Departures: Land of the Rising Sun: Part D

Simple Instructions

Wed Apr 19 2000 (ctd)

There were two places selling aizome: Konya and Ai Ichiban. I liked one of them better than the other, because it had some interesting large pieces and didn't over-package its stuff quite as much as the other. But I don't remember which was which.

On the left, the hanky I dyed. On the right, the hanky that someone else dyed. After scanning these, I had proof that the professionally-dyed hanky was more complicated: when compressed, its image required more space than mine did.

At the shop I liked better, I asked if it was possible for me to do my own dying. And it was. There were some vats at the back of the shop. The shopkeeper pointed me at the supplies. Soon I had tied up a handkerchief with rubber bands, and soon I was leaning over a vat of indigo dye. I breathed in the smell of indigo, sort of plant-y, sort of fish-y. I dipped the handkerchief into the dye. The shopkeeper was telling me something. I asked her to repeat. She was telling me a duration of time, in seconds. "Sanjuko." Eventually, I figured out that she was telling me that I should take out the handkerchief after 30 seconds. Of course, it had taken more than 30 seconds for me to figure this out. The shopkeeper was trying to explain something to me--there were "hachikai"--eight of something. She didn't know the English for what they were, and I didn't know the Japanese. Then she was telling me something about a thirty second time duration again. Eventually, I figured out that I was supposed to dip the handkerchief eight times, thirty seconds each, holding it up (and wringing it out) for thirty seconds in-between. The shopkeeper, who was manning the shop alone, was finally free to go off and help other people for a few minutes while I followed my finally-understood instructions. I dipped, lifted, repeated. There were bubbles on the surface of the dye. The bubbles were indigo blue. I scooped up a handful of blue froth to admire for a while, and then it was time to dip again.

When I was done with the dipping, the shopkeeper came back, showed me how to rinse out the handkerchief. Once again, we tried to converse, but it didn't go well. She asked me if I was traveling alone, and I tried to convey that I was, but had been with friends last week. But I forgot how to say "last week" and forgot to use the present tense. I said something which may have meant something, maybe. She just nodded and set me up with an iron so that I could dry the handkerchief. She looked at the handkerchief, and said that it looked good. I doubted her sincerity, but I addressed her as I would a professor and thanked her very politely. She enjoyed that.

"That Rents"

Walking back to Tokushima train station, I saw a few things. In the window of an udon restaurant, I saw a man making noodles. At the river rowboat rental place, I saw that they wouldn't let me take the boats very far down the river--not far enough to look at the sailboats; also, you could rent them for half an hour--on the half-hour--because no-one was watching the booth otherwise; so I didn't rent one.

I walked past a place that seemed to offer lessons on how to use the internet. I looked at their signs--did they rent internet time, or just offer lessons? I couldn't see anything about them renting. I tried to imagine going into the shop and skillfully explaining that I wanted to use a machine, but didn't need lessons in using the internet. I just wanted to check my email. I thought back on the difficult conversation with the aizome shopkeeper on complicated topics like, "Use this." I kept walking.

The stone was a wonderful shade of green, some of which may have survived being photographed, scanned, and rendered on your monitor.

I walked through the training area for a scooter-driving school. I admired the green stone lining the river wall, and completely failed to capture its color in a photograph (sorry). I walked through a fish market, inhaling, the old-fish smell reminding me of childhood walks on San Francisco's Clement Street.

Back in Takamatsu

Back in Takamatsu, it was raining. I dropped off my stuff in my hotel room, put on my rain jacket, and went out in search of dinner. I failed to find the "Milk Doll" restaurant recommended by my tourist guide, and finally just went to an udon shop. The "Sanuki Udon" of the North-East Shikoku area was famous. I couldn't figure out how udon could get good enough to become famous, and I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary about the udon I ate. Still, it was nicer than trying to find a better restaurant in the rain.

I walked back to the hotel, keeping to the shelter of covered malls when possible. I watched some kids playing on a new PlayStation2 game console, which wasn't to be released in the USA for another few weeks. I felt so internationally sophisticated I could hardly stand it.

I fell asleep despite the thunder and lightning outside. As I drifted off, I made a note that tomorrow probably wouldn't be great weather for whirlpool-watching.

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