Another reason to crochet

As a more or less direct result of my crochet, I have had a number of interesting conversations with people this trip.

This is not a big surprise - it's generally a good way to strike up a conversation. For example, at Woodford a couple of years ago, I had quite a few people come up and talk to me because of the crochet, including a few occasions when they'd seen me crocheting earlier ("you're that knitting lady, aren't you?").

The best conversation so far has been a long chat with a woman at a craft shop in Exeter who cards, spins, dyes and knits or weaves wool - that is, the whole process from fleece to garment. She had some lovely Jacob wool in black and white, plied together, that made me think of aniseed humbugs. She also had some great stories, including having to climb over a big bag of wool that her shearer mate dropped in front of her door once. And we discovered a shared delight in yak wool.

The most difficult conversation so far was the one in the British Museum, conducted in German, with two Dutch women (or maybe they just came through the Netherlands). That's why it was difficult. Apart from the obvious limitations given my very basic level of German, I had not been expecting to need to try to speak it, and have not heard it for a while. But I dredged up enough words to communicate a bit, including the shape I intend to make the scarf I'm working on at the moment. I could not remember, however, how to say that I had lived in England, but 10 years ago, although I think I got the point across eventually.

Of course, I remembered how to say it more directly (and clearly) as I was walking home.

A Sydney story

He looked in my direction as we both stopped at the pedestrian lights.

I looked at him and raised my eyebrow.

His look of desperation increased.

I got an inkling of what was to come and smiled a little.

"Would you be my best friend for 5 seconds and let me use that?" he said, gesturing towards the foot pump I was carrying.

"Sure!"

He wheeled his bike over while I unravelled the hose, and he hooked up and pumped away. He was finished in time for me to cross with the change of lights.

Another guy crossed with me. "Did you just happen to be carrying that just as he needed it?"

I nodded.

"What are the chances?"

"Well, there is a bike shop just around the corner."

He laughed. "Less than slim, then."

Conversation with a conductor

(of the train kind, not the musical kind)

So, I'm en route from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe via train and bus. This was not the plan - but neither was getting stuck at Dulles all day yesterday. And it is very nice to be going up during the day when I can see the very pleasant countryside.

I got chatting to the train conductor as we left Oakland station. He asked me if I was going up to Tahoe to ski or to gamble.

Me: "I didn't know gambling was even a thing up there."
Conductor: "You know Tahoe is in Nevada, right?"
Me: "Oh yeah, I get it. But I don't think I'll be gambling."
Conductor: "Oh I bet your friends will want to gamble. Anyway, you don't need to go looking for it. It will find you. You can hardly go to the bathroom without pulling a slot machine."
Me: "I'll look out for it jumping out around corners at me, then."

Anyway, he told me there is plenty of snow on the slopes so the skiing should be good. I asked whether the rain today would make it icy.

Conductor: "Well, you know what happens when you get rain on top of snow."
Me: "Not really. I mean, I can guess, but I don't know from experience."
Conductor: "From your accent, I'd guess Australia?"
Me: "That's right."
Conductors: "Well I can see why you wouldn't have experience with snow."

He still didn't tell me. So my practical understanding will just have to wait another couple of hours.

Obvious Lawyer

You will be pleased to know some things do not change.

On Saturday, my first full day in DC, I visited a gin distillery (New Columbia Distillery, makers of Green Hat Gin) with one of my friends here and a big group of his friends. We bottled an entire batch of gin. And had a tour of the distillery. So much fun!

Anyway, at one point I was waiting in line for the restroom. Others were there for tastings and tours, so there were some total strangers (as opposed to people I'd only just met). A couple of those total strangers were in the queue in front of me.

As the queue moved, I made a suggestion for a slight rearrangement.

And the woman at the front of the queue said: "Are you a lawyer?"

I hid my face in mock shame and asked if it was that obvious.

She said no, only another lawyer - such as herself - would have picked it.

We had enough time to exchange basic but important details, namely, what kind of law each of us did and where, before her friend came out. Woman #1 made each of us aware that we were all lawyers, and disappeared behind the locked door.

So then I had a similar exchange with Woman #2, and that in turn led to:

W#2: Oh, Australia! I've always wanted to go to New Zealand!
Me (jokingly): You know they're different countries right?
W#2: Yes - but have you been to New Zealand? And which would you recommend?
Me: It depends. Why do you want to go to New Zealand?
W#2: Wine, beaches, views?
Me: Hmm, what kind of wine do you like?
W#2: Spicy red wine...

Of course you know what I advised. (And I gave reasons, of course. I was, after all, speaking to another lawyer. Lawyers appreciate reasons for advice.)

And you probably also know what came next.

My turn in the queue came up as Woman #2 returned to her partner just through the other doorway, saying "Babe, we're going to Australia!" He looked a bit bemused. As she started to tell him about our exchange, I waved and called out "Hi! I'm B.!"

So we'll see. I may have some completely chance-met houseguests from DC some time in the future.

Charm and free canele

We try our best with our (doubtless atrociously pronounced) "sumimasen", "konnichiwa" and "arigatou", with an occasional "eego o hanashimasu ka?" thrown in. In most places, those, plus some English words from the people we speak to and the classic travellers' gestures get us through. There are smiles and happiness (albeit perhaps a little awkwardness) and we move on.

Then, sometimes, the immense amount of goodwill we are shown blows me away, and I remember again and again why I love talking to strangers so much, especially strangers from places other than my own.

It was our first full day in Kyoto today, as stinking hot and muggy as you might expect in late June. (The weather here, including the way it rains, reminds me of Sydney in February.) We managed to hit the road by 10 am - not a bad effort with two children, and X.

We got down to the Higashi Honganji Temple in good order, but by the time we made it to the Daitokuji grounds, it was midday and we were hot, sticky and footsore.

And that was how, despite a general prejudice against anywhere that looks like it sells western food, we ended up at the Cafe du Mon.

The lunch special was fantastic (fusion, Japanese style - and they were very happy to change it for our non-lactose-consumer), the egg and ham sandwiches among the best P. had ever tasted, and the iced green tea really hit the spot. But what, or rather who, made it such a great place to spend some time, were the amazingly friendly owners and staff.

It started out as a fairly straightforward interaction, but everyone was so friendly and interested in the kids, and the forbidden rice that none of us could fit in so good, we decided to ask something that we had been wondering: is it ok to ask in a restaurant if we could take leftovers away? And if so, could we take the rice?

The fact that it was impossible to explain what we were trying to ask really told us what we needed to know, but X. came up with the idea of using Google translate. I would love to know how that got translated, because the owner laughed his head off about it, a great big infectious laugh. The answer, it turns out, is no, not really, but he was very happy to make our leftover rice into rice balls for us to take with us and to tell us some of his views about people and life, and explain that, as we were in Kyoto, we should say "okini" instead of "arigatou".

Shortly after that, some canele were brought to our table, gratis, made by the owner's French-patisserie-trained wife. Followed by biscotti when they remembered the lactose problem.

Even the fussy 4 y.o. agreed, despite initial skepticism before being convinced to at least take a tiny bite, that the canele were something special.

By then, it was a bit cooler, and we enjoyed Daitoju much more than we would have otherwise. Although I think the 4 y.o. thought it odd that a monk at the Daisin-in Zen garden suddenly sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" at her (he was thrilled she said "konnichiwa" so nicely).

After we got home, X. and I headed out in search of a toy for the baby. We managed this errand quite efficiently, but got distracted on the way home by a small kimono for the 4 y.o. (X.) and ceramics (me). Everyone we spoke to was lovely, but none more so than the couple in the ceramics shop.

From the moment we walked in, they seemed really happy to have us in their shop, particularly after hearing we were from Australia, but what really sealed the friendship was our demonstration of a pottery wheel (me spinning around) and potter (X. demonstrating with her hands above my head). Gales of laughter resulted, together with an answer to the question I'd been trying to ask (did the potter use a wheel - answer, yes). Other highlights of that conversation included an enormous amount of incredulity that X. had two children - they had thought we were students. And it ended with something of a discount - unasked - on the bowl I bought.

In both the cafe and the ceramics shop, I know my memory will morph so that I instinctively remember our hosts speaking more English than they actually did (even though I will intellectually remember the language barriers that were integral parts of the experiences) - my brain will process it as "must have been speaking the same language" because we communicated so effectively and with so much delight.