Tokyo Blond Is Not Porn

Tokyo Blond is not a porn blog, about hair or even, as one pithy friend remarked, a micro beer or late 1980s glam metal band ("Dude, I just saw Skid Row and Tokyo Blond opened and played a killer set").


The purpose of this blog is to chronicle my experiences in Tokyo - poignantly, visually, irreverently - for fun.


Anybody can tag along...that is if I like you. This blog will endeavor to be entertaining and honest and frequent enough to keep those following interested including me.


Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Congratulations! You Delivered a Brand New Baby Stone

When Russell came home Friday night complaining of stomach pains, admittedly I thought he was just over-reacting to a bad rice ball.  It was our 18th wedding anniversary weekend and we had big plans every night.  There was no time for a stomach ache.  I had champagne chilling on ice for Pete's sake.  But when the pain got progressively worse, so bad he didn't even want cheese, and he loves cheese, I thought something must be seriously wrong.

Experiencing the Tokyo medical system wasn't exactly on our list of things to do while living in Japan.  But there we were, standing at the admissions counter in the emergency room of the Japanese Red Cross hospital.  Thankfully the waiting room was virtually empty, except for two moms and two boys sporting super hero pajamas, who kept darting around the waiting room indiscriminately, like lab rats attempting an escape.  One woman told us not to worry, they weren't contagious.  The man at the check-in window spoke very little English but knew enough to tell us our Japanese government issued Alien registration card was not sufficient proof of Russell's identification. Neither was his hard earned Japanese Driver's license.  What is then?  DNA testing? Nevertheless, they let us in anyway and we took a seat in the shockingly clean and almost cheerful waiting room.

After the third announcement in Japanese, when no one else in the waiting room got up and slipped into one of the ten examination rooms, I figured they might be calling us.  I went up to the window and asked them to tell me what the announcement meant.  Apparently it meant for us to go into examination room nine.

Russell relayed the progression of his symptoms to the female attendant, using various forms of the same words until she understood them, while she took his blood pressure and temperature.  Stomach pain started around six, (pointing to the areas while describing) pain progressively worse, now at a six on a scale of 10, may I have a pain killer please?  I knew they wouldn't be able to give him anything for the pain until they diagnosed the issue.  They handed him a thermometer.  When he started to put it in his mouth, the attendant gesticulated wildly and pointed to his arm pit.  Oh, I guess it goes there.  Ok.  Better there than other places it could go.

His temperature was normal but his blood pressure was elevated, which for Russell meant really high.  Russell's blood pressure is always low.  Doctors often confuse him for a marathon runner, which I find mildly irritating because he only runs when being chased by bears, unlike myself who runs every other day.  They were about to turn us out into the waiting room again, but Russell's grimace of pain and six foot stature convinced her otherwise.

She led us to a draped examination bed about one foot off the ground.  He may never get up off that I thought.  I'd have difficulty even without pain.  A team of white coated, Crocs shod staff descended upon him, three females and one male. They all looked under twenty-five and it was impossible to tell who was a nurse, doctor, or candy striper. They removed his pants and began pushing on his abdomen and groin area, giggling and talking in excited Japanese.  Generally three women giggling around a man's groin is disconcerting, but Russell didn't care.  Just give me something for the pain.

A saline drip was administered and blood was taken.  Russell looked away. He gets light headed when he nicks himself shaving.  Soon he had to pee every five minutes.  I told him, now he knows how I feel.  I have to go every five minutes, without saline.  He didn't look amused. He kept apologizing for ruining the weekend.  The weekend!  Who cares.  Just please, please, please be OK.  I really want to celebrate future anniversaries.

The team came back and rolled him away for 15 minutes to do a CT scan.  Analysis proved he had a kidney stone. The stone had become stuck in the tube between the kidney and his bladder, which was what had caused the intense pain he was feeling now.  The stone had since passed into his bladder.  His kidney and bladder were both enlarged from the initial blockage and his renal function was poor.  Of course this was not translated as succinctly as I just stated it.  It took several attempts, some hand gestures and a couple of roughly rendered drawings.

Pain killer was finally, blessedly, bestowed.

Russell and I both breathed a sigh of relief.  We knew people who had passed kidney stones and survived; maybe we'd have our anniversary weekend after all.  I started to gather up his clothes thinking we'd be dismissed soon until they informed us he'd have to stay in the hospital until Monday.  Monday!  But we have reservations at Joel Robuchon on Sunday!

They said they wanted to monitor his renal function.  We guessed they didn't want to tell him the worst might be yet to come when he passed the stone completely.

An hour later he was admitted into a room of his own.  It looked like a hotel room, not a hospital room:
wood paneled cabinets, flat screen television, cream leather sofa, with a view of twinkling Tokyo.  The only give away was the roll away bed and omnipresent IV stand.  They gave him a cheerful yellow smock to wear.  It tied at the side and fell just above his knees.  I felt it unfair the smock didn't reveal his back side like the ones American hospitals make you wear for the sole purpose of making you feel more vulnerable then you already do.



They also gave him a mesh cup to determine if he passed the stone.

By the time he was finally settled in it was 1:30 in the morning.  Neither one of us had eaten anything.
Russell insisted I go home and take care of Ranger the Wonder dog who was probably frantic by now.  That or luxuriating on Russell's side of the bed, mauling an innocent sock.  It was the latter.
A couple of Triscuits and pieces of See's candies later, (hey, a girls gotta eat, I thought about opening some wine but I was too tired), and I was fast asleep, Ranger attached to me like a rib.

When I returned to the hospital the next morning Russell was full of energy and anxious to go.  No stone had passed yet.  He had no pain and was raving about the gourmet breakfast he had eaten. He proudly showed me a picture of it.  He'd already called his parents and our stateside doctor Dr. Maples who, after confirming all the proper procedures had been performed, glibly informed him "this too will pass".  I love Dr. Maples.



He had already begun negotiations with the freshly arrived day shift nurse about being released. She didn't just know English, she used slang terms and spoke with the laid back cadence of a ganja smoking beach bum.  She sounded like she was from Huntington Beach.  Turns out she went to high school in Florida.   She said she would help.  She was great.

The impossibly young doctor was very prescriptive and thorough in his review of Russell's case.  He spoke very slowly, thoughtfully, almost cautiously, pausing frequently to make sure we understood what he said.  Russell began his campaign for freedom, enthusiastically explaining he had no pain, felt great and, the clincher, lived just five minutes away. So in case anything happened he could be back right away.

The doctor acquiesced, giving strict instructions for Russell to continue using the screen, and even more importantly, to immediately check back into the hospital if the pain reconstituted and the medication didn't work. Russell practically skipped out of the hospital.

That night, Saturday, we had dinner with friends as planned, although Russell faded quickly.  The next day was our anniversary.  After a leisurely day Russell felt well enough to make our dinner reservation at Joel Robuchon's three Michelin starred restaurant.  As we dressed for dinner, Russell assessed my outfit, and found it lacking.  To my amazement he pulled out a black velvet box.  Shimmering inside, like my tears of amazement, were diamond earrings.  Now my outfit was complete.   I'm sorry. I already received a gift - a healthy husband.

Russell passed the kidney stone after dinner without pain.  Not unlike me opening the velvet box earlier that evening, he was surprised to find the stone in the screen.  Hey, how'd that get there?

So I guess you could say we both got stones this weekend, or is it "rocks."

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

But What if They Don't Like Me?

I sound like a 4th grader on the first day of school.  It's amazing how our basic needs/fears don't change.
And I thought I was mature.

When was the last time you had to make friends?  I mean sure, there's the occasional new friend that comes along from time to time, usually at work, without much effort.  But when was the last time you were new in town and had to cultivate an all new circle of friends and social calendar?  I bet it's been a while.

Well it's been a long while for us.  In L.A. we have a large circle of friends, actually several circles of friends, like a gigantic square dance of bandana wearing partners and petticoats swirling in concentric circles.  Our dance card was full every week and weekend, sometimes too full.  But since moving to Tokyo it's really just been us three: Russell, me and the Wonder dog.  That was fine for a while, we were settling in, I was traveling back and forth to L.A. stewarding Ranger through the quarantine period, and then came the earthquake, which basically brought us back to square one.   But now it's been six months and the fact that it's just him and I and the Menace to Society, aka Ranger, is starting to show.

I mean we love spending time together.  If one thing this move has reminded us is how compatible we are and how much we truly enjoy each other's company.  But in the last few months I have started to feel vaguely discontent.  Not unhappy.  More like something was missing.  At first I thought it was just the oppressive weather and lack of daily vitamin D.  It was overcast a lot.  Maybe the newness was wearing off.  I sensed it from Russell too.  He seemed restless, as if our weekend excursions weren't satisfying enough.

But then we initiated a concerted effort to make friends, and not just any friends.  We wanted to have Japanese friends, as well as, expat friends.  It's been challenging.  Most of our friends back home were cultivated through work, usually my work, or the neighborhood.  But I'm not working and Russell doesn't feel comfortable developing friendships amongst his subordinates.  He doesn't want his employees to feel they have to.  And as far as our neighbors, most of the people who live in our building have kids.  They're very nice but it seems like their schedules, understandably, revolve around whatever programs their kids are in. There are lots of parties in our building, but they serve cupcakes instead of cocktails.  We don't have a lot in common, other than we're expats.

We started going to a lot of events, most of them at the Tokyo American Club.  We started meeting a lot of people.  Meeting people isn't the hard part;  finding people you want to spend time with is.  We started "cating". That's my made up word for couple dating.  Before each "cate" I'm always anxious.  "What do I wear?  Is this too much cleavage?  What if they don't like me?"  Russell thinks this is ridiculous.  Strangely he's fine with the cleavage, but he won't entertain my insecurities.  "They'll love you and your cleavage."

In L.A. we have a circle of friends we call the "elite eight."  We've been together for so long we decided we needed a moniker.  We all have season tickets to the Hollywood Bowl which we often use as a testing ground for the elusive fifth couple.  Several couples have been tested, each of us presenting a new couple for consideration, sure this couple will hit it off.  But these never seem to work out for various reasons.  The husband was too political, too opinionated, too loud,  all the wife did was talk about their kids, or American Idol, or nothing at all.  This couple doesn't drink - cause for immediate elimination - who invited that couple anyway?

One couple's, whose wife we all adored, husband said and I quote, "After 40, women just aren't attractive anymore" and he meant it.  Every woman at the table, including his beautiful wife, was over 40.  This comment was neither preceded nor followed with the appropriate caveat, like "present company excluded."  In fact, the SOB actually defended his point when a few of the other men, after the initial surely-he's-joking-shocked-silence had passed, argued against him, well trained husbands they are.  Needless to say, that couple wasn't invited again, ever.

So here Russell and I are cating, again.

We met a Japanese couple at a wine tasting function at which we were the only gaijin.  We've gone out with them once and we're hoping they give us another shot.  We had fun.  We drank a lot of wine.  They seemed to laugh a lot, probably at us.  The night ended in hugs.  We met a baker at that same function and have gone out with him a couple of times.  Last time he brought his daughter, which I took as a good sign, but I haven't heard from him in a while so I'm a little anxious.  We were warned not to get too attached to new Japanese friends because we may be seen as a novelty, and just like the flavor of the month, it gets thrown out at the end of the month to make way for something new.

At a wine dinner at TAC we met several couples and we've been cating ever since.  So far so good.  We actually met two couples who don't have children.  One empty nester couple and the other the same age as us.  I've been going out with the wife frequently.  I really like her.  I hope she likes me.  We talked about this at lunch a couple of weeks ago and how funny it is.

Recently I ran into a friend from High School.  High school!!!  In a city of 13 million people you're bound to run into someone you know, right?  Get this, her and I were cheerleaders together our senior year.  She was the captain of the cheerleading squad and her boyfriend was the captain of the football team.  Yes, it really does happen.

When I heard they got married after high school, I thought that'll never last.  Not because I didn't think they were right for each other, they actually were, but just because high school relationships never seem to last after high school.  I had totally forgotten she moved to Tokyo.  That was like 13 years ago.
They've been here for 11 years.  Wow!

I was afraid our first lunch would be spent reminiscing about High School.  High school was hard enough; I certainly didn't want to relive it.  Our lunch lasted three and a half hours and only 30 seconds was about high school.  It was great!  Last Friday we had dinner together with our respective husbands.  Our husbands are very similar: ridiculously nice guys who are wildly yet discreetly successful men.  We had a great time.  At least I think we did.

But now I can't help but worry - did they?  They already have a large circle of friends established.  Will we become regulars at their square dance?

Promenade, promenade.

Golden Poo and Other Charms

When I presented Russell with the golden poo phone charm, (yes, as in poop),  he looked at me dubiously.  I explained how I had contemplated buying him a much larger one, one that could sit on his desk at work.  Imagine the uses in that environment! Why it could become a regular conversation piece, a paper weight, maybe even an award doled out regularly.  Think of it?  But I decided to go ahead with the more discreet and portable reminder of my thoughts for him.  Too bad they don't have golden poo cuff links.  Hey, I might be on to something.  But if Russell didn't like it I could always give it to my 15 year old nephew.  Boys that age are always into bodily functions.

Russell looked horrified.  So I went on to explain that the golden poo is considered good luck and a sign of good health.  "Are you making this shit up?" he exclaimed, mortified.  Nice pun I thought.

I started to take it back to give to my nephew but Russell yanked it away.  "No, it's mine.  Thank you. Did you get one for yourself?"

"Uh no."



The size I wanted to buy him. - equivalent to a coffee mug.
Imagine that sitting on his desk.

I had purchased the golden poo on a day tour I took to Shibamata as part of the Tokyo American Club (TAC) Fall cultural classes.  The golden poo was just the first of many charms we came across that day.  Our instructor was another one.

To my utter surprise she was American.  When I noted the class's sensei (teacher) was Kit Nagamura I just assumed she was Japanese.  But this woman was a professor and spoke impeccable Japanese.  She writes a monthly column for the Japan Times called "Backstreet Stories" about Tokyo neighborhoods.  I was amazed.  She explained how Shinto religion believes when a body expels golden poo it means that everything is working in the digestive system.  It is the purest form of defecation and symbolizes a healthy body.  As she was explaining this, besides TMI I was thinking, the last time I had golden poo was when I was a baby.  Before I could get this thought out of my mouth, she brought it up as well.

I had to have one.  "Just imagine," I said, "here honey - this is how much I love you."   Everyone laughed.   "I mean wish for you because basically by giving somebody a golden poo, you're telling them you want them to be healthy."

We ambled towards the square where a life size statue of Tora-san, aka actor Kiyoshi Atsumi stood in a suit and flip flops, for all intensive purposes the I Love Lucy of Japan.  From 1969 to 1995 he stared in 48 movies about Tora-san, a kind hearted traveling salesman always unlucky in love.  Each movie featured a different leading lady and a different region of Japan.  The description Kit gave me sounded like a cross between Mr. Magoo and Jerry Lewis.   Apparently every Japanese knows and loves Tora-san much like we all love Lucille Ball.  Except that Lucille was married to a hot cuban and the Tora-san character never settled down.

Our entire group gathered around Tora-san and I gave him a big kiss to the chagrin of the crowd of Japanese onlookers.  For a moment I thought I might be carted off for disturbing the peace.

The charming thing about Shibamata is that it's where they filmed a lot of the Tora-san episodes because the Tora-san character was from there.  They say the neighborhood is half real/half make-believe. Kind of like Hollywood I mused.  Actually not really, Hollywood is all make-believe. The cool thing about Shibamata from my perspective is how authentic it seems.  Oh, the irony.

Like most neighborhoods there's an ancient shrine with a shopping street leading up to it.  But this shrine had amazing wood carvings the average tourist would have missed.  And this shopping street had an ancient candy store that sold items long ago discontinued.  And this shopping street had vendors with wares you can't get anywhere else.  But the best part of all was, I had an English woman who not only spoke Japanese, but could read it too.  So all those things I had passed by in the past, like what the heck are those green balls on a stick smeared with what looks like chocolate, or what's in those deadly looking bowls that look suspiciously like bugs (turns out some were), she could easily explain.  Even more important things, things I had lost sleep over, like how many calories are in my favorite pack of Japanese gum.  Answer: 37 per pack. Or why the Japanese seem to be infatuated with gelatinous products.  Answer:  the Japanese love texture - jelly, powder, crunchy - they love it all.   Mysteries solved.

300 year old temple
That's all one tree.  It's called the Dragon.

Lotus flower with friends

Ornate wood carvings

Each done by a different artist

The dust just adds more depth

Adjacent walking garden not to be confused with viewing garden.

The candy store was worth the trip alone.  It was great having Kit there because she could identify what the flavors were.  There were a series of what looked like band aid canisters that each sported a different flavored hard candy and a picture of the flavor to match.  One resembled vomit and Kit confirmed it tasted like vomit too.  Pass.  One had a picture of beer on it and sure enough it was beer flavored.  Nice.  I decided to pass on the band aids and went for the prettily packaged caramels: coffee , strawberry, green tea.  Yeah, these will work.

Then Kit picked up a package that looked oddly familiar.  When she explained they were chewy sweets wrapped in rice paper so you could eat the wrapping, a flood of nostalgia washed over me.  Suddenly I was seven again dressed in toughskins with patches, sporting a white afro, (it's true)  and grandma and grandpa had just gotten back from Japan. Grandpa lived in Japan for three months to build the Japanese government a super-collider.  They had brought me back a lot of things from their trip, a grass skirt, a coconut carved into a monkey, Japanese doll under glass with a parasol, and these funny candies I didn't even have to take the wrapper off of.  I felt like grandma and grandpa were there with me and I bought several packages.  I walked out with a huge bag and an even bigger smile.  Good thing I brought my big purse.


Haikara Dagashiya (penny candy shop)
Avoid the vomit candy.

After the candy and the shrine and a tasty lunch at a soba shop, we walked to Yamamoto-tei, which was once a private estate and viewing garden.  The previous owner had made his fortune inventing the camera shutter spring.  His house was unique because while it was built in the style of a tea house, basically allowing as much of the outside environment into the interior, it also demonstrated a lot of western influences, like curved window panes for example.  The viewing garden is consistently ranked in the top five in Japan.

We had creamy, frothy, iced green tea on tatami mats and gazed languidly through the open sliding doors into the whimsical viewing garden, aka eden, sans the apples.  All the doors were open in the house allowing the breeze to play unfettered through our hair and minds.  For a minute I drifted into a silk kimono and a scene from Shogun, where I gossiped idly with my samurai friends.  

Our view from the tatami mat into the garden.
Another glass of tea please, and my robe.

A closer look. The darkness in the back is a waterfall.

This looks like a painting.

A few of my new samurai friends.

Corner of the house.

Hallway in front of the rooms.

All too soon it was time to head back, thankfully back down the shopping street so I could actually try and buy those items no longer a mystery.  I tried the green balls with the chocolate imposter, the imposter was actually sweet red bean paste, the perfect partner to the chewy mochi balls made of grass.  Not that kind of grass.  Geez.  The balls are called dango and they can be savory or sweet.

I tried several of the ingredients in the mystery bowls, most of which were fish.  I learned this style of food is called Tsukundani which is a way of cooking seafood or meat in soy sauce to preserve it.  Villages away from the sea adopted this form of cooking in order to preserve food for the winter.  The Japanese usually eat them on top of rice.  What don't they eat on top of rice?  I ate them on top of my palm.  They were good but really salty.  I could feel myself bloating.

Hmmm. I might have to buy another golden poo... for me.


Bowls filled with mystery ingredients.

Most were actually fish but these are really crickets.
And you know what, they taste like chicken.
Not really.  They taste like soy sauce and they're crunchy.
I'm thinking salad topping.
Russell I've got a surprise for you....

Could it Be?

All the time I've been in Tokyo the one thing I've been lamenting about, pining over, alas yearning for, besides Triscuits and See's candies, is a place nearby, where I can go hiking.  Well, I finally found it.  It's called Mt. Takao.  A couple of people mentioned it to me and after some research I decided to make it a project for Russell and I to do last weekend.

Those of you who know Russell, or read about him, know he's not a big hiker.  Generally I can get him to brave the outdoors for about an hour, any more usually requires bribery.  There's only been one time I witnessed Russell hiking in earnest.  It's my favorite Russell hiking story (there are so many).  We were in Great Sequoia National park for a friends 50th birthday RV extravaganza.  The entire group, all six of us, hiked to a waterfall a couple miles away. As usual Russell brought up the rear, lollygagging the entire way.  That is, until we saw the bears.  Yeah, as in plural.  There were four bears gathered indiscriminately around the waterfall.   Two blond bears (until then I didn't know bears could be blond) were foraging in the bushes below, a black bear was on a rock that jutted above the trail and the fourth was on a precipice over looking the fall.  We discovered them all within a few minutes of arriving at the fall.  I've never seen Russell hike so fast in my life.  He was practically running out of there, leading the charge, leaving the rest of us in the dust.

And that's not even the funny part.  The funny part was back at camp we realized the reason there were so many bears around was because the whole area was covered with berry bushes.  The bears were eating the berries.  Suddenly it got very quiet as we all realized that during a portion of the hike we were actually surrounded by those berry bushes and most likely a lot of bears.  

The great thing about Mt. Takao is that it's less than an hour from Tokyo and the train delivers you right to the trailhead.  The bad thing is, two of the trails are actually made of concrete.  The point was to escape the concrete.  There's a quaint shopping street just in front of the station that sells snacks and has several soba restaurants.  We ate at one and frankly, it was some of the best soba we've had.

Trail map right as you get out of the train station.
They have brochures in English as well.

Pretty garden along the path up to the chair lift

Pretty spider hanging overhead.
This spider was the size of a baby mouse.
This picture does not do it justice.
No joke - scary.

Shopping street leading up to the main entrance to the mountain.

The place where we had lunch, resplendent with plastic food displays.

My delicious lunch, tempura and cold soba noodles.
Yum!


Chair lift station at base of mountain.

Because we left the house late and therefore didn't get to Mt. Takao and done with lunch till after 2p, we decided to take the chair lift half way up the mountain instead of hiking up as we intended to do.  The first thing that struck me about the chair lift was - there are no seat belts.  No seat belts!  Yikes.  Clearly, unlike America where citizens can sue because the hot coffee they bought was too hot, Japan has no issues with liability.  I have to admit, even though there was a safety net for the more precipitous drops, I was still nervous.  But the happy school kids coming down from the top seemed completely unfazed as they passed by, two by two, swinging their legs and chirping "hallow" to us.

View from the chair lift going up the mountain.

Note the "danger" sign.  Sheeyeah!

View into the forrest from the chair.
I really wanted to see some monkeys - darn it.

The view was great from the top of the chair lift.  I think Russell was ready to turn around then but of course I insisted we climb the rest of the way up.  No not the roadway, there was a roadway that curved up the mountain in a gentle arc, we had to take the stairway.  Even I was groaning when we got to the top of it and I suggested it.  The shrine was another thousand steps up so Russell decided to "check his email for an important message he was expecting."  Uh huh. 

View from the top of the chair lift looking out over Tokyo

Zoomed in.

Can we go now?

The path to the shrine was lined with ancient cedar trees.
It looked like the Redwood forest.

Oh no, why take the gently sloped road when we can climb these?
My bad.

The climb was worth it.  The temple was like three in one, each beautiful in their own way.  One was grand and ornate, one had sandals all over it, and one had a hundred little kitties adorning it.  Someday I'll learn what that all means.  I took pictures.  I clamored down the steps, hoping to infect Russell with my enthusiasm.  I was able to convince him to take one of the trails up to the summit.  This one actually had dirt on it.  It was more like a fire road than a trail.  We looped around the priests house, for a second sure we were lost, until we encountered a woman who confirmed we were on the right path.  When she told us it would take 40 to 50 minutes to reach the summit I winced, thinking Russell would say no.  But instead he quietly began marching up the hill, without complaint or negotiation.

Gate to the temple.

To ward off evil spirits.  
Do they have one of these to ward off evil calories?

I love how all the temple fountains have their own unique designs.
Somebody needs to do a coffee table book on this.


Ornate temple.

The other temples.

What up with all the cats?

This looks brand new.

It only took us 30 minutes to get to the top and what do you think was there when we arrived? Why an ice cream stand of course.  Isn't every mountain top paved and adorned with an ice cream shop?  I was a little disappointed at first until I saw the view of the rest of the mountain range sprawling from the observation deck.  It was like a masterpiece.  Swallows exalted in the hot air rising above the valley below, their cheerful silhouettes dancing in front of the looming blue ridges of the mountains, the colors graduating from a light blue mist to sapphire.  It was breathtaking.

Naturally occurring ice cream stand. 
Very rare.

We made it to 599 meters - 1,965 feet.
Kind of like climbing Signal Hill.

View towards Mt. Fuji.

Swallows dancing in the wind.

Not a concrete slab in sight.

Not all was buried under concrete.  I learned from the handy map prominently posted, there were more mountain tops to conquer.   The paths that lead to them were dirt.  They will be mine, oh yes, they will be mine.

Dirt trail leading to the next mountain top.
I might actually need hiking boots for this.

We took another way down. This one was partially paved, partially dirt, but mostly stairs.  The good news was it lead us back by the temples Russell had missed.  I was glad he got to see them and the snake I almost stepped on during the dirt portion.  Snake!!!! Yeah, I actually encountered nature.  It was the highlight of my day.  I know, I'm weird.

But happy...

Can you believe I almost stepped on this?
You can't tell from the picture but this was a baby snake,
merely a foot long.  But it looks monstrous here, right?

Clearly designed for gaijin.

For information on Mt. Takao, including trains go to:  http://www.japan-guide.com/e/e3029.html