Published: 03.11.2025
After two days of dutifully lying on the futon with a terrible cold and cough, I set off at six in the morning, fever-free, to drive to Koli, the "Koli of Japan." For my non-Finnish friends: Koli is the only mountain (well, let's say hill) in North Karelia and is often referred to as the "national landscape" because it combines everything typically Finnish: lakes, forests, islands, white clouds, blue skies—just as little Fritzchen imagines Finland (and, of course, because the paintings of the most important Finnish painters contributed significantly to national consciousness and the independence movement).
So how does little Fritzchen imagine Japan? One can probably assume that the view of Mount Fuji, in all its variations from woodcuts to paintings to world-famous photographs, is understood as the national landscape.
I have always had a special fondness for volcanoes, from Santorini to Vesuvius and Etna, which I could admire from afar and up close, to my great love, Mount Fuji.
So I wanted to set off, but I tripped and fell down the beautiful stone steps in front of the guesthouse – thankfully only one step, because there was gravel there and I'd managed to grab hold of something – and there was some grass on the next step, and I landed on my knee. I didn't notice it was bleeding until half a kilometer later, when there was a stain on my trousers.
So I bought some plaster at the train station, stuck it on, done, but I was always terrified of what could happen…
It was a good thing I had spent a few days scouting out everything at the very crowded and confusing Kyoto Station. That way I found the right entrance to the Shinkansen, the platform, and even the exact spot where I needed to board to find my reserved seat.
Of course, everything in Japan runs like clockwork and is punctual to the minute. The bullet train looks like a mean snake, but it's very comfortable with plenty of legroom. No one's chatting on their phones; everything is quiet, clean, fast, and pleasant. All seats are booked, even before 6 a.m., with trains to Tokyo every 3-5 minutes!
We drive through many ugly cities strung together in the boring flatlands of Japan, where crowds of people are crammed together, more or less grey or beige concrete block clusters, with the magnificent green mountains in the background to the right and left.
The last time we went to Tokyo, six or seven years ago, Mount Fuji suddenly loomed through the train window, enormous and completely covered in snow, and I cried out in surprise at its gigantic presence. This time, I saw it in the distance from three cities earlier, because I now knew exactly where to look—clearly visible all the way to the top, this time green with a small cap of snow on the summit and much smaller, since we were still so far away. Nevertheless, a rapturous smile spread across my face, as if Mick Jagger had just bounded onto the stage. Fuji-san is my pure joy, the way it rises so huge and alone from the plain. "-san" is an expression of reverence in Japanese, and everyone always refers to the mountain that way.
And now it was getting closer and closer, the clouds were gathering ominously across the sky, and when we arrived in Mishima, where I had to wait an hour for the bus, it was already half gone. On the bus, I ended up sitting on the wrong side anyway, but next to a very nice gentleman who gave me the window seat and shared a tangerine with me.
As soon as you drive from the lowlands into the mountains, the landscape becomes dramatic and interesting. The hills and even the high peaks are covered right up to the top with dense mixed forest, and here in the higher regions, the colors become incredibly vibrant.
Arriving in Kawachiko, Mount Fuji had completely disappeared from view. Instead, I saw masses of non-Asian tourists for the first time on my trip and heard a cacophony of languages. So, I quickly headed to the hostel, which this time was a real stroke of luck: large, bright, and welcoming rooms, a huge kitchen with tea and coffee available 24 hours a day, and an exceptionally warm welcome in brilliant English (my first time in Japan, and both receptionists were native Japanese speakers). I was able to leave my luggage, use the very comfortable common room, the toilet, and the kitchen, even though I arrived three hours before check-in time, and was immediately introduced to the two Finnish volunteers from Turku who were cleaning four hours a day for a month in exchange for free room and board. So, I had to speak a little Finnish right away to avoid embarrassing myself in front of the receptionists…
When I came back out, almost all the clouds had disappeared, and my volcano lay before me in all its grandeur and beauty! Every superlative fits: overwhelming, magical, magnificent, impressive, gorgeous! 🤩 I slowly circled the smaller part of the large lake and probably took another 150 photos of Mount Fuji from every possible angle. Finally, I found a tour boat making a large circuit of the entire lake, which promised yet another set of views.
Then it was sunset again, which I spent watching with many other tourists at a railway crossing, always with my eyes on the mountain.
With a lot of luck, I then found a very cozy family restaurant with two chattering older women, one in the kitchen, the other serving, on the first floor with a direct view of the darkening Mount Fuji, while I slurped down a vegetable casserole with thick homemade noodles, served in a very hot iron pot, which is probably very typical here, to warm myself up again.
