So Long, Farewell

Wow, look at this, two posts in the same week! I'm writing this during a no-show on my third-to-last day of work at Nova. Now, while there are certainly some things about this job that I've grown to loathe, on the whole, I've greatly enjoyed my go at being Jen-sensei. The best thing about my job so far has been the chance to teach so many incredible, interesting, hard-working, and just plain adorable students. There are now many favourites whom I have taught for the last time, and may infact never see again. The constant farewells have put me into a hyper-emotional state for the past week. Yesterday I said goodbye to Eri, a young, shy housewife whom I have been teaching every Thursday since I began working here in September. Though her English level is still quite low, I have learned about her love for Italy and U2's The Edge, as well as her plan to see the sunrise from the top of Mt. Fuji on the morning of her next birthday. Later in the day I had my last lesson with Rei, a university administrator in her mid-forties who frequently suffers from giggle attacks and with whom I share a love for all things pink.

First up today was Rieko, a bubbly doctor's wife who sings opera, gives free tours of Tokyo to foreign visitors, and loves to study amphibiens. I then taught my demons, the brother-sister pair of three year old Saki and five year old Ryota, who presented me with drawings of myself and a blue dragon (at least I hope it was a dragon and not me...). The hardest goodbye was with perhaps the most adorable six year old to ever live, Matsuri. For several months, Matsuri and I had one-on-one lessons every week. Although she has now aged out of my class and is taught by another teacher, we still chat before and after lessons. Today Matsuri presented me with a letter written by her and a request from her mum that I send her a letter from Canada. I'm now greatly looking forward to continuing my friendship with my six-year-old Japanese pen-pal.

My last two days will no doubt include more difficult goodbyes, including with Reina, a moody 13 year old who also happens to be my #1 favourite student. I'll be sure to bring along extra tissues.

The View from the Top

I can’t quite believe it, but I now have only 8 days remaining in Japan. Although my time here is quickly dwindling, I did manage one last adventure this weekend, perhaps my grandest yet. On Monday morning, I watched the sunrise from the top of Mt. Fuji.

Climbing Mt. Fuji has been a goal of mine ever since I decided to come to Japan. However, I tend to underestimate my physical abilities and had great doubts as to whether I’d be able to complete the trek. Fortunately, I met Greg, who could make a living as a motivational speaker and never lets me get away with wussing out. Climbing Miharayama in Oshima in March also injected me with a good deal of confidence. Conquering Fuji-san seemed a fitting conclusion to my sojourn through Japan.

On Sunday night, I left work with a backpack of supplies (including headlamps, a rainsuit and toilet paper) and a head full of advice supplied by my co-worker, Kee, who trekked up Fuji last year. I arrived in Shinjuku, where I met Greg, along with his father, Alan, and little brother Patrick, who have been visiting for the past week. As we boarded our bus bound for Fuji’s 5th station (technically about half-way up the mountain- if you’re a sucker for punishment you can start at the very bottom, but most climbers start where the road ends), we realized that only two (!) of the people on board with us were Japanese. Everyone else was gaijin, clutching their Lonely Planet guidebooks and having speaking English. After ten months of living in Japan, I found it quite strange to be able to understand the random snippets of conversation around me.

Two hours later, at 10:00pm, we were greeted by the chilly night air of the 5th station. We put on our gear, got out our flashlights, and were on our way up the mountain at 10:30. The first stretch of the hike is quite easy, with very little actual climbing. Looking out over the edge of the path, we could see nothing but grey fog. Below us stretched an empty, cavernous abyss. After about a half hour we reached the 6^th station, where a guide handed us maps of the route up. From here the trail got much more difficult- it was like climbing up a sand dune. I found myself having to take frequent breaks and questioning whether I was capable of climbing this trail for five hours. After about forty minutes, we encountered a chain blocking our path with a sign reading “No Entry”- on the other side. It was here that we realized that we had been climbing up a supply road and not the actual trail, which had stairs. Ironically enough, on the descent we discovered that we had gone off the trail just steps from where we given the maps.

Feeling much relieved by the easier path that greeted us, we continued to the next station and the rest huts that dotted the path. Looking up, the night sky concealed everything but the next hut looming high in the distance. Soon the terrain became rocky, and I often found myself on all fours. Nonetheless, we kept our spirits up as the rest huts were frequent and our pace steady. The summit finally came into view as we reached the last station at around 2:30. I was pumped and eager to make the last stretch of the climb. What followed were perhaps the most grueling hour and half of my life. The rocks were replaced by slippery volcanic stones that gave way as I stepped on them. I could hardly walk twenty paces without feeling the need to stop and rest. With no rest huts breaking up the climb, the final leg felt interminable. Finally, as the night sky began to brighten with the first hints of twilight, I crossed under the Torii gate that marked the summit of Fuji.

While I was relieved to have made it to the top, I can’t say that the summit of Fuji was much fun. The weather was cold and the air was thin. After a few minutes at the top I began to feel sick and am told by Greg that my lips turned a strange shade of blue. While the boys hiked around the crater, I bundled up in all the clothes I’d packed and huddled into a little ball. I even left my own special mark on Mt Fuji, consisting mostly of the candy and coca-cola I’d eaten on the way up.

Nevertheless, I’ll never forget watching the sun peek out from behind the clouds at the top of Japan. The endless chasm of night gave way to views of a snowy, rocky mountainside that slowly turned green with trees as it extended downwards. The sky became a fierce blue and cloud moved in both above and below us. The beauty of the scene was heightened by my sense of accomplishment. Climbing Fuji, like living the past ten months in Japan, was often difficult and unpleasant. There were moments when I wanted to give up, when I wondered if it hadn’t been a big mistake to have started in the first place. But I made it, thanks in no small part to Greg’s encouragement, discovering my resiliency along the way and finding new inspiration for bigger and better adventures to come.