Climbing Mt. Fuji: A Tale of Misadventure in Three Parts

Part III: Down to Earth

The number 3,776 (meters above sea level- Fuji's summit) will be forever etched in my mind by the mild trauma I endured to get there. In terms of recovery, I am shocked that since I’ve come back I have all the signs of complete mental and physical soundness, even after all of the viciousness that mountain threw at me. I still expect somewhere down the line a condition will develop or a sudden or gradual loss of sanity will occur and I will have this little “adventure” to blame. But for now I seem to be ok. As more time passes, I forget why it was so bad, and even think I would do it again… I should probably take this as a sign that I’m losing it. 

Now where were we?

Maybe this will give you a better idea of how the trail was

...No matter how hard I tried, I could not get warm. The shivering was now constant. Perhaps due to lack of sleep or my preoccupation with my physical condition, I wasn’t really aware of whether I was truly at the top of the mountain or not. And I didn’t care. I also realized that there would be no sunrise! We were essentially inside a storm cloud, with very limited visibility. Again, I was hardly able to be concerned. I saw that people were going inside some kind of building (the same one I had been sitting against possibly?) and I rushed to join them.

Once inside, I was focused on trying to get warm- taking my gloves off, rubbing my hands together, jogging in place. I began to realize that it was actually some kind of shrine- there were several Shinto monks standing behind a counter passing out amulets in return for some coins. My despair grew- how could a sheltered room packed with people generate no heat for my frozen body? (It didn’t occur to me that with my saturated ensemble in the freezing temperatures, I was basically a human icicle!) A stranger handed me something. A small heated pouch of the kind I have usually seen microwaved and used to reduce muscle pain. I thanked the man and he disappeared. I set about using it to try to make my hands warm. If only I had a few hundred of these right now! (My friend later informed me that most people on the mountain were probably carrying them, as was she. Because that’s what you do in cold weather in Japan, didn’t I know that?)

“You look very cold.” My ears perked up at the sound of my own language. Another foreigner dressed in a similar lack of appropriate gear had wandered into the shrine. “There is a restaurant next door where you can get hot soup- maybe that will help.” I followed him out of the shrine back into the wind. Inside the next lodge, a group of his colleagues were waiting for meals. They had apparently come to Japan on business and decided last minute to do a side-trip to Fuji- except they hadn’t packed accordingly. One man from Iceland had been certain that his national origin would be preparation enough- he was wearing a thin wool sweater and had only recently swapped his shorts for pants. The others had little more in the way of winter-ready attire. We all stood there, a collective of fools on display for others’ amusement (I really do hope though that our sorry state was at least good for a laugh for bystanders).

We inquired about the weather conditions; the lodge proprietors explained that it was not advisable to climb down at the moment. But after an hour of standing around in wet clothing, we realized that we needed to try. I couldn’t wait anymore to look for my friends- they had either not made it or had already come and gone, without us ever bumping into each other. I figured it was better to stay with this group. We started our descent.

I couldn’t wear my gloves at all because they were wet and would make my hands even colder. I alternated carrying my stick with one and putting the other in a wet pocket. The walking wasn’t fast enough to generate heat either. There was another line to get down. This got old very quickly, and we decided to pass people- some members were going more slowly though, and since they were friends they kept waiting for each other. But I really could no longer afford to do so. I told them I’d meet them at the 8th station and picked up the pace. Never saw them again either.

Have a rest here- this post is almost as long as the climb down! Haha

The next station contained a large crowd. After waiting a long time just to get through the bottleneck between the building and a fence, I stopped inside and asked how long it would take to get down. When I was told 5 hours, I started to panic a bit. I had already been outside for 12 hours! A friendly English-speaking staff member advised me to just keep moving and not wait for anybody. I also bought another pair of gloves (they were soaked in an hour).

I was now booking it down the mountain. The trail had separated into Up and Down paths and also converted once again into switchbacks. These were steep enough on the ascent- on the way down, they proved even more tricky. Pebbles slid under my feet like marbles on a concrete floor. While others had hiking boots and rock-guards around their ankles and moved almost effortlessly down the mountain, I only had my poor, battle-weary tennis shoes to convey me earthward. I skidded downward, nearing a speed comparable to skiing. Hitting a particularly unstable mound of them meant sliding out of control. There were quite a few times when I couldn’t regain my equilibrium- the result: bouncing down the mountain on my ass. One exceptionally spectacular fall had me trying to catch my balance by throwing my weight to the side… I ended up flailing my arms wildly, doing a 360 degree spin and sailing headfirst down the slope! People came to my aid, only to discover me laughing hysterically. I must have looked like a maniac!

Just a moment later, I discovered my friend waiting alongside the path. It was so relieving to find her- I had been wondering how we would meet up again, what with our phones not working. I had assumed I could get back to the city by myself- but I had mostly been focused on actually making it down the mountain. She told me that she had only made it as far as the 9^th station- by the time she reached it, the weather was so bad that they started sending people back down. (Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have been up there). We started down together, but she was still moving at a snail’s pace (she’d been mobile for two extra hours and started down before me!), so I told her I would move on and meet her at the Fifth station.

It seemed to take ages to reach the Sixth- the Seventh gets the skip on the descent path, not to mention there was a longer distance to walk back this time. But I was finally on the home stretch! And it was finally not freezing. Unfortunately, my knees were not cooperating, as the repeated smashing of my patella into my tibia on the way down had caused quite a lot of pain. I was now having to so a sideways crab-scuttle to continue descending, and I could no longer move quickly. I just wanted it to be over already! I was tempted to use my remaining strength to kick all of the people who were passing me in apparently cheerful moods. At long last I made it though, resisting the urge to lift my arms in the air in a victory gesture as I approached the Fifth. I immediately went to a restroom to attempt to find some dry clothes within my pack- to no avail! I selected the least soaked items, dejectedly put them back on, and went to wait for my friend…

Hateful clouds on the evil mountain

Thankfully, we went to an onsen before heading back to the city- I had to make amends with my body for so egregiously mistreating it. Relaxing in a hot mineral bath was exactly what I needed at the end of this excursion! When we got on the bus to head home, I looked back at the mountain through the window. Clouds were still gathered around it, and I thought of the people who must at that moment be attempting to navigate that mad, swirling snow-globe… I laughed to myself. Good riddance Fuji!!!

Additional updates: I never saw the group that we were meant to meet up with. Apparently they had the same problem my friend did, having to go back down because of the weather. Only 3 out of 11 of them made it to the summit.

The assertion by a colleague, who had previously done the climb, that I would “ruin a pair of sneakers” was absolutely correct. My 10-year old reliable pair of tennis shoes that has traveled all over the world with me sadly didn’t make it. Bless their soles.

My poor shoes! Their soles have separated from their bodies haha, time for a funeral.
...or maybe I can resurrect them by doing some triage with Shoe Glue?

Oh yeah, and the moral of the story: ‘Survival of the fittest’ is clearly just theory.

Wait, I’m not sure that’s the lesson I was supposed to learn…

Climbing Mt. Fuji: A Tale of Misadventure in Three Parts

Part II: Mountain Climbing is for Suckers

Holy %&#*! This is insane! Without a doubt this is the most strenuous physical challenge I have ever undertaken in my life, and it's being performed on a freezing cold mountain where I have now been exposed to the elements for more than six hours, with at least two more to go before even reaching the top (oh and completely forgot about the way down). There is a long line of idiots waiting for their turn to take just one step forward up an increasingly vertical path on this mountain, and I'm among them. Why, oh why did I think this was a good idea?! No wonder there's a suicide forest at the bottom of this mountain- I'm about ready to chuck myself down! I should definitely turn back. I am not prepared for this clothing-wise, not to mention mentally or physically. Oh look, there's some snow a few steps over- good thing you are dressed for winter. Oh look, there's ice collecting on your dollar-store gloves and you're starting to lose feeling in your hands. Moron!!!

lights going up the mountain-
the last time I had the wherewithal to take a photo

By the time I reached the 7th station I was already freezing. I went straight into a bathroom and upon discovering that heated toilet seats were not only possible but actually existed (!) at nearly 9,000 feet, I proceeded to take full advantage and sit for what seemed like 10 minutes. When I exited, there was a line... but you just can't care too much about other people when you're an idiot up a mountain in far less than adequate all-cotton clothing that you would wear to walk your dog for a half hour in a Wisconsin winter. I set out again.

I hated my life from the 7th to the 8th station. Rounding each corner provided some fresh hell. Suddenly the trail was not a trail anymore but a veritable traffic jam of people hauling themselves up boulders, having to wait for the person in front of them to move in order to gain just one more hand- or foot-hold. I stood sullenly in the queue, cursing under my breath in increasing dismay at how long and difficult and cold it was. I made a mental note to tell my sister that there was NO WAY I would be keeping our plans to climb Kilimanjaro when I visit her in Africa next year. When I arrived at the 8th, I threw myself down on the wooden floor next to the lodge doors. I had to wait for a long time before I could even manage the line for the toilet. When I went in I was thinking I was lucky it hadn't rained yet. After emerging only a short time later, I realized that my luck had just run out. Water had been added to the equation: cold + wind - intelligent planning = misery.

I lost my friend after the 8th station. She had just arrived when I was ready to head out again. 11:40pm was the last time I saw her that night. I never connected with the group either. From that moment on I was truly on my own. The next segment was a blur. Somewhere along the line I probably started to lose my ability to process complete thoughts. I must have been uttering pathetic whimpers as I slipped on the rocks and tried to prevent myself from getting blown off the side of the mountain. I can no longer distinctly recall arriving at the Main 8th Station (yes, there were two 8^th stations for whatever reason). In trying to find out the name of the lodge I was near, in case it was the place I was meant to meet my friend, I bumped into a girl whose accent I recognized as Midwestern- she was actually from Wisconsin. This gave me renewed energy as I now had someone to commiserate with. We both joked about how mental it was that every Japanese person on the mountain was overly prepared (in reality, we were actually keenly envious of their lack of suffering). We set off toward the top together.

When we reached the 9th station and realized that it was just an abandoned building half-buried by stones, we stopped to get some reprieve from the biting wind that was hurling ice at us (it was below freezing at that altitude). It wasn't long however before we had to continue; we would never make it to the top if we didn't a) get in the line and b) keep moving to stay warm. We were again scrambling up the rocks with our hands. I had to stop and rest so I lost her; after the short-lived camaraderie, I was alone again. I staggered on, losing feeling in my fingers and eventually my hands. I appear to have blocked out the rest of that time, but my next memory is of seeing a torii (arch in front of Japanese shrines), which made me realize that I was nearing the top, or crossing the threshold of death… either way I was pretty positive about my journey nearing an end.

When I climbed over the edge and saw that people were gathering alongside a structure and no longer walking forward, I dragged myself over to an empty space. Two middle-aged Japanese men were sitting in a doorway, and I pushed myself into the corner. I tried to set my backpack in front of me to create a barricade against the wind. I also pulled out a towel to try to get some warmth- it was soaked in seconds. I was heavily shivering, and the men tried to talk to me out of apparent concern: “Daijobu desuka?” “Yes, I’m ok,” I managed. They pushed their taller backpacks around me to further shield me from the wind. I slumped forward to try to retain my core heat… and fell asleep.

I woke up suddenly and sat bolt upright. I realized that everyone had gone, except for the two climbers next to me. They seem to have been waiting for me, because once they saw that I was awake they again asked if I was ok and then said goodbye, explaining that they were going to meet a friend. As there was still about 20 minutes to sunrise, I set about trying to get warm. That’s when I realized I couldn’t. I was shivering uncontrollably, trying to exercise to get blood back into my extremities. It was getting lighter outside, which revealed that my hands were actually turning blue. I also couldn’t feel the lower half of my face. I could feel that every single layer that I had on down to the last was thoroughly and completely drenched. There was nothing warm or dry in my pack because of the shoddy rain cover that kept blowing off on the entire climb. I had to move…

Climbing Mt. Fuji: A Tale of Misadventure in Three Parts

*this post is dedicated to my sister, who left this week for Zambia to volunteer for 27 months in the United States Peace Corps- read about her experience here: http://polar-bear-travels.blogspot.com/

Part I: "Ready" to "Hike"

first view from the bus

When I woke up on the bus I was staring right at it: Mt. Fuji standing solidly against the sky. In stark contrast to most of the iconic photos I've seen of it, it wasn't blue with a perfect white dome and strategically placed cherry blossoms peeking out from beyond your peripheral vision; the monolith, in its current condition, was the color of cocoa fading into a dark green kilt at the tree-line, with wisps of cloud at the top clinging close to the sides of the cone, as if magnetized. It didn't look so high or abrupt compared to other mountains I've seen, and that gave me some relief. Until I took note of the snow. I suppose I had heard that temperatures could be below freezing at the summit, but I also didn't picture that in the middle of summer there would still be great swaths of the stuff strewn down the side of it...

me thinking I'm ready... ha!

Nevertheless I wasn't worried. We got off of the bus at the 5th station, slightly more than halfway up the mountain. My friend and I got ready to start. There was an immediately recognizable difference in the way we had prepared. She had all the proper attire- waterproof pants, a winter jacket, hiking boots, scarf, and ski gloves. I was wearing three shirts (only one of which was long-sleeved), a sweatshirt, socks (an extra pair in my bag), white tennis shoes, leggings and two pairs of pants, none of which were waterproof. I pulled the look all together with a tank top tied around my neck in lieu of a scarf- only the highest in fashion for me! (I would put on my autumn jacket just an hour later, with a thin, only moderately-rain-repellant coat, to realize in an amused/disturbed way that it was the warmest I would be for the entire climb). The rest of our group would be along later and would catch up with us at some point, as they planned to climb faster. Phones weren't working but we trusted that we'd be able to meet up easily enough at one of the checkpoints on the mountain.

this way to the "trail" 

We grabbed some wooden hiking sticks and set off. The trail from the 5th to the 6th stations was in most ways the leisurely stroll I had joked about taking up this volcanic "hill". Dusk was settling peacefully down, lights were appearing in towns in the valley, ghostly fingers of clouds were creeping up between the cream-colored corkscrew branches of the forest below. The haunted quality of the atmosphere seemed apt, as I was also aware that this forest, Aokigahara (nicknamed Jukai, "The Sea of Trees"), is a famous place in Japan for people to go to take their own lives. The presence of the forest skews the region's suicide statistics, as even many out-of-towners make the trek here to end it all. It made for an interesting backdrop, at the very least.

From the 6th station to the 7th station, the difficulty of the trail increased significantly. From here, we traveled on steep-angled switchbacks, laden with small pebbles that had the effect of quicksand, feet getting sucked down spitefully so that you had to use extra force to take each step. By this time my friend was well behind me, deciding to take her time to walk slowly and rest- I trudged onward and told her I would meet her at the next station. Volcanic dust was wafting into my eyes now, which caused me to turn around and look down the mountain. A burst of color caught my eye. Fireworks without sound, from some unknown festival back on Earth, appeared in the dark. I became aware of the pervasive silence that surrounded me as I stood there- neither the wind nor my own breath made any noise. It was utterly and forebodingly quiet, but peaceful.

I noticed I was having to rest more and more often due to the altitude robbing me of my endurance. There were times when I did not see a single other climber on this supposedly crowded mountain for many minutes. The wind also began to pick up, inversely to the temperature. I continued...

view from above at dusk

Cat Café

As published July 12, 2012 in Living in Japan: Culture/Travel for Gaijinpot.com

http://injapan.gaijinpot.com/play/travel/2012/07/12/cat-cafe/

If this were Vietnam, the term “cat café” might lead you to question whether the establishment offered a dubious menu consisting of feline dishes. Thankfully, Japan has no such intentions for neko. Cat cafes are common in cities here, with patrons paying to spend time with the creatures in a home-like setting- you can also enjoy a beverage (provided you can keep it free from cat hair).

I recently visited a cat café in Nagoya to see what it was all about.

Storefront price listing and headshots

A few of the residents

House rules

So relaxed… who wouldn’t be with that dreamy music playing in the background

Even more relaxed

Would-be cat burglar- best not leave your tea unattended

Getting a better view

Why yes, I would like a massage. Thanks!

Oh, are we done playing hide-and-seek?

Cat-themed manga included in cost

As well as celebrity autobiographies- Youtube star Maru’s book (he likes boxes!)

Gollum kitty

Sanitation station

Oh you’re leaving? Never even noticed you were here

Overall, the experience was satisfactory. For ¥700 (less than US$9), I spent half an hour with some furry friends. The cats seemed well looked-after. They were well-groomed and never showed signs of stress (there were informative cartoon posters telling the humans how to behave themselves). We had to sanitize our hands before entering and a woman was perpetually wiping down every surface in the place. A male patron played with willing participants the entire time we were there- he kept flicking a stick with a stuffed mouse on a string that left some of the critters mesmerized.

Without even realizing it, I had dissolved into a state of relaxation. This appears to be the purpose of cat cafes- many Japanese people live in small apartments and work long hours, so while they can’t own these pets they can at least visit on occasion. For travelers, I would definitely recommend checking out a cat cafe- it’s a chance to experience something unique to Japan, and to hang out with some cute kittehs!