A cup of tea

by Tyana Del Campo (Australia)

I didn't expect to find Japan

We stepped out at an empty highway bus stop under the concerned eye of fellow passengers, four eager friends armed with an offline map and screenshots of the hiking forum that would guide us to our hard-earned view of Mount Fuji. It started gently: winding past a gurgling canal and catching glimpses of tatami rooms, their latticed bamboo and shōji paper doors visible through open windows welcoming the crisp air. We followed gardens of flawlessly trimmed Japanese Holly and a smiling Shiba Inu puppy to the Mount Mitsutoge trailhead.    The world was silent but for our gravelly treads, which soon dissolved into muted crunches of snow. Fuji watched every step of our ascent; watched us play with icicles before we realised they could prick through our gloves, and watched us make our way through slippery patches (that the forums had failed to mention) in highly unsuitable footwear. We caught glimpses of the volcano’s snow-capped solitude and mesmerising symmetry through the branches of hemlock fir and hinoki cypress. Then, conquering the final steep, slippery stretch, we reached the summit. Frozen in place by more than just the Winter air at 1785 metres high, we grinned at the view and at each other until our teeth began to chatter, photographing the scene until our fingers were too numb to press the shutter. The challenge was over - we had earned our view, and could now revel in this fact for the duration of the descent.  We consulted the forum instructions. The quickest route back to our cozy Tokyo loft would take us down a new path, ending at the Kawaguchiko train station. We spotted signage and made our way to the track, nestled between trees dusted with golden flakes that glimmered in the late afternoon. Holding each other's shoulders for support, we were two pairs of unreliable anchors slipping through the sparkling Winter wonderland in a race against sunset. We paused unsteadily to refer to our map.    We had gone the wrong way.   The sky darkened rapidly. It was too late to try trudging back up to find the correct path; so we continued. The snow became worn and patchy, revealing bitumen road. Slightly worried and more than slightly cold, we eventually reached the highway at Mitsutogue’s base, trying in vain to stop passing vehicles with our desperate, shivering thumbs. The temperature dropped with the sun at an alarming rate. We calculated how long it would take us to reach the station if we walked along the road. One hour, forty-two minutes. Too long. A single light flicked on, revealing a little house a few hundred metres away - the only structure in sight. We approached uncertainly as the sun disappeared behind the treetops. Two knocks on the door. The occupant opened up, smiling as though she had been expecting us, and uttered the last word we had dared to hope to hear -    “Tea?” A moment of startled silence passed before we became a flurry of nods, thanks and wild hand gestures. Huddled there in the doorway, we explained our unfortunate situation. She smiled wider, pointed to a crooked wooden post by the road where we had just been standing. “Bus!” Wide eyed, we looked at each other in gleeful disbelief. She pointed at the clock on the wall behind her - forty minutes.    “Come - rest.”   We were led into the teahouse and introduced to her husband, who shook our hands warmly before launching into a lively description of how he had built this little haven with his bare hands - including the wooden benches we now found ourselves sitting on. We gratefully accepted ceramic cups of fragrant green tea, nursing them in both hands as we listened and looked out at the treacherous mountainside framed in the full length window. The pair ushered us out to the post as the bus approached, standing out in the freezing night to wave us off. We made it to the station in time. And Fuji flickered in the windows, watching as we thawed on heated train seats the whole way back to Tokyo.