Back in 2007, I was studying abroad in Japan at this tiny little school in the middle of nowhere Japan, Akita International University. How they were a university I have no idea, but there it was, 500 souls dedicating time to a sad little scholarly place that was made up of only 2 buildings. The school was located in the rice fields and seeing it in the early fall, the rice was at full growth, glowing golden-green and swaying to the breezes as if they were praying. I loved the view of all that rice, in all its glory, and once I tried to step into it to exam the rice up close. That ended in a prompt and hasty retreat, as my shoe ended up filled with mud. From then on, I kept my wanderings in the rice fields to the edges of the rectangular plots of land.
There was not much to do at Akita, except read, drink, and watch Japanese TV. These things kept me entertained, but there are only so many books you can read before your eyes get tired, and there are only so many quiz shows that one can take in a day, especially if you can't understand a thing they're saying. The drinking was heavily enabled by the fact that there was a vending machine that ejected a drink called CHU-HI, an amazing mix of vodka, juice, and soda water. They made for nasty headaches. So after the first month, boredom of the now-known rural Japanese landscape set in and my friends and I decided to go on a sacred mountain hike. Optimistic thinking led to the plan of hiking of 3 mountains in one weekend - the Dewa sanzen.
Now the Dewa sanzen are three holy mountains, Mt. Haguro represents birth, Mt. Gassan, death, and Mt. Yodono, rebirth. If you walk all three, you gain some holiness. Many monks dedicated their lives to wandering those mountains to experience sacredness. It sounded awesome. 3 mountains in 2 days? We made the plans and got prepared for the big weekend when my friends, Helen and James, and I would take a taxi to the train station and go on a big adventure.
I woke up late, to the sound of Helen knocking on my door. I fell out of bed (literally, it was a bunk bed) and grabbed some clothes and shoved them into my backpack. I didn't prepare at all. But I managed to get out of bed by the time the taxi got to Akita. I ran to wake up James, but he was passed out. I shook him for all I was worth and then gave up and ran to catch the taxi. We were not too concerned about James not coming, but I was still a little sad because he seemed so enthusiastic about it the night before. Well, we were standing at the train station, with the train just pulling in when, who should appear, but James! He had gotten a ride from the guard and ran all the way through the station. This turned out to be providential. We got on the train, and I was totally ill. Trains and hangovers never go well together. A painful 3 and half hours later we were deposited unceremoniously at the train station of a town whose name I have absolutely no recollection of, all I remember is that I brushed my teeth in the filthy bathroom.
We took a bus to the starting point of the trail of Mt. Haguro-san, the birth mountain. It was
a fantastic day, cerulean skies, and massive cypress or cedar trees shading the path. Tremendous, breath-taking, beautiful, and the hike was ...very sweaty. The path was built by monks, who put in over 1,000 steps and carved little pictures of drinking cups and gourds. Apparently, if you see all of them, you will get your greatest wish. Anyway, near the middle of the mountain, I was sweating up a storm wearing pretty much just a tank top and shorts and wanting to take that off. At about the middle there was this beautiful tea shop, where we all had the classic green tea and dry biscuit. The view was already pretty good, we could see all the way to the Sea of Japan.We continued up, the stairs just going on forever. It felt like one of those old movies, where the hero has to go through a bunch of trials. So for most of an afternoon, we climbed those steps and finally reached the anti-climatic top. There was a bus at the top, taking all the old Japanese ladies up to the temple at the top of the mountain. A bus. At the top of the mountain that we had been climbing all day. There was no view to speak of, and the temple was undergoing reconstruction, so we couldn't even take good pictures.
So we took the bus down back to the village and went off in search of a traditional hotel, a ryokan. We found one after asking a lot of people, it was very awkward for all of us, mostly because none of us had ever taken a public bath before. Thankfully, no one entered while I was occupying it, I put off full frontal nudity for a little while longer in Japan. We wore the kimono style robe and slept like the dead on the floor after the traditional meal (best item: the rice). The most difficult part about being in a ryokan is the trick to taking the slippers off and putting another pair on for the bathroom. Talk about difficult when you really have to pee! Another note: don't sit cross legged in a short kimono, you reveal a lot!
So the next day we left the ryokan with our gear. This is what we had to wear for this expedition: I was sporting a lovely small backpack and had a long-sleeved shirt, my toothbrush and contacts equipment, and another pair of blue jeans. I was wearing my hoodie and a shirt underneath, not to mention blue jeans and old sneakers. Helen was well-equipped, looking like somebody who was going on a difficult hike through the mountains. James was wearing shorts and a T-Shirt with a button-up shirt to go over it. He had another pair of pants in his backpack and I think another shirt.
So, we were standing outside the ryokan with all our stuff and looked up at the clouds. No more blue sky, only gray clouds with a little misting rain. We shrugged our shoulders and went to catch the bus up the mountain.
We caught the bus easily and headed up the mountain. I'm sorry to say that the only views we got the entire time we were on the mountain were from the bus. As we went up, the clouds darkened and the wind picked up. A complete 360 from the day before. We finally got to the head of the trail, and the wind was picking up, but we didn't think it looked like rain (aka, we were retarded). We went inside the rest stop and James considered buying a poncho, but decided against it (again, not so smart). We then began the journey uphill.
The first hour was windy and the l
ong grass made for beautiful scenes, and we passed a couple of small shrines. The path started out as split logs, but then became just rocks. We had started at about 10:30 AM and when the rain began to fall gently, we decided we would continue up. We passed many eighty-year-old Japanese ladies who were coming down the mountain and after several hours of rain, we were completely soaked, yet still going up the mountain. Talk about stupid! Helen had her coat and umbrella going, so she was OK, but James and I were suffering from the first stages of hypothermia. At one point, an old lady stopped and gave James a poncho, and called us "bakayaro!" which translates to stupid foreigner. She was definitely right. It was raining and windy, and the grasses and small shrubs did not make for good windbreakers. At some points, the path was pretty vertical, and we had to climb up several parts, the rain making it more of a waterfall.
After we had been hiking awhile, we came upon a very narrow stretch of the rocky path at the same time a group was going down. Once again, all very old Japanese people. We tried to get out of the way, and as an old man was passing me, he slipped and fell backwards so slowly, landing on his backpack. As he fell, all the old ladies cried "Ojiisan!" Hilarious. There he was, on his back with his ski poles flailing, looking like a turtle stuck on its back, all the old ladies crying "Ojiisan" which means old man. I helped him up and apologized, and we all just laughed hysterically for awhile after.We finally got to the halfway point, which was marked by a ryokan, but we only stopped for a few moments to continue on our way. We were concerned with the time, and we still had another mountain to climb before 5 in order to catch the bus. At this point, it got much worse. The wind picked up more, and my pitiful hoodie was completely soaked, as well as all
the things in my bag. My blue jeans weighed a ton. I was in automaton mode: must keep moving. James had a poncho on, and looked completely miserable. Helen was just tired and panicky. We got above 5,000 feet and the wind almost pushed us off the mountain. Finally, after much suffering, we came to the shrine at 6,059 feet, got blessed/purified and went around the separate shrines, giving small coins. There are a lot of little shrines up there, all of them beautiful. My favorite were the Jizo shrines, because there were so many on the path up. They are shrines to protect small children, the old, and the sick. Some of them were made by the parents - makes me sad remembering. However, knowing that we had to catch a bus by the end of the Mt. Yonodo, we booked it out of there heading for the trail, but the wind was much fiercer on the other side of the mountain and my hands were shaking fr
om hypothermia. We conferred, and headed back to the shrine, where there was a warming station and warm food. We all changed out of our wet clothes, and I got the most delicious ramen noodles in a styrofoam cup I've ever eaten. That hot liquid saved me.Then Panic set in. Helen did not want to leave the shelter, and I desperately wanted to go back down the way we came to catch the bus home for civilization. Apparently, the trail to Mt. Yonodo involves climbing on rusty ladders down sheer walls. (That's how our deceitful guidebook told it.) We got into a fight, and James was the only voice of reason. After about an hour of arguing, we finally mustered the courage to go back down death mountain, and persuaded Helen to leave in order to catch the bus. I have to say that James saved us. If he hadn't been there, I would probably have gotten killed trying to climb Mt. Yonodo by myself and Helen would have been stuck at the top of Mt. Gassan.
Helen was very tired though, so we traded backpacks (hers was 10 times heavier than mine) and I went gallivanting ahead, mostly in an effort to keep warm. Helen took her time going down the steep, rocky, wet grades, so that after awhile, I was wayyyy ahead of her and James, who was keeping the middle. That's when I experienced my sacred moment. It was on a part of the trail that was crowded by tall bushes, beautiful plants, and quiet pools. The rain had become hardly mist, and the wind became quiet. I was feeling like shit, all cold and miserable and defeated because Mt. Gassan had conquered us, instead of us conquering death. All of sudden, a beautiful bird came out of the bushes and hopped right in front of me. I kept walking, but slowed down. The bird jumped down the p
ath, always keeping a few steps ahead of me. This continued for over ten minutes. It felt like one of Miyazaki's adventures, Spirited Away or Mononoke-hime. We rounded a corner, then James yelled from far away telling me to slow down, and the bird flew off. I looked up and could see that we were at the beginning again.We waited for the bus for about 15 minutes, and it was the last bus of the day. We had almost missed it. It took us to the train station, and we learned that the last express train had left 5 minutes before we arrived, so it took up 5 hours to get back to Akita-shi. The whole time, cold, wet and miserable, though we ate udon while waiting for the train. I love udon.
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