The people here are different too. There’s a larger variety of people, and they all speak English. It took me a few days to break the habit of carrying my denshijisho everywhere. It’s a little disappointing not to be learning and using new words every day. It’s strange not being surrounded by Asians constantly. Now I feel like I’m surrounded by fat people. It was rare to see someone overweight in Japan, and America’s overweight population is even more apparent to me now. There are more than just physical differences. I already miss the kindness of Japanese people in general, and the helpfulness of customer service.

There are other little differences too. Eating with a knife and fork feels awkward. Walking on the right doesn’t feel natural anymore. I spend coins. Meals don’t seem complete without rice, miso, and green tea. I think I’ve gained a slight bow when meeting people. The other day I found myself thinking I’d go into Kyoto over the weekend, then realized it’s not just a short train ride away any more. People are loud, and talk on their cell phones instead of text.

I’m sure nothing actually changed while I was gone. I just have new eyes, and I need to get more comfortable seeing with them.

One of the first things I noticed was a link in the sidebar. The Screening Experience. Ah yes, wonderful. It’s no longer a simple process, it’s a whole experience with blissful memories and stories to pass on to your grandchildren. Well, if they insist on that name, I now fully expect Jimmy Hendrix theme music at all security checkpoints. Here’s a quote from the Experience (emphasis mine):

By requiring all passengers to remove shoes for x-ray screening we increase both security and efficiency at the checkpoint.

Are you kidding me? I mean the Japanese are efficient at taking off and putting on shoes, but even they aren’t faster at changing shoes than if they just left them on.

Moving on to the permitted/prohibitted items list for carry-ons. I’d already seen about five notices on the liquid/gel ban just navigating to the page, but in case that wasn’t obvious enough, they felt the need to specifically list another thirty or so liquid/gel items that are prohibited. There are a few that are permitted, like gel-filled bras. Guess they thought adding manditory breast squeezing to The Screening Experience would be a bit overboard. Also permitted, KY Jelly. You know, for all that sex in the lav. Can’t get too kinky though since whipped cream is a no-no. And at the bottom of the list..what’s this? More hate for the shoes. No gel inserts. If I was a shoe, TSA would have a huge discrimination law suit on their hands. It’s the bras that are dangerous! Unrelated to scary things like water, knitting needles are ok, so my chopsticks should be too. And, oh, thank God! I can bring my toy transformers on the plane! And, I’m sorry Mr. Freeman, but you’ll have to leave that crowbar in your checked luggage. “Ok, but don’t blame me when the headcrabs hijack the plane…”

One final thing, a fun suggestion inspired by this comment from above the list:

Please pack liquids, gels, and aerosols in your checked baggage even if you do not normally check a bag.

So next time I’m flying with light luggage, I’ll be sure to check my toothpaste. Just my toothpaste. Or maybe, to make things more interesting, I’ll buy a gel dildo and check just that, in a clear plastic bag if I’m in a good mood.

It was surreal being on the moon, peering off into the endless black sky even in broad daylight. Sadly our stay was short, just long enough for the ship to refuel, and we had to leave just before the Earthrise. Too bad, as I’ve heard it is beautiful.

We arrived on Mars in the early morning hours and the long shadows only added to the somber feeling of the planet. One of the few sites to visit were the rover tracks, which you can see in the photo. Other than that, there was nothing but barren rock beneath the dusty brown sky, and it made me eager to leave. While it was interesting to visit these foreign worlds, it is nice to be back among the familiar.

So, where did I really go to take these photos?

Majestic Fuji-san. Though like all majesty in Japan, it makes itself difficult to be seen, usually veiled in gentle clouds. After a long day of travel mishaps, I arrived near the base much later than planned and could only stray a little ways from the bus stop to catch a glimpse of the tallest peak in Japan.

The bus to the fifth station at 2300m was full and I had to stand for the hour long ride. Time passed oh so slowly as we crept up the steady slope with our heavy load. I have never heard a vehicle groan so much in my life, and we didn’t seem to be getting much in exchange. To make up for the sluggishness, I was lucky enough to be standing by the rear door, so I had a good view of the sunset as we wound up the mountainside.

I took some time to browse through the souvenier shops before setting out to climb the darkened mountain. The hike was just a gradual slope at first, but soon became a winding steeper slope, usually over loose volcanic rock only illuminated by my small but sufficient LED flashlight. Shrinking away below were the city lights, occasionaly obscured by light passing cloud cover. It was like being in a low-flying airplane, except I was making this ascent on my on two legs. And by four hours into the hike I was really starting to feel it. Maybe I should have picked up a can of compressed oxygen like I’d seen other people using…wait, who am I kidding? I wasn’t on the moon, I was partway up a mountain whose peak is 1650m lower than Mt. Everest’s base camp. I’m not a sherpa or anything, but bottled oxygen seems like a bit of overkill to me, and I really wasn’t noticing the thinner air. In any case, I knew I wasn’t going to make it to the top without some rest. At my current pace it was looking like I’d reach the summit a couple hours before sunrise, so I opted for a one and a half hour nap in the next mountain hut. It was the most expensive nap I’ll probably ever take, costing me ￥6300 rather than the ￥500/hr I’d read about. Oh well, I needed the sleep and they showed me to a nice warm cubbyhole quite suited to the purpose.

I awoke groggy but rejuvinated and ready to finish the climb. The number of people on the trail had increased rapidly during my sleep, and it wasn’t long before people were piling up at bottlenecks. My chances of making it to the top in time were looking slim. I blitzed by wherever I could but still spent more time waiting than hiking. At around 4am, I saw a faint glow appearing on the horizon and I was quite relieved. I had thought I was on the northern slope of the mountain, but it turns out I was on the east and was still going to have an excellent view of sunrise without being on the summit. The early moments were the most beautiful, with brilliant red clouds set against a light yellow sky that quickly faded into deep blues, and blackness further above.

When I finally reached the summit, I still had a chance to see the golden glow of the tail end of the sunrise.

I think I may have been better off watching from below the summit as hundreds of people were vying for space on eastern ridge of the crater. I was really amazed that such a seemingly remote and peaceful place could be so highly trafficked.

There were even vending machines on the summit! It’s true, they really are everywhere in Japan.

The peak of Fuji-san is a place of stark contrast. Outwardly, there are the heavenly views. The light reflecting off the tops of the clouds has a certain purity, a brilliance, that I have never seen before, and I thought if I looked closely enough I might just see dancing angels.

Inwardly however, the peak bears a close resemblence to hell at times with its roughly formed volcanic rocks in reds and blacks. All that is missing is the bubbling lava in the depths of the crater, from which a putrid stench would surely emanate.

When not feeling like I was in a place from religious lore, I thought I might really have arrived on another planet in some civilian spacecraft. This black dune, known as the “sand slides,” looks as if it should be from some far off world.

The true peak of Fuji-san (3776m) is capped with a building of some type, and together with the buildings below, among the red rocks, the whole scene looked like it was a Martian outpost.

On my descent of Fuji-san I passed through the sand slides and at times I felt like I was on the moon, especially as I was running down the mountainside, taking huge leaps and sinking into the sandy soil.

The trail through the sand slides must have been several kilometers long. I was only able to run down part of the way before completely running out of energy. I continued to trudge down the slope, at times feeling eerily alone and disoriented in the thick fog and strange moon-like environment. When I would stop walking, I’d have difficulty remaining upright since my balance was thrown off by the odd constant slope that made vertical things look crooked. There was a dull humming in my ears from the pressure change, and it served to filter out any stray sounds and only contributed to the surreal sensations I was feeling on the mountainside. At one point the fog cleared some and I could see the trail disappear into it in the distance. As an example of the illusions I was seeing, and feeling, the trail in the picture looks like it starts going up hill, but it never did…at least, I don’t remember it doing so. I was so worn out that I can’t really say I know for sure.

But the effort? It was worth it. I may not have left Earth’s atmosphere, but the voyage was indeed grand.

1. あおシグナル　(ao-shigunaru) Green traffic signal, but literally translated as blue traffic signal
2. あおりんご　(ao-ringo) Green apple, but literally translated as blue apple

I asked for an explanation, but the only answer anyone had was that these were easier to pronounce that actually using the word for green, みどり (midori) instead of blue あお (ao). I don’t really agree that it’s easier to pronounce, but I can’t think of any other good reason. Traffic lights seem like too recent of an invention for the misnomer to have come from an old mistranslation or evolution of the Japanese language.

Along the way there was a crystaline crater lake, deep blue and mountain chilled. The crowds of tourists thinned as I moved further from the terminal. I admired the surrounding peaks, knowing I’d be on top of them the following day.

My lodge was in a perfect location, in a nice quiet spot down off the plateau a little ways and near the center of the basin. The sunset was beautiful that evening. The sun itself disappeared early, dipping below the mountain tops, but the western horizon remained a redish-orange hue for several more hours. I laid outside most of the evening, watching the light disappear, feeling the temperature drop, seeing the stars peep out one by one until the sky was completely filled with them.

In the morning, after a fitful night’s sleep on the hard top bunk and being serenaded by snoring, I learned that there were several cases of food poisoning from dinner the night before. I was fine, but the lodge had to close down for a few days, meaning that my planned return after a two day hike wasn’t going to work. I decided I would hurry back the following day and be sure to catch the last vehicle out of the mountains. So I set out from the lodge, back up onto the plateau, and soon came to a crossroad. I could have climbed the hill pictured above…

…but no, I was here to climb a mountain. The trail started out easy enough, a stone-laid path winding gradually up the base of Mt. Tateyama, occasionally crossing some remaining snow. I was sure to reach down and touch some, the first time I’d ever touched the cold white powder in August.

-
Before long though, the easy path disappeared and turned into a rocky scramble up the side of the mountain. This was a new experience for me too, hiking that involves using your hands. About half way up, where I took these photos, I started questioning my decision to come out here. I’m not a rock climber, I’m inexperienced, and I’m afraid of heights. It looked like a long way to the top yet, but just as far back down. And going down seemed scarier. So up I went, hoping something good was waiting and the top, and hoping even more that the other side was an easier way down.

In another hour or so I reached the summit, all the way supressing my fears. The views were definitely worth it, Murodo below…

…and the Japan Alps all around.

There was even a shrine at the very top, 3003 meters. I attended a short service there. Though I’m not sure what they were praying about, I know I was praying for my safe return out of the mountains. I also received a bell to tie to my pack, whose jingle would give me encouragement as I travelled along the tops of the mountains.

I followed the trail beyond the shrine to Mt. Tateyama’s second peak, its highest at 3015 meters. It was there that I stopped for lunch since it had a nice view and I was getting hungry. While I was eating I had a realization. My exposed arms were looking pretty tan and I assumed my neck and face were looking the same. I had no sunscreen, and my only long-sleeves were those of my black hooded sweatshirt, a sure bet for over-heating. A group of older ladies were sitting near me, eating their lunch, so I ventured over to see if they had any sunscreen. Luckily they did, and they made sure I covered every inch of exposed skin, but not without a scolding for being on the peaks without long-sleeves.

During a short break at the third peak, I realized that I did have another set of long-sleeves: my lightweight and breathable Goretex raincoat. I put it on, hoping it would work just as well as a suncoat. Previously, I had ripped the sleeves off my spare t-shirt and tucked them into my hat to cover my ears and neck. I was looking pretty stylish with those rags and my bright orange jacket, but it was keeping my skin from melting off so I didn’t really mind.

Other than a short descent from Mt. Tateyama, following the ridgeline was easy going. About six hours after leaving my lodge, I was thinking I shouldn’t have too much further to go…on second thought, holy crap! Those people are tiny down there. Seems I had a while before reaching the mountain hut.

An hour later I was feeling pretty tired, and I still had this to climb, with no guarantees that it would be entirely easy after getting to the top. My urban hiking has been keeping me in shape, but the ups and downs, thinner atmosphere, and beating sun were wearing me out.

Somehow I made it up Mt. Bessan and a little further along the ridge to where I could see my mountain hut and Tsurugi-dake, my planned second day climb. Tsurugi means sword, and I can see why they named it that. I decided I wasn’t going to climb that frightenly jagged thing on tired legs, especially when I learned that it is the hardest peak to climb without gear in Japan.

The hut seemed to have lost my reservation, but let me stay without a fuss. One of the workers there had lived in Kentucky about ten years ago. Small world, huh? His English was still quite good and we spent some time talking when he wasn’t busy with work. Turns out he liked watching the Packers while he was in America, and was surprised to learn that Favre is still playing. I also talked to the other men in my room, mostly 50-60 year olds. They kept telling me I could climb Tsurugi because I was young. The guy from Kentucky was also trying to persuade me, and offered to climb with me. I decided that if I was feeling fresh in the morning I would give the first peak, Ippuku-Tsurugi, a shot. In the early morning light, the mountain looked much gentler and together we set out for the first of the the three peaks.

-
The climb wasn’t as easy as it had looked and while much shorter than my ascent of Tateyama, it had more treacherous spots that involved some true climbing. I’d gained confidence from the day before, and having someone with me kept me moving and not worrying too much. I was having fun and gained a greater appreciation for rock climbing. It’s amazing how little you need for foot and hand holds. The views were decent from the peak and I’m sure even better at the true peak, but this was far enough for me. I was afraid fatigue would get me stuck on the mountain if I went further, and I had to make it back in time to leave Murodo anyway.

After resting back at the hut, I hiked up and over the ridge towards Murodo. It was more of a slog than anything, and I was really losing steam towards the end. A pair of skis certainly would have helped over this long snow covered stretch.

Finally, I reached the bottom, where a crystal clear mountain river awaited. I gazed up at Mt. Tateyama, finding it hard to believe that just the day before I was looking down on where I was standing now.

Todai-ji in Nara. It’s big…

…but this hole inside it is tiny! I crawled through it for good fortune. Not sure about that, but I did get some bruises for my effort.

Contrary to what you may think, this is not typical for the streets of Japan…

…only on festivals, specifically Gion Matsuri, where they have big portable shrines in tiny alleys.

Shimogamo Shrine lit up for a festival of wading…

…It was a truly awe inspiring evening, one of the best memories of my stay here.

From Japanese:
りょうしん (ryoushin)

1. parents (両親)
2. conscience (良心)

What happens though, if I can’t come back? Indeed, that is a frightening thought, and I think I may have glimpsed the answer. The Lost Experience, a so called alternate reality game, offers people a new and different portal into the world of Lost. There is something terribly wrong with that portal though. It fails to fully transport its passengers, in either direction, leaving them in the ether between and in worse shape than the castaways of the show. The Experience is constant, grinding away and making itself visible at any and every tick of the clock. There is no page to save with a bookmark, no power button, no theme song or credits to signal the end. What drew me in, the idea of melding worlds, has become the games greatest flaw.

The game is hardly a game at all, for in a game I wield power…and have control. Within the Experience, I feel insignificant and slog along with the rest of the minions. Even if I were one of those who rise above, following each clue to the end and solving the riddles, I wouldn’t be satisfied. One thing does not lead to the next in this half-created world; it is simply a string of disconnected events with the next only coming when the creators allow it. They have failed in their duty to make us truly a part of the universe and yet no one can leave. We are not held captive by clever design, by interesting characters, or even a well told story. What has ensnared us is the intrigue, the prospect of meaning to be lent to the show. Lost is a magnificently crafted universe, but I am afraid it may only be soured by the poor Experience.

• How many famous Japanese people can you name?
• What about important dates?
• Can you name and locate any prominent geographical features?
• What about cities? Prefectures?

I had a recent conversation with some of my Japanese friends, and it made me realize just how little I knew about Japan. Most of what I know now, I have only learned while being here. I think a lot of Americans are the same, in that they know only a little about Japan. On the contrary, the Japanese seem to know quite a bit about the U.S. My friends knew presidents, even had at least some idea of when they were president. Washington was 1st, Lincoln 16th, Franklin Roosevelt during WWII, Kennedy in the 60′s, Nixon and Watergate, Reagan, Bush is the current president’s father, Clinton, Bush. They recognized Carter and Jefferson when I mentioned them. They knew Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Edison, Alexander Graham Bell, Einstein (wait, he’s not American). They knew 1776 was when we signed the Declaration of Independence. 1861, the Civil War. I drew a rough map of the U.S. and they could name and locate the Rockies, the Appalachians, the Mississippi, the Great Lakes (not individually), Niagara Falls, California, Texas, Florida, New York, Los Angeles, Seattle, Houston, New Orleans, New York City. They recognized San Francisco, Las vegas, Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit (and said, oh yeah, cars), Boston, Baltimore. They even knew many of the cities’ baseball teams.

Now, this was just one conversation with two people, and I am sure there are many people who know only a fraction of the above, but there are probably many others who know more. It’s hard to say without doing a proper study. As such, I am left with just a hypothesis waiting to be proved or debunked. Using what I have gathered from observations and conversations here in Japan combined with what I know from experience at home in America, I would say that on the whole, Japanese know far more about America than Americans know about Japan. If that is true, it is interesting to ask why.

Why don’t we know more history?
My exposure to Asian history in secondary school was poor. I remember vague bits about ancient Chinese history, some about Hinduism and Bhuddism, Matthew Perry and the opening of Japan’s borders, the Russo-Japanese War, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War. I suspect many Americans had a similar experience, being mainly exposed only to the parts of Asian history that directly concerned the U.S. While sad, it makes sense to focus so much more on Europe, Mexico, and South America. There is only so much time for teaching, and first priority should be on what has affected us as a nation. Even so, I feel like I missed out on a huge piece of human history.

Why don’t we know more people?
Maybe Americans can’t name very many Japanese people because there are none. Well, of course that isn’t true. The Japanese themselves can name plenty of famous Japanese. However, they are a humble and group oriented people, rather than individualistic. Within the country, I believe people only become famous from the praise and promotion of others. They are too humble to promote themselves and would rather give credit to the group in which they belong. Perhaps this is why few Japanese people are famous outside of Japan. The country itself is humble, and no member would praise their own group publicly, nor any member of that group. In their eyes it would be considered arrogant. So simply put, perhaps to Americans there are few famous Japanese people because no one tells us about them.

Why do they know so much?
Perhaps the largest reason for the incongruity is this: The United States of America is one of the most powerful and influential countries in the world. Other countries study us, to know how we became what we are, to know how to interact with us, and to know their enemy, should we ever become theirs. Our ideals and our culture spread around the world, sometimes by force, sometimes by happenstane, and sometimes by willing adoption. In Japan specifically, we brought much of our culture here during and following the occupation after WWII. Since then, they have continued to willingly and eagerly adopt more and more Western culture. One can hardly deny that America has adopted bits and pieces of culture from around the world itself. However, more often than not it is because the culture was brought to us and not because we actively sought it out.

Note: I have written this as an homage to the incredible writing in V for Vendetta. As such, I have incorporated many lines from the movie and cannot take full credit.