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The mushroom village
***edited 24th Oct '03***
Jenny and I were somewhere doing something. I think we were in Transylvania. Because there was a lot of purple and black.. very 'Count Dracula" only not Dracula;la... That cartoon with the duck-Dracula? Count Quackula? Eh. I cant remember. Count Duckula!
We'd finished and needed to get home so I called dad who came to pick us up.
We drove down dirt roads. The sun was yellow. The grass was yellow. The dirt was yellow.
Hell. The mangy little car dad drove was yellow!
We were, most obviously, driving in china.
because China is a very yellow country (in my dreams at least). Especially in the rural country areas. and totally so if you're driving through China in the 'olden days', as was our case
So. We drove and drove down the hill through winding roads and the like when we espied a little yellow sand/mud house with a thatched wooden roof.
We walked in to the restaurant/inn (for that's what it was) and sat down on the wobbly knobbly wooden 'communal' bench/ and table and dad looked through the menu and whispered
"woah! this place is really really famous. So their food is really really expensive...."
and then, to the somber waiter/ress who was standing RIGHT next to him, he said
"I'll just have the plain noodles with mushroom please"
Then, I looked at the menu. And it really wasn't THAT much more expensive.. Well. it was. noodles for $9. Which is expensive for Asian stuff with nothing but noodles and (shitake) mushrooms. But European quasi Asian stores get away with selling their noodles for $16 a dish so $9 as opposed to $5 -6 isn't so bad yeah?. I ordered what dad ordered anyway. Jenny probably did the same.
The owner of the inn/restaurant was a stooped little man with white bushy eyebrows and a long charismatic face. His face was a scribble or wrinkles and I have a shot of him in my head; a short balding man with white tufts of hair stiffly yet softly perched upon the sides of his head, looking at us with those crinkly 70% closed eyes, bushy white eyebrows, a huge grin from cheek to cheek, teeth white and bright and in his cupped hands were a mound of uncooked shitake mushrooms... How adorable....
Or so w thought (read on. Read on.)
the noodles were very yummy.
but my brain didn't let me fully enjoy them because it wooshed off to another dream segment.
-----
We are on a tiny little train. Like. It's up to my knee, height wise. And I don't know how I fit into it.
Everything is rendered in cartoon. Rather jap. anime/spirited away ish
we get off outside a white washed hall and enter.
inside are shelves upon shelves of little clay mushrooms.
We know that the mushrooms are actually people and each shelf is like a mini village. Complete with winding dirt roads, rickshaws, chicken pens, thatched huts and fields and meadows and farms.
I walk up to the mushrooms and inspect them. One little bent mushroom is actually an old woman with an Asian hat on and wrinkly blue robes.
Another is a young boy who looks like he was running before he 'froze'
they are all stock still. unmoving. because Jenny and I are in the room, If we turn our backs to them, they reanimate. when we turn again. They freeze.
So we "turn" then "re-turn" several million times til the mushroom people are used to us and continue on their little mushroom lives and ignore us.
The mushroom people hate the old man owner of the mushroom and noodle inn/restaurant because the man gets all his mushrooms from their villages.
he comes in and grabs handfuls of innocent civilians. Chops them up and serves them with noodles.
Damn. They were tasty little buggers though.... dribble dribble...
-----
Then we are on the train agin. Only it's gotton even smaller! about 25 cms high!
We get off at another hall thing. And this place has a western cowboy look & feel to it.
I walk in and people are playing pool. They look up at me. I hold out a bottle of grog. I stick it in the freezer which seems to be the only other piece of furniture in the bare yellow floor-ed room besides the pool table and a wobbly round little table with an old faded blue glass vase on top.
They see what I have done. Content, they turn back to their game.
I get back on the train and travel to another cowboy hall.
The same thing happens several more times.
Then. I run out of alcohol. but I go in to check if they have any grog in the fridge which they do.
So i close the door and everyone cheers then goes back to their game.
I have started some sort of 'tradition' whereby all neewcomers to the cowboy halls must open the fridge and check it's contents.
Also. Now. The cowboys stick their grog in the fridge as opposed to letting it go yucky and room-temperature-d standing next to the wall.
Too good.
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