The human male’s knee is bothering him even more today, because he didn’t take it as easy as he should yesterday. The human female, who I suspect has NO nurturing instincts whatsoever, rather than stay at the hotel to take care of him, has gotten it into her head to explore some of the outer reaches of the city on her own. Apparently she wants to look at places in some book she read.
As hare-brained as that notion is, I actually like this plan. Divide and conquer. If I tag along, I can annoy her without the human male interfering. And maybe I can get her good and lost. That would be fun!
So here we are, on the 7 train headed for one of the eastern bouroughs. Sign has joined us because she heard the female talking about a garden. “Garden” is the magic Sigyn word. It works even better than “please.”
We have arrived. But where are we? Mortal, are you sure we are in the right city? And not in some foreign country? I can’t read any of the signs! (Well, all right. That one down there says, “pharmacy,” but what about the others?!)
There are a number of fruit sellers, and on this blazing hot day, their succulent wares are quite tempting, but again, I can’t read what anything is. Those look like watermelons, but who knows what’s inside?
I think the human really may be lost. She has been standing on the street for a quarter of an hour now, alternately checking the map on her phone, the file of landmarks on her phone, and the “you are here” signpost on the sidewalk. (Of course, it doesn’t help that I magicked the sign on the post so that it has north at the bottom.) It’s gonna take her a while to figure it all out.
Rats and hurrah! She has discovered my little trick and correctly oriented herself (boo!), but she has achieved her destination and Sigyn is happy.
This place is rather pretty for a site that used to be an ash and slag heap. You see what can be done with a little effort, mortal? This should fire you up and go home and do something with that disgrace you call a “garden.”
There is a quaint little bridge over a tiny waterfall. It feels very good to be in the shade after traipsing about and riding the subway all day.
The calendar is suspended somewhere between spring and summer. Sigyn calls this “spiraea-dangling season.”
And if you can’t find spiraea, fringe-tree will do.
I cannot decide which is more photogenic, this pale-flowered sweet shrub…
… or my beloved Sigyn.
Sigyn is wishing that peonies would grow back in Texas.
Sorry, beloved, there are some things even my magic cannot achieve.
We might be able to do something about roses, though. This is an inspiring collection.
Well, how rude! Some group of wealthy mortals has rented out a good portion of this garden for a private party! The temporary “no entry” signs are almost as annoying as their loud rap “music.” For depriving my sweetie of the opportunity to enjoy the entirety of this place, I think they will now find that the wedding cake is actually frosted styrofoam and the punch has salt instead of sugar…
(later) After much walking and more time spent on the subway (which is not actually subterranean this far from city center) and some more walking, we have now reached one of the other places the human female has read about.
The International Night Market springs up each Saturday evening like a toadstool after rain.
No one gets in ahead of official opening time when this gorgon is on guard duty!
At last it is time to wander in. Various morsels and concoctions are filling the air with delicious aromas. We could, if we chose, dine on octopus balls or shark sandwiches.
Sigyn has elected to try this arepa instead, apparently because she thinks the word is fun to say. “Arepa.” “Arrepa.” “Arrrrepa!” Good for r-rolling practice, if nothing else.
Sigyn, what even is this?! poke, poke, poke. I don’t trust it.
(nibble.) Ah. It is a corn griddle cake of some sort, topped with a crumbly, tangy cheese. Not bad, but not very satisfying if one has a craving for meat. I think I saw a grilled steak booth in the last row… I shall return.
We have now looked at all the food booths and browsed in the wares that are for sale. We are hot, tired, and ready for a cool shower. Sigyn, let us teleport back to the inn and leave the human female to slog her way back to the train station, endure a lengthy cross-town ride, and then slog from the train station back to the room.
Then, when she does some of the accumulated laundry in the inn’s washroom, I’ll see to it that the dryer stops after five minutes and eats up aaaall her quarters…