Timothy Kaiser is honored by the serene presence of Mt. Fuji

Mt. Fuji

View Photos (2) Image © 2010 Robert George

Excerpted from To Japan With Love: A Travel Guide for the Connoisseur, available from ThingsAsian Press.

I lived for a time on the outskirts of western Tokyo, along an incongruous strip of suburban concrete lined by peach orchards and cornfields. My employer rented an apartment for me on the first floor of a two-story walkup that took its architectural inspiration from a North American motel. Only the flashing "no vacancy" sign was missing.

I didn't have much of a view. The tatami room that functioned as my bedroom, living room, and dining room had a window that looked out on a dreary parking lot and highway. The landscape from my kitchen was better: a cornfield providing a lush canvas of green, speckled at night by darting fireflies. But what took me by utter surprise one particularly crisp and clear autumn morning when I was dumping out the dregs of my morning o-cha was the silvery cone of a majestic mountain that I could just make out above the corn tassels. There could be no mistaking what I was seeing. It had to be Mt. Fuji. I had no idea that where I lived was close enough to see it. Now here I was, tracing the outline of this legendary mountain through the condensation of my kitchen window. 

After that morning of discovery, I hoped for Fuji-san to form a regular backdrop for my life in Japan, but no matter how hard I gazed through my window and wished the clouds and haze away, what followed were only occasional sightings. Nevertheless, on those rare occasions when that familiar snowy tip emerged, it felt like the return of a stoic and steadfast elderly neighbor-silvery hair and all-just dropping in to see how things were.

Although my intention was always to climb Mt. Fuji, I never did. I flew over it, bullet-trained past it, slurped and spilled sake on a carpet of cherry blossoms at its feet, but I never scaled its heights. The closest I came was a gathering of friends, backpacks loaded with provisions, flashlights, and maps, only to have our well-laid plans scuttled by a typhoon. At the time I was disappointed, but now I feel as Katsushika Hokusai may have felt when he created his famous ukiyo-e (woodblock prints), "Thirty-six Views of Mount Fuji." To reach the summit of Fuji-san is sublime, but to be in its serene presence is blessing and honor enough.

FACT FILE:

Viewing Mt. Fuji
In Hokusai's day, the mountain cast such a spiritual presence that very few but the most devout made their way along its forested foothills or dared its ascent. Now, especially from March to November, the Mt. Fuji region is abuzz with hikers, onsen enthusiasts, sightseers, and day trippers of all ages deliriously snapping photos of the famed mountain. If you wish to recapture some of the solitude that marked the Mt. Fuji of bygone years, the best place to visit is the Fuji Five Lakes region of the northern foothills.

Perhaps the most tranquil of the five lakes is Saiko, particularly at the western end where the Koyodai Lookout offers a stunning view. Around Saiko is Iyashi-no-Sato, a restored village where traditional crafts such as silk weaving and paper making are demonstrated, and where soba and konnyaku ("devil's tongue") are prepared in the traditional way and available for sampling. For those needing a break from the above-ground pageantry, the nearby Fugaku Wind Cave and Narusawa Ice Cave offer a subterranean change of scenery.
www.jnto.go.jp/tourism/en/s041.html

Getting to Fuji Five Lakes region
The best way to visit Saiko or any of the other four lakes is to purchase the two-day pass for the Fuji Kawaguchiko Retro Bus that has hop-on/hop-off service around the Fuji Five Lakes region. For information about getting to the area from Tokyo, visit the following website.
www.japan-guide.com/e/e6905.html 

To read more essays from To Japan With Love, click here.

Published on 12/21/09