In search of Mt. Fuji: Lake Kawaguchi

For Chrissakes, do not call it "Fujiyama"!*

Mount Fuji 富士山. The first time I cast my glance upon arguably Japan's most iconic symbol came way back in October of 1989, when a girlfriend and I spent a night at an inn along the shores of Lake Kawaguchi 河口湖, expressly in the hope that I could get a glimpse of the mountain. Unfortunately, Fujisan is a notoriously shy peak, being obscured by clouds for much of the year, and even though the two of us soon after arrival visited a lookout that should have provided a spectacular view, all we could see were the lower slopes. The rest of the mountain remained invisible up to the point we were getting ready to return to Tōkyō 東京, when suddenly I noticed from the bus that familiar shape. We quickly returned to the lookout and had a spectacular view of Fuji before it was quickly swallowed up by cloud cover again. Since that time, I've seen Fujisan on many occasions, from planes, trains and automobiles, and including one spectacular occasion following a typhoon when I was left awestruck by the silhouette of the mountain in the clear, late afternoon sky as I stood on the banks on the storm-swollen Tama River 多摩川 near where I was living at that time (somewhere there's a photo of that scene buried in an old album). And I have climbed the mountain 1¾ times**.   

Nearly 35 years later I returned to Kawaguchi-ko a different man, traveling with a family in the hopes of giving them an up close look at the majestic dormant volcano. And the first thing I immediately noticed upon arrival at Kawaguchiko Station 河口湖駅 was just how popular Japan has become with foreign tourists. Back in the fall of 1989 gaijin 外人 visitors like myself were a rare enough sight that my mere presence on the train was enough to send a gaggle of schoolkids into excited spasms of laughter, interspersed with requests to say something, anything, in English. Those days are long gone. The once-quiet station was now teeming with Chinese, Koreans, Taiwanese, Singaporeans, Indians, Malaysians and various Westerners, all with the same hopeful goal as us. Fortunately, we were able to escape the throng by boarding the shuttle bus that took us to the Lakeland Hotel Mizunosato レイクランドホテルみづのさと. This was the view that greeted us from our room's window:

There are two selling points to staying in Japanese-style lodgings. One is the food (assuming meals are provided). This is what dinner looked like that evening:

Most people are probably put off by the smell of kerosene, but for me it brings back memories of my first time in Japan, when I arrived in Tokyo in January of 1989. I stayed in a minshuku 民宿 during my first week in the city, in a tatami-mat 畳 room kept comfortable by a heater like the one in the photo. Kerosene is a popular source of winter warmth throughout Japan, where central heating in private homes is a relative rarity. My wife was so taken with the heater we used in our Yokkaichi 四日市 residence that she had it shipped back to Taiwan to use in our cold, tiled and concrete apartment, even finding kerosene was a challenge:

Our room was on the top floor (the fifth), and from there we had access to a rooftop terrace. Mt. Fuji could not be seen that evening due to a combination of cloud cover and darkness, but there was a brief fireworks show by the lake from we did have a good vantage point to enjoy:

The second selling point for staying in a place like the Lakeland Hotel Mizunosato is the bathing. Few things are as enjoyable at the end of a long day that relaxing in a hot onsen 温泉 bath, soaking away all your concerns, at least temporarily. Photos inside the baths are strictly forbidden; this one was taken in our room as I donned yukata 浴衣 in preparation for my evening soak. Shu-E would beg to differ: being Taiwanese, where bathing suits are often worn in hot spring baths, the idea of getting naked with strangers is one she's never become accustomed to. Amber, on the other hand, has learned to embrace the Japanese way of getting clean:

She's also long adapted to the seiza 正座 sitting position, something I've never been able to master, even back in the days when my knees and tendons functioned more or less properly:

As our room did not have an en suite bathroom (only a Washlet toilet), I awoke the following morning at 0600 to enjoy another hot bath. But not before first stepping out onto the terrace to get a glimpse of Mt. Fuji in its early-morning finery:

Because not all baths are the same, many establishments switch the genders of the bathrooms on a daily basis. In other words, yesterday's women's bath become today's men's bath. In this case, the men this morning could be rewarded a (partial) view of Fujisan from the rotenburo 露天風呂:

After the bath, I returned to the terrace, only this time I had company, including my wife. And no wonder, for the view was stunning, though I also made sure to have a look at the lake behind us:

Of course, when the volcano inevitably wakes up, the town of Kawaguchi-ko will be doomed, but until that day comes, "wow":

Yes, I was still clad in my post-bath yukata and feeling fine despite the -4°C/25°F temperature:

Once our daughter was up and dressed, we took her outside to enjoy the view, which was rapidly approaching postcard-perfect in perspective:

As much as I enjoy the local cuisine, Japanese-style breakfasts can be a challenge. But not this morning:

Checking out of the hotel and waiting for the shuttle to bring us back to the station:

The view from in front of the train station:

After storing our bags at a souvenir shop across the road, we hopped on a Red Line tourist bus to take us around the lake. Before reaching the water, the bus passed by not one, but two Lawson ローソン convenience stores that have become popular on Instagram due to their positions vis-a-vis Mount You Know What. These photos were taken from the bus window, but there were a lot of tourists on the ground trying to get that perfect shot to share on social media. With so many scenic spots to choose from, Instagram has played a large role in turning Japan into a major tourist destination. There was a time (the late 1990's in my case) when you could visit, say, the torii 鳥居 tunnels of Fushimi Inari-taisha 伏見稲荷大社 in Kyōto 京都 and have the mountain more or less to yourself (provided you showed up on a weekday). Nowadays, the only possibility of that happening would be if a there was a major outbreak of a contagious virus:

We were fortunate to have seats on the left-hand side of the crowded bus, providing us with views like this as we made our way around the lake:

うぶや

We got off at the Kawaguchiko Natural Living Center ブルーベリーの里河口湖自然生活館 stop, the end of the Red Line. There we were treated to almost postcard-like views of Fujisan:

The girls line up their phones for that perfect shot. You know what I do many of the photos I take (share them on this blog and on Facebook); what they do with the thousands of pictures they take is largely a mystery to me:

Even gawking at the almost perfect symmetry of one of the world's most beautiful mountains has its limits, so we also took time to peruse the items on offer in the gift shops. I would eventually come away that afternoon with a Fuji-themed necktie similar to the ones below:

Perspective in perspective. This miniature torii gate was strategically placed to give the illusion of a spiritually-themed Instagram shot:

Time for an ice-cream break:

The girls brought heavy jackets along with them on this trip from an often below-freezing Beijing 北京, but I gambled on wearing layers instead. Most of the time the gamble paid off, but occasionally I would get caught out in the chill, especially on our last day in Hakone 箱根 later on in our journey:

Lured by the English signage, for lunch we sampled a regional specialty, Hōtō ほうとう noodle soup. We got there early enough to beat the lunch rush and therefore not have to wait outside the small shop for seats to become available. Yours truly ordered the wild boar 猪 - a bit on the chewy side, but still tasty:

After lunch we did some more browsing in the gift shops. One store specializing in textiles had some traditional weaving looms on display:

Eventually it was time to get back on the Red Line. We were fortunate in being at the front of the line and securing seats for the return, especially as the bus quickly filled up with each succeeding stop (eventually the driver had to tell would-be riders to wait for the next bus as there was no more room for boarding). Unfortunately for us, the bus was so crowded that we were not able to get off at Ubuya うぶや, where one of the best views of the mountain overlooking the lake was available (see above). In the end we stayed on board until the final destination, which was the train station:

The view back at Kawaguchiko Station:

Before retrieving our bags and moving on to our next destination, we took a break at a café across from the station for some liquid refreshments, which in my case was a local brew. Travel for me in Japan always seems to involve copious amounts of hops and malts in liquid form:

Horse meat for sale at the station gift shop. Amber wouldn't allow me to purchase any:

On the platform at the station. Why Thomas the Tank Engine? See here:

The train that would take us to our next stop, the imaginatively-named Mt. Fuji Station 富士山駅 in the city of Fujiyoshida 富士吉田:

Shu-E must have done something right before our trip, because most of the time we were in Japan the weather kami 神 were looking down favorably upon us. The views of Mt. Fuji that day (and the following one) were of the kind you usually only seen in tourist brochures or coffee table books. But we certainly weren't alone in enjoying the scenery. And though this particular day (Feb. 12) was a national holiday (the somewhat controversial National Foundation Day 建国記念の日), I had difficulty in discerning much Japanese being spoken among the crowds we encountered throughout the day. 

For an old-timer such as myself, it's still something of a shock to see just how popular Japan has become with overseas visitors. I'm conceited enough to think of myself as meriting special consideration, separate from the tourist hordes descending on Tokyo, Kyoto and Lake Kawaguchi. After all, I have more than 34 years' experience living, traveling and/or working in the Land of the Rising Sun. I have been to all but two of the country's 47 prefectures, and if all goes according to plan, by spring next year I will have checked those ones off my traveling bucket list. My interest in Japanese culture and history stretches back to my time at uni in the mid-1980's, and I recall with a wistful fondness those days when I could visit what are now popular Instagram sites and have them virtually to myself (though it helped if I could visit on them on weekdays, as opposed to weekends and national holidays). To see the sheer number of visitors in Tokyo or Kyoto makes me all the more appreciative that I saw most of the famous sightseeing attractions long before the current boom.

And yet, I have to face the reality that I, too, am a tourist/traveler (I don't buy into the  pretentious Anthony Bourdainish false distinction between the two). I haven't resided in Japan since 2005, meaning I no longer pay income and residence taxes nor national health insurance premiums. I don't have a Japanese spouse, nor bicultural children in the local school system. When I do visit Japan these days, I receive the same 90 days permission to stay that most other visitors from visa-free nations receive upon arrival. Japan is popular with a lot of people from many parts of the world for a multitude of reasons, and I have to accept the fact that this is 2024 and not 1989***, and being a gaijin venturing outside of the well-trodden Tokyo-Kyoto-Hiroshima 広島 corridor is no longer cause to get the locals excited. 

At least now that Shu-E (this trip plus previous visits) and Amber (last summer as well as this time) have seen some of the more popular sightseeing spots, I can now get back to visiting places that are (as much as I hate the hoary cliché) "off the beaten track"****. Considering how rusty my Japanese skills have gotten over the last few years thanks to having to study Mandarin Chinese, I'm looking forward to putting myself into places and situations again where English speakers are scarce. Until then, I hope you enjoyed this rant post, and please join me for the next installment, when we get even more in the shadow of Japan's iconic mountain.

じゃまた...

*Your grandfather, who refers to Fujisan as "Fujiyama", probably also calls Taiwan "Formosa" or, worse, "Free China". 

**The first time I was climbing through the night with two others when we got stuck in a human traffic jam around the 8th station (there are ten official stops on the way to the summit at 3776 meters/12,389 feet). It was cold and drizzly, and the sun was starting to rise, meaning we were going to miss seeing the dawn break at the top of the mountain, so my companions decided to give up and go back down, over my bitter protests. The second time I traveled with a group of coworkers, going by car to the opposite side of the mountain away from Tokyo, where the trails were much less choked with hikers. We ended up making it to the summit with a couple of hours to spare, so we had to shiver in the below-freezing temperatures until dawn, but it was worth it to see the sunrise. There's an overquoted saying about being a fool to climb Mt. Fuji more than once, but I was happy with finally attaining the goal. 

***And back in the late 1980's, in the eyes of some of the then-long-term expats residing there, I was just another fresh face arriving in Japan at the height of the "bubble economy" バブル景気, looking to make easy money teaching English while looking to pick up women in Roppongi 六本木 every weekend. Which to be honest wasn't that far off from the truth, at least early on in my stay. Ah, those were the days...

****For some foreign travelers, perhaps, but Japanese people will certainly be familiar with them.