Not many know that the sight of snow - maybe a daily humdrum occurence for say the Lapps - can send certain others into a delirious tizzy.Last winter, the family trudged up under the weight of snow boots, jackets and tons of expectation to Hokkaido in North Japan (across from Siberia) . A 3 hour flight from Tokyo and our inner compass swung to roughly 43 degrees N latitude. We had arrived in Hokkaido's capital Sapporo.
The landscape needed some mental adjustment at first. From the warmth of the subway train, Sapporo was like a scaled down model town with fluffs of cotton stuck with QuikFix. White was a great leveller. Everything seemed light and happy. Jaunty mounds of snow lay scattered from a recent snowfall. Houses and cars sat like frosted cup cakes. People in thick 'eskimo' layers.
I'll be darned , snow was for real.
Every February, Sapporo (Hokkaido's capital) hosts the Annual Ice Festival. A virtual tourist stampede out to watch the display of ice sculptures while trying not to slip on its icy sidewalks. The creations were mostly beautiful, some even awesome. But Sponge Bob Square Pants in ice? I drew my line there.
Next morning. Just another day, another town. As we sliced open the curtain....shweeeck.... outside our window....a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Flakes of snow silently shimmered down like white glitter.. It was raining cotton. The spire opposite our hotel looked cold and Victorian. Down below, the streets and sidewalks were fast gettiing covered in white, like powdered sugar.Somebody had to stop this flood of similes.
It was all exactly as I had seen/read/imagined from books and movies. Pickled stereotypes were having a wild party in my head - Santa and his sleigh. Sad little match girl down to her last match stick. Jingle bells. Reindeers. They had to be the missing pieces.
Gawd, its early Feb. Christmas long gone. Got to get a hold.
I wanted to slit open my senses and cram in all the sights to last for the rest of my life. And also tell my sweaty cousins back home that it was all not a trumped up story.
In the absence of any previous experience in these matters, the family relied on pure ancient wisdom acquired from reading Archie and other literary masterpieces to make snowballs and throw at each other. So the secret was out : if unchecked, we an otherwise decorous family were capable of some pure silliness.
Many frost bitten toes,numb fingers and mugs of hot chocolate later the family huddled together. The three men in my life had had enough of my misty eyed rambling about snow and its many poetic aspects. Get more real they growled and hit some manly snow mobiling in beautiful mountainous terrain.Must admit it was a befitting climax to our snow experience.I will carry with me forever that first magical glimpse of a snow fall, from a hotel window. Simple pleasures. Loads of pay off. Just the way I like em.
Whazzat? Frozen toes, slush and shovelling driveways? I dont have to get real do I. I like my distance from it all and thats the way I intend to keep it.
Meanwhile here I am, I think punch drunk forever on memories of 'that lovely February morning the snow fell'...
