A day or so on the ship, I was walking along on the main floor where all the shops were when one of the Chinese men on the ship lets go a huge fart beside several of the ships officers and cropdusted about 25 people waiting in line. The dude could have cared less and walked like he was on an Easter parade. The Italians just giggled. I was dumbfounded though. Asians have different customs though.
Hiroshima had a huge park dedicated to the A-bomb drop at the epicenter of the blast. There were all kinds of monuments, fountains, and a couple museums commemorating the event. Inside the main museum there was a huge model of how the area looked after the blast which would be best described as raking the land clean except for a couple buildings only "lightly" damaged just under the epicenter. Had I not known the area had been damaged I would not have guessed it by the reconstruction efforts. It was amazing to see the place where horrific history was make. I would recommend a visit here if you have an opportunity.
Japanese people are far easier to be around than Chinese. Chinese will push you out of their way and Japanese will apologize for wanting to be in your way. Japanese respect your personal space where Chinese could care less. What is amazing is how the Japanese and Chinese cultures are so different and the countries are located so close geographically. Come to think of it, Yankees are pushy and shovey too, and they are only a short drive from home. Yeah, now that I think about it, Yankees are worse.
When we were preparing to leave Hiroshima's port the locals came on board to do a show for us. There were a couple three geisha that performed for us with fans, danced, and sang. The geisha were fun to watch and while they performed a woman played the Japanese guitar called a Shamisen. She was fun to listen to for the first couple songs, but soon became a Japanese Billy Ray Cyrus (Achy Breaky Heart boy), and it became apparent that I would have to stick a sharp stick in my eye to act as a pain reliever. So I just sat there thinking about democrats and wished I had dysentery. After Yoko Ono finished, a three piece band came out. The show’s announcer described then to us as the best something or other that Japan had to offer and “the band” had awards to prove it. One person in the band had a saxophone, one person had a snare drum of sorts, and the third had a drum on his chest with a set of small cymbals that he clanged enough to make me want to walk up and Three Stooges slap all three of them. By the time “the band” finished I had a sharp stick in each of my eyes and wanted Billy Ray Cyrus woman to twang her magic twanger some more while I stuck bamboo shoots under my fingernails. Geez, I could have had dysentery.
We had lunch in port at an authentic okonomiyaki or YokoOnoYucky whatever they call it kind of place. Basically, this place had a griddle that the dude piled a pancake, noodles, an egg, pork, sweetened teriyaki sauce, and a bunch of other stuff on top of each other. Then the concoction was grilled a few minutes raked off the main grill and raked onto a smaller griddle built into our table. Let's see how do I explain the taste. I know, I would describe it as noodles, teriyaki, and butt. Deb said she loved it, and I thought it tasted like butt. But what do I know. Well I know it tasted like butt. To add insult to Southerner injury there were no forks, and I had to use the Japanese wooden male torture apparatus called chopsticks. I would weigh ten pounds if forced to use them every day. I thought about stealing a fork off the ship to carry around with me but was afraid I would get caught and kicked off the ship in a place where they ate with chopsticks and women peed on their shoes. So, I used the chopsticks.
Chatty Cathy has been nice the last couple of days. She has enlightened us with stories of going to the ship's doctor and other tales from the crypt. I sat next to her at dinner the other night and actually enjoyed speaking with her. She craves attention like Bill Clinton craves skanks. However, when Chatty Cathy is engaged in conversation in a one on one manner, she was very entertaining. Her past was entertaining enough that she wrote an autobiographical book that Deb bought not out of necessity more so out of curiosity. What got me to thinking was how many writers carry around multiple copies of their own book like Chatty Cathy did. Nope, I am not going to comment on the real name for Chatty Cathy nor am I going to say the name of the book. I promise to try to give you a book report.
We had a talent contest onboard the ship recently and for the life of me I can't remember which night, but Whiney Girl sang the song My Guy which I knew was a dern lie as no guy would want any part of her. The show's announcer introduced her and asked her with whom she was traveling, and she said, "...I don't have any friends or family on board". After being around the wench for greater than a week, I know why. Her own family must have bought her the cruise to get away from her. Whiney Girl wasn't talented but I didn't want to watch reruns of the democrat National Convention (lower case d as intended as always) rather than her. I did have nightmares for a couple nights thanks to her and woke up screaming, but I do that every time I watch Glee, so Deb wasn't concerned. Deb just rubbed my belly like she does The Puppies, and I went back to sleep. I might have to get electroshock therapy to keep me from laughing every time I think of Whiney Girl peeing on her shoes and telling us about the experience. Deb probably peed on her shoes too while using the concrete holes, but she knows better than to tell me. I took a few photos of Whiney Girl and will post them when I get home. But in the meantime, you can visualize her as being a brunette Teletubby.
While in town, I thought about stopping at a Japanese teahouse and having the elaborate Japanese tea ceremony. In the Japanese tea ceremony the woman dresses up in the kimono and scurries around making her man happy. Deb said we could have the American version at home where she dresses up in the kimono and I get up and get my own tea. To heck with that.
Al
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