The rising sun was a good cure for a night spent on an undersized wooden bench. I had arrived too late to book into overnight accommodation and no Geisha girls offered to take me home. Wisps of cloud veiled the sun, but the fauna-covered volcanic rises tickled my senses. There were only ten people on the train ascent and once again I was making comparisons with Switzerland; so green, so clean, and now the mountain train. The approach to the smoking crater was even more spectacular than the mountain train arrival. In the cable-car to the crater's edge I was once again the only foreigner on the periphery of an all-Japanese tour party. I could have been in a lift going up the Eiffel tower.
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