June 8-9, 2019
Mount Fuji
We started our adventure to Mount Fuji near the business district in Ginza. This time we actually booked a tour with a whole tour group, so it made me feel especially like a novelty tourist, one who only sticks to the comfortable–the narrow path, so to speak.
I was glad I had gotten to wander so much yesterday (even when I got lost!).
Driving through Tokyo and then into the countryside of Japan was absolutely surreal. Industrial buildings and bustling traffic fell away as trees clustered together to form a full, vibrant forest blanketing the mountainsides sloping toward a misty sky. Mountain surrounded us, closing in as we ventured further and further in the valleys they contained. The greenery was refreshing after staying in such a developed city.
It struck me a reminiscent of the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, the ones that sat under the clear blue sky in the summertime. This time, though, the mountains felt somehow calmer–more serene–rather than the lively trails of the Coloradan Rockies.
The peak of Mount Fuji was shrouded in a thick mist when we arrived, which was a shame–no one can really tell when it will be visible during the day, and it was the first day of Japan’s rainy season, which explained the whole sopping wet trip I had experienced on the previous day. I think, however, get to eat some delicious melon bread, which my mouth waters over even now! Katie and I puttered around a bit after eating, and even though we didn’t exactly have a perfect trip up the mountainside, I did enjoy it nonetheless. Next time, I might just try my hand at hiking!
We stopped in Hakone to take the ferry across the water, the wind whipping through the valley containing the lake. I loved the feeling–I’ve always loved the water ever since I was little, thinking I was more fish than human some days. I wanted to stay, looking out over the lake, and meditate a bit longer. I felt much smaller than I was in that moment.
When we disembarked, we boarded a ropeway up the peak of Mount Hakone. Mist had fallen over the mountaintops–and as we ventured further up, our vision clouded, quite literally! The peak of the mountain afforded us little visibility, and the fog didn’t allow us to see more than five feet in front of us.
“I feel like I’m in a horror film,” I laughed, watching as Katie wandered off. “I can barely see you.”
Katie disappeared from view.
“Where’d you go?”
“Over here!” I heard her shout, but she became a disembodied voice among the white wall standing between us.
“Katie?”
No answer.
“Katie?!“
Eventually, she heard me after coming just up a trail that wound around the mountain peak.
“You can’t see anything. I was afraid I’d get left behind.”
We took the bullet train back to Tokyo after that, and I watched as the countryside fell away again much quicker than it had appeared much earlier in the day. Modern marvels, I thought. How convenient.
Akihabara
I met up with a college friend soon after we arrived back at the hostel. Hilariously we both ended up in Tokyo at the exact same time, though she had an extremely early flight in the morning. We ended up deciding to wander Akihabara on her last night in Tokyo, though finding each other was quite the trip in and of itself! I didn’t realize at the time, but Akihabara has two (yes, TWO) separate stations for their Metro and JR lines. We ended up at completely different stations, and trying to find each other on wi-fi and spatial puzzles was definitely interesting!
We did, after much searching, find a few arcades that held rows and rows of arcade games, floors stacked on top of one another. We managed to find a rhythm game (which I ended up being terrible at–no surprise there) before stopping off to get crepes and eventually try our hand at a karaoke bar.
Why are they practically absent in the States?!
Blair and I spent a solid our singing our hearts out to a few Hilary Duff songs, throwing in some old school Britney Spears and Queen in the mix. We caught up–talked about where we’ve been and where we’re going, and left in the early hours of the morning.
I walked back in the dark, the only sights and sounds of the city surrounding me were the ones from the roadway, rushing cars splashing through the puddles. The lights reflected the on the pavement below as I walked through the business district that held the hostel I called home for the week.
I was struck by the silence, then. The quiet that drenched the night.
It was peaceful.
And I was spent.
Imperial Palace Gardens
Katie and I had an enlightening conversation this morning as a result of our conversation the previous night atop the hostel’s roof. We often laugh about our differences, about how many there are now that we’ve been friends for fifteen years. She’s very logical and pragmatic, while I can be a bit hard to pin down. So while I’ve grown into exploring and experimenting, she tends to stand back and survey.
“I’m excited for the museums,” she said while we were packing our backpacks for the day trip. Katie had (excitedly) been planning our museum foray in the next few days. Especially since it would include a natural science and history museum.
“I like museums, too, you know,” I teased. “But I also like exploring.”
We started the next day with the Imperial Palace Gardens. The grounds of the gardens are expansive and beautiful, displacing the clean-cut industrial landscape of the city outside of its walls. It’s a time capsule dropped directly at the center of a modern city.
We walked the grounds, exploring the land where buildings once stood and eventually burned down time and time again until it blossomed into the gardens we walked through that day.
And as we navigated the maze, I realized one of my favorite colors has been green for years at this point.
We boarded the train for Shinjuku next, stopping by a Hydrangea Festival on the way. The shrine containing the festival bustled with people, the center stage set up for local schools to perform their routines both modern and traditional. The bell from the shrine rung out every so often, visitors stopping the pray at the shrine before wandering around the grounds. Hydrangeas dotted the landscape, and a small garden opened to the public for one of the only times of the year. It was beautiful.
We also stopped by the Square Enix Cafe to stop in and take a peek at the back chamber housing the crystal fountain before we left for dinner at another okonomiyaki shop near Shinjuku Station. The crowds made me nervous–they always have. I forget, sometimes, that I need to slow down and enjoy the moment as it is. The crowd in the station made me realize that.
And I did just that.
Torigoe Matsuri
Katie went back to the hostel and ended up resting for the evening, but I went out again to see the Torigoe Matsuri, which is basically the removal and procession of the massive portable shrine of the Torigoe Shrine. It’s only done once a year, so how could I have passed the opportunity up?
As I stood on the sidelines waiting for the procession to begin, I watched as the crowds swelled and the participants waited in rows in front of me, their lanterns tall and heavy and glowing in the dim light of the night, obscured by the drizzle.
The crowd cheered. And the shrine appeared, massive and gold, the men dressed in traditional wear hefting it along, carrying the weight upon their shoulders and chanting–shouting–as they proceeded down the street. It passed by, policemen running to catch the crowd, overwhelmed and ready to jump the line.
I wandered, after.
I ended up back at Senso-ji Temple, this time with the lamps lighting up the corridors in between the stalls, vacant of the crowds. It was ethereal, a silence and peace fallen upon the grounds. Beautiful. I kept thinking, gripping my umbrella tighter, No one appreciates wandering, no rush, in the rain.
Sam