Climbing Mount Fuji (Part III)

At 1:30am, I decided to stop pretending to sleep and commence preparing for the day. I tested my headlamp, evaluated my dwindling water supply, and put on additional layers of clothing. I also discovered that the epic snorer was a woman (!!!) in my group, which definitely defied my belief that there was a grizzly bear slumbering in the vicinity. With just two hours sleep, I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through this very rough day but I was confident that I would and sometimes confidence is all that matters. 

Stepping outside, I took a moment to gaze once again at Tokyo's glittering mass below and the waning crescent moon hanging overhead. The cold seeped into my bones. "Let's do this!", I thought to myself and so I headed out, the first in our group to hit the trail. The lead didn't last long though. The path from the eighth station to the summit is basically climbing over jutting rocks and boulders. It is extremely physical work. Despite having a (small) light source, it was very difficult to do in the dark. My earlier enthusiasm dissipated within 30 minutes. 

When we reached the ninth station, another victim of the mountain had fallen: a second member of the Singapore trio from my hiking group gave up. I overheard our guide tell her that it was okay, she should be proud of what she accomplished, and that the view was pretty much the same here as it was at the top anyway. This, admittedly, gave me pause. I was doing this for my dad. I'm pretty sure my dad wouldn't want me to have a heart attack and die on this damn mountain. Perhaps I should reconsider this foolhardy decision to exert myself beyond means and just give up and have a nice cup of warm tea while watching the sunrise comfortably from this lesser – but SIMILAR – vantage point. As the thoughts filled my head, I didn't notice that I was already on the move and half-way to the tenth station: the summit. I forced myself onwards. 

My hiking style on this second day could be described as "slow and steady", with an emphasis on "slow". I was supposed to be at the tenth station by 4:00am but I didn't get there til well near 5:00am. This was alright, as I did relax and take the time to watch the sunrise over Japan, definitely one of the most memorable moments of my life, and spent time conversing with the fellow hiker in my tour group from Alaska. He had remained at the back of the pack for the entirety of the journey to aid those who may have needed help and was now stuck with me. As we talked, I learned that he had climbed many mountains in his lifetime, both physical and metaphorical it seemed, and had thus developed a gift for motivating people. As we hiked, I admired his gentle spirit and naturally empathetic character and was glad that we were partnered for this final leg upwards. I needed encouragement; without his, I probably wouldn't have made it (which is disappointing to admit). As he reminded me though, "sometimes we carry and sometimes we are carried."

Walking through the final Torii gate and reaching the summit, I expected to feel differently than I did. I had hoped to take a moment to reflect on the achievement and think of my dearly missed father but I didn't. Or, rather, I couldn't. Despite being drenched in sweat, my body was nearly frozen, I was light-headed and facing extreme fatigue. I took a handful of photos to prove that I made it and then desperately scoured the area for a place to rest. This ended up being a bench at the entrance to the communal washroom, which is exactly as glamourous as it sounds. I didn't care though. I was ready to curl up and die.

About three minutes into my nap, I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Alaska. 

"The last bit up, I got a bit teary-eyed thinking of your reasons for doing this. You worked really hard and made it, so I got you something to celebrate the achievement." he said, handing me a small bag. 

As I opened it up, I held in my hands a bronze-coloured medal signifying that I had climbed Mount Fuji. All 3,776 meters of it. It was even stamped with the date: July 13, 2015. A special day, as it would have been my father's 65th birthday. I was at a loss for words. The gesture was beyond what I'd expect from people I know, much less a stranger whom I'd known for less than 24 hours. I tried my hardest to express thanks but it would be impossible. My gratitude would extend beyond words. 

Somewhere between the ninth and tenth stations (©Deborah Clague)

The final Torii Gate before reaching the summit (©Deborah Clague)

Proof that I made it – me at the summit of Mount Fuji (©Deborah Clague)

The summit has a restaurant, gift shop … and even a post office (©Deborah Clague)

Beginning the hike down, which was just as difficult (but in a different way) as the climb up (©Deborah Clague)

Hiking – and occasionally falling – in the deep ash on the way down was hard and necessitated emptying one's shoes of debris every 100 meters or so (©Deborah Clague)

Hikers leave offerings of remembrance (©Deborah Clague)

Celebratory Fuji mountain of rice at the fifth station (©Deborah Clague)

Awesome packaging of a banana-flavored drink I had (©Deborah Clague)

The medal I received from Alaska (©Deborah Clague)

Climbing Mount Fuji (Part II)

I could barely lift the spoon to my mouth. Part of me marvelled that I was even given this utensil, as chopsticks were the norm during my travels. It was a pleasant surprise as I am completely inept at eating with the latter. The dinner, consisting of rice and beef curry, was delicious but I was too exhausted to enjoy it. After brief socialization, I excused myself and went straight to my sleeping bag to catch some zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz's. 

When I initially entered the mountain hut at the eighth station, I was kinda excited to see semi-private bunks. "This won't be so bad", I thought to myself. This was short-lived as I quickly realized that we would, in fact, be sleeping on the floor in a massive room with about 50 other people. I was situated between one of the remaining women from Singapore and the Alaskan. By the time they went to bed, I was already knocked out. 

I slept SOLIDLY for two hours before my bladder woke me up. I checked the time on my iPhone. It was only 11:05pm. We were scheduled to depart at 2:00am. I would really need those extra few hours of sleep for the next portion of the ascent but I could hear rustling, tossing and turning in the room and the reason behind it: some of the loudest, guttural snoring I have ever heard in my life. I tried to figure out who it was but it was so thunderous that it seemed to envelope the entire space. I put on my slippers and braved the cold to reach the solitude (and silence) of the washroom. 

Japanese toilets are legendary. They are so advanced, I wouldn't be surprised if there were models that can accurately predict remaining lifespan. Even on Mount Fuji, even at 3,100m above sea level, the toilets are awesome. You have to pay to use them (200 Yen) but when your body is starting to enter a deep-freeze, nothing feels better than to sit down on one of their warmed seats. This was an extensive topic of conversation and consensus amongst our group during the day. It was a really long hike. This, and occasional karaoke, provided much needed entertainment. 

While outside, I stopped to take in the scenery. Down below, I could see the mass of Tokyo glittering. It was a beautiful sight. This was the first time I felt I was doing something more momentous than a hike. I was pushing myself out of my element in a massive way. In a year of giving myself numerous distractions in avoidance (and denial) of depression following my father's death, this was a shift in outlook that I needed. I needed to keep evolving. This experience would bring me from relatively lazy connoisseur of Doritos to someone who truly feels like they can take on the world and conquer it. I now believe nothing less. 

Returning to the shared sleeping space, I noticed a lot of people were awake. The snoring was just too much. I climbed back into my sleeping bag and shut my eyes in an attempt to trick my body into dozing off. It didn't work. In time, I felt I could actually hear the subtle nuance as the exhalation reverberated through the perpetrator's individual nose hairs; a symphony of weird, bodily functions. 

"Fuckin' HELL!" I heard a British accent proclaim in frustration from across the room. 

"At least someone is sleeping", I thought to myself. "Tomorrow is going to be a loooonnnngggg day."

To be continued...

Climbing Mount Fuji (Part I)

"It's like trudging through deep sand on a beach. Only uphill. For hours upon hours."

That is how one person in my hiking group described the climb up Mount Fuji. I would agree (although I would add the adjective "hellish"); physically, this has been the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. At 3,776m, the iconic symbol of Japan is slightly smaller than the highest peak of the Canadian Rockies (Mount Robson at 3,954m), but with altitude sickness, insane humidity transitioning to frigid temps, long queues, and 500 Yen+ bottles of water, it is a formidable challenge nonetheless. I might be slightly melodramatic when I state that I thought I would die on the mountain, but I believed it at the time. 

While the climb is a transformative experience that many people partake in annually, I decided to do this on a whim last summer with little training leaning up to it. My only motivation was to keep a promise I made my late father. Contemplating various grand gestures I could make to celebrate his life and give him assurance that I would be alright and continue to lead the type of existence he helped inspire, I settled on climbing a mountain. Because … why not? It's bold which is my modus operandi. And Mount Fuji because we shared a wonderful holiday there in 2009 (and I really, really wanted to return to the awesomeness that is Tokyo).

It also seemed achievable. After all, thousands of people do it a year, right? Surely, I could join them. 

Thus, my mission was born. 

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My backpack was filled with additional layers of clothing that I would eventually be adding as I neared the summit, a power bank, a first aid kit, bottles of flavoured water, veggie bars, and a half-loaf of cheese bread from Fauchon, a french bakery that had a shop across the street from my hotel in Shinjuku, Tokyo. It is one of the most delicious ways to indulge in carbs. I planned on rationing it and rewarding myself with one slice for every station I passed. 

The cheese bread was consumed ravenously within the first two hours of the hike. 

---

Our climb commenced at a more remote access point, the Subashiri Trail, which was enjoyable for two reasons:

1) the ascent partially ran through a lush, unspoilt forest which took on a mystical quality with the fog and low-hanging cloud that welcomed us on the first day, and

2) there were less people on it.

My immediate tour group of ten individuals consisted of several other Canadians representing the nation from coast-to-coast, a group of friends from Singapore, two Americans (a photographer from Florida and an Electrician from Alaska), and an Australian. We interacted well, cracking jokes and placing bets on who would be the first to drop out. 

To commemorate the inevitable, this ringtone was prepared in advance by the photographer. I'm really hoping everyone gets the reference, as it's hilarious. By our stop at the 6th station, it would already be in use; our first comrade had fallen. Citing a bad knee, one of the group of friends from Singapore dropped out of the hike. 

And then there were nine.

The aforementioned stratus made it hard to tell just how high the summit was and just how much further we would need to hike. While my spirit (and motivation) remained high the first day, I will admit that by dusk when I reached the 8th station, it was chipping away. I could barely feel my legs and was starting to feel light-headed. The terrain had changed from deep volcanic ash to jutting rocks of which no real trail was marked, just a roped fence guiding people along a suggested route.

Through clearings, the view was absolutely one of the most beautiful I had ever witnessed but I didn't feel any sort of spiritual connection, to nature or to my father. All I felt was an intense desire to slumber that was becoming increasingly harder to deny. As I entered the mountain hut where we would be resting for a few hours, I threw my bag down and claimed an empty space on the floor. The mountain was kicking my ass. 

I was prepared to lay down and take it. 

To be continued...

The starting point: the fifth station (©Deborah Clague)

Mushroom tea handed out at the fifth station (©Deborah Clague)

And so it begins (©Deborah Clague)

The rocky terrain (©Deborah Clague)

The sixth station (©Deborah Clague)

The seventh station (©Deborah Clague)

Tokyo from Above no.3

A view of Tokyo from the summit of Mount Fuji at 3,776 metres/12,388 feet (you'll have to trust that it's down there somewhere): 

Sunrise over Japan (©Deborah Clague)

July Book Recommendations:

Modern Romance
Written by Aziz Ansari

I should have read this book before reading 'Spinster', as they unintentionally combine to form cause-and-effect in regards to why people choose to remain single. 'Modern Romance' discusses the unique challenges of singledom in the twenty-first century from meeting people online to the psychological effects of communicating via text and how the quest for our soul mates has led to a dysfunctional belief that passionate love is better than companionate love. My favourite part of the book examined the culture of romance in three distinct regions: France, Argentina and Japan, which appears to be going through a love crisis that even the government is taking action on. 

Favorite line: the section on "Hey" texts, as it's about time someone talks about how annoying and impersonal they are. 

To purchase this book, click here. 

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Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea
Written by Barbara Demick

Of all the books I've read and recommended on the topic of the totalitarian regime of North Korea, this is by-far the best. I would even state it's one of the best books I've ever read on any subject matter. The engrossing narrative that Barbara Demick crafts focuses less on politics and more on first-person perspective (obtained through interviews with numerous defectors) on what it is actually like to live in the hermit kingdom completely cut off from the rest of the world. From the innocence of falling in love with someone from another class to the shocking survival methods during the arduous march and beyond, this is an eye-opening, thought-provoking and ultimately tragic tale of evil allowed to reign in the 21st century. 

Favorite line: "The night sky in North Korea is a sight to behold. It might be the most brilliant in Northeast Asia, the only place spared the coal dust, Gobi desert sand, and carbon monoxide choking the rest of the continent. In the old days, North Korean factories contributed their share to the cloud cover, but no longer. No artificial lighting competes with the intensity of the stars etched into the sky."

To purchase this book, click here. 

Becoming Big in Japan

"Excuse me..."

Normally I would continue walking. Or pretend to only speak and understand French. But the man was holding a clipboard. At the very least, I assumed he was soliciting for charitable donations and I didn't want to be rude. I am Canadian, after all. 

"I am with Tokyo TV and we would like to ask you a few questions. Are you willing to be filmed for television?"

I tried to hide my enthusiasm. HELLS YES, I wanted to be on Japanese TV!!! I wondered if a giant cartoon character was about to sneak up behind me. Or perhaps this would lead to an appearance on one of their infamously wacky game shows. I was up for anything. I demurely responded in the affirmative and inquired as to what type of questions I would be asked. I always like to be prepared and avoid looking like an idiot. 

"Just stand over here and she will ask you the questions."

A petite Japanese woman holding a mic stepped in front of me and made brief introduction. I noted the camera crew already filming to my left. I had no idea what was about to happen. 

"What do you know about soba noodles?"

And thus for the next five minutes, I was interviewed on a subject I know absolutely nothing about. I was on Japanese TV though…and that's all that matters. 

---

It was a long day. 

Not a hard day, but a long day spent at one of Japan's spa theme parks where I indulged in hours of relaxing in the onsen, getting a massage and facial, and even trying one of those "fish pedicures" where the species garra rufa eat away at the dead skin cells on one's feet (it was awesome, btw). Perhaps I was too relaxed. 

Afterwards at Tokyo Teleport station, I followed the signage to the track that listed Shinjuku, the area where my hotel was located and where I was returning. Shinjuku is the world's busiest train station with over two million people passing through it every single day. It can be absolute chaos. Ordered chaos, as is the norm in a society as structured as Japan, but still too overwhelming for someone from a small prairie town. The crowds had already started forming on the platform. I assumed these fellow passengers were also travelling to the hub to make further connections. I stood in line. A train listing Japanese characters that I couldn't identify and the word "Shinjuku" soon followed. Perfect timing, I thought. I boarded with the masses. 

It was so crowded, I could barely move. I longed for a seat but there was no chance of that happening. Besides, this ride would be at most 20 minutes. I climbed Mount Fuji the previous two days; I could endure this claustrophobic discomfort for that relatively brief time. As the train started moving though, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't making any stops. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. 

I should be at Shinjuku by now, I thought. 

I stood on my toes and tried to catch a glimpse at the landscape outside. The buildings had become smaller. It was still an endless city, but this view didn't have the technicolour glamour of central Tokyo that I was familiar with. "Where the fuck is this train going?", I thought to myself. 

I turned to a man standing next to me and, shaking my head in defeat, feebly asked "Shinjuku?"

"Ooooooooh noooooo!!!" he cried and pointed in the opposite direction. 

And that's how I ended up in Yokohama. 

Tokyo from Above no.2

A view of Tokyo from the 450th floor of Skytree: 

Cats, Robots and the Art of Presentation

I hate cats. 

Despite this aversion, I decided to visit a "cat café" in Tokyo, believing it would be as interesting as the canine version I visited in Seoul. Finding one was like finally coming across the needle in the haystack though. Because space is at a premium in Asia, malls are built vertically … and they are all really, really high. In addition, signage is primarily in Japanese which I can't read. This proved especially inconvenient the day I got on the wrong train and ended up in a completely different city. But I digress. While out walking one day, I chanced upon a sign with a bunch of feline silhouettes on it and figured it was either a genuine cat café or a pet shop. Either way, with the temperature reaching 35 degrees celsius by 8:00am, I thought I would check it out if only to enjoy the air conditioning. Sidenote: if you are not planning on climbing Mount Fuji, then avoid visiting Japan during the summer months. The heat is unbearable. 

After getting into a really old, creaky elevator and making my way up, up, up, I entered the Calico Cat Café in Shinjuku. It was not what I expected. Well, it was but it wasn't. There were cats. Plenty of miserable cats giving me the evil eye. They probably could sense my Monty, as they seemed keen to interact with the other people there, which included a number of tourists. I did not feel welcome in their domain though. I wandered about and tried to feign interest but I left after 10 minutes. Cost of this was 1000 Yen (approximately $10 CDN) and I didn't even get a drink. 

I love dogs. 

---

There has been much press about the astronomical price of certain produce in Japan, such as watermelons selling for $12,000 U.S. While this madness does exist in the high-end department stores – I can confirm seeing a handful of grapes for over 10,800 Yen  ($108.00 U.S.) – it is not the norm. Certain foods are slightly more expensive than in North America, but you don't need to re-mortgage your home to try them.

My favourite place to get lunch is the food hall of Takashimaya, which is located across the street from my hotel. Anything you can imagine is available here. All fresh. All super delicious. The service level and packaging are also second to none. As a designer, I am always impressed with the level of presentation that the Japanese dedicate to everything they do. There is an art to existing here that I wish were more prevalent in North America. 

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Now in terms of presentation, the Robot Restaurant is also in a league of its own. I admit, I was initially skeptical. It seemed interesting but also super-cheesy. A part of me was scared to develop seizures at the crazy amount of clashing colours and lights. I was also worried that a robot assault was imminent, as the hostess repeatedly reminded those in the front row (where I was seated) to LEAN BACK in their chairs so as not to get hit during the performance.  

After visiting, all I have to say is that this is the greatest cheese in the universe. The Robot Restaurant is amazing and worth every penny. It is a completely unique Japanese experience; I cannot imagine anything like this anywhere else on the planet. It must be seen to be understood (and even then, it is an enigma), but all I will say is that there are beautiful dancing women, an epic brawl involving a panda, and plenty of robots. Giant, awesome robots. 

Calico Cat Café in Tokyo (©Deborah Clague)

Calico Cat Café in Tokyo (©Deborah Clague)

Tokyo signage (©Deborah Clague)

Lounge act at the Robot Restaurant, Tokyo (©Deborah Clague)

Sitting in the lounge at the Robot Restaurant, Tokyo (©Deborah Clague)

I am in love: 

Tokyo from Above no.1

A view of Tokyo from the 45th floor of the Metropolitan Government Office: 

Park Hyatt, where the film 'Lost in Translation' was filmed. 

While they haven't taken off in North America, QR codes are still widely used in Asia. This one, at the observation deck of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Office, connects to an interactive app giving users background information about the view they are enjoying. 

36,000,000 + 1

Japan. Land of the rising sun, Mount Fuji, cherry blossoms, and the future in all its tangible forms. 

Also, land of extremely weird shit. 

I'm surprised I made it here. I didn't think I would. Choosing to stop-over at Calgary International Airport was a mistake I will not repeat. The physical layout of it is, itself, problematic (some of which could be blamed on current construction at the main terminal), but add to that confusing signage and staff that aren't really sure what's happening and it's a wonder more people don't miss their flights. The following is an actual conversation I had with someone employed there: 

"Excuse me, where do I go to make an international, non-U.S. flight connection?"

"Well, ensure you have your U.S. customs forms filled out and stand in this line right here."

"Uhm, but I'm not actually going to the U.S. though. I'm flying direct to Tokyo, Japan on Air Canada. Is this still the right line?"

"You still need to have a customs form filled out."

"Okay, but I'm not sure why. I'm not traveling to the United States."

"Yes, but you are flying over it."

"…"

As this was the fourth person I asked where to make my connection, none of which knew where I should be, my patience was running as short as the time I had. I didn't have the heart to say anything though, as I'm not convinced this person actually knew where Japan was. 

It would take two more people to tell me where to make my connection. 

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Tokyo is a shopper's paradise. And as it has been raining non-stop since I've arrived, this is how I've been spending my time thus far.

I spent day one in the Shibuya district which is a great place to watch your money magically disappear. High-end shops, such as Chanel and Burberry, line Omotesandō, a main boulevard comparable to the Champs-Élysées in Paris. While nearby Harajuku showcases the best, comparatively affordable, trends in youth culture. I personally enjoy walking around this area to observe the cutting-edge street-fashion; Tokyoites are famous for being nonconformist. In a city of over 36,000,000 people, it's easy to get lost in the crowd. Style favours the bold. 

Thrift stores line the side-streets of this area. These are a great place to get high-end, rarely worn clothing at a fraction of the price if one is willing to spend time combing the racks for it. For example: I had always wanted a cowichan sweater but they are incredibly expensive in Canada, averaging a couple hundred dollars for a new one. During a previous visit to Japan, I bought one that was in pristine condition at a thrift store for the equivalent of $30 CDN. 

My haul from day one included clothes, a wood iPhone case, clothes, Japanese paper products, clothes, figurines of a Japanese cartoon character that looks like my dog Monty, and more clothes. Let day two begin! 

View from my hotel room at the Sunroute Plaza Shinjuku (©Deborah Clague)

Takeshita Street, the gateway to Harajuku (©Deborah Clague)

Shopping mall entrance in Shibuya (©Deborah Clague)

The ultra-contemporary Audi building in Shibuya (©Deborah Clague)

Interactive display outside an aromatherapy shop in Shibuya (©Deborah Clague)

North America needs more "cute" food (©Deborah Clague)

From Daiso, an item that is truly "only in Japan" (©Deborah Clague)