What I thought was going to be a simple, albeit possibly length, climb to the top of Mt. Fuji gradually transformed into the most physically endeavor I have ever accomplished. Eleanor and I started our climb at 11pm at night, and climbed straight through the night, stopping at every station to catch our breaths. At around 4:30 to 5, the sun rose. We continued on for about three more hours, when Eleanor and I split up; she had decided that she didn't need to go any further, and I don't blame her at all! It took me two more hours to reach the top, at about 9:45. I vaguely remember the commotion at the top, with the masses of people , drink vendors, and the plethora of merchants selling mass-produced trinkets. I rushed past all these, looked upon the crater, branded my hiking stick twice, and took off back down Fuji to meet up with Eleanor and rush away from there. All I care to think about the trip back down was it took longer than I hoped, and I am glad it is over.

Though Fuji was an experience like none other, I will never do it again. And my hiking stick? I forgot it on a train somewhere between Fuji and Nagoya.

Gallery

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Further Info

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