Tokyo Road Journals – Part Five

2am – 4am (The Last Leg[s])
The Happy Crampy Mountain Hut Fun Camp was on the move. Mog’s alarm clock didn’t need to go off. Everybody else’s already had. I tried to sit up and a sharp pain struck me in the cut. It felt like I’d been stabbed with a chainsaw. Well, it had finally happened, like a cheating wife my legs had upped and left me. They didn’t even leave a note. Oh, they were still firmly attached…it wasn’t like I’d become Lieutenant Dan over night or anything, but for the moment they were frozen, almost paralyzed. After six months of walking, hiking and climbing my legs had given up. I’d come to believe that their current state of paralysis had nothing to do with the actual climbing from the day before but from the position I had been sleeping. Stuck between a Mog and a snoring place I found myself in an awkward spot. Comfort was even more impossible then bus travel on this hard mat. I slipped my bent my legs under my back for a moment and though this would not be my choice of sleeping position there they would stay as exhaustion kicked in and into slumber I fell. Two hours later my legs were cramped and as everyone filed out of the hut I was left with two painful legs that hadn’t woken up just yet. Mog was impatient and wanted to beat the crowds. I needed at least five minutes to stretch so off he went with a bit of early morning snide commentary I certainly had no patience for. I decided it was time to part ways with Mog before one of us, probably me, got tossed off this mountain. Our frustrations from hiking this beast mixed with our clashing personalities were getting the better of us. I had discovered hiking alone last night was the better course of action to take. Besides, I see him at the top. We’d come this far together. We could at least finish together. I found Mog heading up in the dark with at least a hundred others. Well, so much for picking out that choice spot on the mountain. The foreigners and their hiking guides were now ahead of us. Mog had purchased a headlamp back at the 5th station and it served us well last night. This morning it would not be needed as dozens of flashlights, those Japanese lightsaber like sticks and even a couple lighters provided enough luminance to see the road. This crowd was a mighty speed bump and I had no intention of being stuck at the end of the line. I told Mog that I was going to turn on the speed to beat the crowd. “Whatever you want,” he said clearly as focused on ending this as much as I was. I made my way quickly through the crowd careful to not bump into anybody for fear of setting of a chain reaction of tumbling hikers. I walked like a man possessed, a machine. I had to see the top of this thing no matter what the cost. It still looked so far away, like every step I was taking the top of the mountain was taking five to keep it’s distance. Did I just pass Pacino? Naawwwww. This part, I think, was to be the easiest part of the long climb up Fuji. I was refreshed, somewhat, from a night of none-movement and the rocks were the easier to climb upon kind as opposed to the loose stone. I made good time and I don’t think I stopped at all. There was no reason to now. We were racing to beat the sunrise, the main reason why we’d all come, and I wasn’t going to be caught on the side of the mountain when that flaming ball crested over the horizon. Up, up and away. To infinity and beyond. Hi-ho Silver…or something. But then came the inevitable traffic jam. You get that many people climbing up the same path eventually you are going to be stalled and about an hour into my mad dash to the summit of Fuji I crashed right into some gridlock. I’d move two steps and then be forced to stop for three minutes, two steps, stall, two steps, stall and the hike would proceed like this until people at the front of the line made it to the top where there was more space to fill. This was frustrating because I had all this energy and I couldn’t unleash it. I wanted to just crowd surf over all these people. Maybe I could dig? If only I had packed a jetpack. When the line started moving at a brisker speed I would find patches in the people to get me up faster. When everybody was taking the same route, I’d head off to the side, leap with the agility of a goat, and latch onto the rocks heaving myself upward. In retrospect this was all very stupid. I was burning myself out but at the time it seemed imperative that I get up there before the sunrise and in that goal I succeeded. After 8 hours of hiking, five hours of a cramped cabin hut, one bag of popcorn, a Snickers bar and half a bottle of water I’d made it to the top of Mount Fuji. Instantly I wanted to pass out. The air up here was thick and though it was cool I felt dizzy. I sat down for a moment to get my bearings. My clothes were drenched, my hat once white was now blackened by mountain dust from the black rocks. It would be about ten minutes before I managed to stand up again on a pair of wobbly legs but at least they were working. Here on the mountain peak the hundreds had gathered. You had to fight your way through the crowds that had packed in front of the huts offering hot food, drinks and summit based souvenirs. You could get coins engraved with the date showing a picture of the mountain, belt buckles, cards, fans and was that a snow globe? Nearly everything you could purchase as a keepsake read: “In memory of reaching the top of Mt. Fuji.” As I was perusing the merchandise I’d never purchase a woman fainted next to me. She fell hard, her head smashing against the side of the table. Instantly a crowd was around her lead by the man running the souvenir table. He started shaking her, smacking her in the face and shouting at her. Surely this man was not a medical professional. Somebody pushed through the crowd with an oxygen can and the woman was given some air. In a matter of puffs her eyes began to flutter and then opened. She was helped to her feet by two women and together they walked the still partially unconscious woman around as the crowd dispersed. Yes, Fuji is not to be trifled with. It was cold up here. I looked down at the hikers still on their way up. Things were going to be pretty packed in a few minutes, worse then it already was. All those lights down there were all attached to somebody, right? I warmed up by dipping in and out of the huts always a step ahead of the watchful eyes of the owners. I wouldn’t stay too longer, that’d be suspicious. I’d step in, pretend to be reading the menu, find a seat a group of people and when I felt like I was about to get the boot I stepped out and into another cabin continue in a rotation for a half hour or so. I also took some time to pick out a spot or two on the mountain side that would give Mog and I the best view of the sunrise. Turns out despite it all we still had a pretty good choice of seating. As I was midway though my bag of banana chips I spotted Mog. Some early light was breaking now and I showed him the spot near the torri gate I’d found and as he set up his tripod for what was sure to be some beautiful pictures I headed up to my second choice a little higher up the mountain. It’s like I’d downed a vat of Gatorade. I was invigorated. I took my seat on the rocks and waited.















Sunrise
Alright, the sunrise was worth it. It all happened in slow motion. First the stars vanished one by one. Then the black turned to a deep blue. The blue then turned to yellow and the clouds below looked like some kind of lemon cotton candy. Yellow then mixed with orange perfectly and at approximately four-thirty it happened. The main event. The reason I’d lugged my aching ass up the side of this mountain. Was this it, I had been thinking? Sure, it was beautiful, a sky of pure art, oranges and reds in a brilliant melding over cloud but wasn’t there supposed to be sun? And then it came, a blinding red ball setting the sky on fire. It rose slowly allowing us to intake it’s splendor and grandeur. Most of us shielded our eyes it was so beaming. Below the clouds cleared the miniature cities and roads and lakes and trees were bathed in orange. People around me started to cry, the sight before them so wondrous it provoked tears. Some things cannot be justified by words.


Here the photos speak for themselves.






Later
After asking a few people to take some photos of me with the sunrise backdrop I found Mog further down the path. We both hiked up to a small torri at one of the peaks on the peak. Here people have placed coins in the cracks for luck as well as left the bells from their walking sticks. This meant the climb back down would be a lot less noisy. Mog tossed his on the pile and pointed off to a building on the other side of the peak. “That,” he said, “is the highest point in Japan.” He must have breathed in a great second wind as he wanted to walk the outer crater of the volcano (hasn’t erupted in years, folks, though I hear it’s due any time now) to get to the that point. I looked back at the path heading down and then looked again towards that highest peak and thought, ahh, what the hell. We’d climbed this far and what’s a few steps more. Of course, this didn’t make my body happy as I had lead it on to thinking it would soon be heading down and now we were heading on up again.








Halfway to the top of the top, as I had come to think of it, we noticed Fuji’s shadow cast onto the valley and clouds below, that perfect cone so iconic in Japanese imagery. After a few of those long breaks, we made it to the building but there was a lineup so we didn’t go any farther which meant we kind of made it to the top of the top. The fact of the matter is we had made it next to the top of the top as the highest peak was the observatory everybody was lined up to see. I was satisfied at the distance we had covered. I didn’t need to go any higher. Mog was with me on this one and we rounded the crater to find that post office we’d been looking for. I mailed off those postcards (Dad, you have a card coming for the birthday which is why you won’t find a Fuji card in your mailbox), visited the washroom and finished off the banana chips. All that was left of my climbing provisions was a few sips of water and the sandwiches.






The Downward Road
Heading down I had a sinking feeling that we were going the wrong way. This was confirmed by checking my Lonely Planet against the road signs. The path back to the bus stop at Kawagutiko was all the way on the other side of the mountain. It was too late to turn back now. I had no idea where we were headed now that we were going down the opposite side of the mountain. Mog wasn’t concern, his laid back attitude again conflicting with my worrying. Was there a way back to the bus stop? How was I going to get back to Tokyo? Surely there were buses or taxis down below but where would they take me? How much would they cost? Mog’s nonchalant attitude was frustrating although most of that was the fatigue talking. Now fueled by my damned anxiety decided once again to part with Mog so that I could make for a faster speed downward. I’d wait for him at the base of the mountain, I thought, having already discovered the best routes to get back to where we had started from. Hadn’t he left his red duffel bag there? He’d certainly have to return unless he wanted to leave behind a perfectly good laptop.


The walk down was an easier journey then the walk up and, really, there is not much to write about here. The loose rocks came back but I used them as slide to propel me. Only once did I fall and it was on the harder rocks. I misjudged a rock thinking it to be lodged into he mountain side when really it was loose and when I stepped on it I twisted my leg. It could have been much worse, I’m sure, but it made for a painful walk down as a slight bending of the knee caused sharp jolts of pain to spike into my left leg. My quick pace was considerably weakened as I now limped to the bottom of Fuji stopping only to finish my water twice in the three to four hours it took getting down. Though it was easier to get back down this may have been the biggest toll doled out on the mind by the mountain. You’ve already spent a day climbing this thing, your body is ravaged and now you have to head back down. I just wanted off. I was done with this mountain, the huts, the high priced merchandise and food, the sunrise, the sunset, Al Pacino, flashlights, road signs, rocks and dust! Christ, from the shortened length of these journal entries I’m even sick of writing about it! I would reach the bottom of Mount Fuji at 10am this morning, 16 hours after I started the climb. The full extent of the hike hadn’t set in yet. This type of energy exertion and physicality always hits you after a night of sleep. I could tell just by looking at my dust stained clothes and skin that I was in for the most painful weekend of my life. I broke open the sandwiches which I’d been saving for this moment. They had been my carrot at some points on the hike…the sweet thought of strawberry jam was keeping me going. After a quick bite I visited the bus station and spoke to the taxi drivers. Actually, I talked to an elderly man who seemed to be running this 5th station stop (on this side of the mountain there were no tourist shops or large restaurants…just a small building and an even smaller diner). The man didn’t understand me so he found some women in the parking lot who could speak a bit of English. Together all three of them managed to comprehend that I was trying to find the best possible route back to Kawagutiko and if not there then back into Tokyo. The old men lead me to the cab drivers parking which also happened to be the bus stop. The cabbie told me it would cost $165 to get from one end of the mountain to the other due to expensive highway tolls. Ridiculous! That was nearly the cost of my hotel and bus ticket up to and back from Tokyo combined! The other option was the bus. The woman at the counter told me I would have to catch a bus to a train station called Shin-Fuji and from there I’d have to catch a bullet train back to Tokyo. The cost was not as high as the cab, it would be more comfortable and a hell of a lot quicker. The next bus was leaving soon but Mog still hadn’t made it down yet and he had to go and get his duffel. I decided to wait for him to see what he wanted to do. When he came down from the mountain thirty minutes later his mood was less then favorable. Despite his “Do what you want” urgings the entire climb he appeared to be upset that I’d “ditched” him. I tried to explain that this was not the case as I was still there, wasn’t I, and wanted to pass on the travel options I’d discovered with the help of the old men and the English speaking Japanese women but after finding out the cab price Mog asked if I’d found out about buses to other cities around the base of the mountain. I admitted I hadn’t though of that and he rolled his eyes in a look of pure, bitter disgust, heatedly told me to stay where I was and he went off to find out about these other buses. He would never come back. I wasn’t very sore about it and, to tell you the truth, I was pretty glad he was gone. Our relationship had soured over the course of the two days partially because of our different personalities, partially because of my eccentricities and partially because of a mountain that had did us both in. With Mog gone off to wherever it was Mog had gone off to I bought my bus ticket, boarded and was on my way back to Tokyo.




Endings
In total the trip back here to Tokyo station took about four hours. I slept most of the way and nearly missed the stop. When I woke up my legs were numb, especially the one I had twisted but sleep had done me well and I was able to function with fair stability considering. I was six hours early for my bus back to Osaka so I passed the time walking around the station area taking more photographs of the architecture. I also spent about an hour inside a nearing Starbucks nursing a caramel ice-cap and digging deeper into the life of Duddy Kravitz. Interesting character, that kid is. With the sun setting a fired off some more photos of the buildings around the station in contrast to the orange sky before taking a seat in the lobby of the bus depot to read a few more chapters of my book. I think I nodded off a few times but I really can’t be sure. Tell you the truth, everything has been a blur since getting back into Tokyo. I’ve been walking around in a daze. It’s as if my body is rejecting the idea that it is no longer moving upwards. Okay, my bus has just arrived. It’s time to go home.

1130pm
I’m having trouble sleeping. Can you believe that? After everything I’m having trouble sleeping! There is no creepy person in the seat next to me on this ride. There is no person there at all. I am able to stretch out. It is needed. The after effects of the mountain hike have attacked every part of me now. Even my hair hurts. I think of how, about 14 hours ago, I was cursing that mountain for what it was doing to me and now, looking back, fuck I’m still cursing it but I’m no longer regretting it as I had been in my descent frustration. Fuji was not all I’d hoped it would be but then again what was I expecting from the mountain? Amusement parks and reasonably priced chocolate? No, what I was expecting was an experience. Sure, maybe on that didn’t make my body feel like it’s been steamrollered onto broken glass and thumbtacks but I’ll except that experience any way it wants to be served. Fuji is not the prettiest mountain I’ve ever been on. The surroundings are pretty bland when you sit it next to the Microwave Tower out in BC but climbing Fuji in the end was not about the view. Yes, I told myself I was climbing to the top for the sunrise but even this was just a small slice of a bigger whole. Climbing Fuji, like staying in a Buddhist temple, seeing a Sumo match or bumping into a Kyoto Geisha, is just another uniquely Japanese experience, maybe the biggest. I came to this country for something different, foreign and alien to me and every day I live that desire because everyday I wake up and step outside into a land so different then where I’d spent the last 29 years of my life. Fuji, I think, is the culmination of everything that has brought me here. Really, how do you get bigger then the Fuji pilgrimage, a hike into the clouds made by the ancients years ago and thousands annually? All around me on the peak of that mountain, below, rolled out the country I’ll call home for a short while longer. Looking down from the top of the world, at least your current island world, is a perspective altering experience and when my dusty sneaker touched road again the final tick was made on my list of Must Do List of Japanese experiences. Fuji was always on the top and thus it is only fitting that I’d end with it. There will be no more trips now. The rest of my time in Japan will be spent saving and working now that the last puzzle piece has been set down. Fuji was exhausting but a week or so from now when the pain subsides and I am able to walk again without wincing the memory will remain. Like the men on the mountain branding sticks, the thoughts of Fuji are branded to my brain as a place I can return to in memory whenever I so desire. Would I do it again, some of you might wonder? Would I make that hike one more time?

Oh

Hell

No!!!!!!!!

I close now with an old Japanese saying: “Man who climb Fuji once is a wise man. Man who climb Fuji twice is very foolish man.” I don’t intended to shed my Fuji gained wisdom any time soon.