Happiness is way of travel

It was 16 minutes before arrival when I realized I have come to a wrong place. Station Fuji, a small industrial town, was nothing like a foothill village with ? picturesque view of the sacred mountain to behold. No wonder – I was overwhelmed by the kaleidoscopic change of shrines, palaces, neon–lit streets and lavish cherry blossoms during the last few days. Saint Fuji asks for inner peace and reverie to open its face.

A rare car disturbed the blissful emptiness of sleepy Sunday morning, gates shut, doors closed, shops with no lights. I melted in the cosiness of hiding place beyond anyone’s reach. Abruptly, gusts of wind ruthlessly twisted the umbrella and soon it was completely ripped apart. Rain soaked through the clothes washing my skin. Prospective of a pleasant walk had faded.

Just then amid the haze popped up a hut with smoking chimney, man standing at the door. With an incredulous look through its lace–curtained windows I caught a glimpse of people lunching in the warm yellow light. It offered shelter beckoning me to enter, fighting with fear pulling me away. “It’s a strange culture. What if everyone stares at me when I enter? It’s safer staying outside alone”. The thought has stung. How often in life have I passed opportunities fearing people?

Before I knew, I headed back finding myself in care of a quietly smiling woman. Nodding softly, she led me to the table. Relieved, I ordered soup by pointing to the picture on the menu and looked around. Behind the flowerpots, the cook moved briskly concentrating at the steaming stove, white towel wrapped around his wrinkled forehead. Two girls stirred pans and cleaned the plates. A couple next to me sat silently in disagreement. I trusted. It was safe.

The trust was swaying me while finding out that the trains had halted due to strong winds, and learning how to get to bigger station over the phone, provided by a rail employee speaking no word in English; while searching through the jungles of hieroglyphs for the right bus, and hoping to be in time for the train, riding in total silence save for the whisper of the falling rain.

Tokyo met us with the cheerful sky. I knew instinctively the shortest way to my hotel, cutting through labyrinth of streets. I felt accepted by the tribe. I recognized the place – it was the planet Earth, my home. I thought the silhouette of mountaintop appearing briefly in the window of bullet train on the way back might have been the mighty Fuji.