Noilly Prattle

Monday, January 9, 2012

Bad Hair Day


I hate it when a trip starts out memorable. It's something like an eventful flight. Usually, “eventful” in relation to a flight means something at least unpleasant if not downright bad happens. Like your two hours out over the Pacific Ocean and the captain calmly announces that we have to turn back because of a faulty reading in one of the gauges. (Apparently we couldn't be sure of our altitude.) So, for two long hours you sit helplessly waiting to see if we're all going to plunge into the sea.

“Memorable” in relation to a trip means something out of the ordinary, usually unpleasant, happens. It's one of those things that you laugh about long after the fact. In this case the SO and I were trying to lay in a few basic grocery items for our three-month stay in Prague. It is already full day Number 2 and the weather hasn't been cooperative—cloudy with intermittent rain. Today there were occasional tentative patches of blue, but, for the sun, it was a losing battle.

We trekked off to a Tesco super market (a sort of Czech Costco) to stock up. We had a basket full of necessary basics and headed for the checkout counter. The cashier scanned everything and I presented my credit card but it wouldn't go through although it had worked fine an hour earlier in the same store. I then presented her with another card that went through but required a PIN number, which neither I nor the SO could remember. Completely humiliated we had to dump everything out of our backpacks back onto the counter in front of everybody and, to add insult to injury, the cashier made me show her the inside of my backpack--to be sure I wasn't stealing anything. Well, talk about feeling like crawling into a manhole!

We came back to our apartment in a state and made a stiff Manhattan and started to come down.  

pissed off in Prague

After we calmed down enough we trotted off to a nearby Czech style restaurant recommended by our driver from the airport and had more alcohol—a nice local pilsner--and proceeded to get a little more pissed than when we first arrived.

Lokal pub and restaurant

better pissed than pissed off

my shy, slightly out of focus SO and delicious Lokal Czech dinner

The funny thing is, during the discussion on the way home, it turned out that I had enough cash in my wallet to pay the Tesco bill. But, being caught by surprise your brain just shuts down and all rational behavior goes up the drainpipe and you do stupid things--like completely forgetting that you have cash in your pocket. 

Not quite what I had expected to say about our arrival in Prague, but there it is. S*** happens sometimes. And that's what you remember about your journey. As a matter of fact, that's a pretty good metaphor for the big journey—life.

You just never can tell.

Oh, and by the way the same credit card that didn't work at Tesco worked fine at Lokal pub.

Go figure!




Thursday, January 5, 2012

Leavin' on a jet plane


All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go la la la la......

Tomorrow morning, the SO and I are heading for Prague, Czech Republic for a three month stay of 24-hour a day central heating, opera and concert going and just being in Europe. (The central heating is a big deal for us because in Japan we don't have it.) We rented a great 1-bedroom apartment in the old town and have a nice line up of operas, concerts and ballets at Prague's three opera houses and other concert halls.  

 open plan living/dining/kitchen

bedroom

As you can see it's an attic apartment--all bohemian and exposed beams. 

Next posts should be from Prague....

Stay tuned....

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Nope! It ain't the Mayans...

I think I figured out what happened to my blog photos. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the ancient Mayans or that they ran out of space on their version of the Rosetta Stone and decided to bring the world to an end in 2012 I believe.

Blame it on Google and the modern madness of linking everything. Unfortunately or otherwise I have Google in the morning, Google in the evening and Google at suppertime. I have gmail, Picasa and now blogspot. It turns out that they are inextricably linked to one another. Duh!

A couple days ago I noticed that the number of my Picasa albums had inexplicably increased although I noted that some of them included new blog photos that I hadn't actually "added" to Picasa. They just got linked apparently, but I, not realizing this, deleted the photos that I didn't want in Picasa. That's when I noticed that all my blog photos had disappeared, but I didn't make the connection until later that night when I woke up a 2 o'clock in the morning and the brain kicked into high gear. Before falling back asleep I determined to check out my assumptions. I restored some photos and a couple of posts and they seem to hold on my computer.

I'd appreciate it if someone would let me know in a comment below if they are able to see the restored ones.

Thanx,

NP

Monday, January 2, 2012

Where's my blog?

I opened my blog today and found all my photos gone. I wonder if it has something to do with the change of year?  I'm uploading a test photo to see if posting in 2012 fixes the problem.

sunset on the year 2011

Well, the mystery of the missing pictures remains, but new pictures seem to stay in place as the above photo of the 5-roof pagoda at Kokubunji Temple near here shows. I've restored a couple of recent pictures on my previous two posts. The rest, it seems, are history. 

Anyway, welcome to 2012, it should be an interesting ride, so fasten your seat belts. 

NP

Friday, December 30, 2011

Persian Odyssey: Part V – The Sacrificial Lamb

We returned from doing the tourist thing in and around Hamadan sometime in the afternoon. My student's family planned to honor their “special guest” with a traditional Iranian feast for such occasions and had asked us to return early enough so that they could “prepare” for it.

I was ushered into the living area of the house for refreshments which consisted basically of tea and fruit. I can still see in my mind's eye the baskets of golden fruit on a low table surrounding a red vase of flowers.  

I put my camera on the table next to the baskets of fruit and chatted with family members while sipping tea and munching on an apple. Soon, the men disappeared into the courtyard of the house. I sat around still sipping my tea, munching on the fruit (maybe grapes by now) making polite small talk with the ladies. It wasn't any deep philosophical, and certainly not political, discussion since they spoke no English and my Farsi was rudimentary at best. I was soon rescued by my student who asked me to come into the garden with my camera. I jumped at the chance to escape from the somewhat awkward language problem.

The men of the family were there holding down a bleating frightened-looking sheep. The sheep, it turned out, was to be the main course in the traditional feast in my honor. I must have instantly lost my desert tan and turned several shades of pale for any number of reasons having to do with culinary preferences, but the most shocking element of this whole scene was that they wanted ME to take a bloody picture while they cut the struggling sheep's throat. Aghast and horrified I stammered that I couldn't possibly take such a picture and showed my student how to use the camera while I almost ran back inside the house.

I sat there alone in utter silence (the women of the house had disappeared) praying that the deed would be done as quickly as possible and wondering how I could possibly eat the roast lamb without losing both face and the meat in front of everyone who had been so welcoming to me. Of course (as you may have surmised by now), slaughtering and roasting a fresh lamb is the highest form of honor you can pay an important guest in Iran.

Within minutes my grinning student (holding the rear legs of the sheep looking at the camera in the photo below) came back with the camera apologizing that he couldn't make it work. It was a somewhat complex SLR camera for a novice to use. So, I looked at him, laughed (hysterically, I suppose), took the camera and said: “What the hell!” to myself. Out we went and they proceeded with the slaughtering of the lamb and I took one of the most remarkable pictures I have ever taken. Oh, and yes, the fresh roast lamb was out of this world (as the lamb now was), and no, I didn't disgrace myself.

 the slaughtering of the lamb

To be continued...