Some mornings are worth the alarm. This one started at 5:00 a.m., long before the sun even considered showing up, all for a chance to glimpse Mt. Fuji as we sailed into Shimizu. I’d been tipped off by the ship’s staff, and for once, insider information paid off. There she was—quiet, dignified, and just a little elusive. A soft haze wrapped around her, and clouds coyly covered the very tip, as if Fuji decided to play hard to get. Still, it was absolutely worth the early wake-up call.
The day unfolded into a beautiful blend of scenery, folklore, and hands-on artistry. Our first stop was Miho-no-Matsubara, one of Japan’s “New Three Views,” where pine trees line the coast along Suruga Bay. It’s the kind of place that feels almost painted into existence—serene, windswept, and quietly grand. Fuji, however, had retreated fully behind the clouds by then. Apparently, one appearance per day is her limit.
We wandered along the beach and made our way to the famed Hagoromo Pine, where our guide shared the legend of Hagoromo—the celestial maiden whose magical feathered robe allowed her to return to the heavens. In true folklore fashion, a fisherman interferes, love and loss ensue, and the heavens eventually reclaim her. It’s one of those stories that lingers in the air long after it’s told.
Nearby, we visited a shrine where I paused for a quiet prayer before walking along what’s known as the “Golden Road,” believed to be the path where a saint once emerged from the sea. There’s something about these places—layered with story and belief—that invites reflection, even if you only have a few minutes.
Next came a shift from myth to mastery at the Tokaido Hiroshige Art Museum. The museum showcases over 1,300 ukiyo-e woodblock prints, many by Hiroshige Utagawa, whose landscapes capture Japan in a way that feels both delicate and enduring. I found myself fascinated not just by the finished pieces, but by the process behind them—the layering of colors, the natural materials, the precision required.
And then, I got to try it myself.
Armed with special paper and a healthy dose of curiosity, I attempted my own print. Let’s just say: it’s harder than it looks. There’s a lot of bending, careful alignment, and patience involved—but in the end, I was surprisingly pleased with how mine turned out. A small victory in the world of traditional Japanese art.
Meanwhile, Alan was participating in a traditional tea ceremony next door. We later swapped places—he took his turn at printing (with my second sheet of paper), and I stepped into the quiet, deliberate world of tea.
The ceremony was beautifully choreographed, every movement intentional and steeped in tradition. The aroma of matcha was calming from the start, and the experience felt less like drinking tea and more like participating in a living ritual. We even learned that the ceremony differs depending on whether it uses matcha or tea leaves—details that highlight just how nuanced the practice is.
By the time we wrapped up and returned to the ship, we were equal parts inspired and exhausted. After a quick lunch (and dropping off what felt like fifty pounds of camera gear), we rallied just enough energy to explore a nearby mall. A successful stop at Uniqlo yielded a few new tops, though our quest for a souvenir pin came up short.
All in all, it was one of those days that checks every box—natural beauty, cultural depth, hands-on experience, and just enough adventure to make a good story. Fuji may have been a little shy, but the rest of Shimizu more than made up for it.