Tour of Japan 2025: day 6 and 7
Sometimes a day off on tour doesn’t start with sleeping in, but with a plan. This time: climbing Mount Takao, a green mountain west of Tokyo, full of temples, legends, and reportedly, monkeys. Sanne, Pauli, Annabel, and I boarded the train with a mix of excitement and doubt. Excitement, because it promised a beautiful hike with a potential view of Mount Fuji. Doubt, because by 9 a.m., the humidity already felt like breathing through a warm cloud.
Mount Takao isn’t just any mountain. According to Japanese folklore, it’s home to tengu: supernatural creatures, half human, half bird, often sporting an improbably long nose and a temperament ranging from protective to mischievous. The mountain is also an important center of Shugendō, a form of mountain asceticism where monks pursue spiritual enlightenment through strict discipline and physical trials. Halfway up the trail stands Takaosan Yakuōin Yūkiji, a Shingon Buddhist temple where visitors pray to the tengu for luck and protection. Red gates, stone lanterns, and the scent of incense line the path, like wandering through a fairy tale—with warning signs about wild monkeys thrown in for realism.
We had heard that another group of musicians had climbed earlier that morning. We didn’t spot them at the base, but soon we received a hint: somewhere through the canopy, trumpet music floated down. It was a sound that didn’t quite seem of this world, clear yet shrouded by rustling leaves and cicadas’ buzzing.
Who brings a trumpet on a humid mountain hike? we wondered, slowly climbing higher. The answer revealed itself an hour later: sitting in a riverbed, a woman calmly played the trumpet. We exchanged a few words, then continued up the trail, her music finding us again at various points in the distance, as if the mountain itself occasionally joined in with a fanfare.
The route steepened. Signs warning of wild monkeys appeared along the path. A certain tension arrived: what do you do if a monkey suddenly appears on a narrow mountain trail? (Answer: probably greet politely and hope it doesn’t make eye contact.)
After an hour and a half of climbing, and a final section consisting entirely of stairs, we reached the top. The moment of truth: the promised view of Mount Fuji.
Only… there was nothing to see but a gray cloud. It felt like opening a beautifully wrapped birthday present and finding a pack of tissues inside.
We made our way back down, tired but satisfied, landing in a café for coffee—the liquid reward for every failed photo opportunity. Then back to Shinagawa: two sweaty hours on the train, stiff legs, longing for air-conditioning and a bath.
Dinner was a 7-Eleven meal at the hotel. For those who don’t know: 7-Eleven in Japan is almost a sacred institution. A tiny store where you can get everything, from perfectly cooked ramen to fresh onigiri, feeling like you’re getting a mini feast for just a few hundred yen. Eat, bath, bed. End of day one.
Off to Fukui: dinosaurs, rice fields, and sushi
The next day focused on our “excursion” to Fukui. On the shinkansen, the high-speed train that Ioan Huws curiously tested at 210 km/h, we zipped past the landscape. Juliette took a group photo with her disposable camera. Meanwhile, some of us dozed, others read, listened to music, or carried on slow conversations, moving like the clouds outside.
Fukui isn’t your average Japanese city. It’s the country’s dinosaur city: several of Japan’s largest dinosaur fossils were discovered here, and the city museum is a pilgrimage site for fans of prehistoric life. It feels as if one foot of the city is planted in the Cretaceous and the other in the present.
The Harmony Hall itself is equally remarkable. Gorgeous acoustics, surrounded by a sea of rice fields. We gaped at the green patchwork around the building. The staff found it amusing; for them, rice fields are just… rice fields. Giulio Greci (first violin) decided to sneak in a mini-lesson: “Did you know rice fields are often flooded to drown weeds and keep insects away? And that rice plants only take a few months to grow from tiny shoots to harvest-ready crops?”
After the concert, there was still energy left for a final highlight: with Sanne, Ricardo, Adrián, and Javi, we went to a traditional sushi restaurant. One of those places where the chef prepares everything right in front of you, and you almost dare not ask to photograph his knife collection. It became an evening of perfect nigiri, fresh fish, and the comforting knowledge that some days simply end well—whether or not you see Mount Fuji at the top of the climb.
Text: Maxime de Bruin.
