Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Due to a cartwheeling chop to my left calf, by my right ski, on a mountaintop (and a subsequent grade two calf tear), I found myself with time to spare in regional Japan. Utilizing this down time like any sensible female Melburnian should, I went in pursuit of a pair of shoes – new snow boots, to be precise.
In an unassuming shoe shop, I saw them atop a display case. I swear they winked at me. A simple shape – a high ankle lace-up boot with a chunky sole. Lovely cream fur with a few gentle brown spots. I couldn’t fathom what they were made of, but for the Australian equivalent of $60 and fully sheepskin lined, that was enough. Purchase happily made, I left; divinely comfortable and warm, and manufactured by those resilient Canadians.
Back home two weeks later, my husband turns to me from his laptop and asks what had I bought in Nagano for $600?
“Nothing”, I replied indignantly, thinking that surely he’d know that I’d discuss such costs first.
“It was from a shoe shop in Nagano”, says he…
Serendipitously, this was on his birthday, so after the sickly, sinking feeling had abated somewhat I got to say “Surprise! Happy Birthday darling! I got us some boots for your birthday.”
After getting a local Nagano resident to confirm the true cost (yep, $600), I resigned myself to a lifetime of ridicule around currency conversion, and that is indeed playing out as anticipated. But those great little size 38s keep on giving. They are my choice of shoe all winter and I’ve not had a cold nor wet toe since they came into my life.
It seems I must have even worn them to swim laps, as a woman struck up a conversation with me as I exited the showers last July. “I noticed your boots”, she said, and proceeded to tell me of her family’s recent conversion to full veganism; how their lives had improved immeasurably; and were my boots seal skin?
“No, god no”, I said, with a certainty that I quickly felt ebbing away as I spoke.
“There’s nothing on them that says what they are made of. They’re made in Canada”, I lamely finished, as images of frozen tundras and seal hunters flickered through my brain.
I remain fully loyal and committed but the shiny buzz has been tarnished. Always niggling in the back of my mind is a picture – well, actually a poster. That which adorned my nine-year-old bedroom wall. Of a cute, white baby harp seal with enormous brown eyes, gazing lovingly at me in all its vulnerability.