A Shaolin monk might be so well versed in the art of Kung-Fu that he can walk through a black corridor carpeted with rice paper without leaving a wrinkle, but not even a Shaolin would be able to use the single-ply rice paper they use here in the toilet, let alone a clumsy Westerner used to double-ply Charmin (as I found the hard way). I finally evolved the strategy of pulling a good yard of the gossamer paper, and folding it 16 times to make for a suitable sanitary tool.
Today we plan to embark in a larger boat to cross the Nemuro Strait and go whale watching. This will bring us very close to the Kuril Islands, and especially to Kunashiri Island, which is disputed between Japan and Russia. It used to be under the jurisdiction of Japan, but in sharing the spoils of World War II the Allies gave it to Russia as reparation for some Japanese atrocity or other. Nowadays the Japanese government argues that they never agreed to that hand-me-down, and that Kunashiri forms part of the homeland of the Ainu, who have ancestral rights to burying their dead there. The Russian government has answered that they would be glad to issue visas to those Ainu who want to come to Kunashiri to perform their funerary rites, but the Japanese refuse to issue passports to the Ainu for that purpose because, they contend, the island is their ancestral home and they need no stinking visa to go there (the impasse has been given a band-aid in that the Ainu are allowed to visit the island on one particular date every year). Me, I am all for invading Kunashiri now that the Russians have their hands full with Ukraine.
The day was glorious and the boat ride was great fun. We were but a small part of a group of Japanese tourists who were carrying some impressive photographic equipment. I thought cameras had died with the advent of cell phones, but not in Japan, where every able-bodied man carries an enormous camouflaged telephoto, which they aim with the celerity and precision of a machine gun. Fortunately, as we approached the international border in the middle of the straits we spotted two different pods of orcas. I believe this was my first time seeing a pod in the wild, and they were magnificent. Their dorsal fin is very tall, just like you see in indigenous carvings, and when they are swimming they look like a battle formation of submarines intent on striking a target.
Hmm ... the sun sure reflects in a funny way on the back of that big male. It makes it look silvery white ... OMG, it is a White Whale! My thoughts immediately rushed to our tough captain of the day before, and for a moment I was caught in a Kabuki re-creation of Moby Dick. Over the loudspeaker we were informed that we were indeed seeing a white whale, and that he makes his appearance only every other year (perhaps as a presage of the violent death of a mariner?).
Happy with the sighting of the killer whales we cruised the straits for an additional hour, but we had already extended our luck and saw no further marine mammals. The views of Shiretoko and Kunashiri were spectacular, however, so being free of the burden of carrying a foot-long telephoto I quite enjoyed myself.
Back on land I took a hot walk to the top of the hill, to gaze over the Nemuro Strait from the deck of the local observatory, and once down ambled through the small fishermen's town to buy insoles for my boots (another delightful shopping experience bridging across the language barrier), and a quick lunch at the convenience store. Then I headed up the river to visit a forest onsen (which I never found) and a waterfall (which again I never found). It was a hot long walk, but we had agreed to meet at 4 pm up in the canyon, at one of the entrances to the Shiretoko National Park, and I got there with 15 minutes to spare.
There was a movie showing at the Visitors Center, and I sat to watch a movie about the way the fishermen collect Kombu Seaweed. Kombu grows as kelp, anchored in the bottom and floating and swaying as the ocean currents move it this way and that. A perfect leaf might have the size of Ronnie, and the trick is to bring it to the boat with as little damage as possible. For this they use a giant fork, which they thrust into the water until they snare a leaf, and then they twist it, just like we would twist a strand of spaghetti around our fork, gently tugging to bring more and more leaves close to the surface to be progressively harvested. A good day "catch" will be enough for the fishermen to take a one week vacation.
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