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Once upon a time, there was this eejit who decided he was going to visit every station with ‘Fuji’ in its name, just because. He got more than halfway through when he gave up this Sisyphean task because it all got a little too daft. Then, many years later, he’d see a station that started with Fuji on a map, get a little misty-eyed and then it would start all over again.

Fujimicho was that station.

Now, for context, Fujimicho is quite some way over the other side of the country from me: the first time I came out this way and became inspired to restart the Fujis, I’d taken an overnight sleeper service to get there. When I saw the name ‘Fujimicho’ on the map, I chuckled and reckoned I’d never be back this way again.

It was, after all, quite a trek and therefore, pretty unlikely.

Proving that future me is always up for more misery than past me would have even been able to imagine, I decided it simply wasn’t enough of a trek, and spiced it up with the addition of a couple of variables:

• travelling the almost 800km / 500 miles to Fujimicho in the city of Yonago, Tottori in one day
• using a seishunjuhachikippu, the seasonal train pass which, if you recall, limits you to local trains

Oh and just to make things poetically symmetrical because that kind of thing is very much my jam, I decided to start the trip at Fujimicho in Kanagawa, a very small station on the Shonan Monorail, about 10km from my house.

Up and at ’em at 4am then, to cycle across two towns in the lovely calm stillness of a Japan that was still figuring out how to cool down from summer.

On to the Shonan Monorail at Fujimicho, mere minutes away from Ofuna, where we’d change onto the Tokaido line that was pretty much where I’d be living for most of the day.

Down to Numazu, where the train terminated and we were no longer in JR East territory; JR West were in charge now. Off to Hamamatsu and a mild complication on the way – the train was delayed by enough time to mean that I’d miss the express train that I needed to be on for my whole schedule to not fall apart… Nothing to worry about though, as it turned out: they held the train and I made it to Ogaki with plenty of time to eat the lunch I’d brought with me before getting onto my next train, which would take me to Maibara. Another transfer, and then finally, a hefty chunk of time sitting on just the one train that powered on through Kyoto, Osaka and Kobe before finally reaching Himeji.

At Himeji, a longish wait for the next train to Aioi, a place which always makes me think of garlic mayonnaise, and it was here that our good luck ran out and some figurative derailing ocurred.

It was coming up for three in the afternoon, and there wasn’t a big window for error at this point… so of course my train was five minutes late and, of course nobody held the other train for the connection, despite there being easily fifty passengers now stuck for half an hour waiting for the next train.

Something about which a disgruntled passenger complained in quite colourful language to a member of staff who seemed to be more disinterested than bemused. There wasn’t anything she could do, even if she’d actually wanted to: we were all just stuck.

Mr Mouthy had made things worse for me too, because now, owing to his holding up the queue, I’d missed the chance to get a connecting shinkansen to catch up to my original schedule. Ho-hum. It was time to just surrender to the vagaries of rail travel.

When I finally made it to Okayama, I gave up completely on the local train idea – it would be past midnight when I arrived were I to continue with that plan – and decided I’d ride the Yakumo express service instead. The almost three hour trip gave me a chance to rediscover the countryside through which the train between Okayama & Yonago travels – a patchwork of rocky riverbeds, tunnels through hillsides, forests and little else, which is strangely comforting to watch flash past, even in the dark.

At 9pm, we pulled into Yonago station and I boarded the final, most interesting, train of the evening that would take me along the Sakai line to the furthest remaining Fuji on the list.

The Sakai line connects Yonago to Sakaiminato, which is the hometown of the manga artist Shigeru Mizuki, creator of GeGeGe no Kitaro – as a result, all the trains have been themed accordingly and, it turns out, each of the stations on the line has an alternative spooky name and resident yokai to match…

… it was a bit too dark for me to go exploring this concept in any great deal, however, as I’m easily frightened by things that go bump in the night.

I opted instead to just take a few night shots of Fujimicho Station, pat myself on the back for the accomplishment of a ridiculous self-assigned task, and then wander up the road in search of my hotel.

Here’s a compilation of the videos posted to Instagram during the journey:

FUJIS LEFT AT THE END OF SEPTEMBER 1st, 2020:

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