Day 64: The road to Fuji
Yesterday I set out from Shizuoka, leaving behind me the ongoing festivities of the Daidogei street performance world cup and headed towards Fuji.
Originally I had intended to break the trip to Fuji into two shorter walks, as the route was 35km long in a best case scenario.
I am deeply appreciative of how much physical progress I have made over these past two months of walking, but I know that 35km in a single day is beyond me, both physically and logistically (the sun sets so early in the day now).
However my plan to divide the journey in two was thwarted by an inability to find a place to stay, or locate a reasonable looking site to camp. Along the coast to Fuji the terrain is very hilly at the best of times, so what little ground that might be good for camping was long ago developed.
With this in mind I found a hostel in Fuji that was available, booked myself in, and devised a new plan.
The route to Fuji would first be through a very urban section, about 10km long, before approaching the coast and more interesting terrain. So I simply hopped the train at Shizuoka station and sliced off the first ~10km. What would have taken me a couple of hours was covered by the train in 18 minutes.
When I had originally plotted my route to Fuji, it had put me walking along the coastal highway, a multi-lane behemoth of a road. After my last, less than enjoyable leg along the coast, I was gun shy about a possible repeat of that experience.
Satellite imagery showed me that the highway was flanked by a generous sidewalk, likely made with cyclists in mind. This curbed my fears, but didn't elicit much excitement. Walking beside a massive highway didn't sound awesome.
Stepping off the train that morning I walked over to the nearby Lawsons convenience store to grab a drink and confirm my route for the day. In doing so I had accidentally found myself more northern that I had expected, and Google suggested a slightly different route as a result.
This new route would take me through small streets and along the coast set back from the highway. On paper this new option looked like it was worth a shot, as I wasn't looking forward to the idea of being constantly blasted by the noise and wind of passing trucks.
I finished my morning drink and snack, and set out to follow this new route. It wound through neighborhoods, between apartment buildings and down back alleys. The ocean was no where to be seen.
Figuring that quiet neighborhoods with friendly locals was still better than the highway, and continued following my complicated route.
Eventually this route did lead up to the highway, and ran along side it for a few hundred meters before dipping back down into the next set of houses.
Seeing the highway firsthand confirmed that it would be a miserable walking route. Not only was the traffic loud and intense, a massive tidal wall rose up a few meters above the highway, completely blocking any view of the ocean. I knew that no matter how bad my new route might be, I was still far better off.
I had no idea what I was actually in for.
Dipping back down away from the highway, my path began leading me up through houses along the hillside. At first things started slowly, with a narrow paved lane up the hill, just barely wide enough for a small car.
Eventually that road lead up into the hills where is came to a dead end at a Buddhist cemetery.
Confused, I checked my map, and while I was doing so a man on a motorcycle rode up and came to a stop next to me in the small gravel parking lot. He flipped up his visor and and called out to an old man sitting on a small stone bench nearby. I could not understand the conversation, but I could understand the tones they exchanged.
The rider was clearly as confused as I was. Google maps showed that this road continued through, and all around the hillside. The old man, in a humourous tone was telling him that was clearly not the case, and motioning back in the direction he came from.
As I was reading my map and listening to the discussion, my eye was drawn to motion at the back of the graveyard; a small flight of stairs lead up beyond the markers into the trees, and on it were two elderly people coming down, adorned in hiking apparel.
This, I had to assume, was the roadway incorrectly marked on the map, and I left the rider and the old man to their conversation and walked through the field of gravestones and followed the stairs into the dark treeline above.
Here is where one of the major themes for the day began. I had not checked my new route's vertical profile, and thus did not realize how hilly the new route was. Today was definitely leg day, and everything lead to more stairs.
Despite every shrine and temple I wanted to stop at having a hundred extra stairs of its own, and all the stairs cut into the hillside significantly slowing my pace, there was a brilliant upside to the climb: the view.
The stairs themselves were flanked by endless ocean vistas that made for great viewing. With plenty to see I felt less guilty for stopping to catch my breath so often.
These views also pointed out that all the climbing was well worth it, with occasional views down to the busy highway below. I felt incredibly lucky to have changed routes at the last moment and found myself here instead instead of walled off with traffic racing past me.
Eventually the stairs came to a merciful end. If I understood the markers along the path, I had climbed about 300 meters vertically along the way, and my legs were certainly not going to dispute that figure.
I was happy to see a small rest point with a stone marker and a few stone benches, and I set my pack down and took a break. To my surprise there was a number of people coming up the path behind me, including a couple who were carrying bicycles on their shoulders.
Like me they were happy to stop for a rest, and the woman leaned her expensive lightweight touring bike up against the stone marker for a photo opportunity.
Thinking that this was not only a good idea, but perhaps the only chance I would have to also get a photo that wasn't an awkward selfie, I asked the couple if they could take a photo for me.
To my surprise the woman who just had her photo taken responded to me with excellent English, and after she kindly snapped the photo, we had an easy and comfortable conversation.
Like most people that cross my path, she was very curious where I was from, and what I was doing here, especially here specifically on this hillside. I explained my journey, that I was on my way to Tokyo on foot from Osaka. To my surprise her reaction was not the shock and disbelief I normally encounter. Rather she was excited and impressed, and buzzsd at what a great journey it must have been so far.
Here I realized that I was out in the hills, talking to other hiking and outdoor enthusiasts, and to them they did not think it crazy to make such a trip. To them it was an exciting thing, one they admired. I felt gratified that they could see the appeal in what I was doing.
We chatted a little longer and wished each other well before they went off ahead on the rough path with their bikes, quickly disappearing from view.
Here, along this path I would encounter many friendly hikers through the course of the next few hours. All cheerful to see me, with none of the shock or suspicion I tend to get in the cities and towns I pass through. For a short time I felt a rare sort of acceptance.
As I moved forward the and followed the hillside path, my direction turned from east to north as the coast turned, and with it, the second theme of the day, and my massive highlight; Mount Fuji off in the distance.
I knew that seeing Mount Fuji is actually rather tricky, as it is more often than not hidden by cloud cover. So to turn the corner and see it so clearly, and have it frame the next few hours as I was hiking down the hill left me feeling extra lucky.
The path would eventually become a narrow road leading down toward the next small town. And I would eventually find myself down at sea level again.
Following the roadways through the seaside towns I would encounter many people with hiking boots and backpacks heading the opposite direction, and they would smile as they saw me, giving me warm greetings as we passed.
Eventually the hikers were gone, and I was decidedly back in an urban surrounding, where I was greeted with curious looks once again.
As the sun began to set, I quickened my pace. I had only a few kilometers left to reach my hostel, and I hoped to reach it before dark.
One of the last major obstacles to clear was Shinfujikawa bridge, which spanned the Fuji river. The bridge, while unremarkable to look at, was incredibly long, likely 2km by my estimation. And from its deck Mount Fuji was no longer a distant idea, but a massive part of the skyline.
Even now, only a few hours after I was hiking on the hillside, Mount Fuji was obscured by clouds. It's base spread out along the horizon, taking up a surprising space, while the summit was lost from view. It made me further appreciate that I was luck to have such a perfect hike through the hills.
Eventually I would arrive at my hostel; sweaty, tired and sore. To my disappointment the hostel did not have laundry facilities, and I had no intention of sleeping with my head next to a soggy pile of clothes, so I left my pack and ventured out into the night to find both food and laundry at a nearby Lawsons.
My legs had done a lot of work, and were certainly tired, but my hips were aggressively sore. Walking to the convenience store, even without my heavy pack, was a minor torture, but being able to sit and eat onigiri while my laundry ran was a nice reward.
I returned to my bunk and dropped off my clothes, now fresh and clean, and asked the host about onsens nearby. With luck, there was a 'super public bath' nearby, a well known chain of hot baths through Japan. They even ran a shuttle that stopped across the street. I was elated, right up until he mentioned that the shuttle stopped for the night an hour ago.
This left me with a dilemma: stay at the hostel and relax, but condemn myself to being very sore tomorrow. Or, set out into the night to walk 1.5 kilometres to the bath to soak and feel significantly better, but be really sore along the way and risk getting lost in the dark.
I couldn't resist the allure of the hot baths. I grabbed my freshly laundered towel and staggered off into the night.
Japan has a very different approach to zoning and city planning, and I am constantly surprised at the seemingly random layout and proximity of businesses.
In this case I wandered through an incredibly industrial areas to find my bath stuck smack in the center of warehouses, depots and manufacturing facilities.
Eventually I found my way to the right place, and after a little help from the desk clerk on how to use the ticket machine to buy the correct ticket, I soon found myself soaking my aches away. To say that I appreciate Japanese baths is an understatement, especially on days like this.
I would leave the baths radiating heat as I calmly strolled back to my bed. The night air was cool, and my bed was warm and welcoming. I found myself falling asleep as I was crawling into my capsule, and I struggled to stay awake long enough to get undressed.
I slept like a log, and felt no guilt for sleeping in.
Originally I had intended to break the trip to Fuji into two shorter walks, as the route was 35km long in a best case scenario.
I am deeply appreciative of how much physical progress I have made over these past two months of walking, but I know that 35km in a single day is beyond me, both physically and logistically (the sun sets so early in the day now).
However my plan to divide the journey in two was thwarted by an inability to find a place to stay, or locate a reasonable looking site to camp. Along the coast to Fuji the terrain is very hilly at the best of times, so what little ground that might be good for camping was long ago developed.
With this in mind I found a hostel in Fuji that was available, booked myself in, and devised a new plan.
The route to Fuji would first be through a very urban section, about 10km long, before approaching the coast and more interesting terrain. So I simply hopped the train at Shizuoka station and sliced off the first ~10km. What would have taken me a couple of hours was covered by the train in 18 minutes.
When I had originally plotted my route to Fuji, it had put me walking along the coastal highway, a multi-lane behemoth of a road. After my last, less than enjoyable leg along the coast, I was gun shy about a possible repeat of that experience.
Satellite imagery showed me that the highway was flanked by a generous sidewalk, likely made with cyclists in mind. This curbed my fears, but didn't elicit much excitement. Walking beside a massive highway didn't sound awesome.
Stepping off the train that morning I walked over to the nearby Lawsons convenience store to grab a drink and confirm my route for the day. In doing so I had accidentally found myself more northern that I had expected, and Google suggested a slightly different route as a result.
This new route would take me through small streets and along the coast set back from the highway. On paper this new option looked like it was worth a shot, as I wasn't looking forward to the idea of being constantly blasted by the noise and wind of passing trucks.
I finished my morning drink and snack, and set out to follow this new route. It wound through neighborhoods, between apartment buildings and down back alleys. The ocean was no where to be seen.
Figuring that quiet neighborhoods with friendly locals was still better than the highway, and continued following my complicated route.
Eventually this route did lead up to the highway, and ran along side it for a few hundred meters before dipping back down into the next set of houses.
Endless ocean views, completely blocked on the highway route.
Seeing the highway firsthand confirmed that it would be a miserable walking route. Not only was the traffic loud and intense, a massive tidal wall rose up a few meters above the highway, completely blocking any view of the ocean. I knew that no matter how bad my new route might be, I was still far better off.
I had no idea what I was actually in for.
Dipping back down away from the highway, my path began leading me up through houses along the hillside. At first things started slowly, with a narrow paved lane up the hill, just barely wide enough for a small car.
Eventually that road lead up into the hills where is came to a dead end at a Buddhist cemetery.
Confused, I checked my map, and while I was doing so a man on a motorcycle rode up and came to a stop next to me in the small gravel parking lot. He flipped up his visor and and called out to an old man sitting on a small stone bench nearby. I could not understand the conversation, but I could understand the tones they exchanged.
The rider was clearly as confused as I was. Google maps showed that this road continued through, and all around the hillside. The old man, in a humourous tone was telling him that was clearly not the case, and motioning back in the direction he came from.
As I was reading my map and listening to the discussion, my eye was drawn to motion at the back of the graveyard; a small flight of stairs lead up beyond the markers into the trees, and on it were two elderly people coming down, adorned in hiking apparel.
This, I had to assume, was the roadway incorrectly marked on the map, and I left the rider and the old man to their conversation and walked through the field of gravestones and followed the stairs into the dark treeline above.
Here is where one of the major themes for the day began. I had not checked my new route's vertical profile, and thus did not realize how hilly the new route was. Today was definitely leg day, and everything lead to more stairs.
Despite every shrine and temple I wanted to stop at having a hundred extra stairs of its own, and all the stairs cut into the hillside significantly slowing my pace, there was a brilliant upside to the climb: the view.
The stairs themselves were flanked by endless ocean vistas that made for great viewing. With plenty to see I felt less guilty for stopping to catch my breath so often.
These views also pointed out that all the climbing was well worth it, with occasional views down to the busy highway below. I felt incredibly lucky to have changed routes at the last moment and found myself here instead instead of walled off with traffic racing past me.
Eventually the stairs came to a merciful end. If I understood the markers along the path, I had climbed about 300 meters vertically along the way, and my legs were certainly not going to dispute that figure.
I was happy to see a small rest point with a stone marker and a few stone benches, and I set my pack down and took a break. To my surprise there was a number of people coming up the path behind me, including a couple who were carrying bicycles on their shoulders.
Like me they were happy to stop for a rest, and the woman leaned her expensive lightweight touring bike up against the stone marker for a photo opportunity.
Thinking that this was not only a good idea, but perhaps the only chance I would have to also get a photo that wasn't an awkward selfie, I asked the couple if they could take a photo for me.
To my surprise the woman who just had her photo taken responded to me with excellent English, and after she kindly snapped the photo, we had an easy and comfortable conversation.
Like most people that cross my path, she was very curious where I was from, and what I was doing here, especially here specifically on this hillside. I explained my journey, that I was on my way to Tokyo on foot from Osaka. To my surprise her reaction was not the shock and disbelief I normally encounter. Rather she was excited and impressed, and buzzsd at what a great journey it must have been so far.
Here I realized that I was out in the hills, talking to other hiking and outdoor enthusiasts, and to them they did not think it crazy to make such a trip. To them it was an exciting thing, one they admired. I felt gratified that they could see the appeal in what I was doing.
We chatted a little longer and wished each other well before they went off ahead on the rough path with their bikes, quickly disappearing from view.
Here, along this path I would encounter many friendly hikers through the course of the next few hours. All cheerful to see me, with none of the shock or suspicion I tend to get in the cities and towns I pass through. For a short time I felt a rare sort of acceptance.
As I moved forward the and followed the hillside path, my direction turned from east to north as the coast turned, and with it, the second theme of the day, and my massive highlight; Mount Fuji off in the distance.
I knew that seeing Mount Fuji is actually rather tricky, as it is more often than not hidden by cloud cover. So to turn the corner and see it so clearly, and have it frame the next few hours as I was hiking down the hill left me feeling extra lucky.
The path would eventually become a narrow road leading down toward the next small town. And I would eventually find myself down at sea level again.
Following the roadways through the seaside towns I would encounter many people with hiking boots and backpacks heading the opposite direction, and they would smile as they saw me, giving me warm greetings as we passed.
Eventually the hikers were gone, and I was decidedly back in an urban surrounding, where I was greeted with curious looks once again.
As the sun began to set, I quickened my pace. I had only a few kilometers left to reach my hostel, and I hoped to reach it before dark.
One of the last major obstacles to clear was Shinfujikawa bridge, which spanned the Fuji river. The bridge, while unremarkable to look at, was incredibly long, likely 2km by my estimation. And from its deck Mount Fuji was no longer a distant idea, but a massive part of the skyline.
Even now, only a few hours after I was hiking on the hillside, Mount Fuji was obscured by clouds. It's base spread out along the horizon, taking up a surprising space, while the summit was lost from view. It made me further appreciate that I was luck to have such a perfect hike through the hills.
Eventually I would arrive at my hostel; sweaty, tired and sore. To my disappointment the hostel did not have laundry facilities, and I had no intention of sleeping with my head next to a soggy pile of clothes, so I left my pack and ventured out into the night to find both food and laundry at a nearby Lawsons.
My legs had done a lot of work, and were certainly tired, but my hips were aggressively sore. Walking to the convenience store, even without my heavy pack, was a minor torture, but being able to sit and eat onigiri while my laundry ran was a nice reward.
I returned to my bunk and dropped off my clothes, now fresh and clean, and asked the host about onsens nearby. With luck, there was a 'super public bath' nearby, a well known chain of hot baths through Japan. They even ran a shuttle that stopped across the street. I was elated, right up until he mentioned that the shuttle stopped for the night an hour ago.
This left me with a dilemma: stay at the hostel and relax, but condemn myself to being very sore tomorrow. Or, set out into the night to walk 1.5 kilometres to the bath to soak and feel significantly better, but be really sore along the way and risk getting lost in the dark.
I couldn't resist the allure of the hot baths. I grabbed my freshly laundered towel and staggered off into the night.
Japan has a very different approach to zoning and city planning, and I am constantly surprised at the seemingly random layout and proximity of businesses.
In this case I wandered through an incredibly industrial areas to find my bath stuck smack in the center of warehouses, depots and manufacturing facilities.
Eventually I found my way to the right place, and after a little help from the desk clerk on how to use the ticket machine to buy the correct ticket, I soon found myself soaking my aches away. To say that I appreciate Japanese baths is an understatement, especially on days like this.
I would leave the baths radiating heat as I calmly strolled back to my bed. The night air was cool, and my bed was warm and welcoming. I found myself falling asleep as I was crawling into my capsule, and I struggled to stay awake long enough to get undressed.
I slept like a log, and felt no guilt for sleeping in.
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