By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Prayers can’t undo a storm, nor can imagination. In between labored breathing and numbing senses, this felt like military training and I was exposed in the harshest of elements. The onset of mild altitude sickness added up the agony. If I don’t survive, I’m unfit to launch myself into a war zone. I never knew Mt. Fuji can be this harsh to her first time visitors. Didn’t she get the memo that she can’t invite a storm on a summer? But maybe it’s just my usual jinx-of-a-presence whenever I climb—always coming in with a bad weather on my tail. The sea of clouds and the multi-facets of daybreak were achingly nowhere in sight. The silhouettes of Torii gates and lion statues looked like underworld’s portal. My vision appeared monochromatic as a result of constant exposure to zero visibility. I could be that zombie lumbering around but my eyes were cautiously fixated on the massive boulders along the way; in a stance that one smooth sweep of the wind shall topple them in place. After a hundred and one curses, I finally reached the summit like a disjointed marionette. I dragged myself inside a mountain hut to thaw my organs before they render unresponsive. One fellow climber terrifyingly noted of my bloodshot eyes and purplish complexion. Disoriented, I almost stumbled at the doorway when the wind gave me one last kiss before nearly slamming the door at my face. At five degrees, being inside was the warmest I’ve been after we left our quarters three hours ago to commence this madness. The arctic atmosphere makes me more than willing to scald myself in boiling water. The hut sheltered hikers of various nationalities, either curled up in the corners in their hot beverages or jogging in place to ward off the cold. Aren’t we a lovely sight of sunken ship survivors? The supposedly fine weather must have taken a different turn to have us all drenched and shivering but we learned how to laugh at this misery. Unfortunately enough, the weather was unchanged as we proceeded for descent. We took a safer trail that got foggier, unending and menacing. The downpour already felt like a thousand needles piercing on my skin. The wrath of the wind kept pushing me off of my feet. Feels like these elements antagonize my existence in every way. Can I still endure the biting chill under my windbreaker? Halfway crying, I ended up humming songs on the way like a drunken lunatic, deliriously swinging my trekking pole concertmaster-style. Maybe if I can visualize verdant trees along my path and a gleaming sunshine overhead, the feeling will follow. Such imagination was a hopeless case but I was just keeping myself awake because exhaustion is taking its toll. After a few hours and a busted knee, the rain finally let up, revealing everything behind the mist that impaired my vision for too long. I cursed in my language when I saw my own self standing among the clouds, drinking in to the panoramic view of Fuji’s vicinity that was no longer an imagination. The greenery from the woodlands and lakes nestled at the foot of the mountain complemented the red soil from where I was standing. Such a view was almost outlandish, as the expanse of colors is therapeutically empowering. Even in the absence of sunshine, I felt being absorbed in a painting that centers a gallery and my presence is a story. Finally, some hikers have emerged from the trails and we all watched how the scenery unfolds. A Japanese hiker said her hello when she stood beside me. In broken English, she told how many times she’s been here but never experienced this weather. But despite how bad it’s been, she’s saying it’s still beautiful over and over again. Hiking Fuji didn’t desensitize her. If a storm didn’t happen, will I appreciate the calm? Fuji-san. The postcards definitely don’t lie about your splendor from afar but you are better up-close, remembering how you can be treacherous with that ludicrous behavior but captivating enough for anyone who wants a leap into the unknown—but will take you to a place that feels like home.