Excursions to Mount Fuji
A solo weekend trip. Maybe just wondering what it means to be on this planet. Or reminding myself that we are indeed on a planet, full of wonders, volcanoes, mysterious places, and also very mundane places. I never had any fascination with Mount Fuji before moving to Tokyo. Before I left Brooklyn, as I was getting some advice from this guy at the bike shop, I told him I was leaving New York...for good. As the days went by, I visited the bike shop a few more times, and finally on the last day he said, a bit teary eyed, “go take a photo of mount fuji for me, out of the shinkansen window.”
It was a bit sad, but I remember how it must be like, being a complete stranger and knowing someone is leaving New York.
So in my days of Tokyo, on rare occaision I’d been seeing a beautiful view of a snow capped Mount Fuji. I’d gone to Mount Takao on two occasions, and over by Kugenuma Beach near Kamakura to capture the view, however it has always been hiding by clouds. I deemed a term to myself, “No Fuj For U,” as a testament to the rarity of seeing Fuji when actually trying.
And so I went on, until this February when my curiousity just could not go away. I decided I would go and spend a night at Yamanakako. I had been checking the Fuji Cam from my ryokkan website all week, and saw amazing sights, but found that the evenings were always usually cloudy. Early morning was the best.
I booked everything, and the morning of, left my apartment in Tokyo with a backpack with a small towel, one shirt, and an extra pair of socks. It is actually a wonder and a blessing that I can travel Japan with such little inventory or itinerary.
I remember when I was a teenager, my mom would pack my brother and I a printed out itinerary for the month. We’d each have an envelope of money, our passports tightly secured, and if anything were to happen, telephone numbers to call. We didn’t have smartphones and would travel up the coast of Japan alone, stumbling across okonomiyaki that would blow our minds and going into bars in Pontocho alley in Kyoto, meeting talkshow hosts and eventually getting the kind boot from the bar- this was much later on.
For this trip, I had no goal in mind, other than to capture some timelapses, see the amazing sights of the Fuji Highlands. It was only after, that I had read on Wikipedia that Mount Fuji is a destination for artistic inspiration, as many painters had made pilgrimages to see the mountain.
I was intrigued, after seeing that Yamanakako is indeed a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which I had not known before. And while returning to Tokyo by a slow local train, I’d catch many glimpses of the mountain until it faded away. Then via the quiet and luxurious Green Car on the Chuo line, I returned to Tokyo within an hour.
I went up to the top of Hanegi Park near my apartment in Umegaoka, and noticed a strange orange tint in the atmosphere. It was almost as if my eyes were not acclimated to the change in atmosphere- because the blues were so incredibly blue and vivid near Mount Fuji. I went up to the area that you can see Fuji from, and there it was, orange amonst the setting sun, with people saying, “Oh, there it is!” As if it is always a big deal to see Mount Fuji.
And only 12 hours before, I had been at the top of this mountain, seeing a purple Mount Fuji at sunrise in HD. I wanted to show them photos and say, “ほら！見て、今日の朝僕行ったんですよ！”
But of course, I stayed silent, just watching and wishing I could say something.
I’d found the next few weeks disorienting, at first energized by these sights, finishing a small competition, and being creatively on point. But now I feel as if the world does not understand. Or so it is that the world does not care to understand.
I fall silent, just on my own path, with my own insights. I wish I could share what I’ve learned, but there is a jealousy that I feel. And so I will just keep my experiences to myself. I am on a search, a continual quest. To inform myself, to educate, and to keep evolving.
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It was a bit sad
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I never had any fascination w