Aikido

Hey everyone. Sorry for the long delay. Things are crazy with trying to get things ready for my return to Ithaca. I don't know when things will die down, especially with Grad school apps coming up! But I feel I am finally on my way to resuming posting for the next three weeks or so to finish up detailing my experiences in Japan. Today's entry will focus on my experiences with Aikido. On Sunday I am planning on talking about my Home Stay family, and then I will follow with an entry on my last days in AIU, then in Japan, and finally two posts about adjusting back to the US and finally what I learned from my experiences. I will try to update Every Sunday and Wednesday if I can, and should be all done by mid-September. Thank you for your patience.

Aikido

One of my extra curricular activities while at AIU was aikido. Aikido is a martial arts form indigenous to Japan, developed in the last 200 years under its founder Ueshiba Morihei. See this wikipedia page for some basic information on the sport. I wanted to spend some time talking about aikido because it’s a really cool martial arts and it offers an interesting look into Japanese culture.

I am not sure exactly when or how I came to learn of aikido. It was sometime around my high school years when I was learning about Japan as an on and off hobby. What really attracted me to aikido initially was its principle of using an opponent’s force against him/herself. As the years went on and my world views have been developing, I now find its strong emphasis on non-confrontational self-defense to be very attractive, and its life philosophies timeless. It’s an art that is the most peaceful of the ones I have seen, which is not to say it doesn’t cause pain.

Aikido’s name is comprised of three kanji characters which mean “harmony” “spirit” and “way,” and can be roughly translated to “the way of harmonious spirit.” Its techniques comprise mostly joint locks, pressure points, and off-balancing techniques meant to temporarily disable an opponent with minimal harm and violence. There are no offensive techniques (or at least very, very few) and most of the skills you learn are how to respond to various attacks. Towards the end of his life, Ueshiba-sensei (Ō-sensei in Japanese, which means Honorable Teacher) began emphasizing a life philosophy that emphasized connecting and harmonizing with your opponent so that a fight doesn’t even begin. Different schools of aikido focus on different aspects of the technique, though I personally believe an organic synthesis of both paths is probably the most powerful. Traditionally, aikido is non-confrontational and does not encourage unnecessary competition; therefore there was initially a lot of negativity towards the idea of participating in tournaments and other martial arts sports competitions. In the past few years, however, it is becoming more and more common to see aikido students participate in tournaments, or even seeing an aikido specific tournament. There is still a lot of debate around how involved aikido should be with these competitions.

Aikido, though focusing on hand-to-hand techniques, also has techniques for the staff (jō) and wooden sword (bokken, or bokuto in native Japanese, not to be confused with the bamboo practice swords used in kendo called shinhai). Most of the hand-to-hand techniques are derived from sword techniques, so it is common practice to teach students aikido sword techniques if only to help solidify an understanding of the hand-to-hand techniques. In the US, belts are given to students to denote levels of mastery, though this is not common in Japan. Sometimes in Japan, after a certain level of mastery is attained, lower level students are awarded hakama, which are wide pants worn over the practice outfit (usually a judō outfit). A black hakama is awarded to the student once s/he reaches “black belt” proficiency, which usually involves five levels of introductory mastery. Once you reach “black belt” there are many different upper levels of mastery (dan), all the way up to 10^th (I think).

The AIU aikido program is headed by Kobayashi-sensei (sensei roughly translates to “teacher”) who is a 3^rd dan black belt who trains at a local dojo (practice hall) in Akita city. Practices were held every Tuesday and Thursday from 6:30pm to 9:30pm. I came to the first practice and fell in love with it, keeping up with it all semester. I eventually bought myself a judo uniform for practices, as well as a wooden sword (bokken) and staff (jō) both for practice and as keepsakes.

When I attended the first few aikido practice sessions, I quickly learned that it was definitely unique among the martial arts. The practices were held in the auditorium, so first mats were set up on the floor for the actual practice. A chair with a picture of Ō-sensei was set up at the front of the practice area. Before practice began (and after changing, of course) we first swept the practice area with small brooms, followed by wiping down mats with a damp cloth. Before formal practice began, the more experienced students (called senpai) led us in stretches, most importantly wrist exercises. After that, we then practiced “roll” techniques. In aikido, there are very few attacks, and the ones that do exist are there mainly to help learn how to respond to them. The defender will then practice the technique in question, which always results in the attacker being pushed off balance, thrown, or forced to the ground. It is important for the attacker to know the proper way to roll and fall so that injuries are minimized, which is why we were starting with rolling techniques first.

Stretches

Back roll (seated position)

Forward roll

"Samurai walk"

This was an interesting experience for me, but I found that I picked up the technique pretty rapidly, although to this day rolling backwards is awkward. I felt very “ninja” after I started getting it down. There is also a “samurai” style of walking where the knees are kept bent and you walk in a sitting position (seiza) across the mat. This form of walking is favored in the dojo so that you convey respect to your sensei even while moving across the mats. After warming up, practice began, usually around 7:00pm. We first sat in the formal Japanese style called seiza which consisted of folding your feet beneath you and sitting on your ankles. This was very comfortable for your back and spine, but absolutely killer for your knees and ankles; after some time your feet and legs would fall asleep. We sat in a line at the back of the mats facing the picture of Ō-sensei with Kobayashi sensei seated between us and the picture, also facing the picture. Kobayashi sensei would first call the beginning of class and we sat silently in seiza meditating for about fifteen seconds. We then performed a Shinto rite of honoring the dead by putting our hands in a prayer position, extending it to the picture of Ō-sensei, bowing to the ground and placing our hands in a triangle flat on the ground for one second or so, coming up and doing it again, coming up again, clapping twice in unison, and then bowing a third time, this time holding our position near the floor in silent prayer until Kobayashi sensei said arigatō gozaimashita (a phrase conveying thanks for a service performed in the past, in this case thanking Ō-sensei for his teachings) and we replied with our own arigatō gozaimashita, and then sat back up. At this point one of the senpai would be called up to help demonstrate the technique that we would first practice.

Ueshiba Morihei, founder of Aikido.
Referred to as O-sensei by aikido students,
meaning "Honorable Teacher" or "Great Teacher."

The student would begin on the right, sensei on the left, and the picture of Ō-sensei in the background. Before beginning the technique, sensei and the senpai would do a seated bow to each other and say onegaishimasu (literally “I beg of you” often used to respectfully ask for a service from someone, in this case it is used to convey one’s respect for the practice partner, and to “beg of him/her” to likewise treat one with respect during the practice). We would all likewise bow in unison and say onegaishimasu. Sensei would then perform the technique with the senpai twice in real time, then a few times more slowly and explaining the mechanics of the technique, then once more in real time. The two would then do a seated bow to each other once more, saying arigatō gozaimashita to each other, and we all followed suit. We then paired ourselves up, usually a junior student with a senior student (senpai). Once deciding on the pair we always began by doing a seated bow and saying onegaishimasu, and when sensei stopped us to move on to a new technique, we would bow again and thank each other saying arigatō gozaimasu.

As you can see, there is some level of formality to the practice, and with a strong Shinto undercurrent. However, these structures really stem from the intrinsic desire to respect one’s practice partner and ultimately one’s opponent. During the practice, the partner who receives the technique (uke) begins by attacking his partner (nage or “thrower”) who then applies an aikido technique to neutralize the attack. After a few practices the two switch roles. Aikido’s training is encompassed in both the uke and nage roles. The nage obviously learns the aikido technique and also how to anticipate and blend the partner’s actions. The uke learns to relax during uncomfortable and off-balanced positions, as well as how to safely roll, parry, and respond in this disadvantaged position. In all instances, the safety of the partner is of utmost consideration, and signals are used to alert the partner when a technique has been completed so that injury is minimized. (Most aikido joint locks, if applied with even medium force, can cause immense pain or even break wrists, so it is important to start slow and pay attention to your uke partner’s reaction. There are also pressure point practices as well).

I absolutely fell in love with aikido. What I loved most was its careful consideration of the opponent’s safety, and the ability to control aggression without extreme violence. I enjoyed the little formalities of bowing and respecting one’s partner because it made the practice much more group oriented, with the two working as a team rather than as individuals. Perhaps I am waxing poetic at this point, but there is definitely a certain level of compassion and respect imbued within the art.

There were about six or seven students at almost every aikido practice, and about three or four of us came each practice while others rotated in when they could fit it into their schedule. Most of the students were girls, some Japanese, some international students from China and Singapore. Almost none of them were over my shoulder in height. This gave them an advantage in some techniques but a serious disadvantage in others, but ensured really good practice. Fortunately for me, there was one other international student who came to practice regularly. His name was Leo, he was from Austria, 22 years old, and he and I became good friends over the semester (he was also in my Japanese language class). He was about my height and about the same build, so we were a perfect match for each other. We had a lot of fun together. As we grew more comfortable with each other, we also started to get a bit more competitive. Normally this would be frowned upon in aikido, but we were competitive in a very positive way that enhanced rather than detracted from the practice. When we were uke we would try to make it as hard as possible for the other to perform the technique, which then forced us to really learn the technique as the nage partner. We never let our competitiveness cloud our focus on each other’s safety, though, so while we were trying our best to make it difficult for the other, we also did our best to closely watch to make sure we didn’t hurt each other unnecessarily. It was really good practice, and a lot of fun.

Leo Ladenhauf of Austria.

The coolest experience with aikido was when I had the opportunity to visit Kobayashi-sensei’s dojo in Akita city for a regular practice and for a proficiency test (I didn’t actually take the test) one Sunday morning. The first time I went was during a session devoted exclusively for proficiency tests. I was going mainly to watch and so I could learn where the dojo was located. I went with a Japanese AIU student (Shō) who was going for her third level of proficiency (she was also the leader for the AIU Aikido club). The dojo was about a half hour’s walk from the Akita city train station. The dojo was a small wooden house, Japanese style, with a sign out front (which I couldn’t read, of course). Kobayashi-sensei met us out front and walked us in. There was a wooden sliding door with the top part cut into a grid pattern so you could see inside. We entered a small foyer area where we could remove our shoes and leave them in little cubbies. So far, very Japanese. There was another set of sliding doors that opened onto the main dojo area. The space occupied most of the first floor of the house, completely open in space with tatami (woven straw used in traditional rooms and homes) mats with a thick plastic-type cover over them to give the floor a smooth texture. There was a thin strip of wooden floor between the door and the tatami mat that ran horizontal to us, allowing you to walk to the changing rooms, bathroom and stairs without having to step onto the tatami. On the far side of the room the wall was divided into three different sections, the left-most consisting of a beautiful hanging scroll with calligraphy and flower arrangement, the center one devoted to Ō-sensei with a small shrine dedicated to him on a high shelf, and more calligraphy (and rules) hanging on the center wall. On the top of the wall were many pictures of the former masters of the dojo down to the present. On the far left there was a rack with wooden practice weapons.

Dojo interior.

Shrine to O-sensei, Morihei Ueshiba.

As we stepped out of the entrance foyer we kneeled down and performed the same small ceremony that we do to begin aikido practice, honoring Ō-sensei with bows and claps of the hands. Kobayashi-sensei went to a nearby room reserved for senpai (in this case, black belts) to change into his practice outfit while Shō, being the only girl in the dojo, was shown to an upstairs room to change. There were already many students, both young (high school age) and old (upper twenties) all dressed in white judō uniforms. They were stretching and warming up, occasionally trying not to be obvious about their interest in me. Additionally, one by one six different black belt students arrived as well, their black hakama marking their proficiency, and their ages ranging from what seemed to be the upper twenties all the way into middle age. So far, it was all men, including the students, aside from Shō who by this point had returned dressed and was trying to get over her shyness so that she could warm up. Once again, my poor Japanese skills really frustrated me, but I did my best to be respectful.

The black belt students (senpai or elder student).
Kobayashi sensei is pictured on the right with a jo (staff).

Finally, an older gentleman, maybe in his upper forties, also dressed in black hakama stepped out of a small raised office to the side of the dojo practice area, came into the room and sat in seiza style. By the way that he sat and watched us, as well as the way that the senpai acted around him, I took him to be the master of the dojo. I noticed him eying me every now and then, but it was always a welcoming, curious and somewhat bemused expression in his eyes, and when our eyes met at one point I gave him a small bow which seemed to go over very well. I felt much more at ease. Finally, he called the beginning of practice. All of the beginning students (I sat at the very bottom of the line) lined up at the back of the mats facing the shrine to Ō-sensei while the black belts (I will refer to them as senpai from now on) sat on the right wall. We went through the normal rituals, and then the master spoke some words. He asked me to introduce myself (all in Japanese mind you) and I quickly and nervously announced my name and that I was an international student at AIU from America. We then sat in seiza as each student one by one performed his test.

The master of the dojo sat in one corner with a small laminated list of the techniques to be tested. The student in question would come up with his practice partner (uke) using the “samurai walk” to move to the center of the mats. They both would then honor Ō-sensei by remaining in a seated position, extending their hands in a prayerful gesture and bowing low and saying onegaishimasu. They would then both shift to face the sensei and bow (without the prayer gesture, as that is reserved for the dead) and once again said onegaishimasu. Finally they faced each other (again in a seated position) and bowed to each other, again saying onegaishimasu. Sensei would then announce the technique to be performed and ask the student to repeat it until he was satisfied with its performance, sometimes pausing to offer advice or a correction. Though I could tell the students were nervous, and though there was still that characteristically Japanese desire for perfection in both the sensei and the student, I didn’t see the test as being super critical. It was clear that the sensei was more interested in making sure the student understood the fundamentals of the techniques rather than grilling him on every single motion. I found it to be a much more relaxed testing experience than I originally thought it was going to be.

Unfortunately, there were almost ten students taking the test, which got to be very uncomfortable. I shifted my legs and occasionally sat cross legged to give them a break (that’s allowed) though even then one or two of my legs would frequently go numb. Shō was taking an upper level test (not a black belt one, mind you) and one of the senior senpai conducted her test. Another, younger senpai acted as her uke partner. Her test was a lot longer, and definitely harder, though I recognized many of the techniques as I had also practiced them a couple of times over the course of the semester. The sensei for her test was much, much more critical of her performance, and stopped to give a critique or suggestion for every single technique. At first I wondered if it was because she was a girl, but I soon dismissed that notion and felt it was born out of the fact that it was an upper level test and he wanted to be much more involved in the examination. I could tell that she was getting frustrated at times but tried not to let it show (I had been learning to read Japanese emotions a bit better, though, and could tell that she was getting disheartened, although to most people she would probably have seemed pretty relaxed). She finally did finish, and did pass. When I talked to Kobayashi-sensei about it, he said that it was common to conduct the upper level test like that, usually to emphasize another way of performing the technique and to also learn to perform under pressure. Again, the intention wasn’t to fail the student but to rather push and help the student really learn the techniques. Still, I would have felt a bit flustered myself if I was in Shō’s position.

Afterwards, the dojo’s master hosted a lunch, but before that the first year students cleaned up the dojo by sweeping and then wiping down the tatami mats. I chipped in as well. I went with Kobayashi-sensei to pick up some things for the lunch and then helped lay it out. We sat at there tables arranged in a three-sided square fashion. I sat with Shō, who I needed to help interpret for me. The food was all standard Japanese fare, including lots and lots of vegetables, some fish, rice balls, etc. It was a lot of food, and pretty good. I also got a quick crash course in Japanese dining etiquette, which basically entailed serving the people beside you before eating yourself. This especially went for drinks, which you never poured for yourself, but instead had to stay conscious of your neighbor’s glasses and offer to refill when they were running low. At one point towards the end of the meal, the dojo master gave a little speech and then invited people to say something. The older senpai gave small speeches which I of course couldn’t follow. The students were much more to the point, saying their name, their year in school, when they began aikido, etc. Fortunately, I could handle that much, and I introduced myself again, saying that I had begun Aikido that same April and that I found it very fun and hoped to continue when I returned to the US.

After a few hours, after much eating, and then helping to clean up and everything, we finally headed out. Before leaving, we stopped by the small room where the dojo master was seated and said thank you. I promised I would return that same Wednesday for practice. He said he was excited to see me at practice and in practice gear. I thanked him for the lunch and then we headed out. While entering the dojo was a formal but individual affair, leaving was a bit of a bigger matter. We stopped and faced the back wall dedicated to Ō-sensei, coming to a seiza seated position. When it was obvious that we were leaving, the rest of the people in the dojo quickly moved to the side walls and sat in seiza as well, seeing us off. We performed the same bowing and clapping ritual, saying arigatō gozaimasu first to the shrine of O-sensei and then to the two rows of aikido students, who bowed in reply and responded with a thank you of their own. We then stepped back into the front foyer, closing the first screen door and putting on our shoes, and then finally leaving the dojo. I knew from having done this ritual many times that same day when others left that they would all remain seated until we had left the front porch of the dojo, remaining respectfully silent the entire time. The whole day left with me with a deep impression of a current of Japanese culture that you don’t always see in Tōkyō or other more modern areas of Japan.

On Wednesday, a good friend of Kobayashi-sensei, an American who had studied at the dojo many years ago and had since returned to the US, was coming to visit the dojo, and I had promised to come to practice to meet him and also participate in the regular practice session. Additionally, another Japanese student from our Aikido club was coming with me to take the first test since she couldn’t make it to the regular testing session. I was a little bit more nervous but also excited to meet Jim.

I was a lot more comfortable with the little formalities of being at the dojo, but now was a regular practice session, which still threw a few curve balls at me. We began as usual, the beginning students sitting at the front of the tatami while the senpai lined up along the right hand wall. Afterwards, Kobayashi-sensei came up as the dojo master began with the first technique. The dojo master explained things in Japanese, of course, but fortunately the techniques were all ones that I had either done before or had done in a slightly different manner, so I was able to follow along for the most part. Then he had us partner up. At this point, all of the beginning students literally ran to their favorite black belt senpai to practice with, while I moved a little bit more slowly. It was kind of unnerving, but I fell into it okay. The senpai were all pretty accommodating, and they all worked my ass off. I had to use as much power as I had when trying to resist as an uke partner, and had to work my best to move smoothly and confidently when I was practicing the aikido technique.

For one technique I was paired up with Jim, which was definitely one of the best practice sessions I had that night. He looked to be in his thirties, around the same age as Kobayashi-sensei. I quickly introduced myself and then we went right into the practice. When I was the nage partner, he quickly showed me where I was pushing too forcefully or not holding correctly by deftly escaping and retaliating with a countermove that showed me where I had made the mistake. He also was able to explain to me what I was doing wrong and what I should do to perform better, which was really helpful. As the uke partner he quickly showed me how to best roll and position myself to defend myself from other possible attacks as he rolled me around the floor like a rag doll (he needs to practice too!). This was a great session because he showed me just how focused you had to be as either partner, how much effort needed to go into both halves of the practice, and also how effect and violent aikido could be if you really wanted it to.

At the end of practice I was exhausted, my whole body trembling slightly from the exertion, but feeling very alive and very good about myself. I was happy it was over, though, because I was having trouble maintaining the same effort for the whole session. They then had my fellow AIU student take her test, and I acted as her uke partner for the test. It went pretty smoothly for the most part.

After the practice, we cleaned up as usual and then had some cold green tea for refreshment. A few of the older black belt students took turns practicing with Jim since he was just visiting for a couple of practices and he was pretty good. I was surprised that he was able to go for as long as he did. At the end we took some pictures together, and then I bid my adieu to Jim, the dojo, and my semester of aikido practice. It was a great experience, and I hope to continue to practice in the coming years.

Kobayashi sensei, Jim and another senpai.

I may be smiling, but this actually really hurts...

New Albums!
Aikido Practice
Aikido - Jim's Visit
Aikido Dojo

Short Wait

Hey Everyone:

The American Chemical Society Fall National Meeting starts today and runs for over a week. I am presenting a poster of my last summer's research tomorrow, and I didn't have enough time to finish the aikido article I was planning to put up today, so I will postpone one last time until Wednesday. Sorry for the additional delay. It's been a busy summer...

Minor Update

Hey All:

So.....it's been a while, hasn't it? Just so you all know, I am alright and safe at home, enjoying the last days before I return to Ithaca for my senior year (yikes!). I flew back to the States on August 2 without any complications, and then spent most of last week at the Jersey Shore with my family relaxing and readjusting to life in the US. I will be returning to Ithaca on the 24th of August, which leaves me a little over a week of vacation time left. I have been very busy preparing for various things, like my poster presentation at the American Chemical Society's National Meeting in Philadelphia next week and gearing up for Ithaca, but I've also been trying to get all my Japan stories and pictures organized. So, starting this Sunday, I will resume my biweekly posting schedule (Sunday and Wednesday). In the coming weeks I will be writing about some aspects of my trip I didn't have a chance to as of yet, as well as detail for you the final weeks of my stay in Japan. Finally, I am hoping to close up the blog with an entry or two about my readjustment back to the US and what I learned about Japan, the US, the world, and myself. Sorry for the long silence, but I hope to see you all once again starting this Sunday!

Goraikou

Long time no see!

Sorry for the long absence. Things have gotten very busy for me here at AIU. Next week is already the last week of classes, and the week after that is my final week in Japan. As such, I am swamped with papers and final exams and such, so updating will be sporadic. I will try to update when I can. I expect that I'll be updating this blog until I start at Ithaca in late August, to catch up on things I didn't get a chance to write about and to make cultural commentary. Anyway, today's entry will be, without a doubt, a very long, very involved, and hopefully very rewarding entry for you and for me.

This entry will be a bit different in that I will be expanding on events and making more commentary than I usually do. I am also warning you that there will be at least two instances in this entry where there will be some "adult content" talked about. I initially was reluctant to add these events to today's entry, mainly because if my parents found out (mainly my dad) I just know they would freak out, but I decided that it's more important to tell the true, complete story and face life fully in the daylight rather than look over the seedier, darker parts. As much as I know I've just hyped up what will follow, I assure you that all in all, they were very benign encounters but can serve as very useful points of analysis for Japanese culture and human culture at large.

The title for today's entry, "Goraikou," is the special name given to the sunrise when seen from the top of Fuji-san (Mt. Fuji). On July 12 and 13, seven of us climbed to the top of sacred Fuji-san (3776 meters, or about 12,388 ft) and were rewarded with our own spectacular Goraikou experience, and that is what I want to share with you today.

Planning, and The Characters

A while back, my fellow international friend Anders (Norway) mentioned going on a hiking trip to one of the many mountains in Japan, and I told him that though I have no experience hiking or climbing mountains, I would love to join him. Over the past two months we had been kicking around ideas of where to go, planning one or two trips but then deciding against it either because it was too big a trip to do in a weekend or because the weather/climbing conditions would be bad (snow is a very, very real problem for most mountains until July). Things cooled down when my parents came to visit, but soon afterwards Anders proposed the idea of climbing Fuji-san. Not only climbing Fuji-san, but specifically he wanted to see the sunrise from Fuji-san, a very common tourist attraction (not for the faint of heart!). At this point it was just the two of us planning this trip, so the fact that he asked me to join him on a climb to see the sunrise made me giggle; it was all so...romantic, ha ha. Anyway, in all seriousness, we started to plan for the trip, and as we talked things over at lunch, some of our other friends decided that the trip was an awesome idea and wanted in on the action. There was one abortive attempt for the climb two weeks ago, but the weather was forecast to be, well, awful so we decided to wait. In addition, it was before the regular climbing season, which would have meant that it would have been riskier, as the mountain huts and stations would not be open and we would be going it solo. By waiting, we avoided bad weather, and increased our chances of having a safe and enjoyable trip. But it did mean that we would have to contend with thousands of other climbers who would also be climbing the mountain.

In the end, we were seven: Me, Anders, Hans Petter (Norway), Shih-Ming (Taiwan), Leo (Austria), Wes (USA) and Peter (USA). Anders and Hans Petter have climbed and hiked since they could walk (they are Norwegian after all) and they had the most experience, so they were really helpful in planning what to pack and what supplies to get. Everyone had different information about transportation, climbing websites, and the like. In a group that large, someone needs to help keep things organized so that things go smoothly, and since no one was stepping up I decided to fill in that role. Everything went smoothly, for the most part, and come Friday July 11 we were ready to go. But before we get on with the trip, let me paint you a quick sketch of my travel companions.

Anders Rekve (Norway), is 24 years old, tall, blond, has blue eyes, and looks very, very Norwegian, ha ha. After serving his compulsory military time in Norway after high school, he began his bachelors in chemistry at the University of Oslo. After two years he switched to a new track, and is now an International Relations major with a focus on economics. He will be finishing his degree next year. Growing up, his family has lived and traveled to many places, and he lived for some time as a young child in France, and for a couple of years in West Africa. He is generally a very laid back person, loves the outdoors, and like most Norwegians, once you get him talking about something he likes he can really talk your ear off. All of these factors make him one of my favorite people to talk to. He is one of the few people I've met who has had such a solid base in both hard science and in the social sciences, and for that reason he matches up well with my own intellectual interests and specialization. I feel I can engage completely with him without having to slim down explanations of more technical matters or avoid complex social issues. Because of his many years growing up outside of Norway, he has had to "relearn" the social rules of Norwegian culture for the past few years, and this has given him a unique, outsider's perspective of his mother culture. Because of this, he can often be very insightful of himself and his own culture, which is very refreshing. I feel I have learned and will continue to learn a lot from him, and I really enjoy talking with him. Anders is very relaxed about most things, especially when it comes to plan things, which is very different from my own style. I am also a bit less fluid in my choice of entertainment (I don't drink or do anything like that). These two factors sometimes cause some friction between us, but all in all it's a pretty good relationship. Anders was the first international student that I formed some sort of connection with minutes after arriving on campus, and that has continued strongly ever since.

Hans Petter Wiken is also from Norway, and also attends the University of Oslo. He turned 25 the day we arrived on Fujisan, and just completed his bachelor's degree in human geography (he also had to spend 2 years in compulsory military service). He will be attending Sheffield University in the U.K. for his Master's Degree come this fall, probably in "urban regeneration." He is a bit shorter than Anders and myself, with reddish brown hair and a beard, clear blue eyes and a solid build. Like Anders, he also enjoys the outdoors and loves to rock climb and hike. He is very serious, although he can quickly fire off a hilariously corny joke, always keeping me on my toes. He comes from a different part of Norway and he contrasts Anders nicely in his views of Norwegian culture, many times agreeing and many times not. He is a very nice guy, and it is very easy to have a serious, intellectual conversation with him or just relax and shoot the breeze. He recently spent four months traveling around South America, and I have enjoyed hearing his stories from his trip and learning from his experiences. Sometimes my constant chatter and debate/argumentative style of conversation grates his nerves, and for the most part he is too polite to tell me when I am doing just that, so sometimes there is conflict there, but again for the most part we get along very well.

Leo Ladenhauf hails from Austria. He is 22 years old but because of the 1 year compulsory military service in Austria he will be graduating next year. He is a business major. He is about as tall as I am, with light brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes, and his build is very much like my younger brother David (only taller). And like David, Leo can eat like you wouldn't believe and not gain a pound. He is a really fun, really funny guy who enjoys a good game of football (that's soccer, by the way, for all you Americans who don't know better), a good can of beer, and a good joke. He, Anders, Hans Petter, and Shih-Ming (see below) are all in my Japanese class, and we have had a great time struggling with the language together. Leo is also the only other guy in our class who actually tries to use Japanese outside of class, so we are almost always practicing with each other, quizzing each other, etc. He is also in aikido with me, and since we are about the same height and weight we often "spar" with each other to get the best practice. He laughs easily and often, and I love exchanging jibes with him. He also blushes very, very easily (and very red). Since he just recently started going out with a fellow international student, he has been getting a lot of flak from the rest of us, and our trip to Fujisan was no exception. He's a really fun guy to be with, all in all.

Shih-Ming Huang is from Taiwan. He is 21 years old and is studying literature (I don't remember if he is focusing on Japanese/Chinese, or if he is interested in English literature). He has had a little more experience with Japanese than the rest of us, and generally picks it up a bit faster than us as well, probably due to being exposed to it more and because he speaks Chinese (which makes deciphering Kanji a breeze!). He is quiet and shy, and his personality is kind of overshadowed by the bigger characters in the group. He is eager to explore Japan, and this is his first experience traveling. He has often tagged along with the different activities that I ended up organizing or participating in (trip to Sapporo, trip to Toya-ko, etc). He doesn't offer his opinion much unless you ask him, in which case he is usually very open. Because of his shy nature, I don't really know much more about his personality. He is generally that nice, quiet guy always hovering around the periphery of the main action.

Wes Borden is from the US. He just recently turned 21 and surprisingly goes to Ursinus College, which is in my hometown. He is an international business major and is very interested in Japan and Japanese culture. He is about as tall as I am and built rather large. In ways that are very difficult for me to describe, he represents some very iconic American traits, but at the same time can be very smart and nice. He came to AIU last fall and his Japanese is very, very good. People have been constantly commenting on how quickly I've picked up the language, and I think if I were to continue here as long as he did, I would probably be at the same level. Since he has been here for a while, he has a much more solid grip on the ins and outs of Japanese culture, and is therefore a very useful resource for us newbies. Since he was here last semester and is in none of my classes, I haven't really talked to him much this semester prior to our Fujisan trip together.

Peter Quist is also from the US. He is, surprisingly, 30 years old, tall and on the heavy side. He absolutely loves Japanese culture and language, and is easily the best with the language among all of us (although Shih-Ming has a very unfair advantage over him when it comes to Kanji). He ostensibly goes to Winona State University in Minnesota, but he only enrolled there so he could have the opportunity to come here to Japan. He came to AIU last semester (same as Wes) and is planning on staying in Japan as long as he can, probably as an English teacher in the JET program. I've spent very little time with him, although he is nice, very silly, and very good with Japanese.

And then there was me, of course. I had already known Anders, Hans Petter, Shih-Ming and Leo very well before the trip, and was looking forward to having a great time. After a week or so of gathering the necessary equipment and reservations, we suddenly found ourselves on July 11 traveling to Akita Station to begin our journey to sacred Mt. Fuji.

Friday, July 11

We left for Akita-eki on Friday evening. We were planning on going by "night bus" all the way to Tokyo. As we assembled on the bus to Wada train station, you could feel the nervous energy in the air. We talked about what we packed and what we were planning to do in Tokyo during our very long free time between arriving and going to the mountain. Wes, Anders and Hans Petter, being more experienced with hiking and climbing, brought their large hiking packs. Shih-Ming, Leo and I sported our large(r) backpacks, but when Peter came on I think we all (subconsciously) asked ourselves whether he was going to make it to the top. Though we had had a meeting earlier in the week and talked about everything we were going to need for the trip, I was surprised by how little he had packed. He was originally going to borrow his friend's hiking bag but his friend forgot to leave it for him, and so he ended up packing everything in a small bag. I knew that there was no way that there was enough room in that bag to hold the necessary jackets, extra clothes, food, water, etc that he was going to need to make it to the top, but at this point we were on our way so I just wished him the best.

Anyway, after arriving at Wada station and then taking a train into Akita Station, we then had about an hour before we could board the night bus. In the meantime people bought some food for the road. The bus, in typical Japanese fashion, was a gaudy, red monstrosity with the words "KiraKira" and "Hot Dog Bus Co." plastered on it, making us all groan and laugh simultaneously. I, of course, took a picture.

Only in Japan.

The night bus is a (relatively) direct bus from Akita to Tokyo City, making a few stops along the way to pick up people or for a bathroom break. They are notoriously uncomfortable and we had heard many a horror story from fellow international students who had braved this form of transit. Wes, Anders, and Leo brought some combination of liquid and prescription sleep aids (i.e. beer and/or cough medicine) while I relied on my Zen peace of mind to fall asleep. Anders wasn't sure how many pills he should take with his beer (which is highly ill-advised in the first place) and I told him that he should start with one to be safe, because I was NOT going to carry his groggy ass out of the bus once we arrived in Shinjuku. After chatting to pass the time for the first hour or so we all quieted down for some sleep. Ten to eleven hours later, we found ourselves in Tokyo. And to be honest, it wasn't that bad (a pillow is highly recommended). Zen meditation: 1, drugs: 0.

Saturday, July 12: Tokyo

We were supposed to get off in Shinjuku, Tokyo but everyone was asleep at the time so we ended up getting off at the final stop, which was Tokyo Station (a very minor mistake). We rubbed the sleep out of our eyes, grabbed our stuff, and were appalled by how hot and humid it was in Tokyo at 7:00am. Fujisan is about 2 hours west by bus from Tokyo city, and our bus wasn't until about 8:00pm, so we had over 12 hours to kill. We decided to set up base in Shinjuku first, which was where the Fujisan bus was departing from, and grabbed the Chuo line from Tokyo Station to Shinjuku, on the southwestern (and completely opposite) side of the city.

Anders, Peter, and Shih-Ming all looking a bit dazed
on the train to Shinjuku station Saturday morning.

We all chipped in to get two large, 500yen (about US $5) coin lockers at the station to hold our extra bags and unnecessary stuff, though I decided to hold onto my bag for the day (my back and shoulders very quickly did not approve of this decision). While Wes went to collect the tickets we had reserved for the bus to Fujisan, we relocated to nearby Shinjuku Central Park, still marveling at the increasing heat and humidity.

Shinjuku Central Park

As we settled down, Anders and Peter volunteered to go get some coffee and I decided to join them mainly to find myself a small breakfast sandwich or something of the sort. We randomly picked one of the exit paths, walking past a large, beautifully built Shinto Shrine along the way, the green tint of the rusted copper roof reminding me of the Statue of Liberty, and the fact I was coming home in just a few weeks. When we found ourselves on the street, we quickly found that there were no nearby coffee shops or even convenience stores in sight. Just as we were about to turn back, we came to a corner which had a small, private coffee shop and decided to stop in. It was a slightly upscale place, and Anders immediately wanted to sit in, though Peter was reluctant. I didn't care, and we ended up staying in. We all bought small sandwiches, Anders got some coffee and we all got some orange juice. The sandwiches were small, with ham, lettuce and mayonnaise on white bread, but the orange juice was absolutely delicious. It was all suddenly much less delicious when we found out that while the sandwiches were a steal at 250 yen, the drinks were not: 350yen for the coffee and 500yen for the orange juice! Somehow I wasn't surprised, mainly because going anywhere with Anders generally ends with spending a bit more money than I intend, and at a slightly upscale place to boot (Anders comes from a fairly well off family). I was a little bit tiffed by the stiff price but it was definitely delicious, fresh orange juice. We walked back to join the others in the park, and waited for Wes to come back with the tickets.

Once Wes came back, we all decided to quickly visit the nearby Metropolitan Government Building, which had a free observation deck and tourist information, and it was literally across the street from the park. Before heading up the elevator, some security staff had to search through our bags, which got some people annoyed but it wasn't terribly thorough so most people's careful packing was not ruined. On the observation deck, we got a glimpse of hazy, humid Tokyo in the comfort of a nicely air conditioned floor, and we all relaxed for a little while outside of the heat.

Metropolitan Government Building, Shinjuku, Tokyo.

Humid Tokyo from the Government Building.

We headed back to the station and designated a meeting time and place for later that night. The rest of the group were first heading to Harajuku, halfway between Shinjuku and Shibuya, to hang out at an internet cafe for a couple of hours. I elected to take this opportunity to go sightseeing, and instead took the train to Ueno Park, on the northeastern edge of the city. Ueno Park is famous for housing most of Tokyo's museums and is an older area of town. I would be staying at a hotel in Ueno on my way back to the states in a couple of weeks, so I took this opportunity to walk around the area a bit.

It reminded me a bit of Central Park in NY, if smaller and a bit more touristy. I glimpsed a statue of a samurai with a dog in the park, and as I got closer I confirmed that it was indeed the famed statue of Saigo Takamori. He is considered to be the "Last Samurai" of Japan, and his Satsuma Rebellion against Emperor Meiji at the close of the 19th century is the basis of the acclaimed (if almost completely fictitious) movie "The Last Samurai" starring Tom Cruise. Here is a link with more information on the real Last Samurai, for those of you interested in that sort of thing.

Saigo Takamori, The Last Samurai.

At this point I was also getting pretty hungry, so after walking around the park for a bit and taking pictures, I sat down on a bench near a collection of Shrines I was planning on checking out. What really drew me to this area, though, was the sound of old, traditional Japanese music being played on a sound system, and as I approached this area I saw an old Japanese gentleman with a guitar, playing along with the orchestra and singing into a small karaoke machine, crooning some old Edo period melodies while an old Japanese woman conducted him as she danced around. It was all very charming and I decided this was a good stop to rest and have some food.

At this point, I had my first "adult content" experience, and it was actually pretty hilarious. I had just finished eating my lunch and was looking over my Tokyo map, deciding which was the best way to get to Asakusa, my next destination after my tour of Ueno Park. At this point a small, middle aged Japanese man who was collecting fallen sticks ambled over and said hello to me in English, and sat down beside me. He asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Japan, etc. I thought it kind of strange, and I could imagine my father shouting at me to "get the hell out of there, what was I thinking to let some random guy I don't know approach me, alone, in a park in one of the largest cities in the world, blah blah blah." Anyway, he was small, slightly old and very non-threatening, and there were a lot of people around, so I wasn't the least bit nervous, just slightly intrigued. I had been, up to this point, answering his questions in Japanese until he finally asked if I spoke English, to which I answered yes, and then switched to English thereafter. I don't remember the exact conversation after this point, but it went something along the lines of his asking me if I had a girlfriend or if I had met any nice Japanese girls, etc. He commented that my Japanese was pretty good (yeah right) and that most foreigners, even after being in Japan for six or seven years, still usually spoke English whenever they could, and did I know why? I told him I did not. He informed me that Japanese girls go crazy for English and love meeting exotic men from overseas, etc. He told me that if I was interested, I should take the train to Ayase (I think) in the evening and that at the station I would find many nice Japanese women who would love to talk with me, etc. At this point it was pretty obvious that he was directing me to Japanese prostitutes, and I was wondering if he was a pimp of some sort (he definitely didn't LOOK like one, but then again what the hell do I know?) or just an enthusiastic customer or whatever. I thanked him for the information and told him that if I had time in the evening I might stop by, and he soon went on his merry way. I chuckled to myself...imagine, being directed to a red light district in the middle of Ueno park while having lunch!...gathered my gear and took a look at the nearby Shinto shrines.






As I came up one section of the park, I found myself amid a row of beautiful stone lanterns that must have been amazing when lit at night. When I approached the shrine at this area of the park, I took note of the two Shi-Shi (lion dog) guardians, a mythological creature imported from Chinese lore and designated as guardians to sacred areas. As I suspected, one shi-shi had its mouth open (the one on the right) and the one on the left had its mouth closed. The one with its mouth open would eat evil spirits and demons while the one with its mouth closed drove them away. Japan's religious history is absolutely fascinating, with an incredible mixing of native elements (during the Meiji Restoration these "native religions" were collectively called Shinto) and the imported Buddhist traditions from China. You will see below how these guardian Shi-shi will be perfectly mirrored in the architecture of a Buddhist temple.

The right Shi-Shi (lion dog) with its mouth open to eat evil spirits and demons.


The left Shi-Shi with its mouth closed, meant to drive away evil spirits and demons.

As I walked my way out of the little shrine area, I glimpsed through the trees a seemingly out of place pagoda. It seemed out of place because I don't think there were any Buddhist temples in the area, but it was beautiful nonetheless, maybe three stories high. The pagoda is my all time favorite piece of temple architecture, imported from India through China, and serves the function of housing temple artifacts, treasures, and supposedly remnants of the Buddha himself (though I highly doubt ALL of them have that particular artifact). The one in Ueno park was very difficult to make out in the green foliage of summer, but you will see a much better picture of one in just a few moments.

The Ueno Park Pagoda.

Not even 200 meters from the pagoda, I suddenly found myself at the entrance to a kid's amusement park and the Ueno Zoo. That's what I love about Japan, you can go from the quiet and sublimely sacred to crazy, modern youthful energy within seconds. I smiled at all the children and families, and exerted extreme self-control in not buying an ice cream. My back was starting to really ache with all of its contents (and this concerned me considering I would be carrying it up Fujisan for hours) so I made my way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sat inside its deliciously air conditioned lobby for about twenty minutes.

Ueno Zoo.

Doraimon, the blue robot cat from the future, at the amusement park. Doraimon is an extremely famous anime character, almost Japan's equivalent of Mickey Mouse.

As I made my way back to Ueno Station, I passed by many more museums, including the Tokyo National Museum, the Museum of Western Art, etc. I plan on visiting these museums in depth when I am back in Tokyo at the end of my stay, but for now I was bound for Asakusa, and its famed Sensou-ji Temple.

Asakusa, like Ueno, is an older part of Tokyo. It is known for having nice little temples, shrines and shops but its main attraction is, hands down, the Sensou-ji temple. A huge Buddhist Temple dedicated to Kannon, the god(dess) of mercy, it is always crowded with hundreds of visitors each day; even more so during festivals. I had wanted to take my parents to visit this temple when they were visiting Japan, but we didn't have time during our day in Tokyo. Up to this time, I had yet to visit a Buddhist Temple, which is actually an impressive feat when you consider just how many there are in Japan. I was really excited to check out this very famous Temple, and wanted to buy myself an inexpensive band of prayer beads to wear on my hike up Fujisan.

Finding the temple wasn't hard, as its main gate is, by all reckoning, massive. Even today, a random Saturday in July, there was an incredible throng of people massing at the gate, and I could make out a tour guide holding up a giant sign and yelling for his group to assemble before the tour. I crossed the street and saw that flanking the Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate) were two large statues of the Buddhist demons turned gods Fujin and Raijin, gods of wind and thunder respectively. They were menacing statues meant to deter bad spirits and demons, much like the guardian Shi-shi at the shinto shrine I mentioned above in Ueno Park. Fujin, who was on the right side of the gate, menaced down with his mouth open in what could only be a fearsome yell. Raijin, on the left, grimaced down with his mouth clenched tightly. Here, in Buddhist form was the same ideas expressed in the Shinto shrine, with two guardian deities, one with an open mouth and the other with a closed one, protecting a sacred location. The statues had a wire mesh in front of them which prevented me from taking a nice photo, but I did my best:

Kaminarimon (Thunder Gate) as seen from Asakusa Subway exit.

The Thunder Gate closer up. You can see Raijin on the left and Fujin on the right.

Fujin, god of wind, sitting on the right of the gate with his mouth gaping open.

Raijin, god of Thunder, on the left with his mouth in an angry grimace.

After passing through the gates, you come upon a long bazaar of vendors under covered stalls. The congestion here was pretty bad and I can't imagine being able to move during matsuri (festivals) here. Smells of delicious foods floated in the air like incense and I could see stalls selling nearly any kind of Japanese souvenir you can imagine: swords, wood block paintings, calligraphy scrolls, kimono, yukata, wigs for kimonos, little shops of Buddhist trinkets, including images of the Buddha, prayer beads, etc. Anything and everything was there. I was pretty hot and my bag was weighing heavily on me (literally) so I made my way at a brisk pace to avoid spending too much money here.




After passing through the bazaar of earthly delights (just kidding), I came upon another large gate marking the actual temple grounds. This gate was ornately built and had another set of Fujin and Raijin statues. Beyond the gate I could clearly see a breathtaking five story pagoda, also beautiful crafted. The noise and bustle of all the people here were kind of distracting, but even so I was filled with a sense of awe at the ornate beauty of these buildings.

The inner gate between the bazaar and the actual temple grounds.

The five story pagoda of Sensou-ji temple. Closed to the public, of course.

A brazier of sacred incense which is believed to have healing properties.
These people are wafting the sweet smoke onto their bodies to ward sickness.

I walked up to one of the stalls on the temple grounds and bought myself a 1000yen ($10) black set of prayer beads, and then walked around the small courtyard. It was hot and humid and as much as I wanted to mill around, the noise and bustle of all the people made me feel really tired. I walked into the main temple, most of which was closed off to a buddhist ceremony taking place inside and snapped pictures of what was open to the public and watched as people threw some coins into a collection box and cranked out (literally) their fortunes at nearby fortune stalls. I opted to forgo that bit of ceremony, mainly because the fortune would be indecipherable anyway (and it was in Japanese). While I was taken in by the beauty of the place, the amount of people was simply to much for me; my idea of a holy place of worship is one with few people and a lot of quiet (not necessarily silence) to help me maintain a solemn mood. Granted, this can be found in Japan, just not in Tokyo, ha ha. After some time sitting on the steps to the temple and resting in the shade, I made my way back to Shinjuku to rest and grab some dinner.

I was sweaty and kind of grimy at this point, but I knew that if I washed up now I would only get grimy again, as it was only about 4:00pm by this point. I trudged to the Shinjuku Central Park where we had started early this morning, found myself a bench near a group of friends in their mid twenties throwing around a Frisbee and otherwise enjoying the park, and laid back. I drifted in and out of sleep over the next hour or so, enjoying the stillness and staring at the underside of the green leaves of the tree beside my bench, just laying there. Eventually, discomfort overcame drowsiness, and after about an hour I got myself up and decided I was going to write in my journal a bit. I could see more people had come to this section of the park by this time. It was at this point that I had my second and markedly more adult encounter which will undoubtedly make quite a few people uncomfortable; consider yourself warned. This part will also undoubtedly cause my father (and mother) to freak out,but anyway, here it goes.

As I was waking myself up and getting my notebook out, I noticed that there was now a Japanese gentlemen sitting on the next bench over, his bicycle parked nearby. I can't remember in my grogginess if he had arrived just as I re-situated myself or if he was already there when I woke up. He looked to be in his thirties, no older than 36, wore glasses, and had a kind, smiling face. He was a slight fellow, meek looking, probably a kaishain (office worker) at one of the nearby offices (Shinjuku is the heavy business district of Tokyo). He said hello, and I responded in kind. He asked me what my name was, where I was from, etc., the usual gaijin (foreigner) interview. Though I wasn't really in the mood to be striking up conversations with strangers again (I don't know how my mom does it) I humored him, deciding it wouldn't hurt to be polite. His English was a bit more broken than the previous man's which left a few semi-awkward silences. I commented on the humidity and heat of the day. He asked me how tall I was; normally this would be a strange question, I know, but at this point it didn't even cause me to blink because a) Japanese often ask questions that seem really random (like what my blood type is) but often for reasons you wouldn't immediately guess (blood types are used for horoscopes in Japan), and b) my height has been commented on incessently by Japanese since landing in April, which made this inquiry just one more drop in the bucket, so I shot him my usual reply of probably around 185 cm (an inch or two over 6 feet). He then pointed at his face and said, "you have nice face." This was definitely an odd compliment, I know, and I wasn't sure if he meant I had a nice smile or what. I figured his English was just not good enough to say what he really wanted to say so I just smiled and thanked him. I noticed that he was getting a little bit more nervous or anxious about something, but I had no idea about what. He then asked when I had arrived in the park and if I was alone, and I told him that I was meeting my friends in an hour or so, but now I had a small alarm going off in the back of my head. I wasn't scared for my physical safety; unless he had a weapon of some sort I was pretty confident I knew enough aikido to protect myself from the smaller man, which is probably arrogant of me to think, I know. There were a lot of people nearby so I wasn't worried. (this is where my dad would vehemently disagree) But this was starting to feel a bit strange to me. I was getting tired of the encounter by this point, but didn't want to just leave as that would be rude. It was just as I was deciding that I would just sit there and not worry about it that everything came together. He pulled out some glossy fliers from his backpack, pointed to them and said "me" and then gave them to me to look at. I was kind of annoyed at bone eing solicited to go to a random event in Tokyo, especially featuring some random guy I just met in a park in Shinjuku. I looked on the cover and was puzzled by what I saw; the large, topless Japanese man who looked like a WWF wrestler on the cover looked nothing like this man beside me. It wasn't until I opened the pamphlet that I realized it was pornography. Specifically, it was male homosexual pornography. I was stunned. Suddenly, everything made sense in one shockingly clear moment; he was a gay Japanese man, saw me in the park, thought I was attractive, and was trying to pick me up. I was so shocked that I didn't know what to say or do. It seemed like my brain was working at half speed.

I honestly can't remember what it was that I said when I returned the materials back to him, but I know it was something that conveyed I was not interested. He was visibly nervous and agitated by now, in a kind of panicky way. I saw that to the right of us, down the path a bit a Japanese police officer was chatting with some other park guests, and that might have been why he was getting all nervous: not because he was doing anything illegal per se, but if I was sufficiently grossed out (or frightened or whatever homophobes call it) I could always call the cop on him, which I wasn't going to do unless he got violent. (which I highly doubted as he looked more scared of me than anything else) After rejecting his first offer, my initial shock was starting to very slowly subside and was replaced instead by a growing sense of sadness. He then told me that he had money, and showed me his wallet with a few 10,000 yen notes in it (those are $100 each), but I just shook my head smiling sadly, waving no and saying "sumimasen, daijoubu" (I'm sorry, but that's alright). I might have even said "kekkon desu" which is a very polite way of saying "that won't be necessary" or that's not needed, though I might be remembering wrong. I was really heartbroken now, though I guess most people would probably be running for the cop. He looked really deflated now, and asked as he put his things away, "you have girlfriend in the states?"

When he asked me that question, time seemed to stand still as a million thoughts raced through my head simultaneously. Not only do I not have a girlfriend, but on the contrary, he had unwittingly struck gold in the sense that, like him, I also "swing for the other team"; it wasn't a matter of sexual incompatibility. But how do I explain to him that despite our being compatible in that sense, the idea of having sex with a total stranger for money was not only dangerous in my mind, but also immoral in so many complex ways? How do I begin to explain to him my profound sorrow for the position he finds himself in now, in his thirties, most likely married and working sixty hours a week (if I assume the normalized Japanese kaishain lifestyle), terrified his wife, family and coworkers will find out he is gay and ostracize him and shame him? How do I begin to convey my sadness at the state of Japanese culture where, only a hundred years ago, during the Tokugawa era (1600-1868) relations between people of the same sex was not only condoned, it happed with surprising frequency (giving the Greeks a run for their money), and it was only after the introduction of Western ideals, Western economics, and Western morals that the homosexual was demonized, made deviant, and criminalized, placing him firmly in the closet that I know so well? How do I express my sympathy for a man who has grown up in a culture that pushes him to marry from the time he completes high school, a culture that silences sexuality, individuality, and gender equality? And at the very core of it all, how do I explain to him that while he may think he is searching for sex, all he needs, all he really wants, is to find a man to cherish him and love him and affirm him as a gay man, and for his society to accept that relationship as valid and healthy and joyful? Being brought up a man in a culture that is strongly patriarchal and hierarchical, pushed to marry since puberty, forced to deny his true self while learning the masculine rules of denying your emotions and your softer feelings, it is no wonder that gay men, in Japan and in the US, cruise so voraciously for sex; they think they will feel fulfilled by it. And on a level, they are of course fulfilled by it. But I am profoundly sad for this man who can only affirm his gay sensibility by cruising for foreigners in parks, soliciting random sex devoid of all meanings of intimacy. In the longterm, this is not what we want, what we need. We (all human beings) want to have affection and compassion and love. This man didn't need my sex, he needed my compassion and my affirmation of his true, beautiful human self.

All of these thoughts ran through my head as he asked me, "do you have a girlfriend." I don't like to lie; even now I try to avoid lying by sticking to non-gendered pronouns when possible. But there was too wide a gap, - a gap in language, in age, in culture, in everything. It was simpler, if more painful, to just say "yes." And that's what I did. He accepted my answer, looking dejected and humiliated, and I busied myself with my journal, still unsure of what to do. I was just about to leave when he took the initiative and said goodbye, hurriedly pedaling his bike away. I watched him streak out of the park and felt my heart settle in a melancholy place of empathy. The police officer walked by and I bowed in greeting. I sat there on the bench, running over the encounter in my mind over and over again, becoming more and more disappointed that I couldn't do anything for the man, not even offer a compassionate hand on the shoulder, and felt depressed with the state of affairs for homosexuals (and other sexual/gender minorities) everywhere. Eventually, I took a deep breath, sighed with the release that comes with accepting your lot in life, and made my way to the Government Building to wash up.

I had brought a few hand towels with me, which I soaked in the sink and used to wipe myself down a large, handicapped (and blessedly Western style) bathroom stall, and then switched into my climbing clothes, which consisted of jeans, a T-shirt and long-sleeved shirt, wool socks (for warmth and more importantly because they almost never cause blisters, as opposed to cotton socks) and of course my hiking sneakers. It was still pretty warm to be wearing this outfit, but I didn't want to waste time with this stuff on the mountain.

By 7:00pm we had all assembled at the West gate of Shinjuku station and headed to where the bus was collecting us. We left at about 8:00pm and arrived at Kawaguchiko Train station around 10:00. It was at this point that we hit a major roadblock in our expedition.

Fujisan is a volcano (long dormant) with a reasonable height of about 3,776 meters (approx. 12,388 feet). It straddles two Prefectures (provinces) to the west of Tokyo. The mountain has rest stations from the bottom to the summit, going from Station 1 to Station 10. Station 5, about halfway up the mountain (1700 meters) actually consists of four or five stations circling the mountain. The 5th station on the east side, which is the station that most hikers from Tokyo's direction starts from, is called Kawaguchiko 5th station because the nearby city on the base of the east slope of Fujisan is Kawaguchiko. According to the information I had seen, I was under the impression that there was a bus that went directly to Kawaguchiko 5th station on the mountain from Shinjuku. I, however, was not the one who ended up ordering the bus tickets, as the bus company's website was all Japanese. Instead, Wes and his Japanese speaking girlfriend handled all of it. As it turns out, the bus tickets he had reserved dropped us off at Kawaguchiko Train station in Kawaguchiko at the BASE of the mountain, not at the 5th station. This is an easy mistake, especially when you are trying to make reservations in a second language (hell it would be confusing in your first language). Normally this would not be a problem, as there is a bus that runs between Kawaguchiko Train station to Kawaguchiko 5th station on the mountain. The problem was that we had arrived at the train station a little after 10pm, and had missed the last bus up to the 5th station, leaving us stranded on the base of the mountain.

There were three (really two) options. We could hike from the bottom all the way to the top, which was, at the very least, a 2 day proposition (this wasn't really an option). We could give up and just spend the night and the next day around the mountain. Or we could take a taxi up to the 5th station for the paltry sum of 16,000 yen (that's...$160 one way).

At this point, we were approached by two Americans who had also just arrived and were planning on climbing the mountain. They were hailing from the Okinawa base, and had seen us in Shinjuku when we were waiting for our bus (they tried to get tickets for the bus too but were unable to because they needed to book them in advance). We all thought about the situation for about thirty seconds, then decided that as much as it sucked (really, really sucked) there was no way we were coming this far just to give up at the bottom. So, the taxi drivers let us squeeze nine passengers into two cabs (which made everyone's fare about $40) and drove us the 30km up to 5th station. It was a loooooong drive, to say the least. I was stuck in the five passenger cab practically cuddling one of the tag along Americans, and we shared our stories of where we were going to school, the often ridiculous difficulties with Japanese transportation, etc. On the way up we saw three buses on their descent back to the Train Station, and cursed our luck.

We finally made it to Kawaguchiko 5th station, a large landing site with maybe ten buildings with shops, restaurants, an outfitter's store, and places to spend the night, as well as a bus terminal. There were only two businesses open and they quickly shut down as we approached 11:00pm. We climbed out of the taxis, said farewell to the Americans, and quickly suited up for the expedition. There were maybe twenty other hikers doing the same. We quickly snapped some preliminary pics, and then started on our way, not wanting to waste any time.

Sacred Mt. Fuji

Thoughts of the past day quickly melted away as I focused on the hike and my companions. There were many random photos taken to very bad effect early on in the hike. As it was extremely dark outside (and for this reason I have very, very few pics of the ascent), we quickly stopped snapping pictures in favor of waiting for better lighting conditions. The nervous energy from 24 hours earlier was now an excited joy that was clear in all seven of us. The weather and climbing conditions were perfect in every sense of the term: there were no clouds that night, and a beautifully 2/3 full and luminous moon was already a quarter of the way on its own ascent into the night when we started. It did not rain or precipitate in any way for the entirety of our stay on Fujisan. The stars were clear, bright, and immense. The path was clean, dry, and straightforward. The small 1000yen headlamps that we had all bought before hand proved to be extremely good deals, being light weight and offering a decently strong lighting effect. While the weather was a bit chilly (I began with my fleece jacket already on) once we started moving and got the blood flowing it was very comfortable. We passed by a sign marking the beginning of the climb from 5th station, and I think everyone who passed it took a quick picture:

So it begins.

It only took a couple of minutes before our group of seven split into two. Anders, Wes and Shih-Ming moved at a rather brisk pace. Peter was definitely the slowest of us, and Hans Petter had a somewhat injured toe, so Leo and I hung back with them for a while. After some time (my sense of time intervals for the trip is very limited) we arrived at 6th station, where we regrouped and took a short break. The station consisted of a small building very well lit with a PTA system advising all would-be hikers of the necessary precautions and equipment they would need to enjoy their hike. After a very short while we set off for seventh station. I began with the forward group but eventually fell behind, and occupied some space in the middle going my own pace. It was on our way to the seventh station that I was rudely awakened to what it meant to climb a mountain.

I wasn't sure, initially, what to expect when climbing Fujisan. I had never done any serious hiking, nor ascended anything close to being called a mountain before. Initially the path wasn't so bad; gravel, natural forest floor and the like. Very quickly we passed the tree line, though, and had to contend with rock hard footing for the rest of the climb. It was during this time that we started encountering large sections of rocky slopes. And when I say rock, I don't mean nice, flat and relatively smooth shale and sandstone that you find in the gorges around Ithaca. I mean bulbous, porous and amorphous igneous rock, formations of magma that had run down the volcano hundreds of years ago and cooled into strange and hard to climb shapes. It required you to carefully place your hands and feet, and in many placed you had to literally hoist yourself up onto the next level of rock, though we never had to do full vertical climbing (thank god). I was not expecting such dangerous, steep and uncomfortable conditions, but I steeled myself to the task and went forward with gusto. Actually, it was very tiring and draining, and I was caught between wanting to rest and wanting to keep moving forward.

Also at this time we started a familiar pattern of zig-zag paths up the east face of the mountain, made up of slippery gravel at a nice, steep slope, which, while easier on the legs to ascend, was hard to grip with the feet and were no less exhausting. The path alternated between the gravel and the rock, and I stopped a couple of times to catch my breath. At one point I actually caught up with the forward group as we neared a particularly steep and narrow section, but as soon as we got through the line of people taking their time with that section I fell behind again. I eventually found myself at the seventh station and soon the rear group also arrived. We all took a few minutes to rest, snacked on some food, re-hydrated ourselves, and put on the rest of our warm gear as it was now pretty cold and getting windy.

Between this station and the eight station there were a ton of "mountain huts." These buildings were small dwellings carved into and onto the mountain side, and provided a place to warm up, buy ridiculously expensive food and drink (water was 500yen for 250 milliliters), and you could also spend the night there for 5,000 yen ($50). Many hikers climb up to one of these huts around 7th and 8th stations during the day, stay the night (and acclimatize to the elevation), and then get up early to climb the rest of the mountain and catch the sunrise. We opted to forgo the expense and do the whole climb in one go (well, from 5th station anyway).

At this point, we learned that Peter decided to go at his own pace, and told us not to wait up for us. I was worried that he was just not equipped and in the right physical condition to make the climb, so I was glad he made the decision, but I was still worried about leaving him on his own to climb Fujisan (granted, he would be surrounded by hundreds of other hikers making the ascent). But he had his cell phone (there actually is reception all the way to the top of the mountain) so we went on without him.

We started on our way to 8th station, passing through many of the huts on the steep ascent. The thinning air was very noticeable at this point. The lack of oxygen meant quickly finding yourself out of breath, and I tried to take it slower. I took many more breaks on this part of the ascent, and the rocky and narrow portions were much more difficult for me now. I clung to the ropes and chains that were posted in some areas to steady myself, and found myself a bit wobbly on my feet in many areas. My backpack didn't feel terribly heavy on my shoulders, which was very surprising, but my legs were burning with exertion and felt weak at many points. When I stopped to catch my breath and drink some water, I would gaze out into the horizon, marveling at the clear sky and the stars which seemed enormous to me and within my hand's grasp. I gazed down into the valley and saw the many lights of Kawaguchiko, or I would stare up the steep slope at the twinkling lights of the upcoming mountain huts and rest stations. I drew strength from the quiet of the night, and somehow made it up to 8th station, where I was determined to take at least fifteen minutes to rest.

The 8th station was a threshold for my climbing experience. I had been one of the last to arrive at the station, and when I got there I could see Anders and Wes already chomping at the bit, ready to get going. They had been chatting with some other climbers (each of the stations had anywhere between a dozen and 50 climbers resting, milling about or just chatting) and were told that if we were going to make it to the summit by sunrise (scheduled for 4:30am) we would have to go now, and not make many stops along the way (it was about 1:00am by this point). One of the major concerns was the inevitably long line around 9th station for the last part of the ascent, when hundreds of climbers were funneled into a particularly steep section. Anders and Wes proposed two options, either wait here for the sunrise and then finish the climb, or try to make it to the top. At this point, I honestly didn't care about getting all the way to the top in time for sunrise. I had seen that the view of the horizon and the valley below was pretty clear at this elevation, and it would only get better as we got higher. Wes noted that because our bus back to Shinjuku from Kawaguchiko station was at 11:00am, we would have to make it down to 5th station by 9:30am the latest (we didn't know the bus schedule), and factoring in the climbing time to go up and down he was very reluctant to wait at 8th station. Anders made a snap decision and decided to go for it, and Wes followed suit. The four of us (Shih-Ming, Leo, Hans Petter and myself) waited a little longer, but it was starting to get very cold because we had stopped moving. We decided to continue on and would stop our climb sometime around sunrise, and then resume shortly thereafter, maximizing our time. By this point I could feel my exhaustion and my weakening legs pretty clearly, and I began to fall behind from the group. After about 15 minutes, I found myself at a crossroads in the path, and I hadn't noted which route the three had taken. I took a few moments to rest and thought about what I should do.

I was currently behind everyone in the group (not counting Peter, who I didn't think was going to make it to the top tonight anyway). I could see that to my right, there were more mountain huts, and hikers were continuing that way in a long line up another rocky section of the ascent path. To my left, I could barely make out another path that wound itself up the mountain, little bouncing lights making a long procession up the mountain confirming that this was a viable path to the top. Part of me wanted to go to the right, where I was almost positive my compatriots had gone. But another part of me wanted to go the left route. I decided to take a gamble and went left, resolving myself to going at my own pace.

From this point to the very top of the mountain, I climbed alone. I passed by (and was passed by) many other hikers and some hiking groups with a mountain guide, but I never fell into any one group. I drifted among the hikers trudging up the mountain. I was alarmed by how quickly my heart rate sky rocketed. My legs begged me to rest, or else my feet did, or both of them ganged up on me. I remembered in cross country training when my legs would do the same and I had to learn to push them harder as we ran five, six, seven, ten miles. This was much, much harder than cross country. It was pretty windy now, and while my core (chest, head, and legs) was at a relatively comfortable temperature, my hands and face became chilled.

The path was very difficult. It was steep, and all gravel, making it hard to grip. My feet would slide in the gravel, wasting precious energy. I was becoming more and more convinced that this was actually the "descent path" designed for hikers to climb down (not up). I placed faith in my fellow hikers and the mountain guides with their Japanese hiking groups that I would make it to the top on this route. I remember with a laugh that when I began the climb I had hoped I could make it into a spiritual experience, taking the opportunity to really connect with that "elusive Japanese cultural spirit." All I could think of at this point was putting one foot in front of the other. In that way, though, it was very Zen.

Out of necessity, I developed a rhythm. I took between 8 and 10 steps, then stopped for 10 or fifteen seconds, catching my breath. I did this for two zig-zags of the ascent, and then took a break at the landing for a few minutes. I used my meditation deep-breathing exercises to help get my heart rate back to a healthy level. I was disturbed by how long this would take, but admonished myself that I was close to 3000 meters above sea level. I tried to ignore the fact that I was getting more and more wobbly on my feet as I went up, or that I would hold a hand to the wall of the path for added stability. Every time I took a break I had to balance resting my body and not losing too much heat. Part of me was a little depressed with my alone-ness. But despite (or because?) of the difficulty, I found myself strangely at peace with my situation. My body was in pain, but it wasn't too much. Just enough to make me keenly aware of being alive, of hiking up a mountain at 3:00am in 5C temperatures. I remember passing by a wall of frozen snow and was happy there wasn't more of it on the mountain. My existence focused on the climb, step by step, breath by breathless breath.

Sometimes I would sit with a hiking group on the landings, on the periphery of the crowd, feeling a part of them but also apart from them. I would sometimes walk amongst them as we trudged up the mountain, sometimes overtaking them, sometimes falling behind them, drifting in and out, always an individual among the stream.

It seemed like an eternity, but despite my pain I was, deep down, enjoying the experience (I think). I saw the horizon began to lighten around 3:40, and seriously doubted I would reach the top in time. But I didn't care about that. I would walk as far as I could walk, stop when I needed to, and enjoy the hike.

Finally, after a lifetime of walking, I could see clearly what I knew was the summit of Fujisan. I saw that people were milling around at the top behind a wire fence, and could not make out any slope going higher than that point. I could just see what I thought were the buildings of what had to be 10th station. I had bypassed 9th station completely. It was 4:00am now, the sky becoming very light, and I didn't need my flashlight at all. I was exhausted. I was on the final slope to the top, which stretched for maybe 600 meters. Sunrise was in twenty to thirty minutes. It would take me about that time to get to the top, and that was pushing it. I decided that this was as high as I would go, and found myself a rock to sit on. Most hikers at this point had found a comfortable place to sit, though quite a few were pushing on. I unwrapped my fleece blanket, which I know Anders, Wes and Hans Petter had thought was unnecessary (and were probably snickering all through the hike), and gratefully wrapped myself in it. I got cold very fast, and it was damn windy. Eventually, though, I was able to wrap myself in a way that let in the least amount of moving, cold air and trapped in the little warmth I was radiating. Shivering, I munched on the bag of cereal I had brought for my breakfast and took pictures. I was damn cold and this distracted me from any possible spiritual awakenings I had hoped for, and it also dampened somewhat my appreciation of the sunrise. But, to be honest, the sunrise was magnificent.

The landscape directly below me was already a pale green. The lands farther out from the mountains were shrouded in the mist and haze of 30C weather that I yearned for on the cold mountain slope. I could see valleys and hills materializing in the gray haze like a world from a dream. The waters of a large lake just below the glowing pulse of light on the horizon reflected the sky like a mirror. The sky itsel was covered in a perfect blend of clouds close to the horizon which would catch the morning light, and clear sky above. The stars had faded away. The sky above went from black, to dark cerulean, to a lighter and lighter blue, all the shades of a beautiful ukiyo-e wood block print. The horizon itself glowed with a pink and yellow warmth until it burst in the red and gold of the mythological phoenix that I love so much, the puffy cumulus clouds above contrasting with a soft and delicate pink. I could see clearly in the line of stratus clouds on the horizon the gold explosion where the sun was ready to make its grand entrance. At 4:34am, Sunday July 13, shivering and sitting by myself on a rock about 3,750 meters above sea level, I experienced goraikou, sunrise on Mt. Fuji, to the cheers of thousands of Japanese hikers who shouted "Bonzai! Bonzai! Bonzai!" It was damn cold. And it was an experience I will never forget.

3:40am.

4:00am

4:34am, sunrise.

Shortly after the sun cleared the layer of stratus clouds on the horizon, I collected my stuff and finished my ascent up the mountain, going slowly but feeling better after having sat for about thirty minutes. As I neared the top, I could see an incredible line of hikers coming up the "real" ascent path from 9th station, a continuous unbroken procession trudging up the final slope at a leisurely pace. I wondered if my friends were waiting for me on the top or were still in line.

Hikers on the ascent path, making their way to the summit. I had bypassed this line by walking up the "descent" path along with many other hikers who wanted to beat the crowd.

Hikers finally reaching the summit of Fujisan in the morning light.
You can see the final torii (gate to a Shinto place of worship)
and on the top one of the buildings of the 10th station complex.

At the top, I could see that there was a small hill to the very, very top of the mountain where another Shinto torii was erected as the resting place for the spirit of the mountain. I climbed onto the shelf of rock that led up to this area and looked down to see hundreds and hundreds of hikers funneling their way through 10th station to my area. I didn't see any of my friends nearby. I gazed out on the morning below me, still glorious, and then at the mountain itself. Fujisan, remember, is a volcano, and so the top was a large crater which people were touring (this takes about an hour). On the other side of the crater was the weather station which posts forecasts during the regular hiking season. I stood, kind of dazed, on the top of Fujisan, not feeling ecstatic or depressed, just existing. I eventually got a Japanese hiker to take my picture next to a pole marking the top of the mountain, and then waited to see if I could find my friends.

On the summit of Fujisan.

The crater (with some snow) of Fujisan. On the far edge
you can just make out the weather station.

It was around 5:00am by this point, with none of my friends in sight. I remembered Wes being concerned about making it down the mountain in time for the bus, and I wondered if they had made it here for the sunrise, waited a bit, and then continued on hoping everyone would make it to the station in time. I didn't have a cell phone with me so I couldn't contact any of them, and they couldn't contact me. I was completely alone. Reluctantly, I decided to make my way down, as everyone would surely find their way back to 5th station eventually. I asked one of the tour guides which way was the way down to 5th station, and he told me to go down the path I had just come up, confirming without a doubt I had come up the "back way." I trudged my way down, ambling a slowly but easily. As I passed the rock where I had sat for the sunrise I could see, at the landing where the zig-zag turned 180 degrees, Wes standing there waiting. We waived to each other as I approached. I figured at this point that he was the "rear guard" waiting to catch the rest of us on our way down and get everyone on board. When I finally caught up with him, though, I was told some very surprising news.

Wes and Anders had made it to the 9th station before Anders had to stop. Though he is an experienced mountain climber, he is very susceptible to altitude sickness, which was definitely a concern over 2500 meters (though everyone is a bit different). It got so bad that he knew he could go farther and told Wes to go on without him. He later told us that he ended up throwing up a couple times on the way down, that's how bad he felt. I felt really bad for him and knew he must be really, really upset to have not been able to reach the top. I also know that if he had gone at a slower pace he wouldn't have gotten so bad, though he might have needed to spend a couple of hours first before continuing regardless. Anyway, the two of the were waiting at 9th station for the rest of us to catch up, all the while watching the incredibly long line march slowly up the final ascent of the mountain. Eventually Wes left Anders his cell phone and decided to climb up the "back way" still not sure when the rest of the group was going to reach 9th station. Wes told me that he later called the others and found they were in line but currently between 9th station and the top.

As Wes told me all of this, the full implications of everything finally sunk in. I had not only made it to the top by myself, I made it to the top first. I had started behind everyone at 8th station, but because I had gone up the back way, I ended up beating everyone to the top by a fair margin (almost an hour) despite my incredibly slow pace. Granted, if we had all chosen to go the back way I still would have been the last one up, but as it stood I was the first. Suddenly, I felt like a million dollars.

I joined Wes as we climbed (again) the final part of the ascent; I pointed out where I had sat for the sunrise. We made it to the top (again) and I was quickly reminded of how tired my body still was from the climb. I assumed a lookout post over the incoming throng of hikers as he explored the summit a bit. Finally, after maybe fifteen minutes, I saw the last of the group (Shih-Ming, Hans Petter and Leo) make it to the top. We all shared our stories of our climbs and took some quick pictures. We decided we didn't want to risk trying to climb around the entire summit of the mountain and instead decided we should start the descent right away so that we wouldn't ruin our chances for catching the bus back.

Leo and Wes.

Hans Petter and Shih-Ming.

All of us on the top of Fujisan. (Shih-Ming, Wes, Hans Petter, Leo, and Me).

The descent from the top of Fujisan was a completely different experience. First of all, it was markedly warmer. The sun, which had only been up for an hour or two, had definitely made the top of the mountain a few degrees warmer. After a few zig-zag descents, we all removed our jackets and continued down the mountain feeling light and enjoying the morning. The landscape before us was beautiful, the clouds and distant mountains changing colors as the sun continued its ascent. I felt better, though still kind of tired. But the climbing itself was very, very hard.

The descent path consists of exclusively steep gravel slopes arranged in a zig zag fashion going from 10th station to 5th station. There were only bathrooms and rest houses on the 9th and 7th stations. Otherwise it was steep red gravel for the entire descent. While this was a bit easier on the muscles, it absolutely destroyed the joints. The gravel was slippery and hard to grip, causing you to slid incessantly on the descent. My ankles and knees quickly began to complain, though Wes recommended bending the knees on the steps down which helped alleviate some of the pressure. We half walked, half slid down the mountain for about two hours, trying hard not to fall (which was harder to do). Small stones constantly pushed their way into our shows and we had to stop every now and then to empty them out or risk bruising or cutting our feet on the hard descent. I can honestly say without a doubt, the descent route, while easier cardiovascular wise, did infinitely more damage to my legs and shoes than the ascent, hands down. Miraculously, my shoes survived the ordeal without much damage at all, though my knees and ankles couldn't say the same. Wes was impressed that I had climbed up the descent route all the way from 8th station, saying it was much more difficult than the designated ascent route. I felt even better about myself and my accomplishment of having reached the summit on my own.

Beginning the descent down Fujisan.

The snow wall I had remembered walking past on my way up.

Morning on Fujisan.

The red gravel of hell on the descent path. This stretched for
5 kilometers (about 3.1 miles) all the way down to 5th station.

Climbing with the clouds.

Finally, after another eternity of climbing, we reached 5th station, Hans Petter and I pulling the rear. We painfully sat down with the rest of the group, who had all made it down safely from the mountain. Peter had made it to 8th station and just hung there for a while, watched the sunrise and then came back down. Anders was upset he didn't reach the top, but he looked like he enjoyed himself anyway. We all laid around, waiting for the next bus to Kawaguchiko Train station.

Epilogue

The trip back was all very uneventful. The only thing that stood out was our exhaustion. Most of us napped on the two hour bus back to Shinjuku, and we all headed to the internet cafe in Harajuku to rest up. The internet cafe was very interesting. It was built above a McDonald's and consisted of many small cubicles equipped with a black mat and pillow (and blanket) and a desk with computer, TV and other gadgets. It was filled with anime, manga, movies and all sorts of other stuff. Blessedly, it also had a shower. It was about 2000 yen for 6 hours ($20) and closer to $12 for 3 hours, which is what I did (I also e-mailed my parents to update them on my status). I rested, checked my e-mail and watched videos but didn't sleep. After showering and resting for the three hours I walked around Harajuku and Shibuya, visiting Meiji-jingu (the Meiji Shrine) and just enjoying the hot and humid afternoon/evening of Tokyo. We all regrouped at 7:00 and headed back to Shinjuku where we ate dinner at an Indian restaurant where I wasn't sure if I should speak to the Indian staff in Japanese or English. The food was especially delicious. The ride back to Akita, everyone slept pretty well. We eventually made it back to campus at 10:10am on Monday July 14, sweaty, grimy, and exhausted.

Even now, only a week later, I can't believe I actually climbed to the top of Mt. Fuji. It was an amazing experience, one that I will never forget. It was beautiful and empowering, but was equally difficult and body-battering. It was an experience that simultaneously reminded me of the fragility of my body and the limits of its endurance, and empowered me with the knowledge that even with these limits, I can work with my body and perform amazing feats. Though climbing Mt. Fuji was not spiritual in the religious kind of sense, it was definitely spiritual in the sense that it forced me to remove all thoughts of the past and future and focus exclusively on the present moment, on the climb, on the demands of my body, and on the focus and drive of my will.

I think that this will probably be the last update I give for another week or so, as I need to focus on finishing my classes and packing for my trip back home. But I will definitely be updating a few more times before the summer is out to finish sharing my experiences with you. In the meantime, I hope you all have a great summer and I look forward to sharing more of my stories with you in the coming weeks.

Album: Fujisan