I spent last weekend in Munich, hanging with people I adore — we did more than what appears in the pictures below, but I started having “issues” with my camera, and it wasn’t until after I reset it to factory settings that photos started working out again. Unfortunately most of the trip was over by then.
Munich has same-sex walk/don’t talk signals right now.
Swinging over the Eisbach River in Englisher Garten.
… and dropping into the Eisbach River.
Yeah… Kind of a creeper shot of a guy at the Englischer Garten, but I think it works.
48) The Evolution of Ethan Poe – Robin Reardon: This is actually a reread of a book that I bought a couple years ago (and in paper!) – I reread it because I read Educating Simon (2015 book number 42) by the same author and couldn’t remember this book. It was a good book about a teenager struggling with being himself, his brother, a political fight, and more. Robin Reardon has the teen angst novel down pat – and she works for me. I’m not Ethan Poe, nor was I Simon – not even close for either one, but her books struck a chord. I have one more to read – before I have to go find more.
49) Sons for the Return Home – Albert Wendt: I picked this book up at the American Samoa Community College bookstore upon the recommendation of the employees. It was the first novel by a Samoan writer and it explores what it was like to be Samoan, living in New Zealand, along with the racism involved therein. It’s actually a pretty heavy novel – not physically – that makes on think a lot about how people relate to people – as well as to some other issues that are still (sadly) issues today.
50) Phallological Museum – Sigurjón Baldur Hafsteinsson: This is a short academically written, yet easily understood by idiots like me, treatise on the Islandic Phallological Museum. I bought the book a few months ago as a part of the early planning process for a trip to Iceland, which will, naturally, involve a stop at the Islandic Phallological Museum. The book is a whimsical, yet serious, take on what it is to have a penis museum, where it fits into society, what messages it sends, and what it includes. This is an amusing academic tomb.
51) Smoky Mountain Dreams – Leta Blake: This is an overly complicated, trying to express a diverse set of hang-ups, gay romance novel. It’s probably better written than the average gay romance novel, but not by much. It did, however, give me a break from some of the more serious stuff I’ve been reading.
52) Skyfaring – Mark Vanhoenacker: This book is pure poetry about the magic and awesomeness that is flying. The author doesn’t say who he works for, but it’s clear that he’s a pilot for British Airways – and through his book, he manages to convincingly share why flying is the most amazing thing ever. He describes how flight works, what it’s like to be on the move constantly, and… well, the book is just poetry.
53) Dorm Game – Daryl Banner: This is an average gay romance novel. To be frank between the time I read it and when I went to type this up, I’d forgotten what happened in the book. That probably describes what I think of the book….
54) The Gully Snipe – JF Smith: I like JF Smith’s books. His previous books have all been gay romance novels, of sorts – that I absolutely love and love to reread. This new book has some gay moments, but it’s not a gay novel. Rather this is a new series (and this is the first book in the series) that is building an epic fantasy world of sorts. I’m not normally into this genre, but he’s managed to suck me right into the world and I am looking forward to part two.
55) Whiskey Tango Foxtrot – David Shafer: This is a currently popular (I do believe) novel, a sort of dystopian near future in which technology is about to take over the world. (It reminded me of Kingsman, the recent movie, to be honest.) It’s an engaging book without an ending. I was fine with the fact that the book has no ending, but reviews I glanced at on Amazon seem to disagree, violently. Will there be a sequel? No idea, but the ideas put forth in this novel are worth thinking about – and it brings back the notion that if you’re not paying for something on the web, then you are what is being sold.
56) The Girl on the Train – Paula Hawkins: This is, as many people note, the next Gone Girl. Reading this on Kindle was a bit confusing because each chapter comes from the view point of a different character – which I realized immediately – but at radically different moments in the calendar – which I did not realize immediately. Once I realized that I was jumping forward and backward in time, I got a better handle on what was going on. I can understand why this is a compelling, popular novel – but it isn’t great literature.
57) A Gathering Storm – Jameson Currier: Basically this is a fictionalization of the murder of Matthew Shepard – moved to a different location, with some different details – but the meta-picture is the same. It’s not especially well done, for what it is, but it was worth reading, at least from my perspective. It’s probably not, for most people, worth the time.
Clearly I am now only writing this for myself… and to record memories as they pop up.
I got my haircut today – haircuts are one of my absolute favorite things. There’s nothing quite so awesome as sitting in a chair, relaxing, getting a scalp massage, getting the hair cut, and getting the hair washed.
About half the time that I’m in the chair, I get so relaxed that I basically fall asleep.
Regardless, I always enjoy my haircuts and the ensuing conversations – this is true with everybody who cuts my hair, but especially those who I have a long-term relationship with – like my stylist in Berlin and my stylist in Bloomington. Both have admired each other’s work from afar, which is probably as close as the two will ever get to actually meeting in person.
But while I was sitting in the chair today, I remembered one of my favorite experiences in Bloomington.
Nothing specific about the conversation, mind you, but I had a terrific haircut and a terrific conversation – and once the haircut was finished, I stood up, walked to the front counter, made another appointment, and kept chatting.
It was a grand conversation – but like all good things, it had to come to an end at some point – so it did, and I left.
A few hours later, I was at home, thinking – and replaying my day, when it occurred to me that I didn’t remember doing something.
So I picked up the phone and called to ask a question:
Certificate of Mischief on right; Navajo rug on left.
It’s taken me awhile to finish up writing about my around the world trip, but this one dragged out because I was waiting for my local framer to finish framing my Certificate of Mischief.
You might recall (or not, because I don’t think many people are reading my blog) that last summer I had a long weekend in Montreal, where I found and fell in love with Kent Monkman, a Canadian artist who paints wonderful paintings that makes wonderful commentary on history and how it is interpreted.
I would love to own a piece of art by Kent Monkman, but I do not have enough money to do so – so I bought his Certificate of Mischief, which is now framed and on my living room wall, on what has become, accidentally, my native peoples art wall. It’s right next to a Navajo rug that I bought in New Mexico and under a drum I bought in Alaska, so it’s in good company.
The certificate was shipped to somebody in Toronto, who held it for me, until I could get there to see Kent Monkman’s major installation work, Casualties of Modernity. The work is on display at the Bank of Montreal headquarters, which, despite its name, appear to be predominately in Toronto. To see it, one must make a reservation.
Which I did – in fact, Casualties of Modernity became the icing on my around the world tour cake – what made the trip go from being super awesome to being super-duper awesome.
In this installation piece, which involves watching a video and examining the room where the piece is installed, Kent Monkman provides some powerful commentary on the state of art today – and where it is going and where it is coming from. The video part was hilarious as it made some deep points.
What amazes me about Kent Monkman and his work is how it connects to me. It’s pretty clear that I am not frequently, seriously, involved in art. While I enjoy looking at it, I am not one who can dissect it easily, nor do I have, generally speaking, “favorite” artists. Yet within seconds of seeing Trappers of Men at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts, I had jotted down his name for future reference. Then when I saw “Welcome to the Studio: An Allegory for Artistic Reflection and Transformation, 2014” at the otherwise completely unremarkable Musée McCord d’Histoire Canadienne, I tracked down a copy of a catalogue of his work. Then I floated away with happiness when I stumbled into The Night of September 12, 1759 at the Musée d’art contemporain de Montréal.
His work resonates with me in a way that I cannot easily explain and he is the only artist (outside of my personal friends) who is, for me, a destination artist.
I will go out of my way to see his work, in other words.
Since getting back from going around the world, I’ve been busy – and I’ve forgotten to write anything.
But it’s time to do a quick book catch-up. I read a lot of books while winging my way around the world. The Kindle is the most wonderful invention ever, because if it weren’t for the Kindle, I would have had to buy and dispose of a lot of books. And my bags would have been even heavier than they already were.
I’d link to the books on Amazon, but there are 17 here, and that’s too much effort. Call me the lazy blogger.
31: More Than This by Patrick Ness – This is a complex, bizarre, dystopian novel that is hard to explain. There were points when it was a struggle to make progress through the book, but I can safely say, now, that I’m glad I read the book – it’s a grown-up novel that is probably aimed at older teens. Either way, I recommend it.
32: Chicken Feathers & Garlic Skin: Diary of a Chinese Garment Factory Girl on Saipan by Chun Yu Wang — I read this book before I got to Saipan in order to read something from there. It’s a memoir of life as a professional garment maker in Saipan’s factories. There’s a bit of economic history needed to understand the setting: since Saipan is part of the USA, goods made there can legitimately say “Made in the USA” – but factory workers still crappy salaries – crappy by American standards, but fantastic by Chinese standards – which is how Chun Yu ended up on Saipan sewing clothes.
The book isn’t bad—it pretty well covers her life experience in factories – the ups and downs of different managers – and life on the fringes of Saipan. The working conditions sounded pretty horrible, but her stories are no different than what I’ve heard about garment factory work elsewhere in the world. The context of being on American soil is what’s disturbing. Although all the factories are gone, it’s clear that the US government doesn’t give much thought to it’s Pacific possessions – but that’s a meta issue that falls outside the scope of this book.
33: Fair Play (All’s Fair) Josh Lanyon – this is a convoluted story about an ex-FBI agent whose Father is targeted for assignation. It’s supposed to be some kind of whodunit mystery, with the real mystery being with me: why the hell did I buy this book. It is a poorly written, boring book.
34: Coming Out to Play by Robbie Rogers and Eric Marcus – this is Robbie Roger’s autobiography of his life as a gay footballer (err soccer player). The book manages to be horrifying in some respects – and delusional in others. For the record, the horrifying part has nothing to do with the fact that he’s gay—it has to do with how he addresses the fact that his in utero twin brother miscarried, but he did not. The delusional part is that Robbie seems to think that soccer matters. He states that it’s the fifth most popular sport in America, after basketball, football (American style), baseball, and hockey. Among this type of team sport, I suppose he might be right, but the distance between number four and number 5 is large enough to make being in fifth place irrelevant. Which is pretty much what I thought of his book in general: ignoring the horrifying part and the delusional part, we’re left with an anemic story of being petrified to come out of the closet, afraid of what might happen to him. I’ve read that story before – more times than I can count. Hearing it from a quasi-celebrity-footballer whose life story is not especially compelling or interesting isn’t worth anybody’s time.
35: Starstruck (Bluewater Bay) by L.A. Witt – This is a trashy gay romance novel, that’s not badly written. There’s nothing especially awesome about it, but – more importantly – nothing bad about it either.
36: The Fault in Our Stars by John Green – I finally got around to reading this wildly popular teen novel that examines what it is like to been a teenager with cancer. I doubt anybody who reads my blog regularly is among the target audience – but I won’t spoil the ending. It’s a worthwhile book that manages to pull you right in, taking on a serious subject without talking down. I will probably never bother to see the movie, though – reading the book was enough.
37: Porn Again: A Memoir by Josh Sabarra. This is actually a funny Hollywood memoir about what it’s like to suppress one’s sexuality and focus, with laser like intensity, on one’s career. While I’m grateful I don’t have Josh’s life, I was was amused reading about it.
38: The Twenty-Seventh City by Jonathan Franzen. This is a novel from the 1980s that is highly acclaimed. Centered on St. Louis, it looks at life in the city after the city hires a new police chief from India. Quite frankly, I found it boring and I had to push myself to finish the book.
39: Bottled Up Secret by Brian McNamara – This is a shitty coming of age, coming out of the closet, gay teen romance novel. Poor writing. Dumb story.
40: Cutting Out by Meredith Shayne – I happen to read this on my flight to Auckland – perfect timing. It’s a gay novel – leaning toward the romance side – set in New Zealand. The fact that I pulled it up was incredibly random, I swear, but appropriate. That said, it’s a slightly above average novel. Nothing too super special, but sweet.
41: Circus Maximus: The Economic Gamble Behind Hosting the Olympics and the World Cup by Andrew Zimbalist — This is a book that should be read by anybody who wants to host either the Olympics or the World Cup. Or, for that matter, any mega-sporting event. Simply put, it’s not worth it economically. Your tourism revenues go down – and not just in the year you host the event, but for several years. The stadiums you build are expensive and, after its over, expensive to maintain.
42: Educating Simon by Robin Reardon – For a teen, coming of age, coming out of the closet, kind of novel, this is actually exceptionally well written. That said, I found Simon, as a character, to be obnoxious, even as he changes to become a nicer person through the course of the novel. Ultimately, though, he’s not relatable to anybody except upper class Englishmen. However the book manages to rise above the problems with Simon, becoming an interesting story of what it’s like to grow up gay in affluent Boston, prior to the Boston Marathon bombing.
43: Frat House Troopers by Xavier Mayne — This was basically an erotic novel dressed up to be a gay romance novel. Well written for what it is, but not great literature by any stretch of the imagination.
44: The Boys in the Boat: Nine Americans and Their Epic Quest for Gold at the 1936 Berlin Olympics by Daniel James Brown: So this was the first of two books in a row that centered on life during Nazi Germany – this one on the 1936 Summer Olympics, which were held in Berlin. I actually learned a lot from the book about the sport of rowing. It seems that back in the 1930s, it was a hugely popular sport. The book is all about how the University of Washington rowing team came to dominate the sport in the mid-1930s, ultimately becoming the representatives for the USA in the Olympics. The parts focused on the American team and its training was great. However, living in Germany I’ve come to be tired of the Nazi topic. I don’t want it forgotten, but I’m tired of reading about it. The book intersperses bits of life in Germany, discussing how the Nazis made Berlin look good for the Olympics, removing signs of oppression against Jews. I liked the history taught in the book – although it seemed to be focused too much on one specific rower (probably due in part to the fact that he was the last one living)… Highly recommended.
45: All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr – I read this for my book club – the second of two books I read that focused on life during the Nazi era. This one is firmly set in World War II and centers on the life of an orphan German boy – a wiz with radios – and a blind French girl. Without spoiling the book, it’s enough to say that this is a sophisticated, grown-up work of literature that is exceptionally well done.
46: OGLAF book One – The only physical book on this list, this is the first book of comics published from the OGLAF website. I really like the comics – these are adult situational comics, but not porn, rather there’s a sophisticated sense of humor inherent in the comics. The website is worth exploring, starting with the first OGLAF strip.
47: Don’t Let Him Know by Sandip Roy – This book is still in progress as I have two more chapters to go. The first chapter put me off – way off – I actually set the book aside for a week or so, while I read books 44 and 45, before realizing that book club was fast approaching. Ultimately the book has redeemed itself admirably. I won’t spoil it here, but this book is adult, sophisticated literature.
The Canadian Museum for Human Rights, as seen from the main entrance for those not in groups and those who are not physically challenged.
When I started setting up my around the world trip, exactly how I was going to get from New Zealand back to Europe was a bit unclear. After doing some thinking, I knew that I wanted to stop in Toronto, but the question remained, what came before or after it.
In the end, I went with a stop before Toronto: Winnipeg.
The museum caught my attention when it opened for two reasons: first there was some controversy over the content of the museum and what information it presented, specifically with respect to the first peoples.
Starting with the latter, the architect: I first encountered the work of Antoine Predock while a student at the University of Wyoming. He’d designed the American Heritage Center and UW Art Museum (aka “The Centennial Complex”) facility at UWyo – it sits just north of the basketball arena (which is to say, it’s not at all central to UW’s daily life as it sits fairly far east of the core, walkable, campus).
This is the Centennial Complex at the University of Wyoming. The “mountain” houses the American Heritage Center.
As a student at UW, the Centennial Complex and how it managed to not only be unattractive to look at, but awkward to use fascinated me. Although it was built in the era of the Americans with Disabilities Act, it was inaccessible to anybody in a wheelchair. The university would deny this, pointing out the wheelchair access ramp, but the access ramp was one of the world’s longest access ramps – at some point the university must have conceded defeat because the entrance to the complex has been altered and there is an elevator from the public parking areas to the original entrance area of the building.
This is the top of The Shard in London.
The Canadian Museum of Human Rights (CMHR) shares some of the strangeness of the UW Centennial Complex: It’s not quite the “mountain” that UW has, but there is a clear peak to the CMHR. That said, the actual peak reminds me very much of The Shard in London—with its seemingly disjointed and disconnected glass top.
Canadian Museum for Human Rights — these are some of the ramps that you walk up from the ground floor until you reach the seventh floor.
I suppose, theoretically, that somebody in a wheelchair could enjoy the CMHR, as it was intended for the able-bodied, but I doubt that most would enjoy it: The CMHR consists of 8 levels, connected with ramps. On paper that doesn’t sound bad, but in reality, the ramps are incredibly long. There’s probably no way that the average wheelchair user could manage to wheel themselves all the way from the ground level, up through all the ramps needed to reach level 7. It’s hard to really describe here how long the ramps are, but trust me when I say that the ramps are long. Thankfully there are two elevators (although neither go the full height of the building, one is compelled to transfer somewhere when going the full distance) in the building that pretty much allow direct access to the actual exhibit spaces for those that are unable to walk the ramps as the architect intended.
The museum’s architecture also leads to some interesting spaces and design choices: there are a fair number of exposed I-beams, and at a couple points it is easy to see the fireproof coating on the I-beams. There were also some areas that appeared to be wasted space and potential dust collectors, which I doubt the museum will ever be able to make effective use of in their work.
This model of the Canadian Museum for Human Rights is in the center of the welcome space.
I guess that I continue to be underwhelmed by Antoine Predock and his work as an architect – the museum’s spaces are a bit too awkward and a bit too strange. The access for the physically challenged means that those accessing the exhibits via elevator will miss the intended effects that comes with walking up the ramps into each successive exhibition.
This is first gallery in the Canadian Museum for Human Rights; the wooden tower in the back is actually the theater housing the film presenting indigenous perspectives.
As for the former issue, the Canadian Museum for Human Right’s actual content: it’s actually surprisingly good. Starting with a gallery that attempts to define human rights, it continues with indigenous perspectives – these two galleries work together – although clearly the indigenous perspectives gallery is intended to be an olive branch to the first peoples of Canada – those who were here before the Europeans “settled” North America. The initial gallery space is pretty strong – although I think that some of the key moments presented on the timeline are a bit weak or irrelevant. The indigenous perspectives gallery is definitely a work in progress – pretty, art focused, but not much actual content.
Some of the timeline presented in the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.
The strongest gallery in the museum is the third gallery: Canadian Journeys, which focuses on the wide variety of oppression that Canadians have faced, often from their own government. This part ate up the largest share of time of any of the spaces. While in the space a number of school groups came through learning about human rights, as well as a group of older citizens who were getting a more theoretical tour of what the museum’s objectives were and how it attempts to fulfill the objectives.
The Canadian Journeys gallery at the CMHR — each of the boxes below the large screens is a mini-gallery exploring one area of human rights in Canada and how they have changed over time.
The fourth gallery examined how human rights are legally protected in Canada. Because there was a group tour in that area, I didn’t really explore it – so I cannot say much about it. Right next to it was the “Garden of Contemplation,” which from a distance reminded me of the Jewish Holocaust Memorial in Berlin – in the sense that rocks were emerging from the group.
The Garden of Contemplation at the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.
The next grouping of exhibits (on level 4), started with the holocaust, looked at the role of breaking secrecy in order to make sure human rights abuses are not hidden forever, the UN’s Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and how Canadians are working to make a difference. I’ll admit that since I live in Germany, I have reached a personal saturation point with respect to the holocaust – I jumped right through the exhibit and into the turning points for humanity section, which examined social movements and subsequent change.
Again, some of it was well done, some of it wasn’t – probably the weakest link on this floor was the “actions count” portion, which attempted to bring the work of select (usually young) Canadians into focus. I find that I didn’t care and moved onward rather quickly.
The next level’s gallery, “Rights Today,” was, at least for me, entirely forgettable. Perhaps I had reached sensory overload by this point: this was about two hours after starting exploration. When dealing with heavy issues continuously I tend to reach mental overload points after awhile.
The next to last gallery has rotating exhibitions – currently featuring an exhibition about Peace – put together by Ottawa’s Canadian War Museum. Again, I had reached information overload, so my engagement with this exhibition was limited.
Contemplation by the “Peace” exhibition.
Finally the “Inspiring Change” gallery was for true believers, emotive types. As I tend to be a cold hearted asshole, I don’t tend to like these touchy feely moments, where we are suppose to write down what we will do as we make a commitment to bettering the world.
The last stop is at the top of the “Tower of Hope” – which, as I noted before, reminds me of The Shard. From it’s name its suppose to be a tower of hope, but it actually provides some interesting views of Winnipeg. Perhaps hope got lost on the way to viewing the vista.
As a component of my around the world adventures, Winnipeg and the CMHR has been a worthwhile stop on my road from Auckland to Toronto, but I’m not sure I would make a huge detour to come here just to view the museum.
I would post photos and do other things here, but the Internet access at my current hotel is, in a word, terrible. The next time I expect to have decent Internet access is Saturday evening.
In addition to coming to American Samoa in order to be here, I thought that while here, I would attempt to get to the southern most point of land in the United States at Steps Point.
Unfortunately I did not make it there, but I came within about half a mile and a few hundred feet in elevation. The difference between as far south as I got and the last drop of land on this island was a steep downward journey along a trail that is not at all maintained.
That said, Steps Point is not, technically speaking, the southernmost point of land in a US Territory. That’s at the Rose Atoll, which is an uninhabited island that is part of the national park here in American Samoa (or maybe marine life sanctuary – the exact ownership is unclear to me, now that I think about it). To get there would involve a several day boat ride (practically speaking) and I would guess a lot of permits (the impractical part).
So I’m happy with what I’ve accomplished: From South Point on the Big Island of Hawaii (the southern most point of the 50 States), to Point Barrow (the northern most point of the entire United States), ending with being pretty close to Steps Point (the southern most point of land in the United States with inhabitants reasonably close by).
I might point out that the waters on both sides of the southern most point are marine wildlife sanctuaries (I would Google the exact information, but understand, my Internet here is very slow, like slower than 1997 Internet at the University of Wyoming), but a very nice family owns the land.
The family (well, husband and wife) were kind enough to give me a guided tour of the area, spending a great deal of time with me (far more time than I expected!), talking about what it is like to live and work the land.
One thing that I can safely say – now that I’ve had it on a few Pacific Islands, is that I no longer despise coconut, I actually like it, but with caveats. I must be fresh coconut, fresh from the tree. Anything for sale in Germany (or mainland USA) is probably disgusting and worth of being despised.
This is Goat Island Point on Pago Pago Harbor, as seen from my hotel room balcony.
Thanks to the magic of 35 minutes on Polynesian Airlines, from Today to Yesterday (or, as I now think of it, from Tomorrow to Today), I am having a second Monday evening – yesterday I was on a Samoan beach, today I am in Pago Pago, American Samoa.
American Samoa was one of my clearly delineated objectives for my 2015 travel adventures – and with my arrival here, I have now completed the set of inhabited American territories in the Pacific. I have but only the Caribbean left to go: Puerto Rico and the US Virgin Islands.
Certainly I am sad to have left the Taufua Beach Fales – it truly is some place magical and wonderful. The drive from there to the airport in Apia (but not the big international airport) is amazing, with spectacular scenery around every bend, whether in the form of beautiful plants or dramatic overlooks, Samoa is great.
But the American Samoa adventure has begun. I have already arranged my tour for tomorrow. It should be amusing and disturbing at the same time – especially since I am easily prone to major sweating in hot and humid climates.
I took a short walk from my hotel toward the center of Pago Pago, passing a number of small shops and the McDonalds. I probably should have stopped at the McDonalds, for the recommended restaurant was closed until dinnertime at 6. I was starving, so I tried a Japanese/Korean place where the food was bland beyond bland and the waitress tried to convince me that it was impossible to give me a small serving of tap water and that I needed Fiji brand bottled water.
Beyond that, the sun is already behind the mountain: it’s 6:30 and it dark out. My hotel has a washing machine – must pay to use it – and I am taking full advantage of it to wash everything. The sand at Taufua Beach Fales is incredibly wonderful – on the beach. But it also manages to get into everything.
Since Friday evening, I’ve been off the grid, enjoying myself at the Taufua Beach Fales located in Samoa.
Morning at the Taufua Beach Fales.
Now that it’s evening – Tuesday fast approaching with its onward travel – I want to post a few photos – and remark upon the fact that my time at Taufua Beach Fales has been way too short.
The To Sua Trench, a large hole — it’s salt water at the bottom, fed by tidal action through an under ground cave.
I’ve had three full days here: Saturday I took a tour of the island with several other people (two Germans and a Sri Lanken – all of us living in Europe), seeing waterfalls, caves, a bit of the main city, plus the countryside.
The Sopo’aga Falls, as seen from a nearby outlook.
This island is impossibly beautiful – they refer to themselves at the pearl of the Pacific, and I wouldn’t disagree: the lush green scenery, the amazing shades of blue in the water, the sand that agreeably squeezes between my toes.
Really – this is paradise.
My home at the Taufua Beach Fales since Saturday (I slept in a different one Friday)…
The Taufua Beach Fales, to add the whipped cream, is a bargain: I’ve paid about US$260 for four nights for a fale that, in addition to coming with both breakfast and dinner, comes with its own toilet and shower. I imagine that the open fales, and those without toilets, cost a bit less, but still include breakfast and dinner.
The Saturday Fiafia Night included local dancers performing.
In addition, Saturday night a show is put on, complete with traditional local dancing – and Sunday lunch is also included. The food is plentiful and, generally, delicious.
More of the the Saturday Fiafia Night.
Fire Dance at the Fiafia night — the performers were quite young and dropped their torches several times.
The sightlines down the beaches, left and right, morning, noon, and evening, are beautiful. The ocean has some strong currents that make wading and swimming a fun challenge.
And, of course, one can just sit and do nothing – an activity I also engaged in.
I arrived with the thought of finding postcards and stamps – and in the end the number I have written amounts to zero.
Returning to Samoa seems like a given. The question is when.
I spent Thursday taking a walk around Yokohama. Before today, as far as I was concerned, Yokohama might as well be Tokyo – but it’s not, in the way that Hartford is not New York City.
It does have a very nice old port and, armed with a map, I headed out from my hotel with four hours to kill. Seriously, I had made no plans for my day – other than knowing that I needed to catch the train to Narita around 2:00.
My eye was immediately drawn to the Cupnoodles Museum – it looked like a reasonable walk, through some nice looking areas (at least on a map; reality matched) and, in the worst case scenario, would help me get some exercise that might help me sleep on a long redeye flight.
It wasn’t just me at the museum, school children abounded!
The museum was easily found and after paying my 500¥ entry fee, I was free to wander. There was even a free English language audio guide, which helped me understand what I was looking at. For somebody who hasn’t eaten instant ramen noodles in years, it was still enjoyable.
The first CupNoodles Product: Chicken Ramen
Momofuku Ando started selling Chicken Ramen in 1958, eventually turning it into a powerhouse product that is, as college students the world round know, affordable, fast, and not that bad for you. The company creates and sells an incredible variety of ramen soup.
There was a cute, hokey, video presentation (with an English translation for me) – that traced the history of the product, including how cup-o-noodles were invented: a result of the inventor visiting the United States and seeing how Americans liked things in cups.
What enchanted me the most was that after leaving the film, we were presented with a replica of the wooden shed, exactly like the one that Momofuku worked inside while developing his product. This is the Silicon Valley story all over again, but instead of developing the product in a garage, it was developed in a wooden shed.
It’s not a Silicon Valley garage, but it is a replica of the original wooden shed.
The video, and the museum, also emphasized the fact that Momofuku persevered – although his early entrepreneurial efforts (which were not disclosed) failed, he pulled himself up by his bootstraps and he never gave up. The ramen noodles were invented relatively late in his life – he was, as I recall, in his 40s when he finally derived the product that made him famous (and rich).
Although I didn’t actually do it myself (my future travel plans make it awkward), for 300¥, one could actually create your own flavor of Cup Noodles – including you own packaging.
Design your own flavor of CupNoodles.
It was a great way to pass an hour in Yokohama – certainly not something for the cultural elites, but nevertheless amusing and educational.
I'm an American living in Berlin, Germany -- which makes me an expatriate, not an ex-patriot. Before landing in Germany, I've lived in Denver, Colorado; Laramie, Wyoming; Bloomington, Indiana; and Weimar, Germany. If you want to write to me, feel free! The username is elmadaeu on the gmail.com service.