Alison Danger Baumgartner

I have a terrible habit of just sitting around my house on my days-off, so I decided at about one o'clock, after fruitlessly trying to get a hold of a few friends back in the States, to wander north. So, I saddled up my 1996 Toyota Corsa and turned down a perfectly safe, wide road following the signs that lead to Seikinohana. The road quickly turned into a winding path through parts of Togi that looked as if they were from the 1930s. I could find no places to pull over to take pictures, so that description shall have to suffice. The signs said that Seikinohana was only 11 km away, so I expected to be there in under 15 minutes. Unfortunately, at the Speed-Racer-like 30 km an hour the journey took much, much longer. As always, this is the problem with Japan. You may only be 1 km away from something, but the twisting geography makes it a full 4 km.

I began to become worried after thirty minutes, wondering if I were going in the correct direction. However, narrow roads being as they are, I could find no places to turn around, so I continued. But then! A sign! I had found it! But underneath that sign that wearily points in the direction I should go, is a rope with another sign that says I cannot enter. However, I didn't come there just to be turned away. I needed exercise! I needed natural beauty! My apartment has no windows that I can open (the hazards of living on the ground level only one foot off of the main road), so I needed a good stare at something beautiful.

So, I parked at an abandoned bus stop and snuck under the roped lines in between me and the scenery. The building that clearly sold omiyage (souvenirs) at one point was abandoned, with plastic models of food littered about the place, and some disturbingly old looking boxes of Camembert cheese. It looked as if a mass exodus had happened in under a few minutes and nothing important came with.

I walk around the building and realize then why the signs are up. The building is fall off of the cliff. I know I shouldn't have, but I explored further. Off to the right, I found an abandoned shrine (my pictures of it were out of focus) with its contents strewn about the place and the screen doors sideways. One supporting column lay on its side at the bottom of the stairs. I continued down this path and found that the asphalt abruptly stopped and there nothing but sheer cliff and tree roots sticking haphazardly out. Prudently, I turned back.

An abandoned food vender.

The other way proved just as daunting, but well worth the trip. Seikinohana, it turns out, is a rare sandstone formation. Unfortunately, with only my zoom lens, it was difficult for me to get any good pictures, but these were among the best:

Honestly, the whole experience was quite horrifying, yet inexplicably profound. I found myself just staring at places paths had once been, mesmorized by the transience of everything, and yet terrified of it.

When I could take no more, I ran back to my car and returned home.

The next day, I'm told that Seikinohana is famous for suicides. "Go up to the top of the hill," Fujii said, "and you will feel like someone is pushing your back." I went to that hill, and I still remember how scared I was. I thought, and still think, it was because I knew the land I was standing on was not sturdy, and the bridges likely to fall at any time. But now, I'm wondering if that truly were it.