Sunday, September 11, 2005

La Japoneisa: Kochi Sunday market

And so, instead of Nagoya I went to Kochi, spent half of my salary (which under our current conditions carries the worth of supergalactical 50 pounds) and am content and effusively smug about it.
Our journey there was budged by the excited expectation of the new and unexplored, the whinny roads following the river took us athwart the valley traversing up the sides of the mount, and which towards the end of the trip took us down again and we knew we were getting closer to the sea, oh so symbolic it were, towards open spaces, new horizons, to freedom.

Not that I ever felt unfree at Chiiori. Slowly I am getting more and more accustomed to its ways and am realizing my subtle fallings for these mountains, for the mist in the morning sun, for the loud shrieks of the night silence. My heart sings, my mind rests and my soul is free, as free as ever, so free it brings tears into my eyes and I feel I found a home.

Kochi was so much fun!
Taking into consideration how thrilling a visit to the Oboke convenient store is, the excitement of being in a place with more than one shop and two vending machines was close to unbearable.
Hana and I whizzed through the Kochi Sunday market taking pictures of ladies with fruits, ladies with flowers, ladies with plants and honey, even with peacock feathers, we roamed the confusing maze of streets of the covered shopping area, ate mochi bought in a special mochi shop (feel blessed to know that things like these exist!) and freshly baked choco chip meron pan from the smiling kind looking street vendor and got a cute purikura picture. And ah, we had a coffee. Real coffee! Fresh, black, and oh so tasty.
After a huge dinner involving lots of meat that we needn`t have had to cook nor wash the dishes afterwards, now barely being able to move, we somehow managed to roll across the town centre to k-truck chan parked by the Kochi castle and set for the trip back home.
Hana drove, eventually receiving driving lessons from me as we realized she had no idea what was the function of the gear stick and how it worked and why one can not hold the accelerator pedal down at the same time as the clutch and try to change gears. When not lecturing I sat quietly enjoying the view I was provided from under my feet stuck to the front window which revealed innumerable bags of various contents; old yukatas smelling of moth balls, woollen yarn (the guy at the wool-shop was rather magical, together with teaching me how to knit he lent me two pairs of knitting needles-and this is town 70km from us!!!), mochi, stationery, pressies for Annie, Bo and Wayne and Hana`s bag of assorted fruits and maybe 10 bottles of mineral water which apparently help you rejuvenate after you`ve just had a period. Grandeur!

Now I have supplies, Pokeron the Mountain Imp has returned to her cave and can live, survive god forgotten, for the next month (or until next pay?).

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