Japan 2010: 19 - Where I Have a Rude Awakening

'Click-slurp',

...

'Click-slurp',

I opened an eye. Everything was dark, the merest hint of moonlight filtering in through the thin curtains.

'Click...... slurp',

I rolled over and lifted my body, narrowly missing the air conditioner unit just above my head. It was three in the morning, and I was at the hostel. I had acquired the top bunk in the corner next to the air con. Maybe it was that.

'Click-slurp-click-slurp-click-sluuuurrp',

My disoriented mind woke up enough to realise that the noise wasn't coming from above my head, it was from down below. I rolled over and peered through the gloom. Everything was still, from what I could see. The bunk below me was occupied but motionless, and the one across the room had a single figure on the bottom under a duvet. Someone further into the darkness was also sleeping in the third set of bunks, but nothing seemed to be coming from there either. In fact, the noise had stopped. I turned over and closed my eyes again.

'Click-slurp',

Oh for heavens sake. I turned and looked again. Was it the heater? There was an oil filled electric heater sat across the window. Maybe it was just chugging and glugging into life? But again, the noise had stopped. Oil-filled heaters aren't sentient. Not even in Japan.

I turned over and it began again. This was no coincidence.

'Click-slurp-squelch',

Oh no. My brain was becoming increasingly confused and thus interested in the situation, and because I have an analytical mind, it was trying to imagine what would be making such rhythmic sounds that stopped whenever I tried to see what it was. It didn't take my mind long to come up with an explanation.

Fully awake now, I slowly peered over as the clicking and slurping became increasingly squelchy and the tempo began to increase as if reaching a crescendo. There weren't many things in life that require such repetitive movements, so when I looked over to where the sound was coming from - the bottom bunk across the window - I was expecting some furious duvet movements. Strangely, there were none. In fact, I thought I could see one of the guy's hands sticking out of the duvet looking innocent and quite motionless.

I was getting annoyed. I got up, padded down the bunk bed stairs and headed off to the toilet. Partly because I had a call of nature, but partly to let the little git know I was onto him, and people were moving around in his presence.

The rest of the hostel was silent and dark. Automatic lighting came on as I entered the communal bathroom area. It was about half past three in the morning according to the clock. I sat on the loo and pondered. What sort of masturbation makes such noises? And how did he manage to do it one handed without any visible movement? Was he some sort of octopus-man? I didn't want to think about these things, but my mind had already followed a train of thought and it wasn't going to stop until the situation had resolved itself. I headed back again none the wiser, but maybe my moving around had put him off.

An hour or so went by, and just as I was dropping off,

'Cliiiiiiick............. sluuuuuurp',

Slower and more laboured this time. He was trying to hide it. And by doing it slower, the slurping became more disgusting, and there was some squeaking of plastic on plastic mixed in. Did he have.. a device?

My mind unhelpfully conjured up such a device. An image of a tube onto the end of which was a rubber pipe, and attached to that was a squeezy ball thing to give some sort of pumping effect. That would have explained about everything. He was a mucky little perv trying out his new Oriental sex toy when no-one was awake to hear him, except I was awake and by now pretty angry. Purposefully mid way through a click-slurp cycle, I thumped the sturdy wooden bed strut next to my head, and then glared over it to see what reaction it had.

No pair of beady eyes stared back at me, but it had stopped the noise. For a few minutes.

Again, I thumped the bed strut and stared. Again, it stopped.

At the third strike, I had had enough.

I still wasn't 100% sure this guy was the culprit, or even if he was doing what I thought he was, but I was ready to chance my arm. As soon as it began, I was bolt upright. I flew down the bunk steps barely hitting a rung, and stooped over his duvet, which had now gone very silent.

'PLEASE. STOP. WANKING!', I semi-shouted.

There was a nervous rustle under the sheets and a face popped out. There was a very large and angry looking foreigner staring back at him with wild eyes and the nasal respiration of an angered cartoon bull.

'...sorry', he said feebly.

'Thank you', I said, without really expecting to. I turned around and stomped up to my bed. The remainder of the night (now the morning) was thankfully peaceful.

I woke properly at 7.30. The duvet across the room was motionless and nothing was visible. He was clearly embarrassed about the whole thing, and probably suspected the others had heard the situation as well. After a quick wash I packed up all my things and went downstairs. The reception opened at 8am, and I asked the guy behind the counter to put my bags in their locked room rather than leaving them in the dorm. I didn't want wanky device guy attacking my stuff in my absence out of resentment or malice.

Hotel Review: K's House Backpack Hostel Mt. Fuji (2700 yen/night, 1 night)
Ignoring the night antics of some visitors, K's House is a really nice hostel to visit and perfect for going sightseeing around Fuji (although a bit far if you're thinking of climbing it). Friendly staff, lots of info about the area and a load of facilities - and now it even has it's own bar. It's pretty cheap even for a Hostel, but you can pay a bit more and get a more private room. Internet: free, Towels: 100yen, Laundry: 200yen. Ring them for pickup from the station (10-20min walk depending on baggage) 8/10

Out of everything I could have done at Fuji, time had put some pretty strong restrictions on me. I would have to do whatever I was going to do before 11am, which is when the bus went to the station. I didn't fancy lugging my things up that steep hill (I'd remembered how bad it was when I did it before) so the bus wasn't going to be missed. I had put my name down the night before. This left really only one thing to do - go get a decent picture of Mt. Fuji, and the best place to do that, was at the top of Mt. Tenjo.

The ropeway to the beginning of the Kachi-Kachi trail up the mountain was out of action the last time I had visited, so it seemed like the ideal thing to do in the time I had, especially as it was so close. It wasn't the most exciting thing to do but the most achievable. My mind was made up.

According to the flyer, the first trip up would be at 9am, so I had a little time. I got a cup of tea and sat in the communal area once more. Before long, another guy came in who I recognised from the night before. He was Toby, and he was in the bottom bunk in the darkened corner of the room. Conversation began light about where we had been and where we were going, before Toby segued the conversation towards the antics of the previous night. Turns out both Toby and Wanky had been staying at the hostel for a few days, and each day he had been hearing the 'click-slurp'-ing every night. And he thought it was the air con too. I said goodbye and I hoped my outburst would put paid to things.
Outside, the air was cold, it had been raining, and there was fog. Lots of it. I couldn't see the majestic Mt. Fuji last night because it was dark. Today, it was completely hidden from view by fog. I took the long way round to the ropeway, across the Kawaguchiko bridge and round the lake coast, taking some moody mist-dominated pictures as I went. The summer had ended and the autumn was fast running out of steam. I passed by beds of dying flowers and greying grasses, their seeds wet and drooping from the rain.
Rounding the curve of the lake, I peered on the ground and saw a fabric camera case. It was thoroughly wet from the rain the night before and thus it's owner was long gone. It wasn't big enough for my new camera I had brought with me, but my old one should fit OK. I looked around furtively and no-one was about. Despite my conscience telling me to place it on a nearby post in case it's owner re-appeared, I squeezed the worst of the water out and pocketed it.

The ropeway entrance was up a small track off the main road, nestled snugly between a couple of hotels. Annoyingly, I had just missed the first car, which was now heading up to the summit, so I got my ticket and waited in the second one for it to leave. After about 10 minutes, it was clear that I was the only punter, so they let it go.
The trip up only took a couple of minutes, and gave nice views of the lake below, except for the dirty great cables in the way. And Fuji was still hiding.

At the top, I was greeted by a raccoon and a rabbit. The raccoon was wearing a heavy backpack, and the rabbit was stuffing yet more things into it. The raccoon seemed happy to shoulder this burden, but I don't think we're getting all the information on the relationship here.


Climbing up a set of steps I reached a plateau. A large platform covered in wooden decking, with an observation tower and some toilets. A love heart shaped frame provided a perfect photo opportunity for tourists as it would have framed Mt. Fuji perfectly, had it been there. Around the place were several other statues of the same raccoon and rabbit pair in a variety of japes, seemingly the character ambassadors for the area, trying to enthuse the kids into going exploring. However, each successive statue started to tell a darker story about their unhealthy relationship.
Over near the picnic area, poor Raccoon sat lonely, his rabbit friend disappeared off somewhere else, leaving him with his thoughts, and maybe some bruises. An expression of deep loneliness and regret lay behind his eyes. Over by the observation platform, Rabbit was treating Raccoon to what I can only describe as an aggressive sexual act, the pained and tearful expression of Raccoon saying it was not consensual. As if to bring the torture to an end, poor Raccoon ends up tied to the ceiling by his legs in the toilets. If I were still a kid, I'd be scarred for life by the story they were telling me.

I abandoned my search for more chapters in their sordid relationship, not wishing to look any more for fear of coming across a scene where Raccoon exacts a bloody and fatal revenge by bludgeoning the damn Rabbit to death with a lump hammer, posing forever over the mangled body letting out a primal scream of long-dreamt freedom. I took the trail up from the platform which was headed by a picture of them both happily about to start the climb themselves, best of friends as ever they were.
The ground was slippy underfoot, the trail heading steeply through the trees, the gnarled roots threatening to loosen the dirt steps and trip you up on the first opportunity. A little way up, the canopy above disappeared and an abandoned building - maybe a shop/museum mix - emerged out of the fog. Carrying on upwards, the forest reappeared. Snaking my way up still further slippy logs and roots and through leafy mud, I eventually reached what appeared to be the summit. A small stone shrine sat waiting for someone to take notice of it.
All around was dead silence. There were no birds singing, and there wasn't even any wind. The mist created a spooky gloom, through which the darkened branches of the trees cut a shape, it was atmospheric and beautiful, and reminded me of the opening forest scenes from Princess Mononoke. But it was hard to convince myself that the trip was worth it.

I turned round and slip-slided back down to the observation deck. Still Fuji refused to show itself, so I sat down on the platform steps and waited for a bit, in the hope that it would peek out and I'd get some pictures before I had to leave. It was about a quarter to ten, so no chance to do anything else. I was stuck.

Slowly, some people made their way up on the ropeway, and populated the deck. Many were the older guard, who had come out of season to get a view without loads of kids running everywhere. A couple looked up at me and shared some amusing observations about the missing mountain in commendable English.
For the next half hour I scrutinised the shapes that came and went in the clouds and fog, trying to decide whether the constantly morphing shapes within were the outline of a mountaintop or not. In the end, I came away disappointed. My time had run out and the clouds had beaten me. I took the half past ten ropeway back to ground level.

Back at the bottom, the tourist shop on the street below beckoned. If I didn't buy something here, then everything else would be Tokyo-related, so I popped in to see if I could find something, and then rush back in double-quick time.

They had so many different boxes of sweets and cakes and biscuits, it took me longer than I wanted to choose. Finally I settled on a couple of boxes for no-one in particular (they're good presents for when you forget about someone) and then headed out of the door at a rush.

Five seconds later, I was spread out face down on the ground, my clothes soaking up most of a handily-placed puddle. There was a graze on my hand and a rip in my jeans, and the cake boxes were out of the plastic bag and across the road. I could feel a camera-shaped indentation on my stomach and I groaned at the prospect. I got up, noticing just behind me the bump in the road I had tripped over. Fortunately my camera was in my fleece pocket rather than round my neck and had largely survived, although the screen was now covered in scratches. Maybe this was the karma kicking in for nicking the camera case.

I got up and dusted off the grit, and squeezed as much water out of the fleece as I could, then half ran, half limped back to the hostel to catch the bus.

I had ten minutes when I got back, so got into the bathroom and tried to make the best of things. I washed my blooded hands and tried to get out the gritty water from my clothes, and put a bandage on to reduce the flow. When I'd done all I could I resurrected a few ounces of dignity and headed out to get the bags with as calm an expression as I could manage.

The people carrier was empty but for me, and the driver made a little smalltalk, though I was not much in the mood. Especially when, after I said I was going to stay my final couple of days in Otsuka, (a neighbourhood in Toshima), he said, 'why on earth would you stay there, it's awful'. Well, it was too late now. I just wanted a place to stay that was cheap and on the Yamanote line, and the hotel I had chosen was both these things. I sat silently after communicating this and waited for the station to appear on the horizon.

Inside, I bought a ticket back to Otsuki station (1110yen) and passed the time before the train arrived looking through the station gift shop (again). I settled on their nice but thin Mt. Fuji photography book (1250yen), and then had a Tempura Udon (700yen), which they had in stock this time (nice but I preferred the curry one). I did my bit to point an American guy towards the hostel, and then boarded the crazy mountain train once more, although not before being burned for an extra 300yen ticket because the train I was taking was an express. Grr.
Last time I had taken the express (the one with the crazy cartoon mountains on it), it was in a poor state inside. But they had fixed the televisions this time, and it showed an airplane-style journey along the route. Fortunately, the express missed out most of the stations on the route, although it had to keep to the same speed on the track line as it was heading through so many little towns and villages, so there wasn't much benefit.

The JR trains were a welcome sight once more, and after waiting a quarter hour I was on one and heading for Shinjuku once more. Otsuka station was a couple of stops away on the Yamanote line, and then once at the hotel (apparently, only a few blocks away) I could put down my things and then not worry about them again until I was ready to leave for the UK.

Shinjuku was it's usual hyper-busy self, and it was nice to get through it and up to the relatively quiet Otsuka station, four stops clockwise around the route. My lugging time would shortly be over it seemed.

I exited the station. It was raining. The hotel was thankfully quite close, but when I got to the counter inside and checked my wallet, it was lacking in cash. I needed 13000 yen to cover my stay, and I needed to find an ATM.

The hotel had handily provided a map, but I could see no Post Office on it, so I relied on the 7/11. It was across the station and into Toshima, and quite a trek. Perhaps foolhardily, I didn't leave my backpack with them.

The rain became heavier, and my backpack soaked it up. I was tired and aching, and this damn 7/11 was nowhere to be seen. When I eventually found it and entered through the doors I was soaked and less than cheerful. I got out 20,000yen and retraced my steps back, getting slightly lost on the way. Not. Happy.

The room was small and grey, barely big enough to fit a bed in, and there was a few years of dust and debris behind the heater. But it was functional and a welcome sight given what I had been through to get here. I showered and changed, and put up my dirty clothes to drip-dry in the bath, which was a bit naughty but I was past caring by this point.

I laid on my bed writing my diary and considering my next move. It was 3pm, and if last time was anything to go by, I'd be needing an extra case soon. Tokyo last time round was an exercise in propping up the economy with large amounts of tat purchasing, and it seemed quite likely I would be doing much the same this time. After all, tomorrow I would be visiting the Ghibli Museum again, and I know how much of a hole Mama Aiuto's wares burned in my wallet last time.

There was only one place I knew would have a decent range of luggage, and that was good old Don Quijote, a chain of shops that sold absolutely everything. I had been introduced to the Shinjuku store the first time on coming over, and now I would return.
They're dotted all over Tokyo, so I decided to visit the Akihabara branch. Arriving at Electric Town once again, it was still raining heavily, so my progress was hampered by using the intervening shops to try and keep dry. In amongst the anime and electronics shops was the Sega Arcade, a multifloored plaza containing the latest arcade games, as well as whole areas dedicated to the classic stuff.

Arcades in the UK are a pale imitation of what they used to be; most of the video games have gone from them, the 20p stand-up cabinets replaced by a mixture of fruit and gambling machines, and any open areas dominated by large £1/£2 a go driving/house of the dead sorts of games. Give me back the early nineties any day.

But Japan is different; their arcades take into account the desire for the old and the new, and they often sit together; the old JAMMA boards stuffed into a generic large-screened sit-down cabinet, or even better, a 1001-game compendium where all but the most obscure titles can often be found. I spent a good hour or so catching up on some Super Mario Bros, Gradius 2, R-Type, Parodius and Ikaruga, and if I hadn't have run out of 100yen coins, some more besides (although I was quite annoyed I couldn't find Raiga anywhere).
On the upper floors, past the photobooths and trinket vending machines stood the latest cabinets. The future, it seems consists of networked cabinets where players actually log in with accounts so they can build up stats.
Huge arrays of multiplayer cabinets with queues stretching back, and high-definition monitors set up around the walls showing the action from a spectator's view, often huge arenas where player mechs were fighting it out in a sort of Japanesey-fied Call Of Duty situation. Some cabinets (such as the Square-Enix Lord of Vermillion machines) were so new they were guarded by staff and I wasn't allowed to take pictures.
I managed to somehow tear myself away and got to Don Quijote's Akihabara store. It was in a block of buildings that I hadn't explored up til now, so I'd missed it at the start of the holiday. The first five floors were your typical DQ fare - stuffing as many things as possible into every available corner. On the 6th floor was another arcade, and floors 7 and 8 were host to some ticket-only event which the likes of me could not possibly attend, as was suggested to me by the polite but firm attendants at the top of the escalator.

I descended back to the shop and found a few things, including a suitcase for 4990yen, (which was bloody expensive compared to last time), plus some bags of sweets, an Akihabara Station towel and mug, and an Evangelion-themed box of chocs for friends. I was already down another 11000yen and I'd not even been to the money sink that was the Ghibli museum yet!

As the rain battered down still further, I flitted between shops and returned to Super Potato once more, and since I'd received requests for them, I bought a couple of reconditioned N64 pads (about 2000yen each) and a mint copy of Pilotwings 64 for 50yen (they had stacks of them)!

As the shops began to close down, I flitted between the ones still open, as the rain continued to batter downwards. Model shops, anime, arcades, souvenirs, and more. But by 10pm I had had enough and was on the train back to Otsuka, the rain finally abating. Rather annoyingly I headed down the wrong road back to the hotel and was greeted by.. a post office not more than a block away from where I was staying. I could have got my cash there instead of trudging through the rain. Sure enough, it was on the hotel map, but some genius had decided to take the post office sign and integrate it into a smiling face for me, thus making it less apparent. Thanks.

I sat eating pringles on my bed, grumbling and leafing through the dog-eared Tokyo Film Festival brochure I had picked up on my first day, trying to work out which I would be seeing tomorrow. My new suitcase had been given a trial by fire as I had moved all the souvenirs collected thus far into it. The backpacks were breathing a sigh of relief, but the new case was 95% full. Would all the inevitable tat that I would be powerless not to buy fit in tomorrow as well? Only time would tell. I looked at my grazed hand and rued the way this day had turned out. It had been a mixture of bad and worse. Tomorrow could only get better, couldn't it?

Japan 21 : Going Downhill Fast

I woke the following morning to the sounds of bed springs. It appeared that the girl on the top bunk across from me had invited her boyfriend in and they were waking each other up with some 'snuggling'. The girl on my top bunk was either asleep or absent, and the Chinese guy had turned into a mass of crumpled bedsheets. The bright sunlight from outside was a positive sign that I could get up without looking like some sort of cat burglar, so checked my watch (about 7am), excused myself from the apologising couple and headed to the bathroom.

Everything was chilled ice cold, with a gentle, fresh mountain breeze coming from the bathroom window. I got myself a quick shower and shared a sink with an unknown lady as we brushed our teeth in unison. I had fortunately decided to dress before leaving the cubicle because everyone else had been woken up by the new day ahead of them and were beginning to queue up for the amenities.

I packed away my things and straightened my bed, taking the smaller of my backpacks so I could stock up on snacks for the day ahead. I left my larger pack down the side of the bed, this time with a degree more confidence, and said goodbye to the now singular girl and headed to the ground floor. Some kind soul in the kitchen area lent me some milk and pointed towards a communal pile of slightly musty but usable teabags had been supplied for westerners parched for a cuppa. It wasn't the most recognisable of leaf, but it tasted like home.

Dave came in a little later and we had a quick chat about what we were doing. Dave was heading wherever the retro bus took him and I was doing much the same only by manual means. The bus in question was a fleet of identical tourist buses in a retro style that made regular stops around the Sai and Kawaguchi lakes. Though the thought of being chauffeured around sounded pretty good for a day, it kind of restricted where I could go and meant I would be at the mercy of the bus times, so I declined Dave's offer of going round together and stuck with my original plan of pedal power.

After checking outside that the howling winds I had occasionally heard through the night had actually gone, I handed over a banknote to the girl behind the table. 1000 yen got me a days' loan of one of the hostel hire bikes, and if I was to get a decent days' sightseeing in, it was going to be a prudent purchase.


I started out by getting back to the Kawaguchiko Oohashi bridge and then heading along the shoreline around the larger part of the lake. The narrow road generally followed the perimeter of the lake, although it was often some distance from it and was replaced with walking and cycle tracks that went a bit closer. I passed some picnic areas at Yagisaki Park, just coming back to life after the winter and guarded by some of the most intimidatingly large ducks I have ever seen, shortly followed by the Kawaguchiko Muse Museum. This was a small building set a little away from the lake, and was the home to the work of Yuki Atae. Though the premise of walking around a museum dedicated to some cloth dolls doesn't sound much fun, I have to say, this place won me over. The models of children, old people and the odd nymph or sprite, were beautiful and their features and poses were so expressive, I could not fail to walk out of there impressed.


Shortly afterwards, the road wound back on itself as it negotiated around a square of land set on a small hillock and was home to a major shrine. The Fuji Omuro Sengen Shrine was more of a collection of shrines, with a large Shinto temple and a stone-built Buddhist building located in their own walled areas and connected together by a track that went through the site. Some of the sculptures were beautiful, such as the sphere surrounded by dragons, the entrance pathway lined with giant stone lanterns and a sculpture dedicated to the art of Yabusame, or shooting arrows from horseback, which is often depicted as here with an arrow shot through a fan. I pushed the bike around the area as respectfully as I could, taking in the sights on offer, a journey that was marred only slightly on my exit through the lantern path to find one of the houses next door airing their dirty mattress out of the window.

I headed up a random side road to the hills above on a whim - and with little more than a nice view to show for it, I freewheeled back down and gathered a little pace, heading to the western side of the lake. Between the Omuro Sengen Shrine and here there was little in the way of tourist attractions that I could see, so I enjoyed the fresh air as I got used to cycling around the twisting roads. After a short while I came across a large, blue road sign offering me a choice of direction. Either carry on around where I was going, or head west, up a steep hill towards lake Sai. In order to give me some temptation, a shrine was placed a few hundred yards up, surrounded by tall trees and looking intriguing, so I decided to take a little look and then perhaps head back.

Something happened at that shrine, because common sense went right out the window. The deceptive hill was bad enough to get to the shrine, but it was clearly steeper the further up it went. My mind had been made up however, that I wasn't going to simply freewheel it back down again, but finish the climb to the top; that way, I could say I had seen two of the Fuji Five Lakes (3 if you count Yamanaka on the way in).

The hill was steep and it got steeper. The poor little bike, though well oiled, just didn't have the gears to make cycling up it a practical option and so I got off around the corner. The road was steep enough at one point for it to have to loop back on itself and wind back and forth a couple of times like you sometimes get. A dirt track off to one side was just too much of a temptation for me, it seemed to be able to cut the while twisty bit completely out, and it did, in a way. Unfortunately that way culminated in a large set of bike-unfriendly stone steps at the top, resulting in much pedal-shin bruising and swearing.

It did get me almost to the top, and after a gently curving corner's worth of hill, I was greeted with a tunnel, fortunately the engineers who built this road decided enough was enough and they would bore a hole through the rest.

Coming out the other side brought me face to face with lake Sai, and the view was both refreshing and different to Kawaguchi. Much less evidence of tourism, with few houses or hotels, many obscured from view by the still-present forests, and what there was in the way of buildings looked a bit chocolate-box and not so much geared to the sort of tourist trade I expected - perhaps they were made for the people who actually lived there. It felt like I had stumbled upon their 'secret place' where the local residents would hide from the onslaught of the obnoxious tourists the rest of the year, hidden through a tunnel at the top of a hill so steep it would probably kill a good percentage of those who tried to make it. Then one of the retro buses pootled past me and I realised perhaps not.

Even so, Sai was definitely worth the trip. After cycling for a while on the gently undulating north side, I let the bike roll down a dirt track to the waters edge. Lake Sai was beautiful, and as I looked around it was clear just how remote it was up here, the dense forests overbearing in all directions, so large that Mt Fuji itself could only just manage to poke its tip above them. The waters were beautiful crystal clear and the air was as fresh as any I had ever breathed.

I crunched through the stony gravel at the shore side for a while before heading back to the bike. I was getting a little peckish and was relieved to come across a cafe as I hit the north-west edge of the lake. I cycled past initially thinking it was closed, but thankfully it wasn't after checking the door. Inside was a quite surreal scene. A small band of musicians made of plastic were playing along to the Mission:Impossible theme tune amongst others, with a group of tubby owls for an audience. It was enough to stop me in my tracks, and was only jarred out of my hypnotised trance by a familiar 'hello' from the corner of the room. It was Dave again, who had got off the bus at Sai and was taking a breather. He was doing a rather good pencil drawing of Mount Fuji, which by this time had found a gap in the mountains and was looking its usual dominant self. We chatted about what we had seen and done over some green tea and kitkats (the cafe didn't have much to eat) and among other sites he mentioned a strange place further along named the 'Saiko Batcave' - something that we both thought would be good to visit, only so that we could say we did.

After a while I had got my breath back and departed again. Just outside the cafe was one of the Fuji maps, which showed many of the attractions. There was the bat cave over on the other side of the lake, and also an intriguing 'icicle cave' located on a loop that would take me away from Sai and then back again, meeting up just next to the bat cave. There was also a 'Saiko Wild Bird's Forest Park' as well just around the corner. It was decided - I would try to fit all three in. Not long afterwards, I came across a log-cabin building set back from the road. This was the bird sanctuary. It was fortunately free (or at least, nobody charged me an entrance fee). The lower floor was a gallery of pictures and taxidermy, and the pictures continued up the stairs to the first floor observation room. There didn't seem to be much to observe, though. The trees to the left were still bare branches, and the open area to the right was the site of what looked like what used to be a giant ice sculpture of a ship, although the ice had mostly melted, leaving the sorry-looking wooden skeleton underneath. I later found out this was the remains of the years' beautiful Sai Ice Festival which took place a month earlier.

I was about to leave the observation deck when I noticed a guy in a Saiko Bat Cave coat walk out and sit on a chair with his hand out. A few moments later, a bird flew out of the tree, landed on his thumb, and started feeding on the seeds he was holding. A little while later another came, then another. It was a simple thing, but lovely to watch, although I felt I was spying on the guy as he was enjoying an indulgence in his lunch break.

Going back downstairs, I went through a set of doors and found myself in a cafe. What looked to be the family business of daughter, mother and gran all sprang to their feet - their look of eagerness at the prospect of a rare customer, combined with my still-empty stomach convinced me that I should stay a little longer. Plonking myself down at a window seat besides a fish tank, I perused the semi-English menu (thankfully with many pictures) and settled on an unusual combination of a hamburger in gravy with rice and vegetables and a side salad. It was a bit weird, but tasty enough and enjoyable, my gazes of attention switching between the ice festival remains and the bloops of the fish swimming about beside me.

I paid the tab and said good-bye and headed out of the door. I was about to get on my bike when I had second thoughts and headed round the back of the building. The guy in the Saiko coat had finished his bird feeding and was sweeping up, so I took a shot at asking him through the power of mime about the birds. He directed me in surprisingly good English to the front of the building where I could purchase bags of seed for 100yen (there was no-one there, you just popped a coin into a birdbox). Elated, I went round the back again, held my hand out with some sunflower seeds on it, and waited. Sure enough, the birds began to flit from the safety of the trees to my thumb, eye the seeds on offer and then take one quickly before heading back again. They were always the same kind, about the size of a sparrow, with long tails and red flashes on their faces, and black and white stripes on their wings. I spent a good half hour there, until it was clear they had got their fill. Just as I was leaving, a couple took my place, so I showed them where to stand and what to do, and the lady shrieked with joy as the first bird swooped down for a snack.

Leaving the sanctuary, I followed the signs for the icicle caves, which took me away from Sai and up the hill on a long, straight main road, which was pretty busy with trucks and cars. Again, it was pretty steep and quite long, and another pushing session got me to the top, where a crossroads in the road pointed back downhill towards Sai and the Batcave. On the corner of the crossroads was a tourist shop, another log cabin affair which also had a sign for the icicle cave. I left my bike at the entrance and walked down the gravel track into the woods.

A shabby-looking shack was the ticket booth, beyond which the trail went over the hill, deeper into the forest. I paid my money and headed further along and it was not long before I came to a steep stairway into the earth. This was the entrance to the caves, a super-slippy, dimly lit track into a damp cave. Not far inside the entrance were some beautiful examples of natural ice sculptures, but that was pretty much it, the single track split down the middle, ending not so long afterwards with a cramped section filled with piles of old storage cans that were used as a food larder. To be honest, it was a bit of a disappointment all round.

Tramping out into the fresh air once more, I went back to the tourist shop and looked at the gift boxes. Damn near every town I had visited had tourist shops like this one and each of them included a display of finely wrapped boxes of chocolates, cakes or biscuit selections, the wrapping paper evoking the spirit of the region or having a depiction of the local tourist draws. Predictably, the place had a large central table piled high with all sorts of boxes containing sweet treats, and most of them were making the most of the nearby snow-capped mountain. Since it was quite close to the end of my holiday, I decided that today I would begin to buy a few souvenirs, of which a couple of these boxes would form the beginning. Resisting the temptation to take advantage of the 3 for 2 offer on some Mount Fuji toilet roll, I chose two of the largest and most interesting boxes, not caring at this point whether they fit in the basket on my bike. Fortunately, they did, although they did stick out and dance around a bit as I sped quickly down the long hill back towards Sai. I prayed that the brakes on my little bike would hold by the time I would need to use them in earnest, but for the time being, it was an icy-cold invigorating speed to the bottom.

Fortunately, the brakes did hold out, and soon a sign appeared pointing to both Sai and the batcave. Hoping that this would be a little better, I headed towards it. When I got there, it was much the same layout as before. A tourist shop set back from the road, with the trail to the cave just next to it. This time, an assistant, who clearly had had too much sugar on his cornflakes bounded up to me with a big smile and a helmet in his hand. I asked him if I could stow my cake boxes and bike somewhere, and on crossing his palm with silver, he took them away to a safe place and gave me the helmet to try on.

If I had to be honest, the helmet was making me a little nervous, but I pressed on. The thought of spending my last moments under tonnes of rock just as Japan got one of its famous earthquakes made my feet attempt to change direction more than once. The batcave was on a trail into the woods as before, but the trail was a wooden walkway which twisted its way approximately to the destination - and then disappeared into the subterranean cave below.

The cave was lit with an eerie green glow, from lights that looked as if at one point they gave off white light, but had been over the years covered with a film of greeny goo. It started off quite pleasantly, but then the roof began to get lower and lower, and then it split off into many possible routes. Typically, I chose the most awkward route, which took me through a gap no more than three feet high. My backpack got wedged on the ceiling, and my knees got covered in goo on the rough ground below, but I finally made it through to an open area, where it suddenly became clear which direction to go in to avoid getting crap all over me. The cave ended in a boarded up section which I resisted the temptation to ride through in a minecart, Indy-style, and so I headed back the easy route, taking a few long-exposure shots along the way.

Daylight was a welcome thing, and at this point I had decided that I had seen enough caves for now, having reviewed the state of my clothes and hands after scraping myself through a few hundred feet of damp, green goo. I followed the road back to Sai and followed it around until I reached the tunnel I had come through on the way here. The day was getting past its best, so there would be just enough time to go around the last part of Kawaguchi before getting home. I sped quickly down the steep hill and rejoined the road that followed the lake.

Just a case of getting back to the hostel, now. The light was fading a bit, and my legs and back - not used to cycling at the best of times - were now short tempered, so I concentrated on making the most of the view on the three or so miles required to get back. Fortunately, Kawaguchi was mostly very scenic, with a helpful cycle/walkway around much of it which cut out a large and ominous tunnel partway around for good measure, although it was clear that Kawaguchiko was far from a moneyspinner when it came to tourism - there was more evidence on this side that the hotel trade was a tight industry with the corpses of several buildings off the track of the flow of tourists. Hitting the home straight, I was distracted slightly by a crowd of people around the entrance to the Music Box museum, which I would have gone in had the punter outside not tried to force me to park the bike over the road in a car park and drag myself there and back again.

Once finally over the bridge and back at the hostel, I flopped myself on the bed about 6.30 just as the last of the light was ebbing away. Dave had arrived sometime earlier, rather selfishly looking far more refreshed and far less like he had just crawled through a slimy passageway in a cave with precisely no bats in it, contrary to the advertisement. I uploaded a few photos as we chatted and then after a quick wash and clean up, headed out by foot to the nearby curry house, which was insultingly easy to find now I had a map.

One thing the Japanese can't do, is a good curry. There, I've said it. Perhaps I mentioned this before, but the experience at the 'Ali Ba Ba's' was the worst of the three I'd experienced. The fish tikka starter was a grey fish with a dry, tough texture. The restricted menu meant only a chicken masala looked any bit good, but the chicken was fatty and.. 'pipe-y' - as in connected to what I assume were some of that ex-chicken's internal plumbing. I ate what I recognised and left the rest.

Back at the hostel, the ground floor was overflowing with people wanting to use the computers again, and since I hadn't finished my emailing I sat cross-legged on the floor waiting for the computer around my little group to work its way through those who had sat before me, the collective memory of the group forming a graph on the floor of whose turn it was next.

It always fascinated me how people from all over the world and different places could just come together and talk as if they had known each other all the time. It was a phenomenon that I had trouble doing with people across the street I didn't know, but now it was time for me to find out. One particularly interesting-sounding guy - Aaron - was sat cross-legged across from me, regailing to the entranced group around him - me included - about his travels around Japan and the world. He looked the part with combat pants and a straw hat with dreadlocks escaping from underneath, he was a picture of an experienced traveller. He rattled off stories of how this place reminded him of some other trip across the world a year before, some of the sights and sounds he had seen, and crazy coincidences of meeting his mates halfway across the world as their seperate journey's crossed. The whole room was abuzz with these people - pleasant, interesting, full of enthusiasm and knowledge and willing to share and learn. It was a really positive atmosphere and I found myself being able to hold a little of the conversation myself.

After a little while myself, Aaron (who was from the US) and an Iranian woman (who's name I unfortunately couldn't remember - sorry) headed through into the communal living room and sat down on a random collection of futons and tatami mats and continued our chat, eventually breaking up near midnight to get some kip.

As I lay in bed, my mind was for the first time since arriving in Fuji, content. The experience had all been about worrying that I was going to be able to survive in a social, communal hostel - me a definitely unsocial, uncommunicative and often grumpy being. The people I had met, on both sides of the reception desk had helped me realise that any and all those fears were unfounded, and that there was a lot of enrichment to be had and shared simply by being there and interacting with those on a similar journey. It was a shame that on the following day I would have to leave for my next destination.

Japan 20 : Bleak Landscape

Mount Fuji Awaited.

Ever since setting off, the goal had been to get to Mt. Fuji. This was partly because it was the one place I had pre-booked before going to Japan, and partly because I had become enthralled with the romanticised idea of waking up in a traditional Japanese house, sliding open the paper doors and staring out at the peak as I sat munching breakfast on a tatami mat. Even though it was not quite the end of my journey around Japan, it seemed to be the place I was always heading towards, the final stops of my quest being on the now familiar and somehow less anticipated Yamanote train line of central Tokyo.

Though I had to forgo the traditional aspects due to most of the hostels and hotels still being closed for the winter and many of the rest pretty full up, I had managed to get myself into the local K's backpack hostel, a small friendly stopoff a stones throw away from the lapping waters of Lake Kawaguchi. Fujikawaguchiko - the town that circled it - seemed to be the most suitable of the towns around Fuji, the rest of them seeming a little bit remote and thus as Japan was just emerging from its winter ice-fest, were perhaps not the best of ideas.

Today's journey would be based on the email I had received from K's about the best way to get to Kawaguchiko from Osaka. It would involve my final Shinkansen ride around the south coast of Honshu until I arrived at Mishima, and then a bus journey all the way to Fujikawaguchiko Station, where I could ring them for a free lift.

Hamamatsu felt a little dull, despite the clean, fresh air and so I decided that even though there was much to explore of the city, I wanted to satisfy my itch to get to my next destination. I checked out about 10am and got the next train out of Hamamatsu. Although the scenery to the south should have been of equal concern, my face was pressed firmly onto the north-facing side of the train so I could catch my first sign of the mountain. Sure enough, once we'd got past Nagoya and through a long tunnel, the iconic shape rose out of the hillside. Even from many miles away it looked enormous, probably because it was the only major mountain for miles around.

Mishima station followed soon after. I got off and after a little trouble working out which way to the bus stop (including slipping through a cars-only tunnel) I paid my 2130yen (about £12) to the woman through the ticket hatch (who probably had seen a thousand confused foreigners go the same way and had shooed me towards the bus stop without being asked) and waited patiently.


The bus, as with the trains, arrived dead on time, and after heaving my backpacks onto the seat next to me, it set off with me and a few other passengers. The bus headed through quiet, immaculate streets on a beautiful clear day, the ever present mountain peeking through the gaps in the horizon and getting ever closer. The bus spent a long time increasing in altitude as it headed through the beautiful mountain pass, and then as it descended down the other side, we came across the first of the Fuji Five Lakes - Lake Yamanaka. I could have got off at this point for a look around, but the buses were few and far between, so we carried on to Kawaguchi Station where the bus dropped me off. The station is a little different than many others in Japan, looking like a log cabin and having a large tourist shop inside. Here and there I saw fellow backpackers, heaving round packs the size of mine and often worse. They, like me stood transfixed at the sight of Mt. Fuji, now taking up a considerable portion of our peripheral vision.

Hearing the rumble of an impatient stomach, I went down what seemed to be the main street until I hit a 7/11 shop, and bought everything that looked recognisable, including an unexpected mini tin of Paprika Pringles, which my local back home had long since stopped doing. Because I had gone some distance, I decided to forget going back and proceeded onwards towards the hostel on foot.

This was perhaps not the best plan; my backpacks were heavy, there was a noticeable blast of fresh, chilled air, and the road ahead of me contained none of the landmarks that I could remember from the directions. I searched in my backpacks for my little black notepad and studied the map I'd biro'd down. Amongst some strange sights I had put down like the mysterious 'Herb Hall' was a little black dot that represented the hostel, and a load of other dots. An unmarked road heading to the right off the road I was on would take me directly to my destination. Problem was, I had no idea what the road was called, other than there was a closed gas station nearby. After some walking there seemed to be an intersection, and there was something gas-station-y across the road, so I took a chance. The road headed downwards and to the north (which was good because the lake was that way) but became increasingly narrow and twisty. At the point of giving up, I rounded the back of a house and emerged onto the road that circled Lake Kawaguchi.

I had my bearings now - the unmistakable Kawaguchiko Bridge was across the water in front of me, and all I had to do was follow the road around clockwise for a few hundred yards and I would be there.

K's was a welcome sight. As I approached, I made a mental note of the line of bikes for hire in the garage, as heading around such a large place on foot would not get me very far. It had only been open for a year and everything still looked new. A reception with a trio of Japanese teens eagerly helping fellow backpackers get their bearings, a couple of computers for contact with the outside world, and beyond a kitchen and dining room fitted out with numerous furnishings that would not look out of place in a style-conscious student dig.

I removed my boots at the entrance and sorted out my room, and was given a set of linen to make up my bed with. I had taken the cheaper option of a room sharing with 3 others (2700yen per night - about 14 quid), and it finally hit home as I entered the room that sharing with strangers was going to be a very new experience for me. Two cosy bunk beds took up most of the room, which contained little else other than a heater and a window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The bathroom was also shared but this time by the entire floor, and it was off down the hallway. Being the naturally distrusting Brit, my excitement and joy was turning sour at the thought of leaving all my worldly possessions in a room where three others could walk in and work their way through it. I wasn't anywhere near a set of train station style lockers, so what was I to do?

I had a bit of a think, and as I sat there warming up my cold feet on the heater it struck me that I was reverting to type, something that I was determined not to do until I set foot back on British soil. Japan and its people had universally welcomed me; people were kind and helpful and I had not once felt like I ought to get the hell out of a situation, or seen any evidence of petty thievery. Also, I was in a hostel, the people who stay at these places had a code of honour, you stay, you chat and make friends, and you leave. A hosteller doesn't rifle through unattended backpacks because one day it could be theirs that gets rifled.

Trying hard to keep this in my head, I turned the heater off and headed out of the room, sans backpacks. It was now mid afternoon, and the sun was a little past its best. Armed with this knowledge, I put my boots back on and headed out.

Lake Kawaguchi is split by the bridge into a big part and a smaller part. Since I would be on foot today, there looked to be just enough light in the sky to head round the smaller part and then back along the bridge. The other part could wait until tomorrow. Almost immediately on reaching the shore again, I came across an Italian restaurant, which I reckoned was a good candidate for tonight's nosh.

I rounded the back of the grounds and the lake behind revealed a shoreline with a mixture of small sandbanks merging into slippery rock formations. I headed down onto one of the banks to get a good view of the lake, the water was crystal clear but the banks were strewn with beached pedalos and tourist boats in the shape of whales, which if it had been running this early on I would have definitely taken.

The closed-ness of the place continued along the coastline. The nearby Kawaguchiko Gem Museum was open but deserted, and the far eastern side of the lake was flanked by a selection of hotels, each of which looked pretty full, except for a few which appeared to be derelict. One especially on a tip of rock edging out towards the shore looked in particularly bad condition, although someone had decided to paper over the cracks by edging it with party lights. Next door to that was the entrance to the Mt. Kachi Kachi Ropeway, a well-known pursuit for tourists to reach the Tenjō-Yama Park at its peak, and yes, they were both closed for the winter months as well. I was semi-consciously keeping my eye out for alternative eateries, as the tum was beginning to grumble again but, with the exception of a small saki bar, there seemed to be no food going other than that being served at the hotels.


My deflated feeling was given a boost partway round when instead of staring at the water and the hotels, I looked upwards a little and had my best view yet of Mt. Fuji, the ever present figure looming over the entire area. Doused with a generous capping of snow, the winds were high on the peak and great clouds of snow could easily be seen blowing off the peak. As I had left the hostel, I had overheard some mad people enquiring about trips to the summit, who were told that the stations to the mountains' peak had been abandoned for the winter. They were told in frank terms if they went up there unaided, the mountain rescue would not come to rescue them.

Passing the last of the hotels, I rounded another corner to find an outcrop jutting out into the lake, on top of which was a small shrine. Sensing a photo opportunity, I scrambled up the narrow pathway, a mixture of earth, slippy rocks and tree roots to the pagoda at the top, where - wouldn't you know it - a donation box had been placed. As I took my photographs in the failing light, fitting myself horizontally and vertically into the cramped remaining space not taken up with tourist milking machines, I felt chilled - the wind was howling and it had turned from fresh to freezing, and was gusting enough for my semi-kneeling body to not feel so secure perched up high on a rock. As I turned to go back down again I was surprised to see a Chinese guy eagerly staring back up at me. Shaking the chunky camera suspended around his neck, it was clear he wanted me to get a picture of him looking out to the lake.

So there we were, me trying to lean back on some old wooden fencing so I could get some distance between myself and the guy, who was now doing the same thing rather dangerously over the lake, whilst attempting to look like he was just relaxing in the breeze. He posed, I took a picture and handed it back. He posed again, not taking the hint. I took another. By the fourth round the chill winds had got the better of me, I placed the camera down on the donation box and scrabbled back down to the road again, not looking back.

There was little else to do once round the corner from the shrine, as I had reached the bridge. I headed over, braving the increasingly harsh winds and occasionally swapping sides to take pictures until I was finally at the other end. Heading back to the Italian, I was looking forward to some grub, but things did not look good. There were no longer any cars outside and the building itself had no lights on inside, and it was now quite dark. Unbelievably it had closed. I searched around for opening hours and found them - it closed at 6pm, and it was now half past. Suddenly a little panicked, I began to round the lake once more, but none of the places I'd passed were willing to take on non-paying guests, even the saki bar seemed to have shut up shop.

I headed back to the hostel, and figured that somewhere in Fujikawaguchiko there must be some district filled with restaurants serving food. I headed south, and after a fair amount of fruitless and slightly hurried night-time searching, returned to one of Japan's many streetside vending machines and got a choccy bar and a drink. It would have to wait until the morning.

I got back to the hotel and trudged in. One of the English speaking receptionists, just closing up the shop asked what was wrong and I relayed my lack of findings. She disappeared into the back and came out with a piece of paper detailing the restaurants no more than five minutes away to the west, the only place I hadn't been to. I vowed to make use of this information the next day.

I went up to my room. It was still pretty early (about 8.30) but I had been defeated and was tired. I spent a little time alone with the heater on my toes, and then headed downstairs to try and catch a session with the computer. People were chatting happily with each other about where they had been and where they were going, sometimes mentioning places in Japan I had stopped off at, sometimes mentioning places far beyond, it brought me back down to earth a little bit - I was not much more worldy as I had been a month earlier, and there was an awful lot more out there to experience, much of it proudly and excitedly relayed by these people, coming together and effortlessly making friends in an instant. This wasn't me - I can't just get chatty with people, the thought of it was incredibly nervewracking. Suddenly I felt very withdrawn from the people around me. I quietly took my turn on the computers and sent off some emails.

'I'm Dave', said a guy who had come quietly over and stood next to me. His name was Dave. Somewhat honoured that someone had taken the trouble to make contact with me, I made the effort to overcome my unsociability that so often strangle and we started to chat. He was Australian and had just come over from Tokyo where he was spending the most part of his holiday. We chatted about where we were going, and where we had been, where we come from, and it dawned on me as we chatted that it's not so difficult to do; that I might just be able to fit in with the crowds after all.

Eventually, I returned to my room, which was still empty. Someone had taken the bed opposite because it had been made up with fresh linen, as I had to do with mine, and there was a trustingly placed backpack on top of the mattress. As I had hoped, the code of honour was strong amongst my brethren and my things had gone untouched. I was miffed but also a little relieved that I was the least sociable and first to get ready for bed, I ditched the jeans and dived straight in, turning the heater up a bit to combat the cold from the outside. A little later, a Chinese guy (not the one from the shrine - that would have been creepy) came in, and a couple of girls entered later still and took the top bunks. It was all a little liberal for my delicate sensibilities, but I managed to catnap through the night until the morning.