A group of tourists weave their way through the crowd, wheeling their bulky luggage in search of the perfect photo spot. They gather on a pavement opposite a convenience store, but this is no ordinary store. Behind it rises Japan’s highest peak, the majestic Mount Fuji. The snowy 3,776m summit provides a stunning backdrop for those seeking their next favorite selfie or Instagrammable moment. The tourists capture what they came for, just in time.
Fast forward a few weeks to this morning, and the view is gone. The once-busy vantage point on the pavement is now obscured by a black mesh screen, about the length of a cricket pitch. The barrier was erected following numerous complaints from locals about tourists jaywalking and littering.
The picturesque town of Fuji Kawaguchiko has been overwhelmed by a surge in tourism, with arrivals to Japan reaching a record three million in March and April, spurred by a weak yen and a post-pandemic travel boom. The screen is a desperate measure and a sign of Japan’s struggle to manage the influx of visitors while protecting its streets, famous spots, and unique way of life.
This Tuesday has been eventful in Fuji Kawaguchiko. Japanese officials had announced in late April that a screen would be installed, but the actual installation attracted even more attention to this rural area in central Japan. As workers set up the screen, they were surrounded by a throng of cameras. Tourists gathered, curious to capture the commotion.
If the screen is meant to keep tourists away, it isn’t working—yet. Visitors are skeptical about its effectiveness. “It may work for a few days, but someone will make a hole and take a picture eventually,” says Kazakh tourist Yuri Vavilin. Disappointed he missed the iconic shot, he plans to return and try from either end of the screen.
This dedication surprises 65-year-old Kazuhiko Iwama, who has lived in Fuji Kawaguchiko his entire life. His house is across from the convenience store with its fluorescent lights and famous blue Lawson sign. “I see it every day from my window, so I really don’t have much to say about it,” he says, gazing at the volcano that attracts tourists from around the world. “I guess I take it for granted.”
It’s what many have dubbed a “very Japanese” scene—the mundane Lawson juxtaposed with the spectacular view. Known online as “Mount Fuji Lawson,” Mr. Iwama doubts the screen will deter determined tourists. Without the pavement, he fears more visitors will step onto the street for pictures. He says this is the real problem—tourists not following rules. “They cross the street without regard for cars, it’s dangerous. And they leave trash and cigarette butts everywhere,” which is particularly rude in a country with few street bins—you are expected to carry your trash home.
The screen was a last resort for local officials. Earlier in May, one official stated, “It’s regrettable we have to do this because some tourists can’t respect rules.” Attempts at less drastic measures included multilingual road signs advising against running onto the road, but these were largely ignored.
Weeks before, local security was in place to prevent accidents. One man, blowing his whistle furiously and yelling at jaywalkers, stopped us when we tried to approach him, saying, “I need to concentrate, please.” On the road, a driver honked aggressively at a pedestrian blocking traffic to take photos—a rare sound in Japan.
“I think one person posted a cool picture of themselves in front of this Lawson, it went viral, and now everyone wants that picture on Instagram,” says Maddison Verb, who traveled from the United States. She and her friends took turns posing for the shot. Despite the serene, filtered photos soon to be shared on social media, the scene around them was crowded and tense.
“There’s a guy working here just to prevent people from crossing the road. It is insane,” says Coralie Nieke, visiting from Germany. “If I didn’t have social media, I wouldn’t have come here. I wouldn’t even have known this place existed.” She felt overwhelmed by the number of people jostling for that one photo but was relieved to get her “Lawson photo.”
Kikue Katsumata, a 73-year-old local who regularly walks her dog in the area, sympathizes with both sides. “I feel sad for those tourists who come all the way to see the view and take pictures, but traffic here is quite heavy, and we are all very concerned about accidents.”
Despite the screen, tourists remain unconvinced it will work. “I think they’ll stand on the road to get the shot,” says Australian Maddie Godwin, echoing Mr. Iwama’s concern. Some visitors, like Wandy Chow from Toronto, don’t see the fuss. “There are other places you can take beautiful pictures of Mt. Fuji,” she says. Her son, Zachary, has found another spot with a good view of Mount Fuji but won’t reveal its location. “I don’t want people to go there,” he says, smiling, thinking of his next shareable moment.
