Forest bathing might sound like a pursuit too obscure for city-dwellers (unless they cash in some vacation days for a truly remote retreat), but it turns out that Tokyoites have enough nearby nature options to make it a regular part of their lifestyle – if they choose.
37 million people and its long-running status as the world’s biggest metropolis make Tokyo’s proximity to nature all the more mind-blowing. Indeed, there are plenty of delightful destinations within an hour or so of the capital. Mt. Ōyama is one you should visit.
For me, the urge to flee to the trees happens pretty often. I tend to need it the most when I have the least time for it, though. That’s why I spend a good chunk of my leisure time looking for little spots that can somehow satisfy the craving for peace, quiet, and fragrant mountain air in a pinch.
Jason and I ventured to Mt. Ōyama in less time than it takes to get to the other side of the city from our apartment. From Shinjuku Station, it’s a straight shot on the Odakyu Line (54 minutes) or the Romancecar (46 minutes) to Isehara Station in Kanagawa, and then about half an hour by local bus to the last stop, Ōyama Cable (大山ケーブル).
The road leading up winds through a village of inns, historic spots and souvenir shops, with a couple of small waterfalls to visit. From the bus stop, you continue the uphill journey on foot through the main tourist stretch, Koma Sando Shopping Street.
If you’re hungry, this is where you can grab a casual meal or snacks and more souvenirs. As the street name reveals, koma (striped Japanese spinning tops) are the thing to buy; local craftspeople have been making these as lucky charms since the Edo Period. Part of the street becomes a small covered arcade with Showa Retro charm, before opening back up to Ōyama Cable Station.
Heading further up the mountain on the cable car, we could tell that rain was on its way from the fog hanging over the trees. No surprise, I guess. Japanese friends have told me plenty of times that I’m an ame onna (rain woman) for all the unexpected rainy adventures I encounter, but ironically it’s also supposed to be a sign of good fortune, a blessing by the dragon deity Ryūjin. I’m fine with this.
Our plan was to take the cable car as far as we could, say a prayer at the lower Afuri Shrine (Ohyama Afuri Jinja), and then make more of a serious hike to the upper shrine.
No sooner did we start heading up the stairway after the lower shrine and the weather turned from mist to rain. Something told us to turn around and go back, stat. Within seconds of getting to the bottom of the stairs, the real deluge began. Barely sheltered by a nearby rest stop with a roof and a couple of benches, we watched the stairs become a waterfall – that is, a brown waterfall that looked like something created by Willy Wonka.
Barely sheltered by a nearby rest stop with a roof and a couple of benches, we watched the stairs become a waterfall – that is, a brown waterfall that looked like something created by Willy Wonka.
Suddenly, our rest stop became an island in a massive puddle that started to become a pond. Along with a couple of other stranded hikers, we waited and watched, feeling giddy from the drama of it all. I don’t think we stood there more than 10 or 15 minutes, but for a while we wondered whether we should start worrying.
As soon as the storm subsided and we were merely stuck in ordinary rain, we abandoned our hopes of heading up the mountain and scrambled down past the shrine to a blessed little snack shop next door. Chicken skewers and a couple of cold nama (draft beer) never tasted so good.
The rain had stopped completely and even the puddles started to dry up by the time we got out of there. Jason suggested we skip the cable car and walk down the mountain trail the rest of the way back. Now I know the real reason we were there.
The trail was truly magical, with stone steps leading down the mountain through a sea of emerald. Sheltered by the canopy above and surrounded by dense shrubs and mossy rocks, we were suddenly alone with just the sound of rustling leaves on waving branches.
As we continued our slow descent, we came across a statue of the bodhisattva Kannon atop an old stone lantern that was carpeted in green and scattered with coins. A few minutes later, we encountered a sacred cave underneath a giant tree, the whole thing draped with rope and white paper zigzags called shide to indicate its spiritual significance. How long had they been there? And how many generations had protected them?
We kept on walking, emerging from the forest at Ōyama-dera, where the monotone of monks chanting sutras grew louder with every step. This felt like a good time to cut over to the cable car and hop a ride the rest of the way down. We were grateful to have a room booked at Ryokan Asada, where we soaked in the outdoor onsen, feasted on a kaiseki meal with DIY homemade yuba as a highlight, and reflected on the day’s adventure.
I’m sure we wouldn’t have discovered these precious things if everything had gone according to plan. Being an ame onna has its benefits.