The Germans Are Coming! The Germans Are Coming!

When I arrived at Akiko’s #1 Best Buddhist Bed & Breakfast, it was very late, but she brushed my apologies aside with a smile. She told me that she'd known when my flight was coming in and, given the various pains in the ass provided by long distance travel, (my words, not hers,) she hadn't expected me much earlier.

From the stuff I'd read about the place, I'd expected her to be more animated—a sort of joyful Buddhist sprite that did the hula. (She mentioned studying hula dancing at her website.) I don’t mean that she was entirely sedate. More that she had an air of peacefulness around her that seemed genuine enough, though sometimes a bit self-conscious. She had this slow, measured way of speaking, and given the sleepiness of her eyes, her lazy grin, and the pointedly mystical/spiritual turn of her speech, I wondered briefly if she was high.

She wasn't, (I don't think,) but she was very nice.

She welcomed me warmly, and the cats watched as she led me up the street and away from the two buildings. The rain had let up. Along the side of the road was a web made up of enormous ferns and other thick, leafy vegetation. Akiko produced a flashlight and used its beam to pick out the head of a trail. It occurred to me that it must take a lotta work to keep it so visible and easy to follow.

She led me for a hundred or so winding yards before we came to a clearing. Two smaller buildings were here. The first was made up of screen walls around a single, large room. This was the Mango Cottage, where I would be lodging. A quick glance at the enormous tree that grew behind it made it clear how it had come by its name.

The second building had—you guessed it—clapboard walls without screens. Inside were two small rooms—one containing a toilet, and the other, a shower. There was a propane water heater that you could light when you wanted to wash yourself.

The Mango Cottage is also environ- mentally friendly. The place is wired for electricity, and Akiko is (and should be) very proud of the fact that the current is generated by a solar converter that a friend set up for her. The furnishings are very simple— a couple of comfortable wicker chairs, a small dresser, a glass table and some smaller end tables to go with it.

The lacy canopy that hangs over the futon I’d be sleeping on seemed out of place, until Akiko explained to me that it was mosquito netting. As you might imagine, the little fuckers love the local climate.

At the door, Akiko explained that she asked guests to observe the Japanese custom of removing their shoes before going indoors.

“Most of us wear flip-flops, so we can just kick them off when we come inside."

I had brought some flip-flops, but they were, predictably, in my missing bag. So Akiko gave me a pair to use in the meantime.

I noticed that the door had no lock. Akiko assured me that there was never any crime in this area and that nothing had ever been stolen from her bed and breakfast. Though it wasn’t with me at that point, I thought of my flamenco guitar. And I wondered about those powerful motion sensor lamps that I’d seen back by the main buildings. But I was so far outside my usual frame of reference that I decided to just go with it. Besides, I was too tired to care at that point.

After I’d thrown my luggage on the floor, Akiko handed me a flashlight, and we headed over to the second building. When she showed me the shower, I overlooked a very healthy-sized wasps’ nest that hung up near one corner of the ceiling. I noticed it in the morning though, right about the time the water started to flow.

The insects weren’t the only animals hanging around the Mango Cottage. Akiko told me that a litter of wild boar piglets sometimes wandered into the grove. Their mother, who was substantially huskier, would accompany them. (The father pig, who was said to weigh over 300 lbs., did not move around much and was never seen.)

She said that the boars were playing hell with the potatoes she grew and that I might hear them snuffling about in the dark. She didn’t seem to think there was any cause for concern, though I think she assumed that I had enough common sense to avoid confronting a protective wild sow.

Ha, so, pretty exotic, right? Some people might’ve found it too much, but I gotta say that aside from the wasps, the whole scenario appealed to me. It was quieter than Chicago, but equally weird in its own way.

Akiko and I headed back to the cottage. I slid into a chair by the table, and for the first time that day, I really relaxed.

I could see her better now in the light. Her complexion was like coffee with cream. Her face was furrowed, but not in a way that suggested age or weariness, just accumulated life. Her arms and legs were long and thin, but well muscled. She wore baggy shorts and a loose sleeveless t-shirt. Her hair was tied back in a simple fashion. It was black, but threaded with silver here and there. Her eyes were heavily lidded, but often they'd open wide, and you would see these very large, very lively black irises. (Especially when she was amused.) Her teeth were very white.

She must’ve noted my sorry state, because she smiled sympathetically and said that long distance travel was very difficult.

"You have to be careful not to get dehydrated," she said. "I'll go get you some water, while you get comfortable here." She headed back toward the main buildings.

I flipped through an assortment of books and pamphlets concerning Buddhism, New Age topics and the Big Island had been neatly stacked on one of the end tables. It was outside my usual literary interests, but I’m always curious about what other people are reading.

On another table lay a transparent plastic frame containing a printout. It described a man who designed personalized rock gardens, each with a feng shui sorta connection to the person buying it. The printout mentioned that for a little extra money, he would take you on an expedition to the beach, where he would teach you to find your own spiritually individual rocks! The guy had a non-Hawaiian name—I don't remember it now—but the printout noted that he had grown up on the Big Island and knew it like a cherished, infinitely repeated rerun of Happy Days. (Maybe one w/ a cameo by the Big Ragu. Hubba hubba.)

Akiko returned bearing a round wooden tray with Asian characters on its surface. A pitcher full of water and a black handleless cup rested on it. We sat down at the table, and I was already guzzling the stuff when she started explaining to me that the local water was safe and tasted good. (Not just acceptable, but good.) There was no need for filters or bottled water. As far as the taste went, she seemed to be right.

As we sat at the table, she gave my wrist a light, friendly tap—she did that a lot—and said that there was a certain synchronicity to things.

"We have a man and his young son staying here who are German: Stefan and Niko.” (Please note that I never confirmed the spelling of Niko’s name. If I got it wrong here, I hope he’ll forgive me.) “They've been here for about 10 days and will be leaving Thursday. Then on Thursday, another German man, also named Stefan, will be arriving. Do you see what I mean about synchronicity?"

I sure did.

She said, "Now this second Stefan works for Oracle technologies. Have you heard of them?"

I sure had. But aside from the fact that Oracle was some big shadowy internet corporation, I didn't know anything about it.

"On Thursday night, we will be having a pot luck dinner. And afterwards, this second Stefan will tell us about technology and how it affects us all."

She elaborated, and out of the air rose a nightmare vision of waning personal freedoms and of surveillance by massive dark governmental and/or corporate cartels. It all seemed a trifle paranoid. (Though less than it would have before the Patriot Act came home to roost.) Still, in my line of work, I’ve found that it's pretty fucking easy to invade someone's privacy. Even a simple consumer has plenty of surveillance resources available to him/her. You can, for instance, hire some asshole like me to follow someone else around. Or if you’re a do-it-yourself type who’s lookin’ for a new challenge, you can find lots of snoopin’ gadgets available for sale. (Some of dubious legality, depending on where you live, so be careful, kids!)

Fortunately, Akiko's Cassandra impersonation was too vague to keep me awake that night (or any other since). I needed my sleep.

She invited me to join them, and then waited silently but expectantly for an answer. I said, "Yeah. I'll try to make it." She didn’t seem entirely satisfied by my answer, but she accepted it.

Then she informed me that yet another kraut would be joining us on Thursday as well, and she might have offered more details about this guy, but I was frazzled and starting to overload on all this Teutonic synchronicity.

Akiko told me to get some rest and we would talk more over breakfast. "You're from Chicago," she said, "so you'll probably be up before all of us." Ha! She had no idea who she was dealing with!

After she left, I killed the lights and crawled into bed. It was very dark there in the grove. Outside, another downpour had started. There was nothing but screens and mosquito netting separating me from it, but I didn’t feel a single drop. On this night and most others, I found it very peaceful to fall asleep to the sound of the rain.

At some point, I woke up to a chill that surprised me, but I stayed quite warm under my blanket. Otherwise, I slept like a rock.

P.S. The first picture above shows the Mango Cottage itself. The second shows the building that holds the bathroom facilities.


See ya next time!