Japan Journal 2, August 2014

I must have fallen asleep looking at the Tokyo Tower by our window. Morning arrived sooner than I wanted. The city was fully lit at 5:30AM.

Darkness left in haste.

Fierce light tore through our curtains –

Morning in Tokyo.

Our first tour was a bus trip to see Mt. Fuji, 75 miles to the west of Tokyo. The bus was full and made many stops, but once we entered the Tomei expressway (Japan’s longest highway, almost 800 km; it literally means “Tokyo to nowhere”), everything was smooth sailing. The highway had concrete fences and curved glass overhangs. Our guide, Hashimoto, said the fences and overhangs limit pollution, both noise and carbon emissions, from spreading to the environment.

After an hour, we had a pit stop. We entered a grocery store and bought snacks and fresh cucumber (on a stick – the crunchiest, sweetest we’ve had!) and sweet corn (nothing like Japanese sweet corn). I was quite impressed with the grapes on display; they were just a tad bit smaller than plums. Jason got himself a bottle of Calpis, a popular Japanese drink that tasted like Yakult, but he didn’t like it that much. The stop took all of 20 minutes.

I had haiku in my head before we saw Mt. Fuji …

Snow-capped mountaintop –

Seen you only in posters.

Grateful for today.

Then we had a “sneak preview” of Mt. Fuji on the road. Everyone thought aloud. There is no snow??? The snow on Mt. Fuji, we learned, is there only in winter – not all year round!!! It’s not that it was any less majestic, but we’ve been conditioned for years to see it with snow, so it was disappointing. My disposition changed.

No snow at the top,

“Only in winter,” guide says –

False advertising.

The bus took us to Station 5, about halfway up to Mt. Fuji, and the closest we could get to the peak without hiking. Mt. Fuji, an active volcano, is 3776 meters high. It is covered with evergreens, beeches, birches and oaks about ¾’s of its “body.” Close to its peak, however, only mosses and shrubs grow. We had a great view of the peak from Station 5, but we couldn’t see anything below. Thick clouds encircled the mountain. We took a short walk; the ground had a crunchy, breaking-glass-sound of volcanic rocks. We met three Filipino groups – a family from the US, a group of female friends, also from the US, and a family from Cebu.

Clouds, creamy and thick,

ring Mt. Fuji by its neck –

Heaven must be near.

A carpet of cloud

bears Mt. Fuji upon it –

Viewers float along.

On the way back, Hashimoto told us the trees we see on both sides of the road are cherries. Come April, the flowers are in full bloom. Cherry blossom showers came to mind.

Stately cherry trees

line the road to Mt. Fuji –

I’m dreaming of Spring.

Road to Mt. Fuji,

covered with cherry blossoms –

Wait, it’s not April.

We didn’t stay long at Mt. Fuji. We only had 30 minutes. The traffic earlier cost us the extra 30 minutes we could have used idling around. It was fine with us; we had no plans of hiking, anyway. Jason mused about going back with Jesse and Juliene, and the three of them climbing to the peak. (He figured Rhodora and I would be weak and feeble by then, and wouldn’t be able to make the climb – even if we wanted to. Boy of little faith, that one. Cue Darth Vader’s musical theme.) Jason didn’t believe Hashimoto when the guide said it would take six hours to get to the top. It didn’t seem that far from where we were, nor did the climb seem difficult. But what do we know? There were lots of local hikers, obviously groups of young friends. We thought they were overdressed and over equipped. We wondered if they allow camping at the top.

The Japanese run like clockwork, which I think is both good and not so good. Hashimoto ushered us to the bus soon enough. Tatay and the two Pakistanis in our group complained our stay was too brief.

Prisoners of Time –

so generously given,

so quickly taken. 

We rode to beautifully wooded Hakone, passing an allegedly haunted old building that is now a popular restaurant (oddly enough with a windmill on top) and a white Buddhist Temple. We went through a long tunnel and stopped by the homey Hakone Lake Resort for lunch.

Nestled among trees,

a quiet house stands alone.

Come dusk fog hides it.

Lunch was simple – miso soup, fresh vegetables, rice and chicken – but it was tasty. I like Italian and Chinese, but I’m beginning to like Japanese as much.

Hakone is proud of their handcrafted puzzle boxes. Decorated with intricate mosaics, it could take as much as 21 hidden locks to open! We found some at the Resort Shop.

Her box has secrets –

How do I tease it open?

My charm is useless.

The Resort and the forest surrounding it reminded me of John Kaizan Neptune and the shakuhachi, the Japanese bamboo flute. I imagined him sitting on a rock in the garden and playing Japanese melodies.

The shakuhachi -

the mountain wind's haunting call,

the soul's strangled cry.

 

We were supposed to go take the Sky Gondolas next, but we rushed instead to board a faux pirate ship for a cruise to Ashi, a scenic lake surrounded by hills dense with thick evergreens. This Lake has a 19 km circumference; it was formed about 3,000 years ago in Hakone Volcano's caldera. We walked to the deck excitedly. Then the fog descended …

Cruising Lake Ashi –

Lush forests covered by mist,

didn't see a thing!

We “jumped ship” on the first stop and boarded the bus quickly so we can catch the Sky Gondolas. It’s a pity we didn’t get the chance to see the little town where the pier was. It looked quaint, very European, I thought. (It reminded me of areas around the lakes of Salzburg, Austria. It looked like New Zealand to Jason.)

We got to the Gondolas all right, but the fog hounded us all the way to the top.

Cable car floating

on clouds three thousand feet high –

The wind was whistling.

The experience reminded me of Jason’s remarks when we were on board a cable car in Singapore, in 2001. He was only three years old. He was standing by the window, looking out, talking to himself.

The leaves rustle,

the branches creak.

It is a windy day.

The Sky Gondola took us to Owakudani Valley, the remains of the exploded mouth of Hakone’s Kamiyama Volcano. We were supposed to see steam spouting from the ground, but the fog was unbelievably heavy. We couldn’t see anything. Suddenly the air turned cold and windy. Then rain started falling. Our only recourse was to roam around the souvenir shop, which was not an unwelcome thing for Rhodora and Jason. (Jesse and Juliene would have similarly approved if they were with us.) We saw more Hakone boxes and fine Japanese lacquerware. We also had the chance to try Hakone’s famous “black eggs”, which are eggs boiled in the steam vents of the volcano. Hashimoto said, “If you eat one, your life would be extended by seven years. If you eat two, it will be extended by 14 years. If you eat three, you’ll have a stomachache.”

The mist hangs heavy,

one can't see beyond five feet -

Station disappears.

Japanese lacquer -

Affectionate attention

lavished on boxes.

We took the long bus ride to go back to Prince Hotel. We had the option of taking the bullet train at the Odawara Station (I smiled to myself when we alighted at Odawara and walked around for a few minutes. This was the station used by the Master in Yasunari Kawabata’s novel, “The Master of Go.” Cheap literary thrill.) We could have cut our trip by over an hour, but we weren’t really in a hurry. The bus has been paid for; no need to pay extra for the train ride (over US$100). By staying on the bus, we had the chance to see the streets of Shibuya and Shinjuku at night. They were bigger wards than Shinagawa, and certainly much busier. The shops and offices, the lights and the billboards were all there. We arrived at Prince Hotel close to 10PM.

For dinner, we looked for a Yoshinoya outlet. Hashimoto spoke highly of the franchise, so we thought we’d give it “another” try. We loathe the one at Glorietta in Makati; the food was bad. We found an outlet – a busy one – right behind Shinagawa Station. We ordered takeaways and ate in our rooms. I’m pleased to report: we’re NOT disappointed. It was the Yoshinoya we once knew and enjoyed. Our biggest Yoshinoya fan is Juliene; we sent her a message that Yoshinoya is still alive.

Read about our experience at the Kyoto Airport in my Japan Journal 3.