He durst not sleep in that freezing night; scarcely dared he rest lest the cold should master him, but must keep for ever moving and stamping and chafing hands and feet. And yet, as the slow night crept by, death seemed a desirable thing that should end such utter weariness.

E.R. Eddison, “The Worm Ouroboros”

It’s funny how certain small moments have had such an impact over my trip. I may have been planning it for around three months in advance, yet in the end, unexpected things were bound to happen.

So far they have mostly been auspicious. People I wouldn’t have met if I hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, have not only offered me tips and company, but also great memories. I find myself making changes to my plan, doing things I haven’t considered, and changing my mind on a whim.

One moment so far has risen above the rest. One I would go back to and change in a heartbeat. One I didn’t expect would make me sad.

27 February 2023

• Breakfast at Kobayashi Soba
• Matsumoto castle (1h)
• 14:15-14:40 Matsumoto to Hotaka train + 15m bike ride
• Daio wasabi farm (1h)
• 30m bike ride + 17:00-17:30 train back to Matsumoto
• 18:00 back to castle for night illuminations (30m)

Tears in Matsumoto

Today will most likely end up, for better or worse, one of the most memorable days of my trip. So far February 12 (the drift ice tour), 14 (Lake Akan), 16 (my birthday), and 21 (bus stuck in snow) have been the wildest and most enjoyable. But February 27 was more like February 20, most of which I’d spent solitary and crestfallen at the old-school ryokan.

I started my day later than all the others in Japan. First order of business: trying to obtain the phone number of the Japanese guy I’d hung out with on February 21.

The ryokan couldn’t find his name. I talked to them on the phone, which was challenging, and the hotel receptionist phoned them as well, to no avail. I couldn’t understand how come my name appeared on their records, but not his.

I headed out to breakfast. Matsumoto was very quiet: a city that woke up late, and went to bed early. I barely saw any locals, let alone tourists.

A mere 2-minute walk from my hotel, there was the main shrine, and right next to it a soba restaurant, which Matsumoto was known for. I arrived at 11:00; it had just opened. I was the only customer at the time.

Moody piano music was playing. I thought about karma and my bad luck. Of course the ryokan couldn’t find the guest’s contact details. I don’t know why I was surprised. This was what I deserved for not asking for it when I’d had the chance; for being afraid of rejection.

I found myself holding back tears as the waitress explained to me how to eat their soba. She also served me soba tea (totally different from green tea) and matcha salt.

The place was double my budget, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less.

I think I liked him. I wasn’t sure, because that sort of thing was foreign and new to me. And I think he liked me, too.

An elderly couple arrived. They slurped their noodles loudly, while I failed to slurp mine. As I ate the cold tempura soba, it occurred to me that this was his favorite variation.

When I was finished, the waitress served me the soba’s cooking water in a pot, and instructed me to pour them into the cup of soy sauce I’d dipped the soba in, thus forming a soup.

Matsumoto Castle

After breakfast, I was still hungry (soba should be re-categorised as an appetizer). I stopped by 7/11 for a snack, and ate on a bench in front of the castle and the river.

There were tourists, but just the right amount: still quiet enough, so that the main sound was the chirping of birds.

The passers-by were so orderly, and the sound of the birds and the river so calming, and the view of the famously black castle and the snow-capped alps surrounding the city so comforting, that I could easily imagine myself living here.

I sound like a broken record. The remote, snowy villages fascinated me as well. But Matsumoto would make for a more sustainable location, in the long run. A place like this might be the place for me.

Upon entering the castle keep, I was given a plastic bag, to carry my shoes indoors. The floor was wooden and cold, which felt stimulating underneath my wool socks.

The stairs were extremely steep, and at some point I hit my head real bad against one of the beams.

Afterwards, I walked to the train station for my next destination: one of Japan’s largest wasabi farms. Every time a train arrived, instead of simply announcing the city’s name, the female voice sang it three times.

“MA-tsumotoooo! MA-tsumotooooo! MA-tsumotooooo!”

It was little touches like this that added to Matsumoto’s charm.

Daio Wasabi Farm

The train ride felt endless, even though I’d grown used to longer lines, because it stopped at every station. Such was public transportation on the countryside.

Looking out the window at the sunny, rural landscape, my mind drifted again; vehicle windows had always had that effect on me. Tears streamed down my face, wetting my mask. No one noticed.

I hated myself for wishing they’d had. At least that would’ve been an excuse to make conversation.

I got off at Hokata station. There was a café offering rental bikes. It was either this or a taxi to the farm, and as one of the elderly locals who had frequented this café pointed out, today was a perfect day for a bike ride.

It hadn’t occurred to me how fortuitous the weather had been. Blue sky, no wind, winter sun – caressing, not roasting. I got a map of the area (no English, obviously), and hopped on a bike.

The temperature was cool and refreshing. Cycling whilst wearing my huge coat did not feel hot once. I pedaled out of town and crossed rivers and fields. The wind was blowing gently. My view had become a painting of yellows, whites, and blues: fields, alps, and sky.

It was as though nature was trying to cheer me up; and it worked.

I made it to the farm and parked my bike. Entrance was free. Before long, I was staring at fields of wasabi.

Spring water was flowing; birds were chirping, and crows cawing. Piano music was playing. The sun was shining ever brightly. I hate re-using so many descriptions, but ‘serene’ is my only way of putting this scene into words.

I couldn’t understand what was the deal with all the sad piano music, though. It had been accompanying me through almost every destination.

There was a watermill at the farm, and a pure spring water fountain; a small cave for prayer, and, since this was Japan, a shrine.

I ran into a group of young Thai tourists that had explored the castle at the same time as me. Apparently they’d taken a bus here, which even the tourist information centre hadn’t told me about. But no matter. Either way, I would’ve chosen the bike.

After touring the grounds, I bought a wasabi ice cream. It was somewhat sweet and had a funny texture to it. The wasabi topping made it super spicy. Couldn’t say that I liked it.

Somehow, I found myself yet again eating on a bench, overlooking nature. I began to feel bad for focusing on my issues while farmers were raking the wet ground mere metres away from me.

The farm closed at 16:00. I managed to properly explore it until the last minute.

This day was the slowest day I’d had in Japan so far, with more leisurely strolls than determined pacing; more benches than attractions. The fact that I’d planned it this way was a coincidence, because in the end, I needed it.

On the way back, I stopped by a shrine I’d passed, which featured huge geta (Japanese sandals) sculptures. I couldn’t figure out why, and no one was around to ask, but it was entertaining nonetheless.

Back in town, I relied on my memory instead of consulting the map, and got lost. The rural setting and the bike ride had instilled such a Ghibli vibe within me, that I was determined to carry on without relying on my smartphone.

Problem was, no one was out and about. Again, this was the countryside.

After wandering through streets while holding my bike and squinting in search of non-existent signs, I asked a driver who’d stopped at a red light for directions, and made it to the station.

Next, I decided to return to the castle for the night illuminations. During my walk there, I stumbled upon the Japanese Ukiyo-e Museum shop.

“There’s a Ukiyo-e Museum?!” I asked the clerk. Perhaps I’d read about it a few months ago, and forgot.

The clerk explained to me how to visit it the next day, and I continued to the castle.

Matsumoto Castle… Again

It got dark just as I arrived, and the illuminations were in full mode. Underneath my mask, I had a stupid smile on my face; the kind that betrayed immature amazement. I felt déjà vu. This was my exact reaction to the Hatsune Miku song at the Sapporo Snow Festival. Except the latter was energetic and upbeat, whereas Matsumoto Castle simply looked beautiful, in a grand sort of way.

Later, I broke my “no Western food” rule and went to a pub. It was either this or soba or ramen, and I was so ravenous, that I couldn’t bear paying for another appetizer. I wanted something heavy that would stuff me like a turkey. Fish and chips were it.

After dinner, I hung out with a Thai expat for a short while, and went to bed feeling frustrated.

Today’s highlights: chilling on the castle grounds; riding a bike through the countryside; the wasabi farm; the castle’s night illuminations.

Random thoughts:

• Japanese people in cities really know how to dress. There are so many stylish young men and women around. I even saw some straight guys wear pants with prints.
• Apparently zunda is pretty much exclusive to Sendai, and many Japanese people have never had it. I might cross Sendai off my “list of places to never return to” just for that.
• In every rural town I’ve been to so far, whether in the Alps or up north, the walkway from the train station building to the platform was the train tracks themselves. You’re supposed to cross them. Trains are infrequent, so that’s okay.
• Whoever came up with sub-seat heating in trains and buses should get a raise.
• I’ve been so busy that I forgot to practice Japanese on Duolingo, and lost my 1400+ day streak. Four years of almost daily perseverance…

28 February 2023

• 9:40-10:00 Matsumoto station to museum bus
• Japan Ukiyo-e Museum (1h)
• 11:00-11:20 bus back to station, 12:10-13:15 train to Kofu, 13:32-13:37 train to Ishiwa Onsen, 14:05-14:47 bus to doesn’t-matter-where, I-got-lost

Ukiyo-e Museum

Last night, I set the alarm for late, but once again struggled to sleep well until morning. I had multiple nightmares involving my family, a former childhood friend, a previous employer, and an actor I’d found attractive, all mixed together. I woke up early, perplexed as to why these visions had chosen today to plague me.

I made the most of my ample time by visiting the tiny Ukiyo-e Museum. At 10:00, I arrived right at opening time; it was just me and three elderly locals. I was beginning to notice a pattern.

There were ink stamps that allowed you to produce small Ukiyo-e polychrome prints, a temporary exhibition on samurai prints, and reproductions of famous prints, such as Hokusai’s.

Once that was over, it was time to bid the city farewell.

Matsumoto was definitely my kind of habitat. Not too lifeless, nor too grey. Small enough for the centre to be explored by foot in twenty minutes, but large enough to have a variety of restaurants and shops. A nice river flowing through it; a castle being the focal point; an emphasis on arts; a mixture of new buildings (not skyscrapers) and old architecture (like shrines) – it reminded me of Norwich, where I’d lived in the UK. The view of the snow-capped alps was omnipresent. I could see myself living in a place like this.

It felt like an artist’s getaway. No wonder Kusama Yayoi grew up here. I wondered if they organized writer’s retreats.

During my three days here, I did not see anyone drag a suitcase around the city.

So far in Japan, my favourite place in Hokkaido was Utoro, while in Honshu, it was Matsumoto. Maybe that explained why, as soon as I left it, things began going downhill.

Problems Arise in Fuji Five Lakes

While waiting for the train to Kofu at Matsumoto Station well in advance, I was alone on the platform, eating bento on a bench. A Japanese elder on the platform in front of me was taking multiple pictures of me. I waved at him. He walked away.

I took two limited express trains bound southeast. Easy breezy. Then changed at Iwasa Onsen to a bus. There was a foot bath at the bus stop, which was a nice way to pass the time.

Needless to say, I was the only tourist (and foreigner) in the area.

I got on the bus, and for the life of me, I couldn’t understand how I ended up disembarking at the wrong station.

I’d written down my travel itinerary beforehand. Times included. When 14:47 came, I assumed my stop would be next. I saw the name of the stop on the screen above the driver. The initial kanji, I didn’t know how to read, but the last one matched my destination.

The bus dropped me off on an expressway, with nothing around but speeding cars, quite literally in the middle of nowhere.

At once, it became clear I’d made a mistake. My phone battery was at 3%. Google Maps told me buses stopped here once an hour.

I took out my portable charger, plugged in my phone, and called my accommodation for the night, radiation be damned. I explained my predicament, hoping they would come pick me up. I was a mere 18-minute drive away; a 22-minute bus ride; yet an hour-and-40-minute walk.

The receptionist said they were too busy with guests who were checking in. I surrendered to the idea of calling a taxi, but that would’ve taken too long. So I began to wait for the next bus.

That was when my portable charger’s battery died. 

My phone stopped charging at 13%. “Fine,” I told myself, “I’ll just wait here for an hour and stare at the expressway.”

After a minute or so of boredom and frustration, I gave cars the thumbs up. They all zoomed past me.

A feeling of déjà vu overtook me. Yet again. This was just like February 14, the day I’d spent in Kawayu Onsen.

But then an idea popped into my head. I took a piece of paper from my bag, and wrote “みちにまよった” (I got lost) in Hiragana, because I forgot the kanji. Five minutes later, a black van turned around toward me.

Overseas, black vans enjoyed a certain reputation, but here, I knew I’d be safe. Inside were a man and a woman who immediately offered me a ride.

I hopped in and told them my destination: Lake Kawaguchi’s post office. This was where the receptionist had instructed me to get off.

The ride there was pretty, unnerving, and quiet. The couple chatted in low voices without exchanging a further word with me. I used the little my phone battery could muster to track our path, just to make sure, even though I wasn’t genuinely concerned. 

All the while, I could see the lake and Mount Fuji.

We arrived at the “post office”. This wasn’t it. I didn’t know what they’d reckoned this place was. Perhaps thinking the same, the man asked if this was okay, or the train station down the road. I chose the latter.

They asked me where my accommodation was. I showed them my reservation (thank god I’d printed it). The address written below turned out to be wrong.

The woman called the accommodation to confirm its location and my reservation. Then the couple drove me straight there.

I thanked them endlessly, and offered a few souvenirs I’d gotten in Matsumoto the day before, including soba tea.

“いや、家族、” the woman said (“No, we’re family”).

In the end, I made it to my accommodation at 16:00, safe and sound.

It was a nice wooden cabin with large rooms, shared facilities, and an unobstructed view of Mount Fuji. The latter was my reason for booking it. (In addition to the cheap price.) You could see the mountain from my room, from the lounge, and even from the bathtub.

I decided such a view was worth the hassle, and went to ask the receptionist for tips.

She kind of blinked at me when I asked for recommended restaurants. There were maybe a couple in the area. And, she warned me, most of them were closed right now, scheduled to open only in late morning.

I found one spot, which would close in 1.5h, and set out at once.

This was when things went even further down the hill.

The northern shore of Lake Kawaguchi is considered the best place to see it. It is also egregiously underdeveloped.

My 15-minute walk to the restaurant was through paved roads and gravel. Zero sidewalks. No one out and about – not passers-by, nor cars – but me.

By now I’d gotten so used to this, that I was also getting a little tired of it. At least in Hokkaido I had had snow and wintery charm. Here I had the best view one could ask for of Mount Fuji, and derelict roads.

This was 17:30. The sun was beginning to set. I noticed how uncommon streetlights were, and tried to avoid picturing the way back.

I’d never missed bustling streets and crowds of people so much in my life. It was as if everyone here was aware of an unwritten law: start your day in the northern shore early, and finish it just as so.

I made it to the restaurant. Google had said it was open. It was not.

There was another place further down the road. I went inside. It was empty. The bell kept ringing, signaling the owner that a customer was at the front. Five minutes of me standing there, and no owner showed up.

“Enough,” I thought, as I headed to the nearby convenience store. The last thing I ate today was the late-morning bento.

A local guy around my age gawked at me as if I’d teleported into the store from Mars. I filled a bag with the greasiest food one could buy, and hurried to return to my accommodation. It was getting darker and darker by the minute.

Inside, I sat in the lounge and wolfed down my dinner, curious to see if other guests would show up.

They did not. I was alone in the building. So I took out my laptop, searched for available accommodations for tomorrow, and booked a hostel in the city centre, near the train station.

A Japanese guest showed up soon thereafter, said hello, and went to eat in her room.

My advice for anyone who visits Lake Kawaguchiko: stay in the northern shore with a rental car, or sacrifice the view for a place somewhere within civilisation.

Today’s highlight: the view of Mount Fuji, by default.

1 March 2023

• Kawaguchiko northern shore walking trail
• 10:40-11:00 bus to Kawaguchiko train station, 11:00-11:10 bus to Matsuyama (near Fujisan Station)
• Stopping by hostel
• 11:35-11:40 bus from Shin-takehabarashi to Shimoyoshida station
• Chureito Pagoda (1h)
• 13:00-13:10 Shimoyoshida to Kawaguchiko station train
• Waiting in vain for lunch
• 14:55-15:15 shuttle to Yurari from the station
• Yurari Onsen
• 17:30-17:50 shuttle to Kawaguchiko station, 18:17-18:23 train to Fuji-San station

Kawaguchiko’s Northern Trail

Today began with konbini snacks and a morning shower. At least I could cross “take a bath in front of Mount Fuji” off my bucket list.

I checked out at 10:00 and got a partial refund. From there, I took a detour through the northern shore’s walking trail, famous for its photo ops. The only sound was made by the wheels of my luggage. I felt that I was disrupting the serenity of this place and intruding upon the local community. There were no more than ten people outside.

When I switched buses at the train station, it was crammed with swarms of young travelers.

Then, upon leaving Fuji-San Station and walking to my hostel, complete and utter rural silence again. Deserted streets. I couldn’t understand how a town could have such contrasting neighborhoods.

Chureito Pagoda

I deposited my luggage and set out toward my next destination, Chureito Pagoda. The station I got off at was the first time I saw the famous “kawaii” trains Japan was known for. Thomas Land and Naruto for example.

The stairs to the pagoda were many and steep. Everyone was panting and taking frequent stops. But the view was worth it (even though the trees were leafless).

Along the way, I bought my first Dango at a food stall. Yum.

Then I returned to civilisation the Kawaguchiko Station area. I went to a popular Houtou Fudou restaurant: the area’s specialty. Last night, the two restaurants I’d attempted to eat at served it as well. The third one, from now, was closed due to maintenance.

Guess the universe was telling me I was not meant to try Houtou Fudou.

I continued down the road for a popular tempura restaurant. The line was more than an hour long. I couldn’t be happier.

I took a number at 13:24. Yet time was short, as I’d called a hotel with a rotenburo overlooking the mountain to schedule a free shuttle pick-up at 15:00.

At 14:35, the number right before me had entered. I left. 10 more minutes would’ve made all the difference, but this was too last minute.

I ate konbini food for the umpteenth time, gulping down a sandwich at the bus stop before noticing the shuttle bus had arrived early and the only other passenger was already inside.

So no lunch for me, either. I apologised to the driver for making him wait.

Lake Kawaguchi had really underwhelmed me in terms of food and attractions.

Yurari Onsen

The onsen I arrived to was the most expansive I’d been to, even more than Noboribetsu Grand Hotel’s. There was an indoor bath, an open-air bath (rotenburo) with the best view one could ask of Mount Fuji, a steam bath, a cave bath, an aromatherapy bath, a carbonated bath (which was fun because the bubbles made me float), etc. As always, no phones were allowed.

I soaked for an hour and a half. I had two hours to kill until the shuttle anyway.

There wasn’t any ice or snow, but rather lots of Japanese visitors, and even a couple of old white people, which, after all the Japanese-only onsens I’d been to, kind of astounded me.

It was great, but again a bit boring, and I decided this would be my last rotenburo.

I returned to the station and passed the time talking to a Japanese woman from Sapporo who made me want to return there. Then I walked to the hostel.

“Where are the streetlights?” I asked myself, as I zigzagged through more dimly lit alleyways. “Where are the PEOPLE?”

I might hate them sometimes, but I too needed human beings every now and then.

At the hostel, I met a Taiwanese girl who had come here from Hakone – my next destination. She told me it was just like here: konbini food, little to no restaurants, and finishing your day early, by 17:00. After that, everything would be dark and closed.

Good to know.

After that, there wasn’t much to do anymore. I’d expected more socialising at the hostel. So I asked the owner to add breakfast to my bill, in the hope that I would get to meet someone with a similar itinerary for tomorrow as me.

I went to bed at 21:00, even though I wasn’t tired. Thank you, melatonin.

Today’s highlights: the carbonated bath; the various views of Mount Fuji.

2 March 2023

• 9:55-10:05 Fuji-San station to Kawaguchiko station bus, 10:10-11:00 bus to Wind Cave
• Wind Cave (15m), short walking trail through forest, Ice Cave (5m)
• 13:55-14:20 bus from Wind Cave to Kawaguchiko station
• Late lunch at Houtou Fudou Kawaguchiko Station (1h line, but the traditional floor seating was cool. Scalding hot Houtou Fudou + red bean soup for dessert)
• 16:20-16:30 Kawaguchiko station to Fuji-San station train

Another bad night. Nightmares and shivering. I woke up at 5 am, too cold to fall back to sleep, and went to look for an extra blanket. The only thing I managed to do was make a ruckus. Everything creaked.

I’d had it with short mattresses and flimsy blankets. I might as well have covered myself with air. All I wanted was a futon and not having to worry about disturbing the other guests. At least futons had always come with a cosy blanket. When I stayed at the old-school ryokan, I turned off the kerosene heater and slept with three blankets on. That was heaven.

The Taiwanese girl slept on the bunk below me. I was taken aback, having grown used to shared spaces being same-sex only.

I ate breakfast with a tourist from New York who gave me some tips about Hakone and Hiroshima. Then, when I took the bus, I noticed the summit of Mount Fuji was misty.

Before switching buses, I wanted to buy the unlimited 2-day ride pass at the station. Yet I ran out of time. I ended up paying more for buses that I could’ve.

Wind and Ice Caves

I also ended up taking a much longer and more expensive line. I’d intended to start off at Bat Cave, but it was closed in winter. I settled on Wind Cave while riding the green line, which went around Lake Saiko before finishing there. The blue line would’ve been a better choice.

At least I got to see the lake.

After a quick a corn-vanilla ice cream (a local specialty as delicious as wasabi ice cream), I entered Wind Cave.

It was more than a thousand years old, with some sections only 120cm high. There was an ice reservoir (acting as a natural refrigerator), a lava shelf, etc. Much of the walls was covered in ice.

Just like in Hokkaido, I was the only solo traveler in the area, and the only one without a car. Cell reception was very poor.

Next, I walked through a forest to reach Ice Cave. I was alone – just me, birds, and the occasional ice on the ground, which was a fitting precursor to my next stop. The sign said the trail would take 30 minutes; it took me 15.

Ice Cave was only about 5 minutes long, but partially 90cm in height.

My first time traversing caves since middle school! Guess my childhood fear of them had gone. It helped that the caves were really short.

Afterwards, I was so hungry (breakfast was a delicious appetizer), that I bought a couple of snacks at the cave shop. This was the only food available in the area.

Aokigahara

I walked back through the forest. It was crazy how silent it was. And still. Occasionally a bird chirped, or leaves rustled in the wind.

I found a mossy rock and sat on it for a while. This was Aokigahara, I realised, also known as Suicide Forest.

Today’s highlight: ducking inside icy caves.

3 March 2023

• 9:10-10:15 Fuji-San station to Gotemba station bus, 10:40-11:15 bus to Togendai
• 11:40-12:20 Togendai to Moto-Hakone cruise across Lake Ashi
• Lunch at Iseya (fried pond smelt from the lake)
• 13:40-13:55 Moto-Hakone to Ninotaira bus
• Hakone Open-Air Museum (2h)
• 16:25-16:40 Ninodaira to Moto-hakone bus

Farewell to Fuji Five Lakes

Last night I went to bed at 21:00 again. There wasn’t anything else to do at the hostel.

I’d been so sleep-deprived since coming to Japan, since those two awful days I’d spent relunctantly awake on three airplanes, that I never wanted to leave my bed, short and cold as it might have been. Nights in Hokkaido were much colder, yet the buildings must have been more insulated, because -5 degrees in Kawaguchiko was frigid.

I woke up at 6:00, went to glimpse the sun rise over Mount Fuji through the hallway window, and returned to bed. Ten hours of sleep felt like five.

As I was brushing my teeth in front of the mirror, I noticed how exhausted I seemed. You couldn’t tell I’d been having the time of my life. That these past three weeks had been a dream come true. Although, to be honest, the last three days were less so.

Farewell, Fuji Five Lakes. Three nights in this area were too much. Two nights at a slightly more expensive hotel near Kawaguchiko Station would’ve yielded a more successful visit.

Don’t get me wrong. The view of Mount Fuji was spectacular. Winter mornings are the best time to see it, thanks to their clear, blue sky. But my time in Kawaguchiko was by far the lowest point of my trip. Hopefully, it will remain such.

Updated list of places I never want to inhabit again:

• Israel
• Fuji Five Lakes

Sendai is officially off the list, solely for the purpose of grabbing a zunda shake and then leaving.

Hakone

On the way to Hakone, I had twenty minutes at Gotemba Station to visit the tourist information centre, buy a 3-day pass, and ask for recommended attractions and rotenburos. Turns out Hakone was yet another Hot Spring Heaven, just like Noboribetsu, since both boasted hell valleys.

Having possessed a pass that granted me unlimited rides on the Lake Ashi cruise ship, I boarded it instead of continuing on the bus. The tourist information centre had informed me that regardless, a ship would be the best way to reach Moto-Hakone, where my accomodation for the next three nights was.

Hakone was very windy from the moment the cruise ship docked. I’d been warned that it could get so windy, that the ropeway would be shut down.

I ran into a family of Israeli tourists during lunch. Our encounter was strange, to say the least. I greeted them in Hebrew; they asked me a few questions, in a tone that said “stop talking to me”. After answering, I offered my phone number in case they needed help with translation. They gawped at me and declined.

Hakone Open-Air Museum

Next was Hakone Open-Air Museum. I hadn’t planned on visiting this museum, yet two locals had recommended it to me.

It began with outdoor sculptures and installations. I felt like I had paid admission into a place overpriced and silly, but perhaps in that sense it captured the essence of contemporary art. The only interesting bit – the Picasso pavilion – was not allowed to be photographed. Seeing Hebrew among the “no photos” signs shocked me.

At this point I thought, “Why did I waste time and money coming here?” My love affair with art usually revolved around works that had preceded World War 2.

No sooner had I asked myself that than I visited a stained-glass tower, which was super cool, and beheld one of the funniest contemporary works I’d seen. A pink hot-air cat so big, one could never fully photograph it to convey its essence. You literally had to be there. A goofy yet brilliant answer to the digital age.

Then I took a foot bath. Every museum should have one.

I recognised some Henry Moore sculptures from afar. The University of East Anglia’s campus had a bunch of them.

Finally, there was a Masterpiece Gallery with sculptures by artists like Boccioni, Giacometti, de Kooning, and one of my favourites, Brancusi’s The Kiss.

The day ended early as I returned to Moto-Hakone. I’d managed to find a cheap apartment with a view of the lake, within a walking distance of the central bus station and the shrine. It was quite large, with a double bed, a kitchenette, and a balcony. I saw a few fishers by the lake.

What I didn’t manage to find thus far in Japan was black sticky rice. Not in restaurants, nor in convenience stores. Cooking it with sugar and coconut cream would yield my favorite desert, which I hadn’t had the privilege of tasting since leaving the UK 2.5 years ago.

Dinner was konbini food. Everything in the area was closed. I’d been making extra efforts at trying new meals at 7/11 rather than opting for favourite go-tos (onigiri and steamed egg bread, for instance). Then I helped a befuddled Korean tourist check into the apartment next door by calling the owner and explaining the tourist’s predicament in Japanese.

I stepped out into my balcony. It was dark and freezing. Hakone Shrine’s red torii gate, partially submerged in the lake, was illuminated in front of me. I considered scrapping all my plans for this town and heading to west Tokyo, to look for that guy.

That ship had sailed, I realised, just like the one I took today.

Today’s highlights: the gigantic cat installation; the lakeside torii gate at night.