Bamboozled

Today I took the Arashiyama-Sagano walk in North-western Kyoto through bamboo forests and past old traditional thatched houses, more shrines, temples and cemetries. The bamboo forests were a highlight - the pale green stalkiness of the bamboo made me think of fairytales and beanstalks. Under their shade it was lusciously cool and everything was steeped in tealy blue-green light.

Next to a temple I stumbled on a charming little cafe. It had ricepaper sliding doors and wooden frontage, with a tiny garden where stone seats encircled engraved stone tables, pink flowers spilled from pots and a red parasol provided shade. I sat down under the parasol for a meal of cold soba noodles with the usual condiments of wasabi, spring onion and sauce, which the hostess instructed me to combine together and dump the noodles into it, then slurp it all up.

Things got precarious when a wasp (or buzzing orange thing, and everyone knows that buzzing orange things are never nice) divebombed me from numerous angles at an awkward moment when I　ｈａｄ　ｃｈｏｐｓｔｉｃｋｓ　ｃｌｅｎｃｈｉｎｇ　ｎｏｏｄｌｅｓ　ｉｎ　ｏｎｅ　ｈａｎd whilst I fluttered ｍｙ　ｆａｎ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｏｔｈｅｒ．　Ｉｔ　ｗａｓ　ｍｏｓｔ　ｄｉｆｆｉｃｕｌｔ　ｔｏ　ｓｗａｔ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｗａｓｐ　ｗｉｔｈ　ｍｙ　ｆａｎ　ａｎｄ　ｃｏｏｒｄｉｎａｔｅ　ｍｙ　ｓｏｂａ　ａｔ　ｔｈｅ　ｓａｍｅ　ｔｉｍｅ．　Ｃｏｎｓｅｑｕｅｎｔｌｙ，　ａ　ｌｉｔａｎｙ　ｏｆ　ｃｕｒｓｅｓ　ensued when ｍｙ　ｎｏｏｄｌｅｓ　ｄｒｏｐｐｅｄ　ｏｎｔｏ　ｔｈｅ　ｐｅｂｂｌｅｓ　ａｎｄ　Ｉ batted myself in the eye with my fan as indoor diners looked on, potentially choking on their noodles at my display of utter nincompoopery. The pretty pebbles just looked so scandalised that they were swamped in soba that I slyly swiped up the fallen noodles and put them to the side of my plate, but I did blush even harder when I spied bits of gravel stuck to said soba. Eek! And so the lesson is to always put one's chopsticks down before swiping at a wasp.