Mt. Miyogi and Japanese Rock

One of these weekends I'm going to stay home and relax; I’m just not exactly sure when that will be . . . my constant go-go-go life in Japan pretty well mimics my go-go-go life in the States. This weekend I went hiking in the mountains, soaked in an onsen (public bath/hot springs), went to a child’s Halloween party, and danced like a crazy person at an outdoor concert with my friend M who came to visit me from Tokyo.

Saturday was the first beautiful day we’ve had in a while. I had lost count of how many grey and cloudy days we’d had, and I was happy to see the bright sun come up that morning. I crawled out of bed at 7:00 on Saturday morning just like it was a weekday, but somehow was awake enough to pick up four friends at the train station to drive to the mountains. About 30 people—JET and non-JET—met at the Mount Miyogi Shrine, about an hour’s drive from Takasaki, to spend the day hiking the trails.

After much deliberation about cars, parking, pictures, and any other issue that comes up when a large group is involved, we started the hike. Mt. Miyogi is part of the large chain of mountains in Gunma (by the way, did I ever tell you Gunma means “herd of horses,” even though I haven’t seen one horse here since I got here?) and has some of the most dangerous peaks around. To get to the absolute top of the mountain requires months of strenuous training and really good rock-climbing gear, since after a certain height it’s only rocks. And apparently people die every year trying to scale it (14 or 15 died last year, I think I heard). Luckily for us, we weren’t getting anywhere near that spot.

Even though our trail wasn’t quite so dangerous, it still had its moments. Most of the trail reminded me of the Appalachians in Western North Carolina. There were even some of the same kinds of trees (birches and pines) that reminded me of home so much that people got sick of hearing me say, “Wow! It’s like I’m back in North Carolina!” The combination of fresh dirt, leaves, and crisp autumn air mixed with warm sunshine even smelled the same. Unfortunately, even though this was meant to be the “Colorful Autumn Walk Through Mount Miyogi,” all the leaves were still green, even at that elevation. A few trees were thinking about changing color and were tinting yellow and brown around the edges, but almost the entire forest was still in its late-summer radiance. I guess because it was so ungodly hot all summer autumn is coming slower than normally. I guess this also means winter is going to be impossibly cold . . .

Back to the hike, though. We marched through the woods, following the trail as it led through the thick, dense forest. Everything was going well, we were all feeling pretty good, until the path suddenly stopped. Instead, an imposing rock mountain loomed in front of us, dented here and there with tiny footholds. A chain was hanging from the top, about 20 feet up and to the right. A crudely painted arrow, yellow but flaking almost to the point of illegibility, pointed for us to follow.

No way, everyone said.

Yes way, the mountain replied.

F started up. He’s a big guy, tall and heavy, and he held onto the iron chain with all his weight as he swung himself up. It held. C was next. He grew up in Canada and had done things like this before and moved sure of himself. Then a woman I didn’t know started up. Then me.

I am petrified of heights, as you may or may not know. But I’ve climbed mountains before. I’ve been all over the Appalachian Trail; I’ve hiked in Mexico and various mountains around the U.S. Hell, I almost made it to the top of Mt. Fuji! But I hadn’t rock climbed, either inside or outside. Not like this at least. After I got to the top of the rock, I saw that it wasn’t really the top. More footholds had been carved into the mountain on the side for another 20 or 30 feet. The rock slanted down at about an 80-degree angle, giving us an impressive view of the mountains that surrounded us, the big blue sky above us, and the craggy rock below us that was sure to break every bone in my body. I held onto the chain and inched over, bit-by-bit, hugging the mountain and making sure my feet were secure on the tiny ledge. One foot at a time. But then everyone suddenly stopped moving. (I found out later it was because F had made it to the top and was trying to figure out how to get down to the other side through a narrow crevice and another metal chain.) Crazily, the lyrics from an old Heather Nova song floated through my head: Too scared of going down / too scared of going up / too scared of rock face. I could feel my heart start to beat faster the longer I stood there, and I gripped the chain until my knuckles were white. In the meantime, I was trying to breathe like D’s meditation class had taught me: I am breathing in . . . I am breathing out . . . I am breathing in . . . but meditation wasn’t working so well clinging to a chain on the side of a mountain thousands of feet up. I refused to look down.

Eventually, though, we all made it across and down the other side, and all of us, I think, felt a little bit stronger afterwards, like we could do anything. But mostly relieved.

Luckily, that was the only truly frightening experience. The rest of the day was filled with beautiful sights of trees, tiny creeks, huge caverns, and the 100-foot high stone archways that marked each ascent. (Well, there was that one part coming down where we had to walk down what seemed like monkey bars over tiny gorges, but that wasn’t quite so bad.)

After the hike, everyone was exhausted, but some of us wanted to go soak for a while. My car full of people—three guys, a girl, and me (I am also a girl)—went to the Miyogi Onsen, about half a kilometer away. E (the girl) and I went through the red cloth to the women’s onsen; M and V (G stayed in the waiting room) went through the blue cloth to the men’s.

It wasn’t too full, and it looked like E and I were the only Westerners there. We showered, sat in the indoor tub for a few minutes, then got up to go to the outside one. There we discovered that C, C, and J, three JETs from a neighboring city, were also there.

There is something really fun about sitting naked in a huge hot tub on top of a mountain overlooking the city. The water was so hot we almost couldn’t stand it, but it felt fantastic on our muscles. The other girls kept exclaiming about the beautiful view, but I, who had left my glasses in a basket in the dressing room, could only see blobs of color (I actually had a hard time distinguishing who was who when I first got there, but didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable by staring at someone naked trying to figure out if she was my friend or just some stranger).

After 30 minutes or so, we all got out and headed back to our respective cities. G, M, V, E and I, along with another ALT from Minnesoooota, stopped and had udon at a little family restaurant in Annaka. Usually self-serve, the cook (proprietor?) left the kitchen and personally handed all of us our food at the table, while the rest of the customers tried not to stare at the loud group of gaijin. A little boy, who may have been the cook’s son, took a fancy to us and passed out huge hugs and pitchers of water (yes, that sounds weird, but he really wanted our attention).

I woke up on Sunday, had a delicious breakfast of un-pre-cooked sausage (very hard to find here), Mexican hotcakes, and coffee, and took off for my host mom’s Halloween party. Of course, Takasaki had to have some kind of festival today, making downtown traffic a madhouse, so I ended up being 30 minutes late. As soon as I trotted up to Yoko’s house, I saw that she had already lined up her students in preparation for trick-or-treating.

The kids were between 3 or 4 and maybe 11, all wearing the cutest costumes: I counted four witches, a bat, a pumpkin, Heidi (?), and a handful of children who just had Halloween-printed fabric draped around their body like a cape. Halloween is not a Japanese tradition, traditionally, but since Yoko owns an English school, they do cultural activities like this one. Her long driveway was decorated with Halloween-themed characters, black cats and pumpkins, and streamers were put up all over.

The children—about 25 in all—stood in two rows holding hands. Then, at Yoko’s call, we all, parents and children, marched solemnly down the street. I felt vaguely ridiculous, being A) the only Westerner, B) one of the only people not in a costume, and C) 28-years old holding a plastic bag with a Jack-o-Lantern on it. But Yoko was insistent that I, too, participate in the candy collecting, so I sang out, “Trick-or-Treat!” like a good girl.

We only went to a few houses before we went back to Yoko’s to have lunch. It was a potluck, and the table was weighed down with noodles, corn pizza, pigs-in-a-blanket, corndogs, salads, and so many desserts! crepes with bananas, mandarin oranges and pineapples, pineapple cake, doughnuts, cheesecake, tarts, and fruited Jell-O. I ate two plates full, then, after Yoko insisted that I take more (she’s so good at insisting!), one more. Then I was off to pick up my friend M from the train station.

M and I aren’t really close friends, but we did go to the same university for a few months back in 2007. She was one in the group of Japanese friends I had back at UNCG when I was first learning the language, and we had spent the day together at Disneyland back in February 2008. It was really great to see her again today and it was almost like old times!

After I found her at the train station, we went down to the Takasaki Music Festival, where a local Japanese rock band was playing music I didn’t recognize in an open-air setting. It was my first real “concert” since coming to Japan, and I was both shocked and completely not shocked at the sight of rows upon rows of impassive people watching the band throw themselves into a frenzy on the stage. A solitary row of 20-year old (ish) spectators stood in front of the band, sometimes tapping their feet and once throwing their hands in the air when the lead singer yelled, “Rock and roll!!!” but mostly standing still. There was little movement in the whole area.

The rock band finished, the audience mustered enough energy to give them a few claps before returning back to their quiet, and the next band came up. These guys were all wearing Hawaiian-printed shirts and dark sunglasses, and had their hair sprayed and teased into a high Elvis Presley-style rooster comb. Recorded music came on, the stage lit up, and they all started dancing in sync to Sufari’s (The Beach Boys?) “Wipeout.” Lights flashed, the speakers throbbed, and the audience sat.

Their songs were all catchy Japanese songs that sounded just like 1950s and 60s American pop. After a while, I couldn’t stand just sitting there, so I whispered to M, “Let’s go dance!” She was totally willing too (having lived in America for a year) so we went to join the line of people. At first, I was a little self-conscious being the only foreigner in front of a park full of people, but that went away after a few songs and the lead singer, an older guy with a huge grin, point at me and give me the thumbs-up. Actually, I guess there weren’t that many people, either, only about 50 or so, but since the band was playing near the train station there were always people hanging over the railing looking down.

That band finished too, and a junior-high school boy (not one of mine, unfortunately), came on stage. He sat down at a keyboard/synthesizer-thing, pressed some buttons, and filled the air with the opening drums to the Benny Goodman Orchestra’s “Sing Sing Sing (With a Swing).” Then that kid proceeded to play that song on the keyboard. It was so, so, so cool the way his fingers flew across the keys. And he's only 13! I couldn’t stop swinging. I don’t know any swing moves, but I wasn’t a ska fan for nothing in high school. This time, the band members from the previous band, all in their 30s or 40s, came and danced with M and me. They had some good moves, too! It was nice to see some Japanese people letting loose, even though everyone else was not. The boy finished with a keyboard rendition of “Tequila!” (How was I to know when I woke up on Sunday morning that I’d be salsa dancing (my white-girl equivalent anyway) to “Tequila” that evening?)

M and I were getting ready to go when we ran into one of the members of the 60s rock and roll band (STRAY BOYS ストレボーイズ). We started talking, or rather, M and he started talking and I butted in every now and then, making M interpret for me. We found out they’d play again in November in another music hall in Takasaki. He and M became Japanese-Facebook friends (there’s a name for that website but I forget…) so maybe we’ll get to go! I felt kind of cool being “friends with the band.” It was almost like high school again.

This weekend, there’s a Halloween party and a wine tasting. The weekend after, another climb, I think. And I just got six emails in a row from Facebook inviting me to various events from now till the end of the year. All I really need, I think, is to slow down once in awhile. But you know me. I never slow down. Even in Japan.

おやすみなさい！