Month: July 2012

庭　niwa—garden

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I’ve posted a few times about our little garden, and our efforts to cultivate it and grow fruit and vegetables. We’ve had mixed success. Cucumbers have been our most successful crop, in terms of both quantity and size. Yuko has pickled some of our surplus.

On the other hand, we have had numerous setbacks. Many of our early plants died from various causes, and some of our surviving plants never bore fruit.

This courgette (zucchini) plant has grown many small fruit (strictly, ovaries), but the female flowers never open. They remain closed, so they don’t get pollinated, and the baby fruit rot from the tip. I have tried actually tearing open the sepals slightly to introduce some pollen, but it hasn’t worked.

We have had similar lack of success with our pumpkin plant. It has grown to a prodigious height, and sported dozens of spectacular flowers, all male. Until recently, there were no female flowers at all. There are a few now, but I fear it is coming to the end of its life.

Other plants have had some limited success. A mini-paprika plant has borne 1 paprika, a piman (Japanese pepper) plant also has only one fruit,

 

and likewise our aubergine (eggplant), whose single fruit looks misshapen and discoloured, but we’ll wait and see how it develops.

 

This sunflower was among the first plants we planted back in early April, and finally bloomed this week.

We’ve also harvested some beans, and some strawberries. But if we depended for food on what we have managed to grow, we would have meagre pickings indeed!

Over the last three months, I’ve continually replanted, replacing any plants that died, and reusing the space as efficiently as possible. This weekend I planted rows of broccoli and brussels sprouts for harvesting in winter.

We also have some corn plants that are looking quite promising.

Over in the park, I realised this week that what I had thought were crazily overgrown water-lilies are actually lotus plants (hasu). You can see the closed buds of the lotus flowers in the photo. The water surface is completely hidden by the wild profusion of growth.

 

In this photo you can see the characteristic round lotus seed pod. Lotus tubers (renkon) are a popular vegetable in Japan.

 

 

夏　natsu—summer

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It’s hot. Now that the rainy season is over, we just have relentless sunshine, heat and humidity.

Daily maximum temperatures are around 35°C (95°F). Now, I don’t have much experience with high temperatures, but I wouldn’t have thought that sounds too hot. I mean, it’s maybe 10° hotter than a hot day in Ireland, but it’s not like it’s in the 40s. But humidity is a big factor in the comfort level, and it is very humid here. So when you open the door and go outside, it feels like stepping into a sauna. Another factor is that there is very little shade, at least around midday.

So is it tolerable? Well, yes, up to a point. But it’s limiting. Yesterday I walked for about 1 hour in the sunshine and started to feel dangerously overheated. Today I was doing some light weeding in the garden, and after about an hour I was pouring with sweat and glad to come indoors. The hot weather slows you down, makes you feel lethargic (natsu-bate—summer lethargy), means that you don’t feel like going outside, and when you do you have to be careful.

Another issue is that the daily minimum temperature is around 26°C. That is to say, the temperature dips to 26°C just before sunrise, and by 6.30 a.m. when I am taking the dogs for a walk it is already a sticky 28°C. This means that it’s too warm to sleep without air conditioning, and permanently too warm for the dogs to be comfortable outdoors. But they need their exercise.

A couple of weekends ago I made the mistake of taking the dogs out to Tsurumi Ryokuchi park in the middle of the day. Tsurumi Ryokuchi is a very large, wonderful park in the east of Osaka that hosted an international “Flower Expo” in 1990, and still has many features left over from that event.

At the time of the Expo, each participating country was invited to create a pavilion representing their country. The country pavilions remain, and despite 2 decades of neglect, it is still interesting to see the different designs.

This is the gate-house of the Korean pavilion.

Monaco:

Belgium:

and Spain:

 

I didn’t get a photo of the Irish pavilion, because the dogs were really suffering from the heat and it was a dangerous situation for them. They took every opportunity to cool off in the various lakes.

In the Bulgarian pavilion they jumped right into a shallow stone trough that had once been a water feature, and tried to immerse themselves in the greenish, brackish water.

 

It was time to go back to the car and go home.

 

Hundertwasser

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Isn’t this building incredible? This whimsical fantasy is the work of an Austrian architect called Friedensreich Hundertwasser.

This is one of two huge buildings, designed by Hundertwasser, on the island of Maishima in Osaka’s port area. They are waste treatment (incineration) plants. Their façades, rich in detail and humour and primary colours, seem to rebel against the forces of sterile modernity, efficiency and maturity. They seem to say “Why not?” and never fail to bring a smile to my face.

The chimneys are gold-topped minarets.  With portholes.

Trees are planted at various levels on the exterior of the buildings, and on a helical ramp encircling the lower levels of the chimneys like ivy.

Clearly Mr Hundertwasser had a great love for windows (and no desire whatever to make any two the same).

I reached the island by walking across this bridge, one of an incredible number of suspension bridges that criss-cross the harbour area, linking all the artificial islands. It was a very hot day for this kind of walk!

While walking across, I felt the bridge shaking up and down under my feet in a way that felt a bit alarming. But looking back at the structure from underneath, and seeing how thin the deck is, it’s not so surprising that it flexes along its length.

The incineration plant apparently has a garden that is open to visitors—I wonder what fanciful delights are to be found within?

Unfortunately by the time I reached this point after walking for an hour, with precious little shade, I was getting dangerously overheated and couldn’t risk staying any longer in the open.

Here’s an information plaque with a picture of Mr Hundertwasser.

 

花火　hanabi—fireworks

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Yesterday we went to see the Tenjin matsuri summer festival in the centre of Osaka. So did a million other people.

This tradition goes back over a thousand years and is very spectacular, taking place both on land (a procession through the streets) and on the water (a boat parade on the Yodogawa river). There is also a firework display, with the fireworks being launched from boats on the river.

 

These murals on Tenjin-bashi bridge show images of the festival from the Edo period.

Here is one of the boats in the modern-day festival. (Sorry about the poor focus.)

Tenjin-bashi bridge itself was lined with people cheering the boats passing underneath. In hindsight, we should probably have stayed  there.

As the procession moved off, we tried to follow and get a glimpse of it. But there were too many people, and the police were directing us away from the route. We tried to get ahead of it, but it went in a different direction and we lost it.

There were huge crowds at the festival, and many of them had dressed up for the occasion in traditional costume of colourful yukata robes and geta wooden clogs. Young people especially had taken the trouble to dress up.

The festival is enormously popular. The streets and bridges were closed to traffic and filled with people.

We wanted to go to see the fireworks, and we found ourselves moving with the flow of tens of thousands of people towards the river. The street was lined with police, directing us (or so we thought) to where we could see the fireworks. In fact, their only concern was crowd control, keeping people moving through the streets, and preventing a dangerous crush, rather than facilitating the people to enjoy the festival.

 

We reached the river at Sakuranomiya bridge, from which it was possible to see the fireworks. However, the police were insistent on keeping the crowd moving. “Do not stop on the bridge. It is very congested. Keep moving. Keep moving. Do not stop on the bridge.”

So, having been herded through through the hot city streets for a mile to a spot where it was possible to see the fireworks, we were only able to see them during the 5 minutes it took the crowd to shuffle across the bridge. They looked pretty good.

 

After crossing the bridge, we decided to get some food at the festival stalls. But after 5 minutes of trying to make our way through the crowd and making very little progress, we gave up.

So, our experience of Tenjin matsuri wasn’t altogether successful (although we did see a lot of interesting things). What should we have done differently? I think if we were doing it again, we would just arrive early, stay at the green area on the tip of Nakanoshima island, and watch the boat procession from there. And maybe it would have been possible to see the fireworks from there too, I don’t know for sure.

Note on the word of the day:

花火　hanabi means “flower fire”. Isn’t that nice?

 

潮　shio—tide

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In yesterday’s post, “橋　hashi—bridge” I wrote about the first part of our trip to Awajishima island. Our goal was the famous Naruto whirlpools at the southern end of the island.

 

In the map, you can see how Awajishima (circled in red) almost completely closes off the Inland Sea from the open waters of the Pacific. Twice a day, the rising tide filling the Inland Sea has to make its way around the island through the narrow channels of the Akashi Strait (to the north) and the Naruto Strait (to the south); twice a day the falling tide has to make its way past in the other direction.

The Naruto Strait in particular experiences one of the fastest tidal currents in the world; at 10 knots supposedly the fourth fastest after two locations in Norway (including the famous maelstrom that claimed Captain Nemo’s Nautilus) and one in Nova Scotia.

The Naruto Strait is crossed by the Great Naruto Bridge—not as long as the Akashi bridge but still an impressive and beautiful structure with a central span of 876 metres.

 

We drove across this bridge to the island of Shikoku; the smallest of Japan’s 4 main islands. It was my first time to visit Shikoku.

We had timed our visit for the maximum tidal current; the mid-falling tide at 2:00 pm. We parked the car and walked up to a spot overlooking the strait, to enjoy the show.

お茶園　means “tea garden”—it seems the local lord had a tea-house here long ago.

Our elevated viewing place overlooked this little island: Tobishima.

The whirlpools never really materialised. Clearly, there was a huge amount of turbulence and overfall as the water rushed under the bridge at high velocity, but it didn’t develop into the kind of hollow vortex that we imagined, and that we had seen in the pictures.

 

The best indication of the speed and vorticity of the water came from watching the boats that were bringing tourists out for a closer look (I imagine they buy sick-bags by the pallet-load). Boats coming under the bridge with the current attained amazing speeds, then when they entered the turbulent area they were spun violently around.

As usual, our poor dogs were suffering from the heat. They love the snow and the cold weather, but in the height of the Japanese summer there is no escape from the heat and humidity, day or night. Even the ground gets uncomfortably warm for them. Here you can see they are wearing bandannas packed with ice to keep them cool.

After watching the whirlpools (or rather, the turbulent waters, the whirlpools having failed to materialise), we went down to the souvenir shop area for some lunch. We got Naruto noodles. The swirly design in the Naruto fish sausage represents the whirlpools.

Note on the word of the day:

潮　shio, meaning tide, is pronounced in the same way as 塩　shio, meaning salt. The character breaks down into semantic and phonetic elements as follows:

The three strokes on the left (semantic) side are a reduced form of 水　meaning water. This element is found in hundreds of characters with meanings related to water, such as lake, wash, sea, swim, wave, and so on. The right (phonetic) side 朝　means “morning”, but here it is just used for its (Chinese) pronunciation chou. So together, the character contains the information “a water-related word that sounds like chou“.

橋　hashi—bridge

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Awajishima is an island in the Inland Sea not far from the cities of Osaka and Kobe. Although it is not one of the 4 main islands of Japan, it is not tiny either, being over 50 kilometres long.

At the north end of Awajishima is the longest single-span suspension bridge in the world; at the southern end, the world’s fourth-fastest tidal current generates the famous Naruto whirlpools. Today, we saw both.

The central span of the Akashi-Kaikyou bridge is 1,991 metres long, and the total length of the bridge is 3,911 metres. The bridge was built in 1998 as part of a project to link the main islands of Honshu and Shikoku by road.

Like any large suspension bridge, its elegance and lightness of form belie the extraordinary scale and mass of its towers and pillars.

At the north end of Awajishima island, an expressway service area is very popular with sightseers for the views it offers over the bridge, the strait, and the city of Kobe on the other side.

There were warnings to beware (“chuui“) of tonbi (kites) when eating and drinking, as they have been known to swoop down and steal food.

Later, at Naruto, Yuko took some photos of kites.

At the service area there was also a display of a section of main cable from the bridge, serving as a reminder that each of those cables strung in an elegant catenary above the bridge deck is actually a complex construction about a metre in diameter, weighing thousands of tonnes.

Like many expressway service areas in Japan, this one had a dog run, where the dogs can run off the lead and socialise with other travelling dogs.

There was also a mascot or character called “Wataru”.

Wataru’s purpose in life is to serve as a platform for self-timer cameras, so that visitors can take a photo of themselves with the bridge in the background.

A note on the word of the day:

The left-hand side of the character 橋　hashi is the element 木　meaning wood. On the right side I like to delude myself that I can make out the form (in cross-section) of some vehicle crossing a bridge over a river. That’s not really how it works, but it was good enough for me as a mnemonic when I had to learn to recognise the character. In reality, the right-hand part is a phonetic element kyou, representing the “Chinese” pronunciation of the character. So, the left-hand (semantic) element says “something made of wood”; the right-hand (phonetic) element says “something pronounced like kyou“; put them together and “Aha! it’s hashi, a bridge!”

I think I like my way better – squint until you can convince yourself it looks like a bridge!

回転寿司　kaiten-zushi—conveyor-belt sushi

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On Sunday evening we went out with my father-in-law to our excellent local sushi restaurant: Kuroshio.

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Although it is easy walking distance from our house, we went by car because we drove to pick up Yuko’s dad on the way.

Kuroshio is a 回転寿司　kaiten-zushi restaurant, where the food rides around on a conveyor belt and you pick up anything you fancy as it passes by. In this case, however, they mostly don’t put out the food, and what actually travels around on the conveyor belt is pictures of the food. This ensures that the food is freshly made to order.

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As well as choosing from the belt, you can order directly from the menu. There are dishes at various prices from 100 yen up to 500 yen.

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The colour of the plate is different depending on the price. At the end of the meal they count all the plates of each colour to determine the total cost.

Typically, a meal with 4 or 5 plates and a drink comes to around 1500 yen (€15) each.

You can choose to sit western style at a counter or a booth, or Japanese style at a low table. If you choose this option, you take off your shoes on the way in, and sit or squat on a cushion on the floor.

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One of my favourite Japanese foods is gari or pickled ginger. Yuko makes very nice gari. In the sushi restaurant, it’s provided free for you to help yourself. Eaten between courses of different kinds of sushi, it is supposed to clean and freshen the palate. This one is pale; sometimes it is coloured pink or has a natural pink colour.

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Also provided on the table are various kinds of soy sauce and wasabi. You pour the soy sauce into a bowl and then mix in the wasabi with your chopsticks.

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Then when you pick up each piece of sushi, you dip it into the mixture before putting it in your mouth.

(It’s probably a good idea to put the whole piece in your mouth at once even if it seems big – any attempt to bite it in two is likely to lead to dropped food and loss of dignity.)

Not all sushi is raw: there are lots of “aburi” or grilled options, such as this grilled trio (the one on the left is eel, in the middle is a scallop, not sure about the other one).

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These two types of fish are both called “yellowtail” or “amberjack” in English. In Japanese they are buri and hamachi.

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Finally, my father-in-law ordered this, which is exactly what it looks like; a plate of fried bones:

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In a country where no food is wasted, it makes perfect sense when you have removed and served the fillet, to deep-fry the bones and serve them too. It’s called hone-senbei—bone crackers. To my amazement, it was crispy and delicious and did not at all have the unpleasant texture of fish-bones.

Note on the word of the day:

The name of the restaurant, kuroshio (literally: black tide), is the name of a current, the Pacific equivalent of the Gulf Stream, that transports warm tropical water along the shores of Japan. It is of great importance for Japanese fisheries.

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富士山　Fuji-san—Mt Fuji

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Last week we set out to climb Mt Fuji. We didn’t make it to the top this time.

This image from Google Maps shows our track (001 being where we parked, 002 the point where we turned back):

Fuji (at 3776m) is the highest mountain in Japan, and one of the most recognisable mountains in the world, a near-perfect snow-capped volcanic cone. Because it stands alone (not part of a mountain range) you can really appreciate how huge it is. The first time I ever got a proper view of it, I was awestruck by its sheer size, and thought “that’s the biggest thing I’ve ever seen”. It’s so different from human scale that it’s hard to imagine people climbing it. But they do. 300,000 to 400,000 people set out to climb it each year (many with little experience in hillwalking or mountain climbing) and most of them succeed. It’s far more accessible than other mountains of its size; there are clearly-marked paths to the summit, there are mountain huts on each of the routes, and you can reach a height of 2,000 metres to 2,400 metres by road, so you are more than half-way to the top before you even start walking, and you can get up and down in a day.

Having said that, it’s not easy or pleasant, the air is very thin, and the weather can be dangerous and unpredictable at any time of year.

There is only a brief 2-month window—July and August—during which the mountain is “open” to the public to climb. During these two months the paths to the summit are relatively free of snow (usually). However, we had previously attempted to climb Mt Fuji in July 2007, and were unable to reach the top because of deep snow. On that occasion we reached a height of over 3,600 metres on the Fujinomiya route, a stone’s throw from the summit.

There are 4 main paths that converge on the summit: Yoshida route (the most popular), Subashiri route, Fujinomiya route and Gotenba route.

On this occasion we chose the Subashiri (red) trail. It starts at a height of 2,000 metres, and so the first 600 to 700 metres of ascent are on forest paths, until you reach the tree-line and emerge onto the magnificent desolation of the upper part of the mountain.

We got up at 4 o’clock and got ready to set off early (having prepared sandwiches the previous night and packed everything ready to go).

As we drove up the road to the 5th station, there was a clear view of Fuji ahead of us, and we could see that conditions were perfect for the climb; clear skies, with very little snow on the slopes.

Arriving at the car park at the 5th station, there were already hundreds of cars there. Many people choose to make the climb overnight so that they can see the sunrise from the summit. This is more dangerous however, because it means climbing in the dark, possibly fatigued, and it can be very cold at the summit at night (even in the height of summer).

Even in the car park, we were already well above the clouds and enjoying bright early-morning sunshine. This layer of cloud below us is not low cloud – it is at 4000 to 5000 feet.

We had our breakfast in the car, and then set off, passing through a shrine gate as we entered the trail. On the lower slopes we were walking through very pleasant birch woodland.

As we got higher, we came to the first patches of snow in sheltered spots along the trail.

It was dirty and half-melted but the dogs were delighted—they hadn’t seen snow for months.

Shortly after we emerged from the forest, we came to an outpost of civilisation: the original 6th station. A place where (for around EUR50) you can stay overnight (sharing the floor with 50 other fully-dressed climbers), where you can buy food or water, or just do what we did: stop and sit down on the outdoor chairs and have a break and a snack.

At this point, the clouds below us had partially cleared, and you could see views of the lakes almost 2000 metres below. Anyone down there looking up at the mountain would not see us; we would be like tiny ants on the huge bulk of the mountain.

Although we had left the trees behind, there was still vegetation at this level; we hadn’t reached the level where the mountain is just bleak and inhospitable. However, at 3,000 metres, air pressure is only about 70% of normal, and you have to go slowly.

As the path zig-zags back and forth across the steep mountainside, progress can seem frustratingly slow (non-existent at times, as the summit seems no nearer than it did half an hour ago). There is a psychological battle to be patient, to acknowledge that the climb takes many hours (even though the total distance is only a few kilometres) and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

We came across this strange little “shrine”—a crude miniature torii, at which people had left dozens, hundreds, of shiny bells.

And then our plans came to a sudden stop. One of our party, the air being too thin for her liking, found herself unable to continue, and flopped over on the ground.

We gave her a few blasts of oxygen (strangely, the plastic face mask on the oxygen bottle fits a dog’s face very well, possibly better than a human’s) and some water. She perked up a bit but was still unable to walk. There was nothing for it but to carry her down the mountain.

It was a long way down, and progress was slow, with frequent breaks, but gradually we made it down, through the forest.

On the way down we met some people who were in worse trouble than us. There was an American couple and the woman had a knee injury. She was in great pain and only barely able to walk, one agonised step at a time. It was hard to imagine how she could keep going for another 3 hours, descending the 700 metres to the car park. There was an alternative; it would be possible to evacuate her from the mountain at a cost of around €200; but they were unwilling to pay so much money, so she was braving it out.

The Subashiri route is relatively little-used, and many of the people we met on the route had taken the wrong route from the summit. They had gone up on the Yoshida route and then descended (by mistake) on the Subashiri route. They couldn’t face going back up to take the correct route down, so they were going to end up at a car park many miles (by road) from where they had parked.

When we descended to a level of around 2100 metres Miffy remembered how to walk, and we returned to the car.

While it was disappointing not to reach the summit, after all our planning and effort, the feeling of anti-climax was brief. The mountain is still there for us, and we will make another attempt, possibly in August (no dogs this time). We can hope for a “third time lucky”.

祭　matsuri—festival

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I left the office late yesterday evening and emerged into the noise and swirl and laughter of a summer festival, the streets lined with food stalls and reverberating to the sound of taiko drums. It was completely unexpected; I had no idea that there would be a festival right in the city near my office. Lots of children were dressed up in colourful yukatas. Very cute!

 

Unfortunately my pictures aren’t the best quality because it was dark and I only had my mobile phone camera.

The little girl has a bag of what looks like marbles, but they are actually soft rubber balls. The children are getting them from this stall:

Another activity is to try to catch goldfish using shoji paper scoops. This is called 金魚掬い　kingyo sukui—goldfish scooping. The point is to try to scoop the fish before the wet paper falls apart.

Today Yuko sent me some information about the festival, and I found out that it was a two-day event, associated with the local shrine (Goryo jinja). So after work today I went there again.

Inside the precinct of the shrine I discovered that the drumming was provided by these boys. They were working themselves to exhaustion in the sweltering heat, but keeping up a very impressive rhythm and chant (not to mention spinning the drum sticks). You can watch a short video here.

The boys and the drum are on a mikoshi which will later be carried in procession through the streets.

The shrine precinct was full of stalls selling food: fried eggs, sweet potatoes, karaage; as well as entertainments and toys. The boys on the right are armed with an impressive array of inflatable oversized weapons.

 

 

I noticed that two young gaijin women were getting some explanation from a young woman in white and red robes. I went over to listen in on their explanation. It turned out that they were Israeli tourists.

The girl in the red and white robes explained that she dances at shrine ceremonies (for example, at weddings and at New Year). She asked if I would be interested in seeing inside the honden. I said I certainly would.

This is what the honden looks like, peering in from outside.

It was an extraordinary experience, and I felt very privileged. Unfortunately it was not possible to take photos inside, so a verbal description will have to suffice. Also, because I didn’t follow what was going on, my description may not be fully reliable.

Before entering the honden, I inscribed my name in a roll using a nice calligraphic pen (vertically, in katakana – I found myself admiring my own penwork), then filed in with 10 or so other people.

We sat near the entrance on a long bench decorated with brocade fabric. The priest stood nearby, a slightly plump and avuncular man wearing a tall white hat and white robes, and holding a wooden paddle.

The interior of the honden is on three levels, of which the area where we were sitting (and the priest was standing) is the lowest. Although the interior looks dark in the photo, once you are inside it is not gloomy at all. There is lots of wood and many religious artifacts.  There were also many many offerings in the form of bottles of alcohol and fruit. The crates of alcohol were literally piled high.

Up a few steps directly in front of us was a large open area something like a stage. Over to the left of this platform, two women were sitting seiza, wearing black hats and green robes. Beyond the open area, at the back, were more steps leading to an open door, through which I could see more religious objects and bowls of fruit. This area, I guessed, was where the gods reside.

The priest invited us to stand and bow, then to sit down; he recited some . The seated women started to play a melody on the flute. The girl in the photo above, in the white and red robes, knelt in the middle of the stage, then stood up holding bells in her right hand, and began to dance. She slowly turned in each direction, shaking the bells. What an amazing religion, that puts a dancing girl centre-stage, while the priest stands off to the side!

Then we were invited to stand again and bow twice, then clapped twice, and it was time to leave.

On the way out each person was given a drink of sake. We picked up a red bowl in both hands, a small amount of sake was poured from the spout of a metal pot, and we drank it. Then finally we were each given a towel as a memento.

Unfortunately I didn’t stay on for the climax of the festival, when the mikoshi would be borne in procession through the streets, but we may be able to experience that at the weekend if we go to the Tenjin matsuri.

 

夏休み　natsu-yasumi—summer holiday

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Tomorrow I’m going back to work after a full week’s summer holiday. We spent 4 days in Yamanashi prefecture, in a very scenic area known as 富士五湖　Fuji go-ko—Fuji 5 lakes. The 5 lakes, arrayed in an arc to the north of Mount Fuji at an elevation of around 800 to 1000 metres, are (from east to west): Yamanaka-ko, Kawaguchi-ko, Saiko, Shoji-ko and Motosu-ko.

The area around Kawaguchiko is quite built up and commercialised, with lots of restaurants and businesses catering for visitors. The other lakes are far more unspoiled.

Our rented cottage was a 2-storey log cabin set in a forest of maple and birch.

Even though it was the middle of July, it had a distinct “out-of-season” feeling, and in fact we were the only people staying there – the other two cottages were empty. It was very comfortable for us, with a great sense of peace and quiet, and the facilities to prepare and cook our own food. There was a supermarket around 15 minutes’ drive away, and the grocery prices were very noticeably cheaper than in the city (especially for fresh fruit and vegetables). One of the local specialties is tou-morokoshi—corn on the cob, which was amazingly sweet. It was advertised as メロンより甘い　”sweeter than melon”. Tomatoes and lettuce were also very cheap.

The complex has a rotemburo (outdoor bath/hot tub), which we had exclusive use of because we were the only people there.

The area is very beautiful, the thickly-forested mountains forming a backdrop to the clear calm waters of the lakes. On clear days, Mount Fuji is reflected in the lakes, but in the middle of the rainy season the mountain was mostly hidden in mist and cloud.

 

Many of the lakeside buildings are in an Alpine or European style, in keeping with the Alpine scenery.

Our friends from Tokyo came to visit us for a day-trip. They brought their two dogs Walter:

and Nikolai:

and together we went to a dog resort called “Woof” near Lake Yamanaka.

They know the area well and brought us to an excellent place to go swimming in the crystal-clear water of Lake Saiko.

Miffy is barking because she is upset that I have swum out into the lake and she can’t follow me.

This is Oike park on the shore of Kawaguchiko:

and this is Kameyama waterfall:

The land was shaped by many eruptions of Mount Fuji, the most recent major lava flow being in the 9th century. In the 1158 years since then, the lava was recolonised by life – moss and lichen first, later trees. The area was thus transformed over the centuries from black and desolate to lush and green. However the ground is still extremely rough and uneven underfoot, with many lava caves and holes (gas vents).

The lakes themselves were once a single large lake, until a lava flow poured across the land and divided them into 5 separate lakes.

You can see lava tree moulds, where the lava poured around tree trunks in the earlier forest, forming a (now) empty cylinder.

The main purpose of our visit to the area was to climb Mt Fuji – this we attempted (unsuccessfully) on Wednesday. More detail to follow.