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Olympic Peninsula and the Lost Rainforest


Dear Danarel

I never heard about Olympic Peninsula before my  physician, to whom I told that I am going to Seattle, advised me to visit it.  It has a septentrional rainforest he casually said. I felt immediately a moral obligation to go because years before I visited the other existent septentrional one  on the Japanese island of Yakushima.  It was a question of equilibrium and correctness and between us I adore rainforests.  How I came alive from the soaked Yakushima disheveled woodland remained a mystery for me till today.  So I rent a red car in Seattle and blast off to find the ferryboat terminal. I got awfully lost in a harbor area during a holly Sunday between a meander of industrial plants guarded by giant grid fences and vicious shepherd dogs. The ferryboat was due to leave…God, you, destiny sent a righteous women who show me the light. I was on. After that I safely landed and drive into peninsula I got to speak with a sensate person  who was the tenant of an exceptional pet store owned by an enormous yellow tom cat. From her I understood that I am not going to see the rainforest. There are not roads through the national park. Even Indians, natives ones, the ones who survived, are living on the shores and run their souvenirs business on spots of  the highway. The rainforest treks are meant for wild hikers, well fed, young, in battle dress who came here in huge whale size RV (recreational vehicle) and stay for a while. With my exceptional quick wit I took a sharp decision especially because alternative was none. I went to see the feeders for native birds of the lady and I got both admirative and jealous. They were so many and so various that they seem to have a conference.  I drove to an enormously beautiful lake which was so pristine blue that even Yves Klein will die to see it,  wouldn’t he, alas, expired long ago. At a seemingly ranger station I got in a vague but polite argument  with a haggard  young lady who was unable to tell me which was the Olympus peak from the mountainous chain we faced.  The whole range was superb and covered by the most silky white snow mantel which made, maybe, the recognition  difficult for her, or she was plainly dumb. Two muscular dark Philippines approached me with the demand to tell from where the word  Olympic came and I was glad to give a free and lengthy lecture which was received friendly and patiently. Then I have seen a beautiful torrent with picturesque cascades where salmon is abundant when time is ripe for them to assure the coming into being of a new generation and wisely pass away. I agree. I dislike these super old who  pest their children with their ills  and insufficiencies until those became grandfathers too…Leave in time, while you will be still regretted,  should be taught from the kindergarden on… .There wasn’t any salmon around and unfortunately I had to leave too. Finally, I convinced a Japanese lady to give me a room in her motel at a discount price after telling astonishing details about my extensive travels in the country of the Rising Sun.  Her motel  had internet and  I got there the amazing story of Juan de Fuca, a Spanish pilot who was maybe Greek and who,   if he existed,  was indirectly at the origin of the land’ s name, i.e. Olympic Peninsula.. You will find it on the last photo…I was extremely happy of having had a quiet couple of days to amble into a kind of tourist pastoral postcard three-dimensional illustration surrounding without hair raising adventure but    I left still mulling over the necessity to come back and get into the rainforest, for God’ sake….

With respect,

The Wanderer




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