We emerge from the forest and leave the circus behind. Head up the dusty track. Sometimes wide and smooth, not a track at all but a reinforced road designed by engineers, constructed by the Yakuza and protected by huge bunkers built to dash the heady dreams of tumbling rocks. On the lower slopes roam big yellow monsters that scratch at the rock and raise the dust. Keeping the tracks just right for climber foot, ankle and knee. Their big claw is strong and steely but can stroke a kitten to sleep. Up the track we go. Sometimes rocky and narrow - sculpted not by man or woman but by God - random and jagged forcing climber to scramble and claw her way up.
Looking up, the track zigzags the mountain like a miniature Great Wall of China. Its edifices punctuated by small messy shelters with walls of stone and tin and wood and roofs weighted down with boulders. Stacked around these mountain shelters are gas cylinders, crates of beer, boxes of food, benches to rest, stacks of wood and steel , wire and plastic and cardboard and a little bird that sings so sweet in the fresh mountain air - looks like a sparrow but sings like an angel. Up and up we go. Mountainside dwellers live up here to tend to the swarming masses. Beds, food hot and cold, drinks healthy and alcoholic, shelter from the howling winds and drenching rain, toilets for cramping bowls and bulging bladder. Sell you a walking stick and a torch and a plastic raincoat and a flag and a this and a that and send you up, up and on your way weary climber - the summit is where it’s at. Get your climbing stick branded (sixth station, seventh station …I did it!!…) show the world what a daredevil you are. Or pause and rest awhile weary climber here beside me on the tatami. Kick off those wet boots and warm your bones by the fire. Put some hot noodles in your belly and a hot sake in your head.
Above the clouds and looking down we realise why we are here. The world stretches out before us - forests of green and lakes shimmery blue and towns all in the valleys and in the grey distance puffy clouds (will it rain?). Every step closer to heaven. The summit awaits and with it comes enlightenment. But darkness is coming weary climbers. Let’s sleep a while and we will arrive with the dawn. We sit and watch the burning glow of an unseen setting sun. Feel the chill as our mountain silhouettes spin away to another day. Huddle together and laugh at ourselves - laughing ants. The air is thin but our bodies are thick and heavy. Rest awhile weary climber - you’ll be Ok.
Wake in darkness. Lights come on and crusty eyes adjust to the sight of Japanese girls hurriedly applying foundation and lipstick and such. Must look our best to meet the rising sun - but what is this - we are no longer above the clouds but in them. The air is thick with swirling wisps of wet. No sun today. Oh well, up we go soggy climbers to the top. But others have the same idea as us and we must join the queue. A candle-lit procession we crawl to the summit. Carrying virgins and fat goats and flowers and mobile phones and gortex to toss into the caldera. The purest of children and the fruits of a bountiful harvest will bring us good fortune and blessings. Slowly we shuffle along in the clouds - rain in our faces and a chill in our bones. Up and through holy gates and into the sanctum. We arrive. Fuji.