Why The Mafia Doesn't Mess With Waste-Disposal In Japan

The Japanese love of organization, compartmentalization, and perhaps most press-it-to-your-heart-and-sigh-ingly, of unity (homogeneity?) is no secret. The flood of black-suited workers to the cities every morning, the uniformly uniformed students who greet the line of teachers waiting before the schools’ entrances, even the cookie cutter layouts and substance of every city seem to betray a reverence for similitude rarely seen elsewhere. With this said, it should come as no surprise that the disposing of one’s garbage would be a task almost Herculean in its exactitude and nearly reaching the tremendous heights of annoyance achieved by J-Pop singers. But who would have thought it’d be so well policed?
My section of my neighborhood has its refuse pick-up point about two blocks from my apartment. It is a rudimentary but sturdy metal box with grated sides that would comfortably fit about eight standing adults. (perhaps 5 if they were American) The regular collection dates are Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday. The former and the latter are for burnables-of which I have a very specific list-and Wednesday is for plastics. Other items have separate collection dates once a month. Were I a newspaper subscriber I would only be able to rid myself of the spent print once a month. Same goes for bottles, jars, and cans. What if you are out of town that one day? Then you have a couple of bags of paper sitting in a corner in your kitchen. And if you then miss it again, and again, and two more times after that you likely have a kitchen that looks similar to mine.
I take my recyclables and trash to the collection site on my way to school-approximately 7:30-as it remains locked the night before. One might think that by this point it would be easy, that I would simply sling the bags from my bike’s handlebars and leave them in their place. Well it surely would be, were it not for the vigilant morning-trash-volunteer who waits, with possible sadistic glee, to reprimand me every collection day.
The first scolding I got occurred when, after running out of the designated burnables bags, I had resorted to using the recyclable materials bag instead. I was promptly turned away, bags in hand. I was also turned away later for trying to skate by with grocery bags. My thoughts were being that everything there was trash, and that all the neighborhood was doing trash, the truck would only be carrying trash leaving little possibility for confusion. This reasoning is beyond my grasp of Japanese and I had to leave it with a skeptical look.
The next time was perhaps a manifestation of the importance of respect in Japanese culture, perhaps just that of my trash-volunteer’s growing fondness for the subject of his free time. Either way, I was chastised for brazenly letting the bags fall from my hands to the piles of other trash bags rather than gentle setting them upon their kin-for which I was given a tutorial.
After that I was informed I needed to be writing my name and address on my bags in case they contained contraband.
Last Tueday, after gently positioning my named, address, and properly bagged trash atop the pile, I was feeling pretty confident. Trash volunteer, however, not to be deterred, looked at my bicycle and asserted cheerily, “You have no light on your bike. Very dangerous.”

Wish I could of seen the whole thing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebhA6mdVzIU

I can't decide if the debates are getting better or worse.

　 I invented a great little activity yesterday. Great in many ways actually: It gives students the opportunity to speak, listen to, and write English. It requires actual thought and expression of said original thought in English, rather than the sadly standard regurgitation. The students love the element of competition. And, most importantly, it elicited this response to why New York City might be famous:

"It has a free she god." And
"Freedam gad is in there." And
"It has free Venus."

You got it yet? No? That would be The Statue of Liberty. I actually am pretty pleased with it because this is exactly the kind of English practice they don't usually get. Making combinations of related words when you don't know the exact word or phrase is an important skill which Japanese students can often be too shy (or just lacking in opportunity) to practice. Accordingly, and because it may just be a better name for her, the first of the above sentences got the points.

Tuesdays with sushi

Last Tuesday was progressing in a typical fashion (i.e. nothing much was happening) when my friend Hi-Kun called me up to see if I wanted to get some dinner. We drove around a bit, deciding what to have, and settled on a sushiya owned by one of Hi's friends. Takezushi is a small restuarant, though average by Japanese standards, with two tatami tables and and bar with stools for eight. The bar seats are the most coveted as you can pick your fish from the glass case in front of you and watch as it is prepared. Being a tuesday, it was slow and we sat at the bar. Gen-San, the sushi chef, was a very friendly guy and spoke very enthusiastically about everything whether in English, which he doesn't speak, or in Japanese which, in his enthusiasm was mostly too fast to pick up. Luckily I had Hi to translate and head up the ordering.
We were given a starter plate with various, perhaps experimental, rolls, one of which was described by Gen as Japanese fois gras. They were all delicious and we ordered some sake to accompany the meal. The sake was served in traditional fashion which means the glass is set inside a bamboo box and filled to overflowing. After you finish the spirits in your glass you tilt the square container to your mouth and finish the rest.
We had a perfectly fried tempura set with local mushrooms, fish, shrimp, and some delicate and pretty leaves-Japanese cuisine fully utilizes the array of flora found in Japan. After the Tempura Hi-kun ordered lamb. I was wary of this as I have never before enjoyed lamb, in fact, all previous experience I had with it involved some level of repulsion on my part. This, however, was ridiculously good. It arrived on a small plate, thinly sliced and raw, followed closely by a porous black stone beneath which a steady flame burned. We cooked each piece seperately, enjoying the hiss of the cooking meat. Like tiny steaks, we left the centers raw, while quickly charring either side. The delicate meat seemed to dissolve in my mouth and the taste was not strong like I remembered but flavorful, almost sweet. We had perfect, fresh maguro and salmon. We had another round of sake. Half-way through my glass I made the mistake of asking about some of the more mysterious items behind the transpicuous case. My questioning reached a stopping point when a particularly curious looking fish-part could not be adequately explained. Hi-Kun, seizing the moment, ordered me some before I could find out what it was. The nori served as a mere bowl for a collection of white organic undulations that, if it could produce sound, would surely have been making something of a "gluurg, glurrg" noise. I had to ask Gen-San whether I was expected to eat the whole thing at once as it was quite large but upon hearing his affirmation I went for it. It was not good. It was like cottage cheese though more slippery and less textured and much more unsettling. I finished it off and smiled, "oishi desu yo." I then made Hi-Kun eat the other one. After doing some reasearch later we found that Shirako, which is what the curious fish-part was callled in Japanese, is cod milt*.
After dinner we wandered around kakegawa a bit and met up with some friends for a beer later. Turned out to be pretty nice day, for a tuesday.

*milt is fish sperm.

bloody toes

So, here is some advice for anyone who ever runs more than 5 miles at a time: If your toes start feeling numb, look at them after you finish running; don't keep running for the next few days while wondering what the hell is wrong with your feet. It's good to take a careful look because you could be bleeding profusely into your sock like I was and it is most likely best to fix the situation.

How to Dismantle a School Lunch

Japan is a country that, while embracing modern western culture like a long-parted lover, still emanates a deep reverence for tradition and ceremony. The mere act of meeting a friend for a cup of tea can be, in Japan, a delicately orchestrated endeavor with more rules than sips, having more in common with a Freemason's meeting than the consumption of a beverage with company. In another remarkable complicating of a reasonably simple act, the actual dressing oneself (or another) in a kimono requires such refined skill that many Japanese women study it for years. Even the public waste disposal system leaves many an expat perplexed. It is, thus, unsurprising that dismantling one's tray after school lunch is, while simple compared to many activities (juggling and taxes come to mind), quite intense when weighed against the same chore elsewhere. It goes something like this: First set aside your straw and its accompanying wrapper. Then, reverse-engineer your milk carton until it is just a flat sheet no longer able to nobly contain liquids. Take the former-carton and rinse it thoroughly in the sink. When it has been cleansed of dairy, place it neatly atop the others in the gray Tupperware box. Next, empty any remaining food into the several, shining metal containers in which it was delivered, being careful to keep the various foods separate: salad with salad, fish with fish. If a spoon was necessary for the meal, rinse it and slide it onto the spoon rack. Place all plates and bowls in their corresponding slots-keeping the rice bowls separate though they are the same as the soup bowl. If there was a dessert (perhaps a small paper cup of yogurt or frozen jelly), make sure to separate all of the following: paper spoon, cup, cup lid, and paper wrapper from paper spoon. Place each in its designated plastic bag. Then, regardless of what your experiences may lead you to believe, take your straw and its wrapper and through them away. Now brush your teeth with the rest of the staff.

Halloween

I drove to school wednesday morning thinking only typical wednesday morning thoughts: "Weird, you'd think I'd be more tired. Why do they need so many old men in neon, reflective vests to supervise a single four-way stop? Do I have time to stop for an egg Mcmuffin? Damn, it's recyling day for milk cartons...now I have to wait till next month." So engrossed was I with nothing that I completely forgot what day it was. In my defense, the japanese don't seem to fancy halloween as much other western holidays like say, Christmas, and hence there is nothing to stir my memory. No skeletons hanging from doorsteps, no bats or cobwebs, no obnoxious talking witches, not even sales on candy. (I never thought I'd miss that candy corn stuff but I feel oddly melancholy without it) Excuses aside, when I walked into the teacher's room I was ready for a normal day's work and was just about to start staring blankly at my notebook when I was persuaded into the hallway by a gang of three of my 7th grade students. As soon as I stepped into the hallway-It took a minute because, though I have been here a while know, I still always forget that the japanese hand gesture for "come here" is what we use for "please go away"-I was accosted by three miniature voices chiming out "trick or treat!" One of them, Mizuho, even went so far as to make a jack-o-lantern mask. Needless to say, it was ridiculously cute and I felt like an idiot for not having any candy-especially after my attempt to convince them that we usually give out high-fives failed.

One of my schools,

one of my classes,

and one of my students.

The following are poems written by my third-year students. I especially enjoy how they often take two seemingly unrelated ideas or things and create a connection between them that we have, perhaps, not seen before. For instance, before reading them I had not yet pondered the relation of meat and peace.

Boiled meat
That smells good
Looks delicious
Peace


Mario
High jump
He is a destroyer
He has a red cap
Peace


Heaven
Happy place
Very beautiful here
Time passes so slowly
Interesting




*That last one reminds me of the Talking Heads song about the bar called heaven where nothing, nothing ever happens.

How much Peach is too much?

The Japanese enjoy repetition. This is apparant in oh so many ways. From language and food to the life of a junior high school student, this delight in similitude is everywhere, defending against the visscitudes of life.
You can see it in the speech patterns-one of the reasons simple spoken-japanese is quite easy to pick up is so much of what is said in normal conversations is said over and over, every day, with little variation. A glaring example of this unwavering use of the same words or phrases can be seen at Hanabi (fireworks) festivals where, while being dazzled by the fantastic colors and patterns above, you can also marvel at the echoes of "sugoi!" that surround you. The japanese all-purpose word "sugoi" meaning "great, big," or "cool," is practically the only exclamation inspired by the exploding sky. Picture yourself on the Fourth of July with people of all ages, everyone exclaiming only, "wow."
And, while japanese cuisine is certainly possessed of many flavors and styles it may be said that it all has a certain quality of subtlety and simplicity. There are no extremes in the food of japan, spice and flavor are mild and harmonious and, concordingly, the foreign food that can be found has been re-imagined in the japanese style and retains little of its original character.
This spirit of homogeneity naturally forms school life as well. The most obvious example is of course the uniforms worn by all students from Junior High on. Then there is the well-known group-oriented approach to everything that manifests itself in sports day events including the quite impressive 40-student simultaneous jump-rope competition whose execution would be laughable in many other countries or the general distaste for being singled out in any way. There are also not so commonly known examples. Let me relate what it is like to eat lunch at my school as a glimpse into one of these manifestations which strikes me as interesting in its unremarkability.
I have taken to eating lunch in the tiny windowed room adjacent to the PA room where all the announcements are made. It gets me out of the teachers room and I get to talk with the students who deliver the daily announcements. From this room I can clearly hear everything being projected through the schools speakers. A typical luncy period goes something like this (approximately):
12:35- Greeting: Good afternoon honorable everyone. Please, lets enjoy today's lunch together. It is rice, milk, fish, soup, and slice of apple. Please it it with gusto. Today we will be attending clubs and also will have time to practice each class's songs for the chorus festival. Thank you.
12:36- The song "Peach" by Otsuka Ai is played.
(note: "Peach" is a horrible song. Imagine if the backstreet boys were a girl and they teamed up with the creators of My Little Pony to write a theme song for Claire's mall jewlery store. It's like that but poppier.)
12:37- I note outloud and with an air of inevitability that we are listening to "Peach" again today.
12:40- The student in charge of the song rushes from her chair to the audio room.
12:41- "Peach" is restarted. (apparantly there is no replay option)
12:45- Same as 12:40's action.
12:46- We listen to "Peach" yet again.
12:50- See 12:45.
12:51 - Any guesses?

And thus lunch period is passed, everyday, without incident where surely, anyplace else where the students were not so accustomed to repetition the PA system would be quickly and systematically destroyed within days. Clearly then, it can be said that the Japanese admiration of predictability is pervasive and, occasionally, painful.

Cardboard Phones

It was another day spent predominantly in the classroom. Unlike much of my previous time working in Japanese schools I have been busy lately. Most days I have had at least four classes and during the remaining free periods rather than reading The Red Badge of Courage on Wikipedia's online library I have been planning and scheming for future lessons. Not surprisingly I have also found school much more entertaining and, in a strange twist, more relaxing. Today was exemplifying this new spirit quite perfectly until I came to one of the ni-nen (8th grade) classes where I attempted one of the new lesson plans I had been working on. You can never tell what will work and what will leave you with 30 Japanese kids dressed as 20th century british sailors staring at you, heads cocked to one side, completely willing to spend the rest of the hour silently not learning a damn thing. As entertaining as that may sound it loses its novelty rapidly and I could see today's lesson headed in this direction. The target language was basic phone etiquette, which seemed an easy sell but I took a wrong turn somewhere and they were getting bogged down. When a gust of wind blew the large curtain out against a student seated next to the window the rest of them tittered, glad for a distraction. When I began the final activity, wherein the students would use oversized cardboard phones to call each other up and ask one another to accompany them somewhere, I had pretty low expectations. Fortunately the first student I gave the phone to, Sho-Kun, called up his friend Ryota and together they brought the class back. Their conversation followed the prescribed pattern at first, "Hello."
"Hello"
"Is this Ryota?"
"Yes, what's up?" And then, incorporating his outside research into the final bit, Sho said to Ryota, "I will go to Hell...why don't you come?" He couldn't of done the role-play better and as Suguri-senseii and I laughed I watched the mood of the classroom change completely in seconds.

What's in a name?

Now, you may have gathered, provided you've been reading my previous posts, that the japanese like to use english in all sorts of ways, many of which appear quite odd to those who actually understand it. This is not to say americans don't do things like this as well, we do, just not nearly to the same extent. I brought up tattoos before and I will bring them up again now just to point out that while the Japanese misuse english to an extent that is staggering, and sometimes oddly poetic, I have yet to see a Japanese person with a tattoo in any language but their own-which means none of them are walking around thinking their permamant skin-art says "peace" when it actually says "gyoza." Okay, that said, they do however name their bars things that would not fly outside of San Fransisco.
Let's say you are opening a bar/cafe and you wish to attract a young surfer/stoner clientele. You've got a good location, hip employees, an above average selection of drinks; all you need is a name. Maybe something to do with surfing or the ocean? Nope, too obvious. How about a reference to some recent cultural movement or even something more retro, maybe swipe a few words from some literary or cinematic classic? What about just something about booze? No, no, and no. If you are the entrepreneurs in Kikugawa you go with, The Pony's Toy. I can't explain exactly why this sounds like the epitome of gay bar names to me but it is definately up there. Kind of like the equivalent of the Wildrose in Seattle, but not exclusively for women. The Pony's Toy, however, pales in comparison to the outright brazenness or random-chance-iness of those who named nearby Fujieda's, The Skin Flute. Seriously. Seriously! All in all though, a pretty nice bar...full of women. Somehow I didn't think to ask about the name while I was there but I did take a photograph of the sign for the incredulous.

Things I may have carved into a school desk in 2000.

RATT

QUIET RIOT

WARRANT

G & R

1987

Things I have seen carved into school desks in Japan.

TROM
BONE

Me and My Mantis

We share the world with all sorts of animals. Some are covered with tight coils of fur, while some are finely-scaled. Some have adapted colorful appearances to frighten enemies or attract mates, and some don't care about these flamboyant animals at all because they are unfortunately color-blind, like dogs. The continents support a staggering array of species while the ocean is home to even more. However, there is one animal that shines above its brethren. An animal whose good-nature and playful spirit bring joy to children and adults alike throughout at least a few parts of the world. A creature whose beauty and warrior-like spirit have doubtlessly inspired whole societies to do impressive societal things. I am, of course, referring to the distinguished praying mantis.
Now, I know what you're thinking, something along the lines of, "totally, warrior spirit, they definitely have that." But you may also be wondering, why now? Six months and nothing then suddenly, without pretext, I am writing about the praying mantis. Well, it happens that a few weeks ago I noticed a young mantis apparently in the midst of an expedition across my wall, his large forearms pulling him quickly across the textured surface with the strange gait that such large, oddly-jointed appendages always cause. I watched him with curiosity, having never seen one so close. He settled upon the edge of my laundry basket and seemed content to lounge there occasionally turning his elongated head to give alert eyes a direct line of sight, the eyes of a mantis being located on either side of its head. I thought I should make some sort of gesture of friendship and scanned my room for one of the many crickets that have recently invaded my apartment. As if volunteering, one appeared in front of me just I as finished my thought. I hastily snatched him up and set him atop the basket, near the mantis. Within minutes the cricket was in the mantid's grasp, his chest pierced by powerful, raptorial limbs. Needless to say, I was quite impressed with this display and bought a small plastic tank for him and, with a stick and a leaf to recreate what he's used to, I ushered him into his temporary home.
Let me quickly throw some mantis facts at you as quoted from some guy name Dan Feldman who wrote a brief and unintentionally hilarious research paper on the praying mantis.

"With an estimated 1800 species of mantids that cover the whole world, the mantis has become a prevalent and often revered part of human life." -yes

"In Arab and Turkish cultures a mantis was thought to point toward Mecca, a site of considerable religious interest." -naturally

"Ears occur in 60% of mantids" -I find this both hilarious and enlightening.

"The mantis is an auditory cyclops"-band name?

So as you can see Dan did his research and it is undeniably interesting, in fact, I think it should be used to teach children to read. Now that you are suitably educated about this fascinating creature let me return to my story.

I gave my mantis a name, Mantis, and tossed him a cricket when I was able to catch one. He was generally slow in capturing his prey and I tired of waiting quickly so I only saw him eat once but it was brutal. The mantis waited patiently on the ceiling of the tank until the unsuspecting cricket jumped to a twig that lay directly below him. He stuck quick and the cricket escaped but only by leaping so frantically that he left one of his legs in the inexorable grip of the predator. Undeterred the mantis moved fluidly to the corner of the tank where the cricket sat, the leg still in his right hand. Looking down at the tiny insect the mantis ate half of the cricket's leg while the cricket sat stupified no more than an inch away. I have to admit, I was a little shocked myself.
A few days after the mantis showed up I went on a three-day trip to Hiroshima. Knowing my own feelings regarding being left alone in a tank for three days without food, even if there is a stick and a leaf, I set the tank on my porch with the lid open and bid him farewell. I explored Hiroshima and the nearby island of Miyajima and when I returned home exhausted I had nearly forgotten my mantid companion. Thus I was surprised when days later he appeared, resting casually on my screen door. I considered it a sign of friendship and resolved to leave him be and there he has stayed ever since, silently keeping me company.

Our Duties as Teachers

Most Interac ALTs (assistant language teachers), including myself, are embedded in one or two schools, rarely more than three. However sometimes we are asked to visit other schools, usually those of the elementary variety. Before the day of the visit arrives we recieve a fax of the official request from the school describing what periods and grades we will be teacher plus a list of what they would like taught. The typical requested lesson plan will ask for "easy english" vocabularly, an activity, and foreign culture. (I usually consider myself just being there as qualifying for the foreign culture) I always add a further bit to the lesson plan which I call, "a demonstration of my height." It consists of, as you might guess from its title, me demonstating my height by touching something relatively high, like a door frame or sign. Though I have been to schools with teachers just as tall as me, this bit seems to always impress them and provoke shouts of, "sugoii!!" (great!!) But I digress. Invariably, during these visits, the kids crowd you and, especially with the five and six-year, hug you and are quite affectionate and exciteable. In fact, it's not unusualy for me to leave a class trailing a half-class of kids off of my arms and legs. However, usually they don't include this in the request forms. In a recent request to another ALT the school, apparantly in a fit of honesty, they wrote as follows: "We'd like to shake hands with you and hold your hand. Then, we'd like to have the opportunity to touch you." -And what an opportunity it is.

Advice to japanese owners of beer gardens that rest perfectly on the top of the city

Don't leave your doors unlocked even if you're closed for the season, especially if you still have full, tapped kegs...it's not a great idea really-I mean, hypothetically, people could wander in and enjoy the beautiful view while helping themselves to some free beverages...hypothetically.

Two T-shirts

One of the best things about Japan is the t-shirts. Covered in nonsensical english seemingly picked at random from some strange database of english words-"fresh" is well-liked as are "sweet,"heaven," and "pressurefull"-the shirts make my days a little better. Yesterday I saw one that made good used of punctuation it said, "cheeseburger... cheeseburger? cheeseburger!." I would wear that! Also heard from another ALT that one of her teachers wore a shirt to school that said simply and yet somewhat mysteriously, "fucking." Japan... Japan? Japan!

Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Mt. Fuji but Were Afraid to Ask

We set off towards the famous angular white slopes of Mount Fuji at eight on a Saturday night unprepared, sleep-deprived, and undoubtedly still nursing a hangover from the previous night’s revels in Hamamatsu. The four of us, Matt, Tim, me, and the slightly creepy Johnny Yi crammed into a efficiently-built Nissan after having a very obliging woman take the same photo with each of our four cameras and began what would be a trip so exhausting that I would almost forget how severely beautiful it was until I saw the photos two weeks later.
As we slowly ascended the mountain, car laboring and us bantering, I noticed the rather beautiful and eerily mythical forest that was slowly enveloping us. The ancient wood was so crowded with trees that pushed out towards the road as if with a plan to overtake it that you couldn’t see very far into it. The proliferation of rakish trees and heavy vegetation soon formed a dizzying wall that prevented any penetrating view. It seemed a place that could suck unwary travelers into its labyrinths and then bear down on them with all the treacherous devices possessed by an enchanted forest.
I later learned I was not the only one to notice a strange quality in Fuji’s guardian forest. It turns out that Aokigahara Jukai (Sea of Trees) is worthy of more than just a casual wariness. The soil that fuels Aokigahara is heavily veined with iron which causes traditional compasses to malfunction and leaves travelers unable to distinguish between North and South. More sinister is its apparent strong pull on those unfortunates who find themselves wanting to end their lives. The forest has for many years been Japan's location du jour for suicide with over 78 bodies dragged out in 2002 alone. In a coping strategy of questionable effectiveness authorities placed “no-suicide” signs throughout the area. Locals also reluctantly undertake a search of the macabre wood annually.
The road thinned beyond the forest and my ears began to pop as we drove steadily up the mountain and out of the treacherous forest. We pulled into the parking lot at stage 5-there are 10 stages or stopping points throughout the mountain-and had to navigate through an army of amateur astronomers and their equipment. At last finding a spot amid the telescope-village we stepped out of the car and stretched, suddenly alert in the cold night air.
We started the climb at what we thought was a moderate pace but soon found ourselves gasping from the steep trail and lack of oxygen. Johnny Yi announced his resignation from our team after around fifteen minutes of silently wheezing behind us; I was relieved. As Johnny turned around we quickly adjusted and vowed to keep the pace slow. We created a breaking system wherein every ten to fifteen minutes we took a brief respite, leaning against the large porous boulders scattered about, and let our raw lungs and bodies acclimate. After each rest Matt and I would trade the head lamp which carried with it the distinguished position of leader. Though it bore more responsibility, the leader regulating both path and pace, the lead position was actually easier-provided there was no avalanche-because directing the light made every step more sure and reduced the amount stumbles and unnecessary steps.Each dusty step we took up the mountain’s southern route, Fujinomiya, found us closer to the 6th stage. With burning lungs we reached the rusted metal shack that marks our first real stopping point and found to our dismay that the heavy iron doors were locked.
After a short rest against the sealed doors we snapped some photos of ourselves in front of the invitingly ominous, “trail closed for conditions,” sign before stepping around it. About 100 meters from the 6th stage we discovered why the trail was closed: it was completely gone. The guide-rope, our greatest alley against the steep inclines, had been covered by a season’s worth of iced-over snow and the correct path was decidedly non-existent. “Should we keep going,” someone asked but we all just stood, feet shifting, looking skeptically at where the rope dove into the white and the vast icy incline rose beyond. Though we were all thinking the same thing, namely that it would be stupid to try and continue, none of us wanted to be the one to say so and thus it was that after ten minutes of hesitation we dug our shoes into the ice and moved on.
With one flashlight, old running shoes, no climbing equipment, and no gloves climbing was, well, hard. Every direction held precarious steps and, as I realized about half-way up, a distinct possibility of serious injury. As it grew steeper we were forced to crawl. Our hands grew raw from grasping frozen outcroppings and it was with great joy that I discovered a discarded work glove stuck to the ice in front of me. We took a long rest at the metal structure that appeared before us at the end of our climb. After pondering our idiocy and eating a packet of Ritz crackers apiece we began our hike again. By then I had implemented a two-minute glove exchange between my right and left hand thus distributing the cold equally. As we hiked on I noticed Matt was wearing a pair of extra socks on his hands. Tim noticed too and for the rest of the trip he referred to us respectively as, “socks,” and, “one-glove.”
Two hours into the mountain, we saw a shadowy light to one side of the trail. We watched the light grow brighter until at a fork in the trail we saw two figures emerge as if from the fog behind. I knew, even before we found out they had both been climbing Fuji alone, that they were crazy. Both of them wore shorts. Dave, a Canadian Grad student turned out to be quite funny-if unintentionally so-and a bit strange. Daigo was Japanese and spoke literally five words the whole time I knew him but I found him an amiable enough companion. After introducing ourselves we voted to continue the climb together and set off bolstered by our new forces. The next few hours were tiring but pleasant, punctuated by frequent rests that allowed us to watch the dark skates of clouds that roamed the silent sky below. When not resting or trudging silently up the lifeless slopes we listened, bemused, as Dave explained how he came to be on Fuji that night. Apparently a concerned family had found him, unable to speak the language and lost, at a store in a town near the base of Fuji and had graciously taken him to their house and offered him some dinner. About half-way through dinner he began to feel tired and rather than attributing it to jet-lag or sleep-deprivation, both of which he was surely suffering from, he concluded the family had poisoned him. As soon as he came to this realization he rose from the table and announced his imminent and hasty departure. Somehow despite his boorish and strange behavior he still managed to extract a ride from the family to the 5th stage where he began his hike. Naturally we pointed out the danger he put himself in by accepting a ride from someone who had so recently tried to poison him. The other thing about Dave that I found hopelessly funny was that, unable to remember Daigo's name, he simply addressed him by a different one each time, some of which were little more than mumbles.
I had perfected my glove-transfer timing by this time and was rejoicing in my relatively warm hands when we came upon a sign proclaiming 90 minutes to the summit. It’s hard to tell distances when climbing a mountain; sometimes far looks near and sometimes near looks far. Whatever the approximate distance was then, I was ready for it to be half to a third less than the sign said but there was no chance of giving up then. We were right on for reaching the peak at sunset and had no intention of sacrificing that. The final 400 meters of the climb is broken up by steep but comparatively soft-terrain of wide snaking switchbacks. As we reached this fateful point we noticed we were now quite able to see our surroundings, the red-gray sand and rocks suddenly visible in all their dusty resplendence. This, however, was not good. Our time was running out.
I was starting to think that the sunrise would look quite nice from the bottom of the switchbacks but Tim and Matt had been re-energized by the slowly pinkening sky. Brains clouded by the race with the sun and noting that we could see the peak just beyond us, they suggested we ditch the trail and go straight up the rock-strewn rise straight ahead of us. It would mean taking the elevation gain all at once rather than slowly with the switchbacks but presumably we would reach our goal faster. Dave was against it, pointing out how steep it was, we would have to proceed hand-over-foot, and how dangerous it would be. Daigo was, per usual, silent on the matter-though his face seemed steeled to accept any decision-which seemed to leave the decision up to me. Sealing our fate, I looked up at the shimmering peak and said “well, we’re almost there right?” And with those marginally encouraging words we began to make our way, at a pace that seemed alternately very slow and ludicrously fast, up the mountain’s final feet.
It took less than five minutes for me to nurture a deep regret regarding my decision to skirt the path. By then we had then been hiking for over five hours at a time when we were usually in bed. Each successive movement was more exhausting. I was resting at least as much as moving forward and still with every rock I grasped my chest grew tighter. I was fighting off dizziness and nausea of which the former was alarming given the precarious situation I was in. The mountain seemed to drop off behind me. I looked up and saw Matt disappear over the top and cursed him to myself. When I finally pulled myself over the last rocks of our improvised trail every one of my muscles felt utterly useless and I wanted nothing more than to take a quick nap but as I walked into the icy gusts that batter the top of Fuji I forgot all that and fell into an awed trance, struck by the uncommonly perfect beauty surrounding me. The sun had just overtaken the horizon and bled a striking orange across the sky, enshrining the sharp outline of the far peak. As I watched fiery dark-red tints join the orange Matt walked over and we congratulated each other.
“God,” I yelled into the wind, "look at that."
“Yeah,” he yelled back smiling.
We walked carefully across the icy surface that flowed up and down like great motionless waves, keeping our heads down to avoid the wind. Looking down into the crater, tremendous and gaping below, I felt huge. Rather than overpowered by the immensity of everything, I felt strengthened by it. The exertion, the hours spent slowly climbing the mountain, and the fact that we alone had shared the night with its rocky curvatures led to a feeling of oneness with it all. I hadn't defeated the mountain and the mountain hadn't defeated me; we existed symbiotically.
When the biting wind became too much for our already-chapped faces we retreated to a nook about twenty meters below the peak. Huddled there in relative comfort we pulled out a small bottle of sake and with little delay passed it around following each drink with “cheers” and “kanpai” while looking down on the mountain we had summited.
The walk down, which at some points would have been more aptly described as a stumble, was still long though we cut our climbing time in half. Occasionally we would snap out of our exhaustion-fueled trances and glimpse the new mountain daylight had revealed. The tropical vegetation at the base seemed almost obscenely green and the large patches of snow sparkled white all around us. In all honesty though I spent much of the hike down imagining the meal I would have at Denny’s later and trying to ignore the pain in my feet. The last dusty mile of trail was hell. It was like a slow-motion dream or an exhausted astronaut's moon- walk, every step obscenely big and awkward. Our feet sank into the sandy ground and my legs functioned at about 30 percent of their capacity. When we at last reached the bottom we spread out in front of the sign that marks the start of the trail and took a group photograph. I wanted nothing more than to sleep but as I looked back up Fuji’s slopes, marbled white and dotted with porous red-brown rock, I remembered the vastness of the sunrise and the beauty we saw alone on the top of the mountain.