cellophanemr

I got lost in yokohama again. Yokohama is an interesting area that boasts of the highest skyscraper in japan, a cultural center and a large chinatown, probably among other features that I am unaware of. The first time I went was with a german girl. The trip is an hour by train so we had time to wonder about the historical irony of me, an american jew who travels to japan and meets a german girl. 50 years of history fall away and and splatter the ground like a jackson pollock. English has many similarities with german. It was easier to learn the words she was teaching me than it was to assimilate japanese. True, I had taken german at university, but I had given it back practically unused. She also spoke five languages making it easy to misinterpret her in many ways. So we departed the train into yokohama. Thinking chinatown would be easily accessible, we started walking out from the station and found we hadn’t a clue where we were in relation to the map we had discovered. we didn’t get much help from bystanders who repeatedly pointed us to a police station that was no longer there. Then I told her to think of our trip, not as a vacation, but as an invasion. Centuries of cultural imperatives brimmed to the surface and suddenly my map was completely superfluous. She knew where to go and the best route to get there by surprise. We did miss some of the more interesting sights as we blitzcrieged through chinatown, but we got there in record time. I just had to keep her from sacking the place and putting people to the sword.
This time I was with my russian friends. Because I had been there once before, they expected me to remember how I got to all the interesting places we had almost laid siege to the first time. Honestly, she had been in charge as my direction sense would get me lost in a bathroom (by the way, public bathrooms- they smell the same here . . Yuck) my plan was to find another map and use that to jog my memory as to where she had dragged me. One of the russian girls decided to have none of that. She pointed a direction and started walking. I tried to protest, but I felt like an american citizen again as our leader just made a snap decision and went forward without any real support. So the rest of us followed. After ten minutes of walking in a circle she turned to me and said, why we lost? It is your fault. We doubled back to the information booth where I got my map and they received maps in russian. Armed now with . . . get this . . . . INFORMATION, we boarded the train to yokohama’s chinatown.
It is a beautiful area with carved dragons and chinese (looking) buildings, temples and mythical lions of unknown origin, restaurants and shops with souvenirs and a little carts that may be selling meat products made from dogs and cats. There is one cart that has displayed prepared foods over pictures of cute puppies and kittens. My only hope is that the two things are unrelated. Perhaps the owner is an animal lover (the pictures were of very cute animals) and due to space, displays his/her pets in the only way possible: next to the cooked meat products. As susan or mel would say that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
On my first visit, we meandered about and took pictures. We checked out the knickknack stores (I kept her from ransacking them) and found the cutest as well as the tackiest items. One small snowglobe I found in the toy section was amusing. It had two dolphins in it arranged one on top of the other. I remarked how this could be a learning tool for kids that want to know how a third dolphin is produced. I snuck a picture of that despite the basic rules of no photography in stores here. I would feel guilty, but I really don’t.
the first trip was all about stores, shops, pictures and occasionally holding hands. NO FOOD This time I wasn’t about to let that slip by In chinatown yokohama there are restaurants everywhere. 90f the pictures we took were in front of restaurants. One of the girls said she had heard of an all you can eat for 1000yen, so we looked. And looked. (I’m getting hungry.) And looked. And looked. (Anywhere is good.) And looked. And looked. And looked. (Even the dog cart is . . . . Nevermind.) And looked. Finally I stated what should have been obvious to me from the start. We weren’t going to find it. ( i had a better punchline, but i was too hungry to properly form it) The girls then decided to give me the responsibility of choosing a place to eat. I was grateful as I was starting to feel a little loopy from hunger. I looked to my left and my right and I pointed to something cute. Then I realized what I did and decided to point to a restaurant instead. In unison, all three russian girls said no. I picked out a second choice and a third that they also naysayed.
I thought you wanted me to pick a place?
Yes, but you choose badly.
Do you want to choose a place to eat?
No, you do it.
After a few more negative responses, one of the girls said, jonathan, pick that one.
The meal was great. We had steamed dumplings and soup with seafood from an unrecognizable source. We took pictures I almost thought I saw my food smile. After lunch we went to ‘the chinese museum.’ This place was fantastic. Tickets were 500yen and the elevator dropped us off at the 8th floor. There is a small shrine that greeted us at top and many small gongs. Just because they are small doesn’t mean they can’t make earsplitting noises when played loudly and consecutively by russian dancer girls. Then they take you back in time through modern china. We knew we were going back in time because the antique clock dominating the first room was running backwards. We walked through a marvelous collection of memorabilia and wondered what the captions below the pictures said. Often we would have to make them up.
‘Doctor Brown today made the discovery that patients died when they were dropped out of tall places.’
‘Mary Welsh decided to marry her new hat.
We rented traditional chinese outfits for the day and took pictures all around the museum. A wonderful aspect of the chinese museum are the many performances (free) that happen. We watched a beijing opera singer, an acrobat, a dancer and a lovely girl who played an instrument I had never seen til now. They had traditional crafts which including a stone engraver who would take a photo of you and carve it into a small stone plaque. This upset the russian girls. They told me that an effigy like that was only used for dead people. I rethought my decision to get one of myself.
After the museum we walked down (or up) to Yamashita park. There was a stage where I learned that the girls were not only acrobats, but contortionists and I have a slew of pictures to corroborate this. We took pictures by the water, hoping to catch one of the jumping fish that seemed somehow to instinctively know when there was a camera and how to avoid it. We didn’t take pictures of the statue of girl with red shoes. Looking at the statue I felt a little creeped out thinking of how the parents went to get their little girl’s shoes bronzed and ended up with the whole thing. I’m pretty sure it’s just a sculpture like all the others in the park, but after explaining my theory (and explaining the american custom of bronzing baby booties) no-one wanted any part of it.
The landmark tower boasts of being the highest skyscraper in japan (I really want to spell it skyskraper, but the computer won’t let me. I think it looks better that way). The elevator is egg shaped for pressure concerns and from the second floor to the 69th in 40 seconds, it is the fastest elevator in japan as well. Some people will order a minute egg. This one was bigger and only 40 seconds. Of course the view was spectacular, but I had a lot of fun looking at the charts that tell what each landmark is and where, then pointing into the indistinguishable night and saying look, there’s tokyo.

I survived mt fuji That statement makes the whole story anti-climatic, but the fact that I’m writing this probably gave that away anyhow. Spurred on by tales of a beautiful sunrise, crisp mountain air and what simply had to be suicidal self loathing, I decided to try mt. Fuji again. Before going this time I pulled a yossarian; I told my friends I was off to climb a mountain, it would be very dangerous and I would write to them as soon as I returned. I haven’t written anyone yet.

Back to fuji. Both the story and me. I made it to the bus without incident this time. The bus took it’s two hour trip to the mountain with no events worthy of note. At 11:00pm we arrived at station five. This is the current traditional place to start. Everything you might need is sold here in case you forgot something, and when you get back down you can commemorate the experience with a souvenir or thirty. This is where I bought my walking staff. Up the mountain there are rest areas where I would get my staff stamped. I simply had no idea how useful it would be in between the stations. I didn’t give it a name.
The trip started in the rain. That is actually a bit of a silly statement because it didn’t just start in the rain, the whole trip was in the rain. Five or six hours of climbing, all while inundated with falling water. It was dark, foggy and rainy as the whole crew from the bus followed me in what I sincerely hoped was the right direction. I don’t know why they thought I might have the slightest hint of where to go, but they fell in lock step behind me (different germans this time). The trail was not marked well enough for this weather and suddenly started to slope downward. There is a sinking, sickening feeling that one gets when they finally realize what a horrific mistake they have made. The feeling engendered when fire trucks race by you on the way home, smoke is coming from the general direction you both are traveling in and you remember that you never put out your candles which conveniently rest by the drapes. That approximates how I felt as my stomach slowly started to curl up in little ulcer-shaped knots. I had a quick and unpleasant thought about how I insisted on going at night so I could see the sunrise above the clouds. I also hoped I wouldn’t be the first person here who inadvertently climbed down fuji rather than up. I tried slinking back into the crowd by pretending to stop and tie my boot. Amazingly enough, everyone had to stop for some reason or another at that exact same time So I forged ahead. The fates were kind and we soon found that the initial dip was the only path from the rest area to the actual path on the mountain proper. In retrospect it was very much like a rollercoaster with a quick dip at the beginning to give enough momentum for the long climb to the first drop. As the path became clearer I relaxed and was finally able to smile with destroying the enamel of my teeth.
The first segment was like a long inclined dirt path. Loose sand and rocks, now mud and gravelesque made the walk, not difficult, but uncomfortable. The lights from our headlamps were not cutting through the fog or the darkness that had so completely engulfed us. Our way was on a slight incline that zigged and zagged it’s way slowly up the mountain. It wasn’t til after the 7th station that we encountered serious climbing. There was no path from the station. Just rocks and a guideline that let you know you weren’t about to walk off a cliff. at least not unless you stepped a foot outside of the guidelines, then you would find yourself merged with the rocks and trees below. There are other ways to be in tune with nature I think. As I climbed from stone to stone and rock to rock I felt exhilerated. ‘This was just like climbing a real mountain,’ I thought And then I realized, I was indeed climbing a real mountain. When making my plans I had done some research and found that many people of all ages climb fuji. When I considered the idea of elderly and pre-adolescent climbers, I naturally concluded that it would be an easy walk-through. What I didn’t know was that people would sometimes take up to three days to climb if they needed to. The stations were equipped with sleeping areas like primitive hotels and if needed or planned, a group could spend the night there and continue on the next day. Although I was prepared for an endurance test, I had no thoughts that it would actually test my endurance.
The rain was the worst part. It made the rocks slippery and the dirt harder to get a grip on. I often felt as if I were sliding down faster thani was climbing up.
The long paths were the worst part. They would zig and zag for long periods of time and I wished I could just climb straight up the side.
The straight up rock climbing was the worst part. Forget stairmaster, this was the ultimate in feeling the burn. I wished I could just zig-zag my way up the side.
The darkness was the worst part. If I could see where I was going, I could avoid the rocks that were biting at my heels and snapping at my shins.
The fog was the worst part. My headlamp was rendered useless because the fog would reflect it’s light back at me. Also, my camera couldn’t get a decent shot.
The cold was the worst part. While exerting, I was sweating. When the way had me at a slower pace, all the moisture decided to freeze. And there was no way to heat myself back up.
The wind was the worst part. The typhoon was approaching, but the wind, which was moving faster anyway, arrived early. It normally whips around on the mountain, but tonight it was in top form. I was amused at a sign that had a picture of two cartoon characters (manga style) being blown off the mountain.
The best parts were the stamps they would brand into my walking staff (which still didn’t have a name) and the ramen noodles I had around the ninth station. A regular cup of instant chinese noodles. But in that station, out of the wind and rain, it was the ambrosia. I hope that everytime I ever have ramen again, I think of that wonderful styrofoam cup and the noodles from heaven.
Also on my best of times list was this one moment when I realized I was going to win. It was a quick and utter certainty that I was going to make it all the way to the top. I had faced the cold, wind and rain. I had two containers of oxygen that I had judiciously used to thwart any altitude sickness that I might have encountered. I had pushed ahead when the path seemed to disappear from right under my feet, but I had never been sure if I was going to complete this task. Suddenly I was daring Fuji to take it’s best shot at me, as I wasn’t going to be defeated. I instantly realized I should have kept my gauntlets to myself and just finished the task in a humble manner as the mountain swelled and marshaled the forces of nature for one last attempt to repel me. I was invincible, or at least I felt that way as I scrambled up the rest of the way to the top.
When I got to the top, the sunrise wasn’t there. It had refused to get out of bed today on account of the weather. The fog was still so thick I couldn’t see the crater. the wind was so violent, the only picture I could get at the top was from an angle inspired by the fact the camera and person holding it had to be up against a wall wedged in between two buildings. In my picture at the top of fuji there is an old car battery of some sort. Very romantic.

I’ve tackled mt Fuji. It was before the play so I was fined 5 yards, but it was worth it. Everyone else I know that has climbed fuji has raved about the sunrise and how beautiful it was, even if they weren’t at the top. I’m in japan. I’ve never done this before. I might not get the chance to do this again, so I decided to go climb a mountain. I bought the bus tickets there and back (5200yen). I bought a headlamp and some rain gear and body fuel and oxygen and other supplies that I hoped I wouldn’t need such as first aid gear and toilet paper (12,000yen). I planned my trip for a day off with an extra day for recovery. I went online and researched altitude sickness and proper climbing methods. The day came and I was pumped The bus for fuji leaves shinjuku at 7:50pm (19:50). I arrived at shinjuku station at 19:30 (7:30pm) . I had my ipod and was in the mood to climb. My suica card (rechargeable rail pass card) didn’t have enough money on it so I leaped to the fare adjustment machine. I was still twenty minutes early. The fare adjustment machine was not so fair to me and it ate my card. Five minutes later a panel in the wall beside the machine opened a la Laugh In, and a man stuck his head through and explained, in japanese that , well I didn’t know because I don’t speak japanese. I think he was going to try and do something about my card in his own sweet time. One basic difference from Laugh In was the small fact that this was NOT FUNNY Time started ticking away and he spoke little to no english, far closer to the ‘no’ side. So far in japan I have been amazed at how many people could speak english. Whenever I needed help, someone could speak clearly enough to communicate; where’s the train? , what time does the bus leave? , please remove your small child from my leg. No problems. Also, everyone is always so happy to help, or least friendly about it. Not this guy. The first surly person in the service industry I’ve met here. Ten minutes later the panel pops open and there he is again. He gives me my card, points to a different suica station and disappears. The next machine works smoothly enough, but now I’m running behind my schedule (which was to be there ten-twenty minutes early). According to the map there should be a bus station at the top of the stairs. There IS . . . . three of them. And once again, no-one speaks english. For the first time I really the frustration of the inability to communicate. I found the right bus stop. The bus had already found it’s way off to fuji. I missed it by five minutes.
I didn’t mention before what I was wearing. August in japan is very hot, but people who have climbed have described the top as being somewhere between “it’s cold, it’s cold, I’m freezing here” To “Oh #@%* I’m going to die” So I had a one piece body suit on , socks, t-shirt , long sleeve warm shirt, camo cargos and my doc martins. I had my backpack with all the supplies, plus another pair of cargos, a fleece, two scarves, hats and gloves, my thick leather jacket, and a towel. One should never go on a trip like this without a towel.
So now I’m standing in shinjuku station loaded for a trip with nothing to climb and desperate to be at an altitude that would require the layers that I had on me. My body was starting to steam. Determined, I went to every counter to find if there was some alternate route to get to the mountain. Once again I met with every service counter attendant that did not speak english. I finally had to give up. Suffering from frustration and adrenaline burn, I took the train back home. In a final futile act of defiance, I climbed the stairwell to the 11th floor rather than take the elevator. On my door was a note from a friend, congrats on climbing fuji