I'm on the 45th floor of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, waiting for the last embers of orange sunset to be extinguished from the clouds. I can hear the constant drone of tourists, and the click of expensive cameras on the necks of artless consumers. Night is descending, and soon the skyline will be filled with red lights, blinking like stars. For the last time.
On this trip I have often dreamt of my everyday life back home. I wake up, confused, to an unfamiliar ceiling, until the realisation sinks in that I am in another country, thousands of miles away. By the time I type this I'll be in my room at home, to eventually fall asleep, and dream in shades of neon.
Man is memory.

One night I followed a man as I was making my way back to the hotel. He wore a tattered dark blue suit with an overcoat of the same colour, and thick-framed glasses. He was slightly unshaven, his hair unkempt. I watched as he walked to a vending machine on the street and discreetly placed his hand into the change compartment, fishing for coins. Unsuccessful, he moved to the next one. I felt an urge to help him; only this morning I had been deliberating whether to buy an expensive second-hand watch! I increased my pace until I was only a metre behind him, and then I faltered. Stopped. What should I say? How should I approach him? Do I throw coins at his feet? No, this would not do, this would not do....
I looked up. He had turned into one of the side alleys, and was gone. I returned to the hotel room, empty plastic shopping bags everywhere.

A week to go now.
We're back in Tokyo, beginning our period of mourning for the inevitable return flight.
Rushing around, spending every last yen, exploring every last alley, eating at every last ramen shop...

Most memorable moments in the last fortnight:

• Making friends with a Canadian guy called Paul and bathing naked with him at the onsens of Gero
• Finding the free porn channel in the hotel at Osaka
• Getting hustled in the red light district of Namba, Osaka
• Getting locked out of my room and sleeping on the floor of Michael's hotel room
• Trying to reach Himeji Castle before closing time. Near the end of a 3-hour journey on the slow train we would find out it had already closed before we reached there.
• Going crazy at Den Den Town (Electric Town, Osaka) over Gundams, Transformers and anime figurines

Hiking to waterfalls near Takayama

Crossing swords (safely) at Osaka Aquarium

Sidling up to share a romantic moment with some random girl at the aquarium

'All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain' - Dotonbori, Osaka

'Yo, I want to shabu-shabu all night aye!' - Shabu-shabu at Namba, Osaka

'Oooo...map ish my favourite dessert!' - Deer eats my map at Miyajima

The Itsukushima Shrine Torii Gate at sunset

M4 at Kobe Harbour

Mmmm....milk

Milk makes Michael go

The sign says it all (I'M GAY)

The tunnel to Shangri-la - Miho Museum, Ishiyama

The Shinkansen rolls away from the platform. Outside, the city lights begin as pin-pricks of glaring colour, then turn into bright smears and eventually long illuminating threads as the train cuts demoniacally into the night. Time is passing by as quickly as the lights blurring outside. We're over halfway through the trip, now.

If you ask whether this holiday has turned out the way I anticipated, then I'd have to say no. Oh, I'm in no way unhappy or eager to return, but there are certain expectations that remain unfulfilled, a vision of events and feelings that haven't eventuated. And then there are the people I miss.
Today the four of us went our separate ways: Monkey to Nara, Marco down to Fukowaka and myself to Hiroshima, while Michael stayed put in Osaka. I think it was good we spent some time apart; being with someone twenty-four-seven can be suffocating. We were starting to be annoyed, detesting even of each others' presence. Everyone needs room, even the best of friends.

But no, it's not just that. I get the sense that in this vast neon-lit metropolis, this throbbing mass of humanity, I am but an outsider. I'm the kid that looks forlornly out the window and sees the other kids playing in the street. I've been excluded from some big secret plan, the conspirators talking in hushed tones whenever I approach.
So while I've squirmed through crowds at congested intersections, been crushed and herded onto trains, ordered food and asked for directions, I feel as a ghost might feel as he reaches out to grab a cup, and watches resignedly as his fingers slip helplessly through it.
I wonder how many lost souls there must be in a city such as this. To be lonely in a big city, or be busy in a lonely city...

 Riding through fields of gold...

 

...and down cool forest paths.

 

 Lake Aoki, where we stopped to have bento box lunches

 

 Country lanes and rice fields

 

Attacked by bicycles

 

Wild flowers growing by the roadside

 

Later in the evening, making yakisoba and okonomiyake at the hostel with our hosts

Warning! Climbing Mt Fuji in the off-season is extremely dangerous. Serious injury or death may occur.

And so, on a rare sunny day, Marco, Monkey and I set off for the highest point in Japan. (Michael stayed at home to look after the unborn babies).
We arrived at the 5th station on the first bus at 11am - the 5th station is where most climbers start off, the paved roads here reaching about 2300m above sea level. From the 5th to the 9th was about a 6 hour hike; we knew we'd have to hurry if we were to make it back down before dark.
We reached the 6th station pretty quickly, but from then on things started getting tough. Monkey, unbridled by a heavy pack and using his inate primate abilities, pushed on ahead, while I hung back with Marco as he struggled with his backpack loaded with camera equipment.

We were at the 8th station around 4. By then we were both cramping badly, and Marco was having difficulty breathing in the thin cold air. He decided to turn back at this point and descend while I forged ahead, half-crawling over the rocks.

I finally reached the 3700m summit and met Monkey-Smeagol there around 5pm. After throwing the one true ring into the crater we descended the mountain at sunset, and then in the dark, guided only by the moon which shone brightly that night.

We reached the 5th station at 7.30pm, our legs aching. We knew there'd be no buses at this time during the off-season, but were hoping to hitch-hike back as the others had done. To our dismay the place was empty, and, worst of all, Monkey's phone had died.

What followed was the longest night in our lives. With no other alternative and being ill-equipped to camp, we walked along the bus route down what would normally be a 40min car ride. We plodded along the sloped asphalt, each painful step, in the dark and cold. We walked till 2.30am, until we finally saw the lights of a toll booth and caught a lift to the station, and wandered another hour from there to the hostel.

It would be 4.30am before we put our heads on our pillows and dreamt of receiving foot massages from ten thousand middle-aged women.

 The 5th station car-park

 

 The beginning of the easy bit

 

 The beginning of the hard bit

 

The going gets tough (Marco against the metal barrier)

 

'You won't be smiling for long, boy!'

Shinto gates along the way. This was near the 7th station.

 

Sometimes the clouds would roll in, covering the track

 

The 8th station

 

Looking down on creation

 

 Monkey cuts a lonely figure against the mountain backdrop

 

Next stop, Everest?

 

 Descent at sunset