The Myth of the Perfect Destination
A destination rarely turns out exactly as we imagined it. And perhaps that’s the point…
Visiting Mount Fuji was supposed to be the ‘top attraction’ of our recent trip to Japan. Like all tourists, we wanted to spot the famous ice-capped peak, get the perfect shot for posterity with this beauty in the background, capture the perfect Insta reel of the event as it unfolded, and then talk about it for years to come. That’s how travel works, right?
To ensure that nothing would go awry, we checked every available weather-forecast app for clear, sunny skies on the day of our travel, booked not one but two nights in Odawara and an unlimited ride pass on the Hakone Loop Pass, the road-rail-cable car route that would take us to Owakudani Valley and set us right in front of the famous mountain.
Now comes the day of travel. Everything falls into place. We sit on the left side of the train from Kyoto. Two hours into the journey, there is a buzz that Mount Fuji will be visible any time soon.
I hold my camera and my breath, and lo and behold…there she is…in all splendour. The train zips past this beauty within seconds, clear sky…the snow-covered peak…the sighting leaves behind a kind of euphoria suspended in the air of the train compartment. Our expectations have been raised, and we can barely wait to see this mesmerising view again.
We reach Odawara. A tedious journey awaits us. Multiple serpentine queues that are not included in any photo or Insta reel: a queue for the train, one for the narrow gauge, one more long queue for the funicular, another one for the cable car, and the last one for the gondola that finally lands us in the stunningly beautiful Owakudani Valley.
Owakudani Valley has the Wind Circle Terrace, known for its extremely windy conditions. That day the valley decided to live up to its name. The wind seemed like it could blow us all away. Mount Fuji was nowhere to be found; it was almost as if the mountain had been relocated without prior information from the authorities.
But all was good. Remember, we had one more night’s stay at Odawara, which meant one more shot at seeing Mount Fuji. After all, this was the eventuality that we had planned for, and we patted ourselves on the back for our perfect planning.
Day two turned out to be gloriously sunny. We set out again. We reached the Owakudani Valley, and I, with my camera in shoot-at-sight mode, started looking for Mount Fuji to capture the perfect shot that I’d seen on innumerable postcards and Insta handles.
But Fuji had other plans that day. The mountain showed up all right, but its peak decided to hide behind a thick wall of grey clouds on an otherwise clear day. My heart sank. I’d built up this moment in my head ever since the day we started planning our Japan trip: the crisp outline of Fuji against the sky and I, posing in front of it in a picture that shouted ‘I was there’.
What I got instead was a thick cloud cover and a vague sense of betrayal as someone who had travelled halfway across the world to chase something so perfect.
But here’s the thing about chasing the perfect version of a place: it’s not really a place at all. It’s a photo. A lifeless, curated version that depends on so many variables, including luck.
Fuji didn’t owe me a sighting. Nothing in nature ever does. It showed up on the window of my train compartment when I least expected it. That’s the memory I will hold on to. Once I realised this, I looked around at the beautiful Owakudani Valley, the active volcano vents hissing at its side and the splendid views of Lake Ashinoko, and I felt a deep sense of gratitude for being where I was that day, in that moment.
So, no, I don’t have the perfect clear-sky shot of Mount Fuji, but I have the perfect story about how we chased her that morning and the morning after that.
And talking of myths, it’s not that perfect destinations don’t exist. They do. But they cannot be planned, chased or created; they happen. Not only at the place and time of their choosing, but also in the photo album they decide to be a part of.
I am sure Mount Fuji, with its dramatic snow-covered peak, does occupy a place of pride in someone’s photo album, but that day that someone was not meant to be me. Does it make my trip any less perfect?
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