Add 2 points if you have a dreamcatcher swaying from the rearview mirror.
Subtract 1 if there’s a GPS on your dash.
If the female in your front seat has dirty hair: take 1.
Dirty AND full of dreds: collect 5.

This tiny town on the bay is the stage for an ongoing competition to see which campervan can be the most run-down yet still running (trump card for a vintage VW) and which set of inhabitants has the best aura and busking ability. (I vote the blonde with the accordion perched outside the supermarket.)

Although to be fair in this contest, we shouldn’t exclude those that aren’t showing off their musical abilities. There IS that gentleman selling “orange juice made with <3” and clippings of organic wheatgrass from a cart on the sidewalk. Or how about the ubiquitous female with homemade hemp jewelry, her printed harem pants billowing as she exits one of the many “ethnic urban” shops dotting Main Street?

Now it may sound like the only kinds of people to inhabit this place are the kind that hang their wet wash to dry in the neighborhood park, but the cast of characters in this town is vast and varied. There may be an incarnation of Father Time sitting in a slice of city green, a STAFF legitimately balanced across his lap, however 10 steps away on the sidewalk is another 65 year old man: a retiree in a bucket hat, window-shopping with an ice cream cone. Yes, you may notice a burly, bushy haired ragamuffin wobble by on a scooter (Eric contends he’s homeless) but if you follow his path down the sidewalk you’ll notice he passes more than one yuppie tourist whose shoes are perfectly coordinated to her pastel pink earrings.

This, my friends, is Takaka.
PS. Merry Christmas Eve.

-K

^ Xmas Eve dinner: lamb, green beans, and garlic mashed potatoes with cheese. Not pictured: a view of the beach outside our curtains.