So my sister (whom I was sharing my room with) and I woke up later than usual, mostly because our alarm didn't ring (and I forgot to set mine again lel). She and I fumbled to get ourselves in order before 8:00 a.m., and we barely managed to grab everything we needed by the time we left for Hamamatsucho Station again for our day tour.
Unfortunately once we got out, I began to feel disheartened when I saw that the forecast yesterday evening lied to us:
WHERE ARE MY CLEAR SKIES, FORECAST?
Nonetheless, we continued on our way to the station and met with our tour group, and we were on the road before 9 a.m. We hoped that the sky would clear up by the time we arrived (or maybe even before) so we would have a chance to see Mt. Fuji clearly.
Like yesterday there were vacant seats available in the bus since we were only very few people on the tour. I took this opportunity to swipe a pair of seats all to myself so I could lie down on my side and get some well-needed rest.
By the time I woke up (not sure how long it was but it was probably like an hour), I saw we had already left Tokyo and were on the highway along Uenomachi in the Yamanashi Prefecture.
Along the way, the tour guide explained to us that the Otsuki area of Yamanachi is where new trains are built and sent on test runs. Right now, the Japanese are currently building a new train much like today's Shinkansen, only much faster. The train will be running on a track that would supposedly connect Tokyo to Osaka; the trip to and from both ways would take only 58 minutes, or so our guide says.
Not long after we passed Otsuki we came to Fujiyoshida-shi, and I started to see that the sky was thankfully starting to clear up. Then it wasn't long before we began to see this on the left side of our bus:
Fuji-san, in the flesh.
Fuji-san
For some reason I was overcome by a sense of awe and wonder once the mountain finally came in sight. I had always seen Mt. Fuji in pictures, but to actually see it with my own eyes and be there up close and personal made me appreciate its majesty all the more (I was actually speechless when I tried to point out the mountain to my eldest brother's wife).
Nearly all of us on the bus attempted to take clear pictures of the mountain outside the windows. Meanwhile I started to wish the sky hadn't cleared up because the sun was searing all over my face and burning my skin off, as if my skin asthma wasn't enough as it is.
We took a left and started down a narrow, two-way path called the Fuji Subaru Line, which led up the mountain. Along the way, our guide started telling us that long ago, Mt. Fuji used to be an active volcano, and the natural disasters that occurred on the mountain were believed to be the spirits of nature sending down their wrath among the people. So they put up shrines in honor of these nature spirits, and people prayed to them, hoping it would ease their anger.
In time, lava from the mountain cooled and became part of the soil, and became grounds for hardy trees to grow. The forest in the mountains here is called jukai, which describes a sea of trees, because of how tangled the trees became as they grew. There is a rumor saying once you venture into the jukai, you can never return from where you once came. And even with a compass it was impossible to find your bearings, because of a mysterious (and possibly--in my opinion--magnetic) force that causes compasses to go haywire.
The jukai struggled to grow on the land that was once lava.
Many people during the olden times tried to hike up the mountain, thinking that if they reached he summit, they would be able to acquire the mountain's energy for themselves. But the harsh weather and terrain--coupled with the rumor of the jukai--made the hike difficult to the point that people became discouraged to do so.
Eventually, some people figured perhaps the mountain truly isn't something meant to be conquered by man. Some monks took advantage of this and brought back stones from the mountain to their temples. By having these stones from the mountain in their possession, travelers wishing to harness the mountain's power wouldn't need to have to go to the mountain itself. They would only need to visit the temples where these stones were and that was already equivalent to climbing up the mountain. In a way it was a win-win situation: the common folk needn't risk their lives for Fuji-san's power, and the monks found a way to make people come visit their temples (what a scam /brick'd).
Before long we arrived at a small bus terminal on the side of the mountain, which was the highest point we could possibly set foot on, much to my dismay. I wanted to go to the snowy part of the mountain so I could experience snow for myself, and the closest I could get to any frost was this slush:
Miserable slush.
The place was busy with tourists like us taking pictures of the scenery or swarming the nearby gift shop for food and souvenirs. I joined in on the bandwagon:
Bby siren seal goes to Fuji-san :V
Yes, this exists. It's ¥850.
And to commemorate my visit, I just couldn't leave without a little something to not only remember Fuji-san by, but to also add to my ever-growing pin collection:
Following that we went down the mountain path again, and we arrived at the Fujisan World Heritage Site, a learning center featuring a museum all about our favorite snow-capped mountain… Which I didn't bother to go see because I was too busy taking pictures of everything else.
What intrigued me though was this map of the area surrounding Mt. Fuji.
If you look closely on the map you will see there are five lakes lined up on the base of Mt. Fuji in a half-circle. After some research I discovered that the area was called Fujigoko, (literally translated as the Fuji Five Lakes, as shown on the map) and we had the opportunity to visit one of them for lunch: Lake Kawaguchi-ko. As compared to the other four lakes, Kawaguchi-ko is the most developed and easily accessible, as the others are too far in the rural areas and rather difficult to get to.
After lunch we were back on the road again. I was suddenly feeling worn and tired, and after taking one last picture of Mt. Fuji along the Yamanashi highway, I curled up for another nap on my seat.
Thanks for the memories, Fuji-san :D
By the time I awoke, we were miles away from Kawaguchi-ko, and we were in a personally familiar part of the Kanagawa Prefecture.
Hakone and Lake Ashino-ko
It isn't my first time here in Hakone. The first was in Spring 2015, when the cherry blossoms in Ueno Park were in full bloom and their petals were abundant in the breeze whenever I passed by the Ueno crossroads. However, the last time we had gone here to Hakone, the weather was rather cloudy and misty, and all we did was take a short ferry across the lake and back. We weren't able to see much of Lake Ashi, let alone take the cable car up to Mt. Komagatake, where we were supposed to have a clear view of Mt. Fuji. I still have my old pictures from that time…
These kinds of vending machines full of pins and knick-knacks are called gashapon.
Hakone was also the place where the ball of my avid pin collection started rolling. I originally wanted just one pin to keep as a souvenir, but then I kept thinking, "Hey, one more wouldn't hurt…" So I kept punching in the ¥200's into the coin slot here, and, well. Things went downhill from there.
Anyway, going back. Again I was thankful that the sky cleared up despite the fact that it did still burn my face (the wind did a good job of helping me ignore that though):
Ashimari in Ashino-ko :3
Along Lake Ashi is a red Shinto temple called the Hakone Shrine. In the old days, people came to visit this shrine to pray to Mt. Koyama, the highest mountain in Hakone, as well Fuji-san not too far off (unfortunately I wasn't able to take a picture of the shrine… Sorry about that).
Mt. Komagatake
With the sky clear enough for us, we were able to go up the cable car to Mt. Komagatake, but our time there was very limited--20 minutes around the mountain for us to take pictures of whatever we wanted. Bear in mind when we arrived that it was around 3:50 p.m. (GMT +9); around this time the sun was setting faster than usual and by 4:45 p.m. it would already be too dark for anyone to really see much of anything.
Mt. Komagatake is considered the central volcanic cone of the Hakone area, rising 1,327 (some sources say 1,357) meters above sea level, formed as a result of a volcanic eruption. At the top of the mountain is a small holy shrine made possible by Yasujiro Tsutsumi in 1964, who was also responsible for the construction of the nearby Ropeway.
The mountain offers a view of four key places: Lake Ashi, the Sagami Bay, the Suruga Bay, and Mt. Fuji. Unfortunately I wasn't able to take a picture of either bays I mentioned because of my lack of time…
Sunset over Lake Ashi.
…However, I was fortunate enough to take a shot of one of my most favorite photos this trip:
Brought to you by Sony Xperia. Powered by Android.
After the whole trip today, all I can say was that it felt like an absolute adventure. To be able to feel the cold yet fresh-smelling gusts of early winter rushing against my body as I traveled along the Ashino-ko waters and hiked Mt. Komagatome was a surreal experience I only dreamed of whenever I played RPGs like Final Fantasy. For that I'm very grateful I had a chance to have experienced this at least once in my lifetime… And I hope to be able to someday return to this mountain so I could finish that trip to the shrine by myself.
Besides, I can proudly say that while everyone else was cooped up in their homes and tearing gifts open for Christmas, I was at Mt. Fuji and Hakone having an experience of a lifetime. Fuck yeah. B)
Next up: The Tokyo Transportation Network, the Torinoiru Parakeet and Owl Café, my misadventures throughout Tokyo's concrete jungle, and #searchingforgrassowl2016. Stay tuned!
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