Earlier in the day, Steven and I had wandered around the Botanical Garden of the Wetlands and the Lalique Museum in Hakone's Sengokuhara mountain area. We then drove northwest to Tenjoyama Park to get closer views of Mt. Fuji, Japan's tallest mountain. Since ancient times, both Shinto and Buddhist followers have worshipped Mt. Fuji. So sacred is Fuji that its mountaintop torii gate states that it is the world's greatest mountain because of its holy space. Mt. Fuji is so ubiquitous that it appears in Japanese literature, art, and culture from the highest level to the most mundane.
En route to the park, we drove the length of Lake Yamanakako, one of the Fuji Five Lakes. I read that the scenic crater lakes offer some of Japan's best recreational options. We were glad we hadn't taken the toll road as this one was more interesting!
We stopped when I spotted one of the few still-blooming cherry trees so late in the season on the shore of the lake. Visiting Japan during the spring cherry blossom season would be undeniably gorgeous, but the crowds at the iconic sights would be pretty intense. I was pretty content with this one tree's blooms!
A little further on, we reached another crater lake, Lake Kawaguchiko, from where the Mt. Fuji Panoramic Ropeway ascended 400 meters from its eastern shore to an observation deck near the peak of Mount Tenjo.
Atop each of the cable cars were statues of rabbits or tanuki or raccoon dogs. Originally seen as evil creatures, the latter is now viewed as the symbol of generosity and prosperity and has become one of the most famous creatures in Japanese folklore.
Anyone visiting Japan knows of the bowing culture in this country. However, we'd yet to observe anything remotely close to this agent's deep bend at the waist when the gondola left the station. I read that such a deep and long bow indicates respect.
As the cable car made its ascent to more than 1000 meters above sea level, we had panoramic views of the town and Lake Kawaguchi which was all part of Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park. We'd first encountered the park a couple of days earlier after arriving from Tokyo when we visited the Hakone Open Air Museum and Pola Art Museum.
According to a legend, Shotoku-Taishi, a famous imperial prince who lived from 574-622, was credited with being the first to climb Mt. Fuji by instantly reaching the mountaintop and riding a horse!
Mt. Fuji is known by different names: Reverse Fuji is when Mt. Fuji is reflected on the lake's surface; Diamond Fuji is the moment when the sun rises or sets right on top of Mt. Fuji and it looks like a shining diamond set on the peak; and Kasa-gumo is when the clouds look like an umbrella or hat. When these clouds appear, there is a high likelihood of rain the next day.
Steven thought this was pretty hokey, but I thought it was cute!
However, the schlock factor got to me with this one! Even after spending just a week or so in Japan, I began struggling with the Japanese fascination and preoccupation with stuffed animals, particularly among adults.
Even though it was overcast and the winds made it uncomfortable at the top, the views in every direction were stunning.
We drove just ten minutes to reach the Itchiko Kubota Art Museum parking lot but it took about 20 minutes more to find the entrance as the signage was non-existent!
We easily found though the Maple Corridor, a short path flanked by maple trees on each side.
With no signs or anyone in sight, we took a chance and entered this doorway hoping it might lead to the museum and fortunately, it did. The museum was built in 1994 by a dyeing artist, Itchicku Kubota, 1917-2003, to permanently exhibit his series of landscape kimonos.
Before coming to the museum, there was a large garden that Itchiku had also designed using Mt. Fuji lava, Ryukyu limestone, an assortment of trees, and a waterfall so it felt like we had stepped into a park and not a museum.
At the museum's entrance, we were struck immediately by its resemblance to Antoni Gaudi's work in Barcelona.
Because the exterior was surrounded by trees, it was difficult to get a sense of the size and style of the main building. Once we entered, we could tell the interior was crafted to look like a pyramid with cypress logs.
When he was just 20, Itchiku encountered Tsujigahana-dyed patterned cloth used from the late 15th to the early 16th centuries at the Tokyo National Museum. The pattern-dyed cloth had reached its zenith when it adorned many warlords and samurai during the Edo era. He devoted himself to recreating it so it could come alive in contemporary times.
The museum's main floor, shaped like a square, had about six Itchiku's tapestry kimonos on each side. The Symphony of Light was the culmination of his lifework, a remarkable collection of kimono tapestries planned to represent all four seasons and his own universe. Each work was dyed 40 times and went through 15 rinses to achieve Itchiku's stringent goals. Each kimono took a full year to fabricate! When he opened the museum, he stipulated that nothing would be behind glass so the works could be examined by visitors.
I think the second kimono was called Ohn and represented a view of Aka-Fuji or Red Fuji from Lake Yamanaka. Itchiku had only witnessed Aka-Fuji once in his lifetime.
I wish I’d paid better attention to the number assigned to each kimono as we were given a pamphlet describing each one. Think of them like cogs in a wheel as each design or each kimono was connected to the one before and therefore to the one after – from early fall to middle and then late fall, and then the progression of the winter months. The works were mesmerizing as they spoke to how Itchiku captured nature like a moment in time and yet all linked together.
A closeup of his work:
Darlene: As a fabric artist, you would have been stupefied by Itchiku's prowess as a master dye artist.
I greatly admired Itchiku for the way he harnessed the natural beauty around him and incorporated it into the museum. This shot was taken from the gift shop.
The gobsmacking view of Mt. Fuji from the teahouse:
Even street signs and sewer covers had images of Mt. Fuji!
As we walked along Lake Kawaguchi's shoreline, a halo cloud appeared over Mt. Fuji!
Japan's stop signs aren't the conventional octagonal shape so I had to remind Steven to stop instead of just yield when we came close to the triangular-shaped sign!
When we returned to eat at Box Burger in Hakone that night, we were lucky enough to be served again by a young man who had grown up in LA as the son of Japanese immigrants. Though fluent in the language, he had never learned to read or write Japanese so he wanted to spend time in his parents' native land visiting family.
Posted on May 25th, 2024, from Lhasa, Tibet, after leaving Japan a few days ago. I tried for days to publish this post from Shanghai where we just flew in from but the internet was painfully slow to non-existent there. My hope to continue to publish a blog post every three days is likely slim to none as we continue our tour of China. Though I still need to catch up, I will post when and where I can. As always, we hope you and your loved ones are safe and in good health.
Next post: Bullet train onto Kanazawa renowned for its gardens and crafts!
