Mount Tsukuba

Okay, I hiked another mountain yesterday!

As I was hiking, I realized why I never really had mountain climbing on my list of to-do things in life – I’m really not a mountain-climbing person.  I’m from Houston, Texas, where, in case you didn’t know, everything is flat.  Literally, we have overpasses (for vehicles) on the highways and ditches along roads.  That as much variation to the land gradient as we get.  There’s even a phrase for it: In Houston, an uphill climb is only a figure of speech.  I found that in the HIWI: Houston – It’s Worth It coffee-table book several years ago.  I always remembered it, because it was so beautifully and comically true.  Keep this fact in mind as you read onward here.

 

Our school had their fancy baseball game, where the entire school goes and cheers (mostly the same cheers as the other school) for the team.  We won the game, and it ended around noon.  The best part, though, was that we didn’t have to go back to school afterward.  Even the teachers were free to go home after the game.  So, I decided ahead of time that I would go hike the nearby mountain after the game.  Of course, I didn’t know that we officially had the day off after the game, but I planned to take my last few vacation hours if necessary.  Fortunately, that was not necessary.  So, yay!

As I told kids what I was off to do, they were amazed, concerned, excited, surprised, etc.  REALLY, Hannah-Sensei?!  Yes, really.  After a sandwich snack from a konbini (convenient store), I got some help from a few students and found the right bus to get me to the mountain.  It was about 45 minutes to the middle of nowhere without shade, where I had to wait 25 minutes to take the second bus up to the base of the mountain.  There’s a shrine, and it’s really pretty and nice, and it took me forever to find the path to hike up the mountain.  Eventually, I found a sign by the cable car entry, stating that the hiking trail began in that direction.  Turns out, the trail begins right next to the cable car entrance.

The trail was Miyukigahara Course (御幸ヶ原コース), and the mountain was Mount Tsukuba (筑波山).  The estimated trail time is 90 minutes upward.  With loads of pausing for photos, feeling lost, and sheee-it declarations, I made it in 77 minutes.  I was truly shocked at how quickly I had done it.

 

 

The trail began with some confusion, as it branched off toward the cable cars twice, but going straight got me in the right direction.  The terrain was spidery tree roots and rocks everywhere, and beautiful, green trees all round.  I was delighted.

 

 

Eventually, the gradient increased, and the easy trail became not-so-easy.  Then there were stairs.  I dislike stairs in Japan.  They drive my knees nuts, because they are in no way aligned to the size of my stride.

After what felt like far too much effort on a long series of stairs going what felt like straight upward (I couldn’t even take a good photo of them, without tilting the camera way upward or downward, they were so steep.), I finally reached a pause point in the trail.  At first, I thought the first sign I was seeing after almost half an hour might be informative.  Instead, it told me to take my trash home… so Japan…

 

Now, even though I am from Houston, and going upward is the thing at which I am kind of the worst, I still enjoyed the trek.  For one thing, it was cool seeing all the different cairn-like rock piles.  Some were really complex,

while others were incredibly simple.

Suffice to say, I enjoyed them all.  …as I was practically gasping for air the entire time, of course.

Around halfway, I came across the cable cars.  I heard the cables moving, and so thought the car was approaching.  After at least a five-minute wait, the car finally appeared (both did, actually), and I got a little photo of it, and hurried on my way.

 

As I have discovered to be the case with roads here in Japan, so was this trail: What appears to be a dead end is, in fact, not a dead end.  I actually struggled very briefly to find the path at this point, as it was hidden behind the trees, and the area opened up so nicely to the right.

The first half of the trail is rightly difficult.  It’ll turn around anyone unprepared for the trek within the first twenty minutes, for sure.  I kind of hated how difficult it was (again, remember the Houston factor), and had a sort of running commentary of ‘Uugghh,’ going on in my head, but it was alright.  After the halfway point, things got mostly easier.

Until, of course, I reached a totally sketchy point in the trail, where the guard ropes and steps and all seem to be falling to bits amid the rocks and trees, like giants scrambled through a couple decades ago, and no one has made it back through the area since.  But, I picked my way through the rubble-like terrain, and found myself wondering suddenly, as the trail was leading distinctly downward, if I hadn’t crossed onto another path, and were actually heading down to the base of the mountain again.

 

Eventually, a sign eased my concerns… somewhat.  Then the trail kept going downward.  I went Back to the sign, checking which direction the paths supposedly led, comparing it to a photo I’d taken of a similar sign farther down the mountain.  I even called a friend to check that the path did this – I So did not want to be doing double hiking here, and I was concerned about my timing (I had no idea how long it had been, as I was embarrassed to check, find I had been going super slowly, and risk losing all morale [or most of it, anyway].).

I then reached a bit that didn’t even look like a trail, but rather a big pile of boulders.

However, after climbing over the boulder pile, I came upon what I called the “Man Woman River”, which is really a pathetically-sized stream trickling down the side of the mountain.

 

At the river, however, there was an actual sign indicating that I was, indeed, still on my trail, and had only 600m to go.  A time and a half around a track.  I knew instantly that it wouldn’t be so easy as that, though.

After what felt like about 500m, I came to the stairs.  Honestly, if you ever do this, take the advice relating to fears of heights when up high somewhere, where you are told not to look down.  For these stairs, don’t look up.  They just keep going and going, and they curve and then keep going some more.  And they’re tiny little steps, too, where you have to figure out if it feels better to take two or three at a time, and neither is quite right, so you try doing just one at a time, and it ends up even worse than the two or three.

I knew these steps were like the home stretch, but I was wary.

 

Sure enough, I rounded the final corner of trees after these cutesy, painful, annoying steps, and actually cursed aloud.  This is actually the exact view of where I was spit out from the previous segment of the trail.  Right in the middle of the rocks, with even more, higher up stairs over to the side.

This, I practically cried inside, has Got to be the final stretch… Please.

And, indeed, it was.  At long last, I was at the end of the trail, and up on top of the mountain, on the little hump between the two peaks.

 

Tsukuba Mountain has two peaks on it, Nantai-San and Nyotai-San.  Mt. Nantai is the one whose name in kanji equates to ‘Man Mountain’, and Mt. Nyotai is the ‘Lady Mountain’ in its kanji.  I didn’t have much time before the last cable car down, so I picked the Lady Peak over the Man Peak.  It was a quick and easy 600m up (as opposed to the miserable last 600m of the trail I’d just taken), and the view was quite nice.  I enjoyed the space there, all on my own.

On the entire adventure up the mountain, I think I didn’t even pass ten people total.  It was marvelous.  Though not quiet – bugs are loud.

As I rode the cable car down the mountain at 5pm (the last car of the day), I began checking routes home.  Get this: The next bus out of that area to get me home was Tuesday morning at 9:06am.  Are you kidding me?  Nope.  Not at all.

So, I did some freaking out, even asked a local guy about how to get home, and he even passed concern to himself about whether there was still a bus running.  He told me, however, that buses ran, and just to follow the road until I reached the bus stop.  Suffice to say, there were no more buses running.  Fortunately, I was already mentally prepared by the time I reached the bus stop.

I had been looking around on my Google Maps app (which I love!), and found a bus leaving from a ways away that could get me to somewhere useful.  I then began my half-sprint descent to a nearby town’s bus station, slightly concerned about whether I would make it home that night.  After half an hour of running on a road in the middle of the forest, which is clearly not meant for pedestrians, I climbed aboard my desired bus with two minutes to spare.  I was too exhausted even really to appreciate my fortune in catching the bus.  I promptly sloughed onto the back seat, out of the sun, and relaxed for the upcoming long ride, as soon as I informed my friends that I had made it on the bus, and didn’t need anyone to come way out of the way to get me.

And, just to make the day better for my health, I went directly to ballet class when I got back to my town.  It was my last chance to go, and I hadn’t even known it – I’d just wanted to go to class, because I love the class.  Apparently there’s no class next week.  Even more good fortune.  I had a blast in the class, and it was a really good way to send myself off from the group I’d come to love.

Hmm… this didn’t turn out at all as I had hoped.  Perhaps, I’ll revisit it some time, when I actually feel like writing, as opposed to going home to sleep… or do anything but sit in this warm room at work, with a chair and desk that are too small for me…  We’ll see.

 

Post-a-day 2017

Food

So much of my food here is selected based mainly on it’s ability to satisfy hunger while leaving the wallet as heavy as possible.  The sandwich I had today, my dinner tonight – I hardly want to eat either one, ever.  And yet, I’ve had the same sandwich thing multiple times this past year.  Why?  Because it fills me without voiding my wallet.

I can hardly wait never to have to eat like this again.  At least, as part of my daily life, I mean.  It’s exhausting, figuring out what to eat, when I really don’t like – and even rather dislike – the foods around and available to me.  I’ve never eaten in so many restaurants, and had to take deep breaths and just ‘deal with it’ in my entire life before moving here as I have this past year.  I’m tired of it all.  Clearly Japanese food is just not my style.  I leave it to others to enjoy, therefore.

Bring on the green smoothies, salads, and everything not Japanese, Houston.  I’m ready.

Post-a-day 2017

Movies, oh, movies

When I was little, I saw the films “JAWS”, “Deep Blue Sea”, and “Lake Placid”.  They all sport a main character/predator who is an oversized water creature, the first two having a shark main character and the third an alligator.  (Though I now realize that it could have been a crocodile, I still believe that it was an alligator, because I do not remember its having a really long and narrow snout.)

Suffice to say that these movies succeeded in terrifying me of the ocean, of lakes, and of swimming in general.  Now, seeing as swimming was a large part of my family’s life, as was the beach, I learned to manage these fears (i.e. realize that, I just had to let it go if I wanted to swim, or at least accept the fear alongside the joys of swimming).  This mostly meant that I was typically initially hesitant to enter the water at the beach, and always preferred being with others in the water – not to be grimm, but the probability of being the one nabbed decreased, the more people who were out there with me in the water.  No, I didn’t want anyone to be nabbed, but I had a high sense of self-preservation.

Whenever I was on my own in the water, I occasionally would recall the possibility of sharks as I was walking toward the shore, and suddenly would find myself jumpily sprinting out of the water (jumpily, because it is easier to run through water, when you pick your legs all the way up out of it, doing a sort of hopping dance forward, which becomes more and more like normal running as you get closer to shore, and the water level goes lower and lower).

The interesting thing – to me, anyway – about this fear, is how it transferred to pools for me.  With others, I never had concerns (as I recall, anyway).  However, put me on my own in the backyard pool at my brothers’ dad’s house, and I’d occasionally start to freak.  It was a weird sort of freak-out, because I logically knew that I was totally fine and safe, but surface-level panicked and rushed out of the water suddenly anyway.

It would happen like this: I would be in the water, usually swimming casually toward one side or end of the pool, and suddenly have this thought that someone could have opened up a secret panel behind me on the pool wall, and released a shark.  At the point of this thought’s occurrence, I would put all my effort in swim sprinting to my aimed-for wall, and climb manically from the pool, panting.  I think I even scratched up my stomach and/or legs in my haste a handful of times.

It was illogical, and yet I completely understood why I had the bizarre fear, and I accepted it as a weird and unrealistic fear, even as a little kid.

Fast forward a good many years, and where do I stand?  The last time I was alone in a pool, about a year ago now, I still had to turn my head, just to check to make sure no panel had slid open behind me.  No, I wasn’t sent rushing to the walk and out of the pool, but I still had to respond to the thought and the sense of panic that was rising within me.  Essentially, the panic and fear is significantly lessened, but totally still there.  If I don’t think about it, I’m totally fine.  The moment I think about it, I’m slightly paranoid, and sinultaneously annoyed at my nonsensical paranoia.

Such is my life around pools (and also the earlier bits regarding my life with beaches).  I think this is why I just don’t want horror films.  Ever.  The few scary films I saw as a kid were enough for me*, and each had enough impact on me to cause me never to want to watch scary movies again.  So I think, anyway.
*”Scream”, “Scream 2”, and “Anaconda” still stick with me today, as well as the shark and gator movies.

Post-a-day 2017

The Body Talks

Let’s talk about sex, baby.

Well, sort of… That’s what my body kept saying to me today.

Today was a day in which my body felt like it was in a state of panic.  In a way, it was in a state of panic (or bordering on panic, anyway).  To my body, this panic was expressed as a painful desire, né need to procreate.  

“Hannah, I need to reproduce – it is what I am designed so well to do, and I’ve waited so long already… let me go!!”  

Sigh.

Such was the sort of conversation my body and I had today.  It complained and begged and reasoned, and I sighed and just accepted the complaints.

Now, the kicker to all of this is that I am almost entirely comfortable and at ease now (despite being quite sleepy).  Why is that?  The same reason (-ish) that my body has been panicky lately – I need physical contact in my life.  Good, real, physical contact, corporal contact, person-to-person skin-to-skin touch is an absolute necessity for me.

And living in Japan has given me almost none of that.  It has quite truly driven my body into a state of panic, in fact.  

How did I go from freak-out to calm?  I hung out with friends and went dancing with them.  In this time, I leaned on them, they leaned on me, we rubbed backs, hugged (the real kind), held hands, stood with our arms draped on one another’s shoulders or around the waist or hips, touched this or that spot on someone to get his/her attention.  In short, we had a nice amount of physical contact with one another.  No, it was not anything compared to what I am accustomed to having back in the US, – we are So touchy-touchy in Texas, and especially at dance there – however it was tremendous when compared to my average day and week of zero physical contact here in Japan.

I went to a dance event in Korea just a couple weekends ago.  I danced like crazy there, and I hugged people and had lots of physical contact with people who love me and whom I love.  I think that going from a weekend jammed full of corporal contact and love, back to the solitude and non-touching life I have here right now, my body had a sort of shock.  After having gone so many months with only a bit of physical contact here and there in a month, I was accustomed to it.  But, after spending a weekend filled with physical contact, it has been difficult to go back to the zero-touching lifestyle.

And so my body cried for a while, until it at last had some loving physical contact this afternoon and tonight, at which point it is ready to take on this next week (until I head to the beach next weekend, at which point the physical contact occasions will resume). 

So, instead of listening to the crybaby body make excuses about its evolution and its original design for existence, I just get myself some physical contact, some hugs and snuggles and such, and things work out beautifully.

Cheers to loving physical contact! ❤

Post-a-day 2017

Blood Driving

I have given blood three times.  You can still see the spots where each needle hung out in my arm for a while, as it guided the blood from my body and into a nearby sanitary bag.  The spots actually remind me of pock marks.  It’s weird, really – they look unnatural (and, well, they are).

The oddest bit about this, though, is that these marks are still here, after all this time.  The last time I donated blood was a year or two ago.  Before that was about nine and ten years ago.

I have never much liked donating blood.  I realize the value in it, and I still dislike doing it myself.  I’d rather help put on a blood drive, and donate my time and energy that way.  However, the reason I gave blood began in high school.  

Our school was having a drive.  I thought it was awesome, though I didn’t necessarily intend to participate – frankly, I was terrified.  I had the permission form, but I hadn’t yet determined if I were going to get my mom to sign it or not (or was it already signed, but I wasn’t sure if I were going to turn it in?).  One of my best friends appeared in front of me, utterly annoyed on the first day of the drive, and informed me that she couldn’t give blood, because you can’t have spent more than a couple years in England before 1994.  She had been there for about four years before then, and so was therefore removed from any chances of ever giving blood in the US.

At this information, and her distress, I determined my course of action.  I did not want to donate blood, but she did.  She could not, and I could.  Therefore, I would donate for her, on her behalf.

And so I did for several years.  There was once that I couldn’t donate due to low iron in my blood (not enough greens after I had been sick), and then about two years where I was not allowed, because I had been to Kingston, Jamaica, which is apparently a no-go for US blood donation.  By the time those two years were up, though, my friend had discovered that she could donate blood in the U.K., where she was (and still is) living.  She forever would be allowed to donate blood there, and so I no longer had to do it for her.

The last time I gave blood, was out of a sense of duty and support, I suppose.  My school (where I was working) was hosting a drive, and someone specifically asked me to support, so I did.  I even got my teacher shadow to participate, too.  A different time, the school had another drive, but I wasn’t able to donate, because they had closed down before I was free from classes.  I donated once, though, completely of my own accord, and for that I am proud.  (Not in a snobby, snotty sense.  Just proud that I succeeded in doing what I felt was a good thing to do, despite my fear and discomfort in doing it.)

As I write this, I can’t help but to feel that there was one other time during college, at which time I was able to give blood…, but I really don’t remember.  I even have a spot on my arm that looks like it might have been a fourth needle, but I’m not certain.

Anyway, those are my current brain thoughts swirling around right now.

Blessings through a headache

My head hurts.  I think I need food, water, And sleep.

As I thought about just now how my head hurts, I realized that I can express that fact/sentiment in five languages, and without even having to think about it.

My head hurts. (Duh)

Me duele en la cabeza.

J’ai mal à la tête. 

Ich habe Kopfschmerzen.

あたまがいたい。

Rad, huh?  My life is super blessed.  Thank you, God.  Now, I’ll have a bit more water, and then sleep!
Post-a-day 2017

Late-night FaveTime

Chitter chatter, pitter patter

What’s the latest news?

I’ve got the blues, you’ve got new shoes, and Mom is delighted (not) by her latest news.

The cats are cats, packing needs to be done, and there are classes I need to take.

It’s AM here and PM there, and kind of extremely late.

So, I’ll pack my clothes for my European tour, and you can head to sleep, and dream of days that are coming soon, when I’ll be by the pool, and you’ll be there with me, too.
Post-a-day 2017

In my head…

A blank page awaits me, and yet I have nothing to say… Rather, I have so much to say, that I cannot seem to make any of it organize itself out into something sensical.  I know that I have much to say, but all that is coming to mind is a sort of doo-too-doo hoo-hoom, boom ba-doom…di-doh-doo… doo-too-doo hoo-hoom, boom ba-doom… some unidentifiable song that my mind seems to be humming passively.  It almost feels like an obsessive relaxation technique at play, as though my subconscience were taking steps to keep me as near to sanity as possible, when it sees me edging toward a sort of breakdown.  Right now, if I focus on this nothing, this song, I am okay.  I am breathing.  If I were to focus on one of the many somethings that are rolling around in my head, I might just freak out and go a little nuts (in a different way than my typical demeanor displays my general oddness and weirdities).

So, instead of going insane, I hum-drum in my head, unable to find words or any clear thoughts.  I am breathing shallowly somewhat, but I am breathing.  And that, in itself, is something worth appreciating.

My life is a blessing, no matter how much I may be terrified of what it may hold next.  🙂

Post-a-day 2017

Normal or normal?

I guess that whatever we are accustomed to having around us, ends up being what feels like “normal” to us.  Like how my life never seems to feel very exciting or special – it has become my experience of “normal”, and therefore can’t seem exceedingly exciting or abnormal to me.  

I regularly feel as though everyone can speak loads of languages, and so I’m nothing but average (or even below average) in that field.  But who are my acquaintances?  Well, we tend to end up spending time with people who, in some way or other, are quite similar to ourselves, do we not?  It is no wonder, then, that I have so many friends who are bi- and multilingual, and who have not only visited but lived in at least one country other than their own.  This isn’t to say, of course, that all of my friends meet this criteria.  Certainly not.  I just happen to have a lot of friends who do.

So, when I have a night like tonight, where my friends and I sound to an on-listener like we can’t seem to pick a language, as we constantly switch around between English (our one common language), French, and Japanese, I all too easily forget that this is not normal in the world.  Sure, it is normal for me and for my life, but that doesn’t mean that everyone does it regularly.  It doesn’t even mean that half the world could do it regularly, even if they wanted to do so.

Or perhaps they could.  I think, nonetheless, that I severely underappreciate my language abilities, by subconsciously expecting that the people who most closely surround me are an average sample of the whole.  What is normal for one person simply is what is around that person in life.  And two people with closely aligned lives might find the same things as one another to be normal.  So, of course the people who are out doing the same things I live to do, tend to see the world in a similar way to how I see it, and hold a subconscious standard of “normal” that is similar to my own.  That’s why our paths cross in the first place – we’re all into* this particular kind of awesome.

Filing a room with awesome people doesn’t mean that they aren’t all still awesome, just because the standard in the room is about equal.  It just means that you have an extra-awesome room that is full of a ton of awesome people.

I guess what I am aiming to say here is that, despite my feeling below-average and utterly “normal” and boring at times, I realize now that I am not viewing things outside of my nearest surroundings (so to speak), and that I realize that I am, in fact, awesome.  And I’m proud and happy about that.

Peace, y’all. ❤
Post-a-day 2017