Part four of seven: San Francisco, Japan, & Thailand (July 2013)

The train station is exceptionally small. "There must not be a lot of tourism," I thought. Waiting impatiently for the train to Fujikawaguchiko-machi to arrive, it has only been a few hours since we packed our bags, left Tokyo, and are now waiting to get to the Fujikyu Railway Kawaguchiko Station located in a town near the mountain. We had to change trains twice from Tokyo. That first station was smaller than the one designated as the tourist location for Mt. Fuji; but surprisingly, the first station had more English-speakers. The Fujikyu Railway Kawaguchiko Station is quaint: an open lobby leading to the rails, a five widow ticket room, a gift shop with a cafe, and restrooms. The back of the station faces the rails and Mt. Fuji, the first sight of which was awe-inspiring. It looks healthy and strong. I can't wait to climb it!  

The front of the station is on a fairly busy road in a town called Fujikawaguchiko.  Buses come in and out, filling up quickly and exiting swiftly. Some are local transports and others are for Fuji. Still carrying our luggage, we spot the locker room. There are rows and rows of lockers tightly squeezed into a small room off the exit of the restrooms. It costs $6 USD, which is almost 700 yen. There is one big locker left, which should be enough for us to cram both of our things inside.  The sign in English reads that belongings are secured for twenty-four hours. Does that mean twenty-four hours? Does it mean one day ending at midnight?  We have to purchase our bus tickets, so we will ask the person at the counter about all of this and get enough yen to feed the locker.

It feels horrible to be in a foreign country and expect people servicing or helping me to know English. I try to convey this to each person with whom I interact. It doesn't work so well. Fortunately, the ticket person knew some English. We purchase the tickets, get our yen, and head back to the lockers. Deezy and I had each packed a backpack for the hike. I have a change of clothes, a water bladder, protein bars, my camera, and layers to keep me warm. Deezy has the same stuff minus the camera. The one thing we both have seemed to neglected is exchanged money. We're almost out of yen and dollars are no good. Shoot! Well, we should have enough for a hut on the mountain, and we don't need anything more. If we don't have enough, it looks like we will become one with nature. After all of our things are in the locker, we learn that you have to pay additional money to get the stuff out. We decide to tackle that when we return. For now, we wait for our ride to Mt. Fuji and plan to begin the climb in the afternoon.

To climb the mountain, we don't start at the base. We start at the Fifth Station, much like other mountains have a "base camp" assigned. The bus, barely carrying any passengers besides us, makes its way through the mountain. Arriving at the station, I immediately notice how developed it is. There are shops, restaurants, parking facilities, and other attractions. It becomes clear that most people don't actually climb the mountain; they merely come here to take pictures and brag. The other striking thing about the experience: there are no directions. There is nobody telling you how to get to the route, which trail to follow, or how long it will take.  There are no crowds, no organization, no correct way to do this. There are paths.  Hopefully the paths lead somewhere. There are a few climbers starting at the same time but we all break apart fairly quickly. Deezy and I take in the beauty and fresh air of the surroundings. My camera is never far from me, and I ask Deezy to take my picture as we come to the first picturesque spot after finding the path leading to the real path.  Lovely!

The climb has officially begun. There is nobody around us. We're alone on the generous path of rock and dirt that leads to the summit we hope to reach by the early morning. The air is refreshing and the heat that bears down on us is cooling.  This is our first real climb. We had done other smaller mountains in New Hampshire but nothing like this. It already feels worth all the traveling. Complete silence. No dialogue is necessary in this beauty and nature. The path is gradual in some areas and steep in others; dirt roads or boulder rocks to climb. The terrain is forgiving, especially using a walking stick. The sporadically placed makeshift rod fences are precarious and unreliable. At times, we hold on to each other to maneuver a particularly difficult section. Otherwise, we are just putting one foot in front of the other.  

The crunch of the dirt and rock under my feet is often the only sound. The pace is steady and I am comfortable, as is Deezy. Bathroom breaks are infrequent for two reasons: (1) bathrooms are spread very far apart; and (2) it costs yen, of which we have just a bit. I limit the sips from my water bladder as a courtesy to my pea-sized bladder. Darkness is setting in and the sun has set. Deezy has a headlight to guide us. We have already passed a few night lodges with the hopes of climbing a bit longer before needing the rest. Eventually we come to our resting stop. We've been climbing for about five hours.  

I ask Deezy if we have enough yen. "Ummm, I think just enough," he replies. We enter into the hut through a sliding door. Immediately the charades begin. One young man speaks a crude dialect of English. He is able to ask if we speak Japanese. Embarrassed, we respond that we do not. Again we are in a position that others are expected to be able to communicate with us. Not cool. I should have learned a little bit of Japanese at least. The young man doesn't pick up on our helplessness. Instead, he begins to speak English, which now sounds more fluent that it initially did. (I think it was my humility setting in!) Deezy passes yen to our host, who counts it and finds that it is just enough. We barely have any money left.  He motions to us and asks if we need food. Fortunately we did not. I don't know about Deezy, but the climb was so tiring and so much work that the exhaustion overtook any hunger I felt. At this point, the most we have had to eat is a luna protein bar each. (Now, if that's not a commercial for Luna I don't know what is: all day climbing with only a bar to sustain us!)  

We're both seriously tired. I'm partially lying on a mat in the main room, half expecting this to be the sleeping quarters. Well...it's the eating area. Ooops! We are shuffled through a door and shown a rather large area almost completely dark except for the light from the open door. I can see backpacks hanging and sleeping bags along wooden slats. There is a bottom slat and top slat on both sides of the room. Each slat holds about twenty-five people. Luckily, we're a bit early and others have not yet arrived. Some people are already sleeping. There are no women yet. Deezy and I are placed next to each other in the middle of the bottom slat on the right. Quickly, I leave the area to change (off with the sweaty clothes!) and use the restroom (co-ed with a lovely stench) and, just as promptly, return to my spot.  It's now freezing outside. Mind you - I'm always cold. But, it is freezing. Deezy is already asleep. My head hits the pillow and the next thing I remember is waking up next to a snoozing Asian man. Oh my goodness! Where's Deezy??? Our host has awoken us to commence our climb. It's 1 AM. We want to summit before sunrise. But, who is this man nestled cozily into the sleeping bag to my right? I'm totally disoriented and staring at the man with the slice of light from the ajar door. Deezy taps me on my shoulder. He's to my left. Of course he's to my left; that's where he was last night. With the exhaustion, early morning wake-up, and unconventional sleeping accommodations, I am not in the right state of mind. But once I'm coherent, I jump to my feet, grab my backpack, and change into warmer clothes - 4 layers of warmer clothes!  Deezy and I both swig some water and use the restroom.   At 1:08 AM we start our night climb.  Headlight on.

Time passes. It will be daylight soon. We are on target to reach the summit for the sunrise. The night climb has been tranquil and exciting. Others have left their huts and we are all on the same journey towards the summit and sunrise. Not a lot of folks at all. Lost in thought, I notice at that moment and without a warning, Deezy runs up the mountain without uttering a word to me. Gone, baby, gone. There is enough light for me to see without his headlight. With a pace unlike anyone else one the mountain, he passes people with a speed that I can hardly believe. He's basically sprinting. I, along with the other mountain climbers, are completely exhausted. Everyone wants to make it to the top for the sunrise. Everyone. And, it's a race against the clock. I'm about 200 m away. Deezy is now a distant dot in my line of vision. I pick up speed, but with nothing close to his stamina.

The sky is lighting and the sun is coming. Hurry! Summit!!! My first impression: it's like nothing I've experienced. Pure beauty. Pure exhaustion. Pure accomplishment. And, it is peaceful. I finally reach a bunch of boulders and find Deezy waiting for me. Snapped back to the reality of reaching the summit alone and just shy of the sunrise, I kinda bark, "Why did you take off without me?"  "I wanted to get a picture of the sunrise for you from the very top," he said semi-panting with a weak smile. I was almost to the top but the sun met the sky before I could reach the summit. Deezy made it and captured the most beautiful picture of a sunrise. He proudly shows me the photo and all peacefulness returns. He is completely depleted. The oxygen is low and he has over exerted himself, to say the least. But, he got the pictures...for me. I feel grateful.

At the top, there are crude shops serving soup and hot drinks and selling trinkets and oxygen tanks.

We find a resting spot and sit on the ground, spending about an hour on the summit. You would think that the ascent is the hard part...

Wrong! The descent is brutal. Excruciating. The dirt path feels steeper and winds much, much more. Our fatigue, hunger, and depleted adrenaline begin to take its toll on us. Allowing one leg to lead, straightened out and the other to bend, our bodies face away from the path and we can slide down. Some of this was deliberate, other times we just glided with the earth below us. Deezy never trips, figuratively and literally. I, of course, have the grace of a warthog. So, it's no surprise that I'm the first casualty of the descent. BAM! Clumsily, I fall. Hard.  Really, really hard. There is nothing poetic about this plunge to the coarse soil and prodigious amount of rocks. My arm and a stone become well acquainted, so much so that I believe my elbow to be broken. Strangely, I don't make a sound. I pop back up and gingerly move my appendage. It barely moves. Deezy is just staring at me, overcome by lassitude. He mutters, "You okay?" A few folks shuffle by cautiously having just observed the result of the ground's unforgiving nature. I don't say a word. I, too, am weary --- physically and mentally.  

After what seems to be a long time, but is probably no more than three minutes, I cradle my arm and  utter, "I think it's broken." It won't move at all. Concerned about my condition, I decide to ignore the pain. Forge on. Get to the bottom. What more can be done from here anyways? The pain is throbbing. I will myself to ignore it and then don't think about it again. We are only a quarter of the way down. The hike down is endless and we are tired. A tired that I have never felt before or since. A tired that invades your body, mind, and being. I love it! I love it because it's the good tired, the good hurt. My senses are blunted and alert at the same time. It's a feeling of life. Being alive. Yes! My own lethargy jolts me into gratitude.

I am but a small creature in this vast universe and nature has me in its grips. Okay, I know I'm not on Everest or K2, but Mother Nature is holding on to me steadfastly. This is my first "big" climb. And while Fuji may be tame in comparison to others, I can't fight the need for sleep. A bathroom stop turns out to be a great idea. Not only do we use the godforsaken facilities that have likely never seen scrubbing bubbles or clorox, but there is a hut with soda and candy. Deezy pulls out the money and we have just enough for a coke and snickers bar. The weird thing about exhaustion is that, despite my hunger and need for a boost, I forego the candy and drink...I'm just way too tired. Deezy needs it more than I do anyways, being that he's much taller and stronger than I. It's been more than  twenty-four hours since leaving Tokyo and all I've eaten since beginning our epic climb is one luna protein bar and some water. Deezy finishes up and disposes of the waste.

After several hours, we make it to the bottom. We are sweating, tired, and proud.  What a fantastic journey! Truly a life-changing experience. When we enter Fifth Station, we immediately drop to the ground. We abandon our trusty walking sticks. A few moments pass and I get the energy to go into the shops to get a postcard and stamp (for my sister) and t-shirts for me and Deezy. I make it back just as the bus arrives. The bus takes us back to the train station. From there, we walk. Yep - we walk. With all of our luggage, we walk. Exhausted. A bit cranky (moi). We walk. Fortunately, it was only a ten minute walk to the most enchanting and authentic ryokan, which Deezy booked as a surprise. The past forty-eight hours have been phenomenal and only get better...