and braids to re-enforce his importance, still did not seem entirely happy with my paperwork but I was finally admitted into Japan. Never did I think immigration would have been so long and tricky. The next challenge was to collect my luggage. Although there were information signs in both Japanese and English dangling from the ceiling everywhere like Christmas decorations it was still not easy. The signs would suddenly just stop or it would be impossible to spot the one to follow among the sea of information. My flight seemed to be shared between about 3 other airlines and the monitors displaying the information flicked quickly between the screens and from Japanese to English. Eventually, I figured out the correct conveyor but there were no passengers waiting or cases on the belt. The whole space hummed and buzzed like a huge hive, the worker drones busy collecting their luggage, barging through with scant regard for anything in their path. There was no queuing here. Almost at the point of complete despair, I found an official and showed him my luggage tag. I was led across the hall and finally reunited with my case  – offloaded as uncollected from conveyor belt some time ago it would appear.  Clearly, I had exceeded the time allocated. As I handed in my customs form I prayed that the Japanese officials would not play their final card and stop me. I had nothing to declare but it was not seeming like the Japanese really wanted me in Japan. This time I escaped further inspection and finally, on the other side of the arrival gate and absolutely shattered by my ordeal, I was able to collapse with an iced coffee and take stock.

It was gone midday and so the most important task was to find a bed for the night. I logged onto the airport wifi and booking.com obliged my request for two nights in Osaka accordingly. I chose to stay in the Nippombashi area and selected the Hotel WBF Namba Kuromon. It was well-reviewed – clean and good location near Dotonbori. Next task was to work out how to travel around for the next three days and buy a sim card. The choice of travel cards was just too complicated and in the end I opted for a pass that I could use on the subway around Osaka for the next three days and hoped that it was going to get me where I wanted to go.

Equipped with 10GB of mobile data and my travel card I set off to make the journey from Osaka KIX airport into central Osaka. It was a minefield of different subway lines mixed with the JR Line (not included in my pass) and overground interchanges. Somehow I managed to negotiate the system, which has increased at least several levels in complicatedness from my Seoul experience, and find my way from Osaka mainline station to Namba and then change lines to emerge at Nippombashi subway. I had no idea which exit to take from the subway but once at street level, I could use GoogleMaps to find my hotel.

I got to the hotel so late that I could go straight to my room. It is lucky it’s just me as there simply wasn’t room to swing a cat. In true Japanese style, everything is small but perfectly formed. The tiny bathroom boasts a bath with a shower and the loo has a flush panel offering a host of bottom-washing functions as well as a heated seat. There are special bathroom slippers and different slippers for the room but by the time I have added my sandals to the array and plonked my suitcase on the carpet, there isn’t any room left to walk around the room anyway!

I freshened up and set out to explore Osaka.  It is quite simply a huge metropolis of lights and shops and people and food and smells. There are semi-covered shopping malls and everywhere I look there are restaurants touting fried foods that look weird and wonderful but ever so greasy.

I have read the department store Takashimaya is worth visiting and I find the draw of a few minutes respite from the madness of the crowded shopping mall and busy streets too hard to resist.

I descend to the food hall in the basement first. It is vast, take Selfridges Food Hall, add in Harrods, Fortnum and Masons and Liberties and you haven’t dented the surface.  At each counter staff are busy cooking and preparing food to take-away or serving snacks to customers perched on stools.

 

Everything is beautifully presented and the packaging itself looks good enough to eat. I have no idea what most of the things are apart from the Sushi which I do recognise.  Glass cylinders filled with dried goods in beautiful autumn shades stand in rows, and there are cellophane packets stuffed with all kinds of different seaweeds. Boxes of cookies and chocolates, snacks and tea. Piles of Manchu green confectionary and icecreams and drinks. Meats, fish, vegetables, individually-wrapped fruits, breads, cakes, noodles, rice and so much more. An endless assortment of ingredients as well as ready-made dishes and snacks.  The sales assistants at each counter are all immaculately presented in scrupulously clean uniforms and chefs hats. Having had no lunch I spend over an hour trying to decide what to try, getting lost in the maze of stalls and display shelves, but there is simply too much choice and not enough information. The wrong decision could be costly, everything seems incredibly expensive so I play safe and choose a pastry from the bakery that looks like a Japanese version of a fishy quiche. It turns out to be delicious – fluffy, light and with a creamy fish filling. The Food Hall is buzzing with activity and I notice there are some chairs where shoppers can take a rest. Three little old ladies, their wheelie bags packed full, sit waiting – I have no idea what for.

I am tempted to buy more to eat but instead leave the gastronomic overload to explore some of the other floors – the homewares are exquisite and I am left salivating in the stationary department.  Everything is so beautiful, not only in itself but the displays are so stylish.

Before it is dark I leave the comfort of the air-con and go back to the heat and humidity outside. It is quite simply a steamy madness of crowds and shops and restaurants.

I have had enough and stumble on the Park Garden. Dusk is falling, it is still hot but the gardens are amazing. I have found a green oasis in the middle of a city heaving with rushing people. The architecture is sensational as I climb the steps skyward. Mass plantings of Japanese trees and shrubs punctuated with great blocks of granite and cascading water. Ferns flop over the side of gigantic planters and bamboos rise competing with skyscraper buildings towering in the distance. At every turn, there is a new vista and secluded little places to sit and take in the views.

At the top, there is a rooftop bar, crowded with drinkers enjoying themselves and not far away an area of artificial turf is filled with a dozen or so people absorbed in yoga stretches. I sit and rest for a while to take in the view, before taking the path, which spirals back a different route through the gardens, to end up back at street level.

It is now almost dark and I head off towards the river. The streets are thronged with tourists and lit with masses of lanterns and coloured lights.

Huge models of crustaceans and fish are suspended about the restaurants. It is hard to comprehend the scale and madness, the juxtapositioning of the old and the new.

I walk along the riverbank, strung with continuous lines of lanterns that cast interesting shadows. River cruisers filled with tourists chug up and down the river and waiters stand on the steps of the restaurants. However, they do not try to entice you in to dine as in so many other countries of the world.

At the bridge there are hoards of tourists all standing taking pictures of the Running Man, dangerously waving their selfie sticks. I take my obligatory shot and am then happy to escape the crowds, leaving the Osaka Big Wheel fluorescing a mustard yellow high in the sky.

It is late and I have not eaten but I am not tempted by the fried street foods on offer. I head back towards Takashimaya, thinking I might be able to buy a tasty morsel in the food hall. The staff are busy shutting down their individual stalls, plenty of bargains to be had but I feel in need of more than a take-away and discover that there are restaurants on the eighth floor that are still open. I zoom up in the lift and am faced with a whole floor of restaurants. Determined not to be defeated again by too much choice I decide to take a seat at the bar of a restaurant serving a yellow fin tuna Shushimi rice bowl. It is not long before I am tucking into the tastiest meal I have had in a while – although the Wasabi brings tears to my eyes. It is so delicious I have to share a foodie What’s App with Sasha – what has become of my principals!

As I walk back to the hotel I notice the predominant colours have changed from Korean yellow and green. The black, red and white of  Japan is turning out to be alright after all. 

 

 

 

Thursday in Seoul

My tiny prison-cell like bedroom was not uncomfortable and I guess the long journey from Kosrae had finally caught up with me as I slept in. Breakfast was advertised as included so I ventured upstairs to the “lounge”. It was very sparse – eggs and a frying pan, some thin, sliced white bread of the “Mother’s Pride” variety and coffee. A French family travelling with their two children in their twenties joined me in the lounge and it was really nice to talk with them, interchanging easily between English and French. I noticed how much I had missed chit chat and banter. They showed me an app for navigating my way around Seoul that the government had not blocked and I shared my recommendation of Grandma Yo’s.

I had repacked my belongings so that I had the small carry-on suitcase to use from now on and the large suitcase was crammed with all my bookbinding kit, unnecessary clothing and coral souvenirs. I bumped the hugely heavy suitcase down the two flights of stairs and then negotiated the subway system to get on the airport line.  With just a little more understanding of the subway system, I was able to work out how to walk to an entrance with a lift so avoiding the almost impossible task of negotiating stairs with my overweight case. I took the all-stop line as it is cheaper and only 10 minutes longer. By noon I was at Safex Incheon Terminal 2 Baggage service and it was an enormous relief to leave it in their custody and not have to worry about carting it around with me for the next ten days. Breakfast had been rather inadequate and so I decided to stop for lunch before making the journey back into Seoul. I chose a soup with a rather rubbery fishy thing threaded on a wooden skewer and a selection of other delicacies, flavoured with chilli, mushroom and fish. They were tasty but quite heavy – there seems to be a lot of fried street food in Korea. The packaging was beautiful!

I took the all-stop subway back to start my exploration of some of the markets. I had Dongdaemum textile market, Namdaemun and Gwangjang market on my list. When I read later that Dongdaemun alone covers 26 shopping malls with over 30,0000 individual shops or stalls it is not surprising that I got very lost and confused about where I was and where to head next. It makes negotiating the stands at the Knitting and Stitching Show at Alexandra Palace seem like a piece of cake. As I wondered between stalls selling all kinds of different fabrics, haberdashery supplies and notions it was overwhelming. There were endless bolts of fabrics and piles of cloth but I was not tempted – I was saving my pennies for Japan.

In one underground shopping mall manikins wearing the traditional hanbok showed off the beautiful pastel colours and exquisite embroidery. Other shops had clothing made from stiff linen in gorgeous natural earthy colours.

The displays were works of arts in themselves, whether pastel or vibrant, they were like piles of jewels – so hard to resist. From fabric on the roll to cushions and bolsters all in such a fabulous rainbow.

My next stop was the Gwangjang market, the oldest traditional Korean market in Seoul. It was one of those places where I was so spoilt for choice that I just couldn’t decide what to sample from the endless snack and street food selection. There were shops selling dried fish and fresh fish, meat and sausages, a huge assortment of kimchi, vegetables that I had never seen before and without exaggeration thousands of small stalls serving a whole range of street food. Korean women, the elderly with brown wrinkled faces and bent backs from stooping over stoves, served a mouth-watering selection of delicacies. Crowds of people hovered around waiting to be served or sat at counters eating. Neat piles of fried food in all shapes and shades balanced precariously under the noses of the diners. The steam and the smells, the hustle and the bustle, the tinfoil and lights all contributed to the most amazing atmosphere.  A gastronomic feast for all the senses. Frying pans on small stoves sizzled as the women prepared food to order. Everywhere I looked food was either being prepared, cooked or eaten. My problem was I just couldn’t face more fried food and so, in the end, I left without trying anything – I can hear my boys and nephews shouting “a sin, a sin – how could you”!

The market was exhausting for me but I was not the only one who had had a long day. I had noticed this lady earlier preparing vegetables – when I left to leave she was fast asleep!

 

Although I had been on my feet all day I decided that I really wanted to go up Seoul Tower, the French had recommended getting there before sunset. The directions were rather vague and when I got out of the subway at Myeong-dong Station I was told to get a bus. The bus seemed to take ages going around in a huge circle before it eventually started to climb up Namsan Mountain. I was worried I was going to be too late but when the bus pulled in at the foot of the tower there was just enough daylight left to get a good view of the city below. It was very crowded and quite confusing to find the entrance but I persevered and was soon in the elevator whizzing skyward with appropriately dramatic sound effects and visuals. The view from the tower was fabuous and as I circles around I saw the entire city spread out below. Etching on the glass gave the distance from major cities – Seoul is 9,000km from London – somehow even with this weird east meets culture it feels even further. The skyscrapers and apartment blocks nearly all take the same form, cuboid and white, standing like hundreds of tiny white lego bricks on end, stretching as far as the eye can see in the valleys between the dark green mountains.

As I circumnavigate the observations tower, which is crowded with tourists from all corners of the world the light falls, and I see a quite different sunset. Soon it is quite dark outside but the city far below twinkles with all the lights. It is certainly not tranquil, below me a 24/7 city buzzes and up here I am being pushed and squeezed as tourists justle with their selfie sticks for the perfect picture. I am disappointed all the viewing windows are glassed-in, resulting in horrendous reflections from the neon-lights blaring from the shops within the tower. I press the lens to the glass to try and eliminate the worst.

I decided to treat myself to a cable car descent from the mountain, walking down the steps lined with trees made from thousands of coloured padlock to the top station. More brightly-coloured padlocks, each inscribed with a message are chained to the railings. I take a long last look a the dizzy heights I have gone to, together with the thousands of others, and am relieved to be in the cable car on the way down. I am not a good tourist. It was worth the trip for the view but I wish it was less commercial.

At the bottom of the tower, there is a madness of taxis, cars, buses and policemen waving glowing batons. I ask one for directions and he shoves me in the direction of a waiting bus – it turns out to be a free courtesy bus going back to the station – ideal. I am tired and it is late. I consider supper and decide to make my way back to City Hall. At the subway the underground passage ways that are so busy with commuters by day have been taken over as dormitories for the homeless. They lie on cardboard mattresses in neat rows, and it all seems very clean, tidy and organised – a far cry from what I see under the arches in London or in the shop doorways in Winchester.

I walk from the subway towards my guesthouse and wish I knew what to choose – photographs of unrecognisable dishes or plastic replicas just don’t make it any easier for me. In the end I chicken out and order a mango ice at a coffee shop. I am served the most enormous bowl filled with a fluffy mixture that is something between slush, ice cream and frozen mango yoghurt. Pure heaven and the most deliciously unhealthy supper!

 

 

Seoul at dawn (Wednesday)

Photo to follow.

I arrived in Seoul at a little after 7am but by the time I had cleared immigration, collected my case and negotiated customs it was 8:30am. The number of people rushing on their way and the sophisticated airport (the robot is still doing its rounds) is almost overwhelming after a month on a remote island where there were fewer inhabitants in total than the current number in just the arrivals hall. I manage to master the automatic ticketing machine and fathom out the huge but easy to understand subway system. The first leg of the journey is on the all-stop line to Seoul station, where I have to change to the dark blue line 1 and go one more stop to City Hall. I manage to lug my luggage to the platform, just managing to keep my two suitcases balanced on the escalators as Koreans in a hurry elbow past me. Fortunately, the all-stop train to Seoul Station is not too busy and I doze on and off as the ride is just over an hour. My problems begin at Seoul station, where the interchange to the dark blue line is a very long walk and involves multiple ups and downs of flights of stairs. My suitcases are too heavy for me to carry both at the same time but thank goodness at each flight there is a special moving belt to load your luggage on – a kind of travellator for suitcases. I have to scamper up/down the stairs beside to be sure to be there to collect them and then I am able to roll them both to the next ascent/descent. It is an exhausting procedure and it is really hot and close in the underground station passages. I finally complete the interchange and go just one stop to City Hall.  At City Hall, I am defeated. In order to exit the station, I have to climb 3 long steep flights of stairs. It is time to play the “feeble old women card” and it is not long before a young Korean man offers to help. I warn him the suitcase if very heavy – “No problem” he says but after the second flight, he has broken into a sweat and was probably deeply regretting his offer. I thank him profusely and exit the station. It feels like a hot sauna, the sun is beating down and the air is heavy with humidity. Immediately, I am more than perspiring, the sweat is dripping into my eyes and I think now is the time to flag down a taxi. All my attempts to hail one fail and so I resort to GoogleMaps to try to find the shortest walking route. GoogleMaps doesn’t seem to work in anything except public transport mode (I learn later the walking and driving functionality has been disabled by the Korean government for security) and so I ask two young women if they know where K-Guesthouse is. There is a lot of gabbling between them and then each one frantically searches on her phone. Finally, they agreed on the same location and offered to take me there. I am slightly dubious that they are going to take me to the correct place and dread the thought of having to walk a single step further than I have to.  I am quite literally on my last legs and my cases are gaining weight with each block that I drag them along. I pray my young ladies are not taking me on a wild goose chase and five minutes later I am extremely relieved to see the neon sign for the lodgings, K-Guesthouse, Namdaemun, hanging down the side of a building way above my head.  I can’t find the entrance but am directed by someone in one of the restaurants to a steep stairwell between the two streetside restaurants. With a very heavy heart, I realise it is on the third floor and  I thump one suitcase up a flight at a time and finally arrive, drenched in sweat at the reception. It is unmanned and I have no choice but to leave my cases next to the desk alongside some others.  I can not check into my room until 3pm so reluctantly I set off to discover Seoul unwashed and completely exhausted. My first stop is at a Korean “take” on a French Patisserie and I collapse at a table with an iced latte and a coffee bun. Revived, I decide to visit some of the places recommended to me at the airport tourist office. I take the subway to Anguk (giving myself a pat on the back for being able to use the subway already) and set off to find Bukchon Hanok village, where there are meant to be hundreds of traditional homes (hanok) nestled between modern buildings. There are narrow alleys that wind and twist between some hanoks and as I climb up the hill I can clearly see the traditional long curved roofs topped with clay tiles. I had read that many of the hanoks had been renovated and turned into cultural museums and workshops for artisans practicing traditional crafts. Apart from one small hanbok museum/hire shop, I didn’t find, to my disappointment many interesting artisan shops, although there was one with a fabulous display of hahoe masks. At the hanbok museum, a couple of teenage girls giggle as they choose and then try on their hanboks. I break out into a sweat just thinking about having to peel off my clothes and put on a full-length, heavy costume. The dresses are exquisite, in wonderful colours and decorated with beautiful embroidery and I recalled Sasha’s funny stories about hiring hanboks in Seoul.  I trudged up and down the twisting alleyways and notice that some of the hanoks are clearly inhabited – in little courtyard gardens there are lines with the morning’s washing strung up and red chilli peppers set out to dry.  The village was like a maize and it took me some time to find my way out. The houses, with pots of luah plants and parked mororbikes, stood outside looked so similar. The lack of GoogleMaps walking directions was a real challenge and the tourist map was not detailed enough to be useful and also unhelpfully mostly marked in Korean. In the scorching noon heat, as I wandered the alleys trying to find my way back to Anguk subway station, I felt very weak and dehydrated. I stumbled across a Buddhist temple, with a notice inviting visitors to climb to the third floor to see the Buddha. Taking off my shoes, I dragged myself upstairs. A group of ladies was sat on a small rug on the floor all bent over the silver ornaments, frantically cleaning and polishing. When they had finished rubbing the silverware the ladies scurried around the temple, still stooped over, setting the ornaments on display. I have noticed too many years of bending or heavy work seem to have left many Koreans unable to stand tall. In addition to their flat faces with broad, flaring nostrils and slit eyes, most have bandy legs and slightly turned out feet.  I sat and watched the temple activities for a while, the stage completely dominated by the huge golden Buddha. After a while, a monk, shaven-headed and dressed in orange and brown came in. He knelt on a cushion and began a seemingly endless chant. It was very peaceful and was glad to listen and take in all the splendid colourful decorations adorning the ceiling and walls while I cooled down. Rested, I left but by the time I finally reached the palace gates I still felt much too exhausted, thirsty and hot to visit a palace. I needed to get out of the sun and found a Korean equivalent of Neros in the foyer of an office tower block. I sipped my iced latte and crunched the ice, the cold chips felt so good. It was blissfully air-conditioned and perching on a stool at a high table in the cool I was able to recharge my batteries and take stock.

Being a tourist on your own is hard – and I decided to abandon the palace plan. Instead,  I made my way to Insa-dong – a bit of a tourist trap – the Carnaby street of Seoul. Stalls selling souvenirs of all kinds and masses of mainly ladies clothing spilled out onto the pavements from the tiny shop fronts. Stallholders fluttered decorated fans and others sat writing names in Korean on scrolls. The shops selling calligraphy brushes, artists inks and powders and Korean paper were tempting. The displays of brushes were fabulous and there were huge stacks of handmade paper in every shade and texture. I refrained from making any purchases – I simply can’t travel with more stuff. One T-shirt type top caught my eye but the lady refused to let me try it on – all one size, all one size she kept saying. I tried to explain I wanted to see if it suited me but she clearly wasn’t going to change her mind so she lost the sale. By late afternoon I had seen enough – it never fails to amaze me that a street can have so many stalls selling almost identical wares. I took the subway back to City Hall and was relieved to find that my bags were still waiting at the desk and I could now check in. My room was minuscule but clean. I felt filthy and sticky, I had not had a wash since Tuesday morning. The ensuite was a cupboard with a toilet and basin. The shower hose came straight from the basin mixer tap and when I washed my hands I got soaked as I hadn’t realised that the mixer was set to shower. I didn’t care – everything including the clothes I was wearing, needed washing. When I came to dry myself all I could find were two towels the size of tea towels. Now, this wouldn’t have been a problem if a) I hadn’t washed all the clothes I was wearing and b) someone hadn’t fiddled with the zipper on my suitcase and locked it closed with the combination.  I spent about ages trying every combination number I have ever used with no success. Luckily I had internet so I What’s App’d Caroline – could she remember my code – no but she couldn’t help but laugh at my predicament. Google came to my rescue – there are Youtube videos on how to break into a Samsonite suitcase and eventually I was able to get dressed!

My next issue was how to manage my luggage. I researched numerous options and after a while, I found that there was a reasonably prices left luggage service at Incheon airport. If only I had known that before I had struggled with both bags into central Seoul. I booked my large case into secure left luggage until my flight back to the UK at the end of August. I would have to take it back to Incheon tomorrow morning but anything was better than struggling with two bags around Japan. Feeling relieved to have found a not-too-expensive solution I set off to explore Seoul by night. I had already searched for a dinner recommendation, which was close to City Hall so as it was still early I decided to explore Namdaemun Market first. This is the largest and oldest traditional market in Seoul, located next to Namdaemun, the “Great South Gate,” to the old city. Although quite a few of the stalls had already closed for the evening, with the stallholders busy packing away produce into carts and pulling over tarpaulins, there was still plenty to see. Tables laden with goods stood outside shops crammed full of yet more merchandise. It was a visual feast of colours and smells. Endless shops offering Ginseng in a multitude of forms, stacks of red and gold boxes justling for space between elegant bottles of ginseng roots. The stalls selling traditional produce shoulder to shoulder with those selling fluorescent tat. In between the allies groups of people sat on low stools eating Korean fried snacks, which old women cooked on gas rings in front of them. All kinds of unfamiliar foods, some looking more appetizing than others but all deep-fried. I was tempted to try but my stomach still felt to fragile from yesterday’s fat-laden indulgence in Guam.

Without too much difficulty I found Grandma Yu’s Kitchen. It was off the tourist track and there was nothing in English to help me but I knew I wanted to try bibimbap, a rice dish with assorted vegetables. Grandma Yu’s was not a fancy place, but recommended as one of the best places to eat bibimbap in Seoul. The lady knew immediately what I wanted and within a few minutes, my meal was set out in front of me together with a decent sized bottle of water. The main bowl was rice with a variety of vegetables, some unidentifiable piled on top. There were numerous little dishes around the bowl, some I recognised as kimchi and chilli paste but couldn’t say what the others were. Whatever I was eating it was delicious and it was not long before I had polished it all off. I was hungry and I realised that although I had eaten two breakfasts (horrible airline and later the coffee bun) I had had no lunch. With a full tummy I walked back to my guesthouse and collapsed into bed.

Farewell to The Sleeping Lady

My very last day on the beautiful Island of the Sleeping Lady. I have mixed feelings as I pack my suitcase and try to squash everything back in. Luckily, I brought the very light-weight but large shopping bag from the UK with me as I seem to have accumulated more than will fit in my suitcase so I will have carry-on luggage as well. I decide that I need to see the sunrise for one more time on my deserted beach across the road and so I get up at just after five. It is still dark as I carefully pick my way through the coconut grove that guards the entrance to the beach. Fallen coconuts lie amongst the litter under the trees and I lament the fact that the locals do not want to keep their beautiful beaches pristine. The two dogs, Jo-Jo and Breda who have become my faithful friends on my dawn beach walks, are happy to accompany me.

I stand and watch the sun try and show its face from the behind the clouds, today it is a poor show. The water is inky and looks almost oily when struck by the rising rays that do manage to penetrate the thick cloud.

It is not a dramatic sunrise and the soon the whole sun is hidden behind a grey carpet of cloud so I do not linger.

One last look at the crests of the sparkling white wave that roll and break in their continuous rhythm against the jagged black rocks in the distance and one more chance to pick up tiny fragments of coral and beautiful pieces of shell. The crabs in their shells are very busy but as soon as they sense my presence they roll over and play dead. For the first time, I witness the burrow occupants and am surprised at how small the crabs are that make the sizeable holes.

Before I go I dip my toes in the ocean and wonder how long it will be before I enjoy such warm seawater again. Warm but just so salty that afterwards, my skin feels sticky and uncomfortable.

A lady, clutching one flip-flop is walking along the shore, she explains that she is looking for other one, her kid left yesterday. The high tide may well have taken it but it will have washed ashore a new selection of rubber slippers.  I hope she will find one in the right size!

It is time to go back to shower and eat breakfast. With no oats or apples left I fry the little bit of rice leftover from yesterday with a couple of eggs – it makes a change from Bircher Muesli. I tidy the apartment, empty the few things from my fridge, strip the bed and sweep the floor.  We are leaving for the airport at 11:30 am and so I have just 3 and half hours to tie up all the loose ends of my projects. The guys in the design office say they will miss me and Swin shakes my hand and thanks me for all I have taught him about laser cutting. Rodel hopes I will come back – he was a good friend and I picked up a few Illustrator tips from him.

In the store the receptionist presents me will a floral garland and headband, which I must put on and wear from now and for my journey for good luck. It is beautiful but I am not sure how I will get on with the very pungent smell of the flowers and the itchiness around my neck. For now, I have no choice but to wear it. I am then given a traditional Mumi dress made especially for me by one of the sewing ladies. I take the Mumi and flowers and go and put them on – I feel like I am wearing a fancy dress costume.

Everyone is delighted to see me sporting the traditional Kosrean dress and all the papermaking and printing guys are full of compliments.  I am not sure – I don’t feel comfortable wearing such a large print floral dress.

Most of the morning is taken up with photographs – Matt wants to photograph all the things that Joey and I have made including the gifts that I gave to them. I have to unpack some of the fabric that I had printed as he wants to take pictures of that too.

Then all the staff assemble for a group shot and Matt thanks us for all we have brought to Green Banana Paper and Joey and I make short speeches.

With the clock ticking I have a quick shower, change out of the polyester dress (very hot and scratchy) and put on clothes to travel in. Our cases are loaded into the back of the jeep and with a final honk on the horn, we are off to the airport, the purple gates of Green Banana Paper closed behind me for the last time.

The departures/arrival terminal is no more than a shack. Joey checks in first and is 2lb over and has to remove stuff from his checked bag and put it in his hand baggage. I am panicking, my bag felt heavier than his and I was certainly right to be worrying, I was 7lb over. So in the middle of the shack, I had to open my suitcase and rummage through, my dirty underwear spilling onto the floor, to find the heaviest things to cram into the top of my pink shopping bag. My first attempt got me down 5lbs but the man in charge of the weighing machine was not budging. How I was going to find room for another 2lbs of stuff in my carry-on luggage. I reopened my case, took out my trainers and tied the laces so they could dangle off my rucksack. At last, the weighing operator seemed satisfied, which was lucky as it would have been physically impossible for me to carry more. The next issue was my ESTA as I did not have a paper copy. With the internet barely running it took an absolute age for her to find my electronic ESTA but eventually armed with my paper copy I was checked in. The immigration check was short, as long as I could pay my $20 departure I was free to leave the Lady to Sleep but the whole process had taken so long that there was practically no food left at the little outdoor stall, I chose a paper plate with 5 small cinnamon buns covered in cling film and a bag of banana chips – spam sushi rolls did not appeal.

With a final farewell to Matt, we were ready to go through security. With no modern technology available, this was a painful process. How we have come to rely on scanners and computers in our developed Western World. Here the best selling items in Matt’s Office Supplies store are typewriters and replacement ribbons. The security official began to empty my shopping bag but I think even he was overwhelmed by the number of items I had crammed in and half-way through the process he abandoned the check and my very heavy clamshells, wrapped up in fabric, remained at the bottom of the bag. I was glad as I suddenly worried – was I allowed to take clamshells?  I had cleared security and could now sit in the departure lounge – bright green plastic picnic chairs set out in two rows the other side of a glass partition. There was another small stall selling refreshments – more spam sushi rolls, hard-boiled eggs, plates of deep-fried pastries and banana turnovers. Exhausted by the whole check-in experience I opted for a caffeine fix but got more of a sugar-rush from my can of iced cappuccino. The stall had a small display of tourist mementos to buy – woven items with shells and a little wood cabinet housing Green Banana Paper wallets.

Our flight was called and struggling with my bulging hand luggage I crossed the tarmac, the midday sun beating down and the humid tropical air hanging heavy, to climb aboard the United fight to join passengers from the Marshall Islands and Hawaii. We taxied down the runway but then sat for nearly an hour, first delayed by an unscheduled incoming flight and then an emergency landing at Pohnpei, Finally, we were on our way and I peered out of the window to see the lush green land, surrounded by its turquoise water, like a precious stone ring diminish to a tiny speck and ultimately disappear as we rose into the cloud. On account of the delay, we were not allowed to disembark when we landed at either Pohnpei or Chuck as the pilot was trying to make up time but at least this time I was not forced to empty the overhead locker of my heavy hand luggage. The plane partially emptied and then refilled on each stop. Each new set of passengers adorned with beautiful garlands and headdresses and this time I too had my own good luck headwear and necklace. The old-fashioned in-flight entertainment system did not allow fast-forwarding of films and on every take off the menu rest to the beginning of the film. I have now seen the first three-quarters of Tolkein three times, and have been left hanging in suspense for the ending!

We arrived at Guam just slightly delayed, with a spectacular view from the air of the sunsetting. Lia, Joey’s girlfriend was there to pick us up in a smart, air-conditioned 4×4 and our first stop was the Guam (US) equivalent of TK Max where I picked up a cheap carry on suitcase so I could re-pack the overflowing pink shopping bag for my next flight. With five hours to kill Joey organised a meal in an Italian restaurant with his mother, sister and cousin. I was so looking forward to tasty Italian food but it turned out to be a chain-type restaurant, and I was bitterly disappointed. Italian Guam style is rich, creamy and greasy. The portions are huge and with the table piled high with pastas, pizza, clam chowder and garlic bread I politely picked at some of the dishes. After a month of living practically dairy-free, this was an industrial overload of fat. His sister’s two children, a sweet baby girl and a little boy of 7 sat at the table. The boy was entirely absorbed by games on his tablet and no-one even attempted to converse with him. The little girl was the centre of attention for a while but even she was then given a phone to entertain herself with and alarmingly was even able to swipe, aged not more than a year!

It was one of those occasions where my attempts to initiate conversation were not really being returned and in the end, I just sat and watched this Guam family steadily reduce the pile of food to just enough to warrant asking for a single box to be packed to go. How different our cultures are. We left the eatery and drove across Guam to a Karaoke bar in a sleazy looking back street. Lit up by neon signs it was seemed to come straight out of a film set from a small-time American town. Drinkers sat on high stools at the bar and there were a couple of other seating areas. Torn black plastic leatherette low sofas with low smoked glass coffee tables. Fake wood sticky back plastic on the walls and huge low res screens for the karaoke. Troops of Philipino dancers performed behind the song words as the Joey and his cousin made their song choices from a well-thumbed folder of tatty sheets filed in plastics wallets. The songs were mostly old firm-favouites and Joey and his cousin tussled for control of the remote to make their choices and then for the microphone. Occasionally his mother would sing, she had a lovely voice. It was a completely new experience for me but I was very glad the second mike was broken – singing is definitely not one of my strengths. At just gone eleven, we left his mum and cousin at the bar and Joey drove me to the airport. This time check-in and security was easy and it was not long before I could find a bench to lie down on. I set the time on my phone for 2 hours and with it tucked into the top of my trousers I was out for the count within minutes. I woke and checked the time, another 30 minutes to go before I had to make my way to gate 16. I woke again and bleary-eyed checked the time. I saw 2:25 on my phone and was struck with panic. My flight was due to take off in 5 minutes – I grabbed my things and ran towards the gate. How could I have slept through? I pulled out my phone again and with a huge sigh of relief realised that I had been looking at the time left on the count down 2 minutes, twenty-five seconds. It was still an hour until departure and I was able to walk to the gate and sit down to wait.

Korean Air is marginally better than United but I did not wait for the refreshments. Armed with my neck cushion, as soon as we had taken off I reclined my seat to the maximum 3 inches and fell asleep. It had been a very long and stressful day.

 

 

 

 

Thursday 8th August 2019

I woke to the sound of rain and in this part of the island, it rained most of the day.

Some of the roofs have gutters which collect the water in huge tanks, used both in the factory for papermaking and for my apartment and Matt’s flat. I drink the same water, but it is filtered first. Where there are no gutters the water pours off the corrugations and looks like a beaded curtain.

In the distance the sea is a cool blue – It was definitely not a morning for a beach walk. The day in the factory is a busy one, I split my time between finishing the pamphlet booklets and discussing suitable labelling and packaging, helping Matt with the developing the clutch purse prototype further and making templates to cut the jewellery box range I am doing. There is a lot to finish – I have just Friday and next Monday and I keep being given extra little projects! I stayed on to try and complete the jewellery boxes but I did not have long as we were invited to Nautilus for a special PATA dinner. I had little idea what to expect but I put on slightly smarter clothes. When we got there there was already a big crowd of people, all from Kosrae and the other Pacific Islands of Guam, Yap, Marshall Islands and Pohnpei. We had arrived fashionably late so we missed the boring speeches and were able to launch straight into the buffet and what a display it was. First everyone, men and women alike, was all given a decorated floral headband and then a huge banana leaf basket, lined with a square of tin foil. On the buffet table, practically sagging under the weight of the dishes, there was an impressive display although it was hard in the poor light to determine exactly what was on offer. There was breadfruit prepared in a variety of ways, including baked in coconut milk, a tin foil sausage that apparently contained tapioca, taro three ways, a coleslaw type salad, a pasta salad, grilled whole fish, marinated raw tuna, bbq’d chicken, whole lobster, crab and at the end of the table a whole roasted pig. A great vat of white rice stood at the other end. After the food table, each diner was presented with a coconut pierced with a straw and a bottle of water. I tried a little of most things but I unlike others I did not go back for more – their cuisine is rich and bland. The breadfruit, tapioca and tara are heavy and pretty tasteless. The crab and lobster were good though but I certainly did not have room for seconds.

The band played Kosrean reggae very loud and it was really hard to hear the conversation. A few people talked to me but it was difficult to understand what was being said. After I had eaten I went to talk to Brendon (Bank of Guam Manager) for a while and then there were more speeches and a representative from each island was then invited to make a presentation. One man (I think) wearing a bright turquoise blue kaftan type silk dress came to the front and performed a chant about the myth of the birth of Guam. Storytelling and legends are very important to the people of the FSM and so is religion. Brendon and Joey were heckled to sing and they to sung a chant with Joey providing the harmony. Pretty impressive for an impromptu performance.  Then the band started up and a few couples started dancing. I watched on and as more and more couples took to the dance floor I felt really uncomfortable.  I noticed Matt had slunk off to the poolside and so I decided to join him, dangling my feet into the pool.  The air was still very warm and humid so the cool water was refreshing.

I felt very melancholic, for the first time since arriving I thought about the journey I have made over the last few years. On the whole, I am much happier but it is certainly sometimes a lonely existence. My sadness is definitely triggered by seeing couples holding hands, dancing closely or cuddling each other.  With a heavy heart, I think about what could have been – how much he would have loved the surf and diving and how much more enjoyable it would have been to have been able to share the Micronesian experience.  Sometimes it feels like the divorce has just been a bad dream and I will wake up and everything will be as it was ten years ago.

Matt jolts me back to reality, perhaps he senses my mood. He says “You know everyone in Kosrae is happy, they have to be, they cannot leave and they just get on with life and enjoy it”. Fortunately, it is dark so he can not see me blinking back tears and I am glad when Joey joins us saying he is done on the dancefloor. I am tired and only too happy to get in the car to drive home.

I open the door to my apartment and can’t help but let out a shriek – there are two rats in the living room.  They run off but I have no idea where they have gone. It is late, raining and dark. Suddenly everything just seems too much and the thought of rats scurrying around my bedroom terrifies me. Matt, who heard the shriek, checks all around the apartment and assures me that they are not in my bedroom. I am not convinced but there is nothing I can do. I go to bed but the ceiling fan is broken and it is a long time before I can fall asleep.

 

 

 

Wednesday 7th August 2019

I set my alarm for 5:30 am. I have seen the sun drop into the ocean so many times but not seen it rise from the horizon. The early start was worthwhile. The beach was as usual deserted, apart from Matt’s two dogs who always accompany me. The sky was a yellowy grey with dark clouds.

I walked east toward my sculptural dead tree, picking my way between the hundred of walking shells busy with their morning stroll and the conical piles of sand created by the land crabs. As soon as the crustaceans sense my presence they stop dead in their tracks, retreat inside their shell and roll over, playing dead. I have yet to catch sight of a land crab come out of its burrow but the dogs are always poking their snouts down the holes in search of breakfast. The pale sky in the distance began to take on a beautiful rosy blue hue.

As the sun prepared to rise the sky on the horizon turned more yellow and the edges of the clouds shone white gold.

The dawn display finale was the emergence of the gold ball of fire from the sea, casting a warm red gold onto the water and surrounding sky. The sky turned a richer blue with every passing minute.

It was not long before the day had broken, the morning was here and I spotted a lone paddler stood on his board on his way out to the reef, where there is a continuous stream of curling waves.

My tree looked dramatic against the pale morning sky, the roots forms frames for the seascape beyond.

As the sun began to rise and become brighter my eyes felt really sore. I think I was suffering from yesterday afternoon without sunglasses. I walked west along the beach and stopped to say hello to the only other soul on the beach, a man picking white berries from a tree with shiny, leathery deep green leaves. I asked him what the berries were for – “natural medicine” he said – squeezing the berry and letting the drops fall into his eye. A little dubious of how safe this natural remedy would be I picked a couple of the ripe, white berries and walked home. The natural eyedrops worked a treat and my eyes felt much less sore after using the natural tears.

Today’s goal at work was for Joey to print all the covers for 150 pamphlet notebooks, 50 in each size – large, medium and small. The first challenge was to get the covers correctly cut and engraved with the right logo on the correct side.  Eventually, Joey got the right stock from Swin (the laser cutter man) and as he hand-stencilled them I had my team of two and half sewing ladies folding and cutting thin banana paper for a single signature and sewing a three-hole pamphlet stitch notebook. Half a lady? Well, it seems that one of them is always wandering off! By lunch, I concluded that the bottleneck in the process was the threading of the needle so I spent the next four hours threading needles and the rate of production of the simple notebooks doubled. At 5pm we had nearly completed the task, I had worked hard and needed to stretch out. I went to the beach and walked towards the setting sun in the water, the sand squelching between my toes. The water lapping around my ankles like a hot bath. I lamented the fact that most of the time it is impossible to swim off the beach because the water is just too shallow. Even at high tide, it is a treacherous walk over the sharp corals to get to water deep enough and without shoes, it is really painful.

Joey, Matt and Denise had also come to the beach and were having sundowners. I chatted with them for a while and was invited to join them for dinner at Bulley’s. I grabbed a shower and we drove to our favorite haunt (although in reality there is only a choice between Bulley’s and Nautilus). The restaurant was busy, full of people from the PATA conference but this time they did have Shushi available and I decided to try a plate of deluxe, which for $10 even comes with a beer.  Wow, the Wahhabi was hot – it brought tears to my eyes. There was too much food for me to finish, but Joey had no problem finishing his whole plate and then eating most of Denise’s too.

It was a long evening but the grand finale was worth waiting for. A group of twenty or so boys, some as young as 7 years old arrived at the restaurant. The night before they had earned so much money singing that they were treating themselves to a meal at Bulley’s! Joey asked them if they would sing again at the restaurant while they were waiting for their meal and they were only too happy to oblige. They are a choir for a local church and sang a beautiful hymn in perfect harmony. Music and singing are a huge part of island life in the Pacific and Joey and Brendon returned the choirs boys performance by presenting a chant, sung in harmony themselves. The lady in the open kitchen was still busy preparing the boys meals as we left.

Tuesday 6th August 2019

Today was Lia’s last day on the island. She flew back to Guam at noon so in the morning we decided to go early to Lelu Ruins as none of us had been. At 7am we were in the car to make the short journey, parking in the grounds of the elementary school. Behind the school, a narrow overgrown path flanked on both sides with tall cane grass, bananas and breadfruit trees led up to the ruins. It is all very run down and unkept – even the information boards have faded to be completely illegible.

Matt was our guide and showed us the tombs where the kings were buried until all the flesh had rotted away and then the bones were taken to the Blue Hole to be cast into the sea.

There were the remnants of the built structures, some of the basalt rock blocks so huge it was impossible to fathom how they had been transported from the mountains to Lelu island so long ago. We saw massive grinding stones used to grind the roots of the Sakau tree to make the hallucinogenic drink cava or sakau and also to prepare Fafa. Fafa is made from the pounded leaves of soft taro, miked with coconut milk and baked in an underground oven. Originally Fafa was only food allowed for the king but it is now universally eaten on Kosrae. I have tried it and it is a bit like creamed spinach but grittier. Matt told us the mangroves were originally kept clear enough for the king’s residence to be accessed by canoe but they are now totally overgrown. It is an amazing place, so very old (12-14 BC) and it is a shame there is no money available for its maintenance although I believe World Heritage Status is being applied for.

The mangrove swamps have been left and are no longer navigable by canoe.

Gigantic stone boulders, built up into walls.

Notice the rounded dish shapes in some of the flat stones (particularly the one near to top centre in the pic above). This is a grinding stone.

Joey and Lia pose, behind is a wall dating back to between 1300’s or so.

 

I might not be tall but the structures really are huge!

More ferns to photograph – I can never tire of the way the morning light plays through the fronds.

After visiting Lelu Ruins Matt decided we should go to Bulley’s for breakfast at Tree Lodge. I was excited to choose an iced cappuccino and the continental breakfast which consisted of 3 pancakes with syrup. I don’t know which was more disappointing – the can of mocha (pre-sweetened) and glass of ice that I was presented with puporting to be an iced coffee or the stack of stodgy pancakes served with fake maple syrup and margarine. Never mind it made a change from Bircher Museli Kosrae style and the stunning setting certainly was worth the rubbish breakfast.

Waiting for breakfast

Back at work, the office was deserted – it was Tafunsak day today and as many of the employees are from Tafunsak they had not come in but were in their village celebrating and remembering the day that they overcame the Japanese.  I was able to get on a make a tiny box suitable for jewellery that I wanted to give to Lia as a parting gift. She was so delighted with it that I had to give her a crash course in box-making before she left for the airport. I had just 30 mins to teach something that would normally take at least half a day!

Lia is wearing a traditional garland and headband made from the flowers of the Ilang-ilang tree, which has a very strong smell as well as a shell necklace. It is traditional to present anyone leaving the island with this garland (both men and women), said to ensure a safe journey.

After Lia left I had an hour or so to draw up the box templates so that they could be made on the laser cutter, while I was waiting for Salek. Coconut or island time rules here and it is was nearly 1:30 before one of his friends arrived to pick me up (our start time had been 12:30). Salek was very apologetic – something about a flat tyre on his car. I never quite know what is the truth from the islanders! Anyway, our first stop on the tour was Wiya Bird Cave.

After a short walk along a path overgrown with jungly plants, including some that I definitely have as houseplants at home we came to a clearing with a massive cave to one side. The passage into the cave was blocked with a bog of thick black mud but we did not need to go in to experience the birds. Standing in silence Salek and I watched the black swiftlets swooping and soaring above the entrance to the cave for a while.

Then he asked me if I was ready, “ready for what I asked?”. Then clapped his hands together loudly and the sky above the entrance to the cave filled with hundreds of swiftlets flying out of the cave. They were on the move but not stopping for an exit photo so capturing the moment was almost impossible. High overhead against the blue sky they darted out of the cave just like the screen from some computer game firing a continuous stream of ammunition.

On the walk back from the cave I spotted the most stunning red pineapple that was positively glowing in the sunshine, red tapioca and more plants that would look more at home on our window cills with the shiniest of dark green leaves!

The next stop was the museum, which was a very shabby building filled with very poorly maintained and displayed exhibits. Yellowing sellotape patched together torn photographs and the information notices, obviously written on a typewriter were faded to be almost illegible. It was rather disappointing, even the replica of a typical Kosrean house had been allowed to fall into disrepair. I asked Salek if I could visit a real house and so we walked along the road a bit to the Kosrae Visitors Bureau.

On the way, we stopped at a little cafe and had deliciously cold and juicy watermelon.  I admired the neat rows of canned mackerel and meat but was so glad that I have not had to rely on eating those kinds of foods. The bunches of bananas hung from the roof around the back of the cafe there were containers growing chilli plants and clumps of soft taro plants in dark and light varieties.

The lady who served us was wearing a typical Kosrean skirt, and she was more than happy to pose for a photo. Many of the locals carry more weight than is good for them and diabetes is rife. There is little help for those who suffer and many have amputations.

Last on our itinerary for the afternoon was the viewpoint and eucalyptus forest. On the track, up the hill, the sun was beating down on us ferociously and it was very, very hot. I spotted three giant land snails – these an introduced invasive species, that they are trying to eliminate.

Further on, Salek pointed out the strangler fig, which as its name suggest completely smothers the tree it is growing up.

Other trees are completely engulfed in the Japanese vine. Its leaves, as large as dinner plates can double as a sunhat!

And sadly the papaya was not ripe.

At the top of the hill, the view was stunning, to one side I could see Lelu island in the distance, with the power station and governor’s office in the foreground.

The other side was a very special view of the Head and Shoulders of the Sleeping Lady, her two titties nicely separated and pointing skyward!

And the final view to take in was the spectacular eucalyptus tree forest. The camouflage trunks soaring skyward. Bats and birds flew overhead in and out of the tree canopy, with some of the eucalyptus losing their battle with the Japanese vine.

There was no need for a refreshment kiosk – Salek simply picked up one of the coconuts from the ground and used a rock to smash open the husk to reveal the brown nut. Selecting a different shape of rock he was able to crack the brown nut open to reveal the flesh. I am not a fan of the inner fluffy bit- it is pretty tasteless and has a weird foamy texture but I was glad to have a piece of the hard white to nibble on.

Back down at the now-closed cafe, we had a long wait for a taxi to pick us up – Salek idled the time catch lizards! They are amazing colours – I particularly like the very bright and shiny green ones. Looking closely at the skin I consider how amazing the patterns are that nature can create.

It had been a long, hot afternoon and when I got home I demolished the little tin-foil packet of fried breadfruit the Salek’s mum had sent to me as a present, I realised that I had not really had lunch. Just after my shower, Joey knocked on my door – was I ready to set off for Bulley’s for dinner? We met Brendon, the Guamese who manages the FSM bank here and another lady, also from Guam called Denise. She is over for the PATA conference and is in charge of small business development on Guam. I order the chopped fish dish and demolish it – the afternoon’s activities had given me an appetite! I find it hard to join in the conversation – the restaurant is busy and loud, the island people have a strong accent and speak very quickly. Luckily Matt does not seem much of a night-owl so we did not stay too late.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday 5th August

The working days are starting to merge together. I have finally settled into a routine and managed to learn most of the names of the staff. There is a bell that rings in the start of the day, morning and afternoon break, and the end of the day and although the workers clock in and out the factory is very laid back. The guys outside in the fibre and paper-making areas seem to work very hard but the sewing ladies seem to take any opportunity to chat or wander about. There doesn’t seem to be any sense of turning up for work on time and often the guys in the design office will turn up late or not at all! It is quite annoying when I am waiting for Swin, the sole operator of the Chinese laser cutter, as it means I can’t get on. This morning I decided to clear the backlog of the 60 A5 journal jacket covers that were all in various stages of being made up and so by lunchtime we had them all finished, with just the prepares signatures to sew in.

My plan had been to make a start of teaching simple pamphlet binding but that didn’t happen as Joey was at the dentist and so was not available to print the covers. I am producing a very basic A6 size three-hole stitch binding with a banana paper cover and then a little collection of a A6, A7 and A8 booklet as a package tied together with a length of banana fibre. Hopefully, it will be easy for my sewing ladies to grasp. Matt has continued to work on the clutch-bag design that I prototyped for him and it has obviously hit a sweet spot – he has been very proactive with finalising the design which is good to see. We had one of the sewing ladies stitch another prototype, which was much better than the one Lia and I stitched as we both struggled with the industrial sewing machine.

My lunch was Kosraen Salad deluxe as I was given some freshly grated coconut by Joey, which I toasted and use to top my salad. My fridge is full of young coconuts so I poked a hole in the top of one and took it with a metal straw and my salad to eat in the lunch shelter. As well as my guitar playing friend from the design room there were a couple of guys from the screenprint department. There is English is not good but we were able to chat a bit and one of them had sufficient vocabulary to ask me if I wanted either betel nut to chew or some marijuana! I didn’t take him up on either.

The afternoon went rapidly, I still didn’t have my printed covers for the simple journals so I worked on cutting the paper to size so that the sewing ladies could fold signatures tomorrow. There are three main ladies, none of whom really speak English. Matt assures me that they understand most things they are told but I am not convinced. One always looks grumpy but I have learned that she isn’t really, one has a happy, round smiley face with an open personality, the other is reserved and I haven’t really noticed her much.

At 5pm I asked Joey if he would like to go to Bat Island, as I had seen the bats one dusk and was keen to return with my camera. He was up for a little outing so we set off, together with his girlfriend for the causeway opposite the tiny island. On the way we stopped at Tree Lodge as none of us had been to the restaurant in the light and as it is reached by crossing a number of footpaths through the mangroves I wanted to visit during the day.

At night it is magical, the concrete slabs are embedded with pieces of broken coloured glass from bottles and they twinkle, catching the lights from the strings of fairy lights suspended between the mangroves. During the day it takes on more of a Tolkein’s Hobbit Land.

The mangrove roots protrude rather rudely from the clear black water and are known locally as the daggers of death. The sheer numbers never cease to amaze me as they pierce the reflections on the overhanging mangrove branches.

At the restaurant we stop for a cold drink, lingering on the pontoon restaurant in the shade. It is hot and we must wait for dusk before we will see the bats. We leave, taking in a quick look in the hotel gift shop as we go, and pass the most beautiful palm leaves. I buy my first souvenir to keep my tuskless stone walrus company in Winchester!

We drive a short way to the causeway and there is the noise of literally hundreds, if not thousands of black fruit birds flying above the island. I have never seen quite so many large bats in my life before. In the distance, I can make up the black bundles hanging down from the branches and then my camera frame was filled with ten or more tiny black specks, each one a fruit bat. Their shape is so typical, like a cartoon drawing and there are just so many.  We stand in awe and stare, behind us the sun is setting over the sea and some bats are flying over the road towards the sea, passing others on their way home to the Bat Island. The bat shape silhouettes dot the darkening sky and the green jungle turns dark and spooky as night falls. At low tide you can walk onto the island and see the bats much closer – I am going to ask Salek if he could take me there.

The sky became overcast and in the distance, the mountains towered, dwarfing the little house on the lagoon shore.

Back at the apartment, there isn’t even time to shower, we were going back to Bully’s restaurant for dinner with one of Joey’s friends from Guam. She is “on-island” for the PATA (Pacific Atlantic Tourism ) Conference that is taking place this week.

Sitting out on the pontoon with the twinkly lights strung between the trees, the stars shining down and the clearly defined half-crescent moon throwing light on the water makes for an idyllic setting to enjoy dinner. The service was as always very slow but the food was good – I opted for a chopped fish dish, served with salad, rice and toasted breadfruit – very tasty.  There are never any desserts so by 9:30 we were home. I decided to work on some more little books and went to get some paper from the design office. I don’t know who was more spooked – the cockroaches who seem to have taken over the design office or me.  I grab a few sheets and make a hasty retreat to my apartment where I can defend myself with my can of RAID, leaving the design office wildlife to scurry away and hide.

 

Sunday 4th August

I woke at 6am with the cockerel and as it was not raining I decided to go for a walk along the beach. Had a jug shower (not too bad!) and headed off across the road. The tide was really high and so to my disappointment, there was only the tiniest bit of beach to walk along before the waves lapped the black volcanic rock and short of retreating to the road there was no way through. I took a few photos of the rising sun and returned home to sit in the garden under the shade of the banana trees. There is also a beautiful mimosa tree just outside my door.

I love the morning light, pale between the fronds of the coconut palms.

At 10am Matt knocked on my door to say he was going to Tafunsak George and would I like to join them. Of course – so I changed into shorts and a Tshirt and got my trainers and camera ready. The start of the river is just a few minutes away and it was not long before we were following this big rusty pipe up the river.

The pipe supplies the locals of the village of Tafunsak with their water and every now and again the pipe had sprung a leak and we had a cool shower as we walked through the spray that shot out in a fine mist. Someone had tried to repair the leaks with gaffer tape! Underfoot it was muddy with small slippery boulders and Matt, forging his way ahead in bare feet seemed to take it all in his stride, I was a little more cautious (and slow). The worst bit was where we actually had to walk along the top of the mossy, slimy pipe with drops either side. It was hard to take in the view as I was so busy looking at my feet and picking the best path but every now and again we did stop to regroup and admire the scenery. There were mangroves, ka trees, huge bamboos and of course bananas.

Delicate, lacey little ferns sprouted from rocks and smothered the branches of the trees, gigantic fronds of tree ferns grew majestically out of the rock face and rosettes of hearts tongue ferns dangled from the branches of trees.

After about 20 minutes or so of walking (or in my case trotting to keep up behind Matt) we reached a clearing and the start to the Gorge. We were to leave anything behind that we couldn’t afford to get wet and so I hid my camera under a fern and we continued upwards. The going got tough for me now, scrambling up slippery rocks in trainers and choosing the best path to wade through the river. The water was wonderfully cool around my feet but I had to concentrate hard not to slip. On both sides of me, sheer black rock towered up vertically over 70ft.  Near the top of the gorge, there was a choice between a treacherously slippery route along the side of the pool or take the plunge and swim across the pool and clamber up and over the small fall to the last section. I settled for the swimming route which was wonderfully refreshing.  With a final push up and over I had reached the top of the gorge and Matt and I sat down to take in the breath-taking scenery, eat some of the little woven baskets of rice that we had brought with us and have a drink.  We chatted a bit and then I just stared in silence in complete awe of nature, while Matt read a book that he had brought all the way up the gorge and managed to keep dry.  I looked up at the sheer faces of black rock, one with a huge hole from which the water poured down into the pool.

Looking back down the gorge the view was jaw-dropping, as streaks of sunlit pierced through the gap between the rock.

There was time for another swim in the top pool, where I went right under the falls before it was time to climb back to the lower fall where Joey and Lia were taking photographs of the fabric he had printed.

Photoshoot complete the first few drops of rain began to fall so it was time to pack up and head back down. As the rain turned from a shower to a full tropical rainstorm I could sense there was a degree of urgency to get out. Matt was practically running down the gorge, with me chasing as fast as I could behind. All the time the river level was rising and where the water had barely lapped our ankles on the way up within just a few minutes it was around our knees. We were completely soaked from the rain so there was no point in trying to keep dry gorge, we splashed our way through, not caring how wet we got just wanting to get out of the gorge before the water level rose anymore. Blocked in many places by fallen trees it would have been a very dangerous place to have to swim in a fast-flowing. Thankfully river it was not long before we reached the safety of the clearing, where I was able to retrieve my camera, which was still above the water and then continue on down to the village. Without the steep gorge walls trapping us to the river we could afford to slow down a bit and relax. When we reached the car we were like four drowned rats. Back home I braved the large spiders in my outdoor shower before refuelling. With a full tummy, I lay down on the couch intending to read but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.  I was exhausted!

Three whole hours later I woke to the sound of Matt knocking to ask if I wanted to try laser-cutting the purse bag I had designed. I agreed and we spent a couple of hours tweaking the design. Joey was cooking a fish supper of Parrotfish, which he cleaned and gutted.

The baked Parrotfish was served with quinoa, and diced chicken with vegetables and raw onion marinated until soft and sweet in a soy sauce. It was all delicious washed down with a cold lager and eaten on the balcony with the sound of the waves lapping the shore in the distance.

 

Third Saturday – August 3rd

A truly lazy Saturday with rain putting a stop to our plans to go out to Lelu ruins. It really was a quiet day. My shower stopped work this morning – so I now can shower in the outside shower with the spiders or use a bucket and jug inside. I hope Milton, the factory handyman will fix it on Monday. I spent the morning sewing a prototype pouch bag with a gusset, which Matt really like and after a late Kosraen Salad for my lunch I worked with Lia in the factory to improve the design. Matt was very excited with what we produced and has added a pouch bag to the list of things to do before I leave. I was invited to join Joey, Lia and Matt for supper upstairs. I finally got to enjoy eating on the veranda, with the waves crashing in the distance. A cool breeze was blowing and it was idyllic.  Tomorrow I am promised that we will go to Lelu ruins …