"Are you scared? What was that big bang? This storm is intense!!" This was a WhatAapp to my husband. That big bang, dear readers, was a huge tree falling in the campsite. This is what happens if you decide to take your family on its first camping trip in Japan during cyclone season.

The tent, in fairness, was a luxury pao, one of those hexagonal white orbs that look like it might actually pick up spy signals, filled with fur rugs and Egyptian cotton bedding. I was speaking to my husband, a few feet away, by WhatsApp because a) our kid was sleeping between us and b) the weather outside bellowed louder than even I ever could.

It wasn’t just our first camping as a family but individually too. True, my husband did a school trip camping but he eschewed the Outward Bound elements to stay at his tent and invent a contraption with sticks that would dry his socks. I suppose, if you count sleeping in bus stations because your mum has hopped on a National Express with no plan, then I had camped too. And pre-parenthood we did share a sweaty two-man tent at a festival but that mostly involved mud, glitter, tequila, me falling in love with Cat Power and trying not to listen to our neighbour’s awkward new-couple sex.

But this, "wasn’t camping, it was glamping" I kept saying. Glamping Villa Hanz Kawaguchiko to be specific. With a dreamy view of an ice-cream topped Mount Fuji, a hot spring onsen straight from the mountain itself, a barrel sauna, traditional regional Japanese cuisine with wine pairings and activities from archery to wood chopping. Besides this, it was Japan, where even the most budget-friendly hotels had soft, clean pyjamas and doll-sized toiletries that would put five-star resorts in the shade.

The morning we left our Tokyo hotel I told my three-year-old boy over his fifth breakfast buffet sausage we were going to sleep in the forest by a lake and a mountain that night. He replied, in his "why" stage, "Why?" Of course, I had no real answer for this. I couldn’t very well say, less screen time, a fibrous diet and exercising, that he should do as I said rather than do as I did, "Because…it’s good to be close to nature." "Will there be creatures?" "Yes, we’ll definitely see creatures." My answer could have gone either way but satisfied, he went back to eating half of Japan’s domestic pork supply. I sat, worried that there would indeed be "creatures" and googled whether Mount Fuji had bears. It did indeed.


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Glamping Villa Hanz Kawaguchiko is truly special though. A collection of small traditional houses, a beautiful main building and a selection of paos each with a barbecue area. The campsite is constructed with 400-year-old timber from an old Japanese inn, a ryokan. Their motto is, "relax if you can" because there is an emphasis on activity and self-sufficiency, something unusual in Japan where the average toilet has more buttons and functions than my laptop. And so, you are delivered excellent produce to cook yourself, you cut your own firewood and even grind your own coffee. There are all the little luxuries too, a mattress big enough for a family of five, duvets at the perfect tipping point between soft and heavy, a private toilet and shower room, and, crucially, a bar serving craft Japanese beers and "sours", a popular drink of shōchū, soda and fruit.

So what went wrong? Us. Our family, we went wrong. We arrived on the bus from Tokyo so poorly prepared I don’t think we would have succeeded in a trip to the local Starbucks. My toddler had a few changes of gear, but me and my husband? We arrived wearing platform fashion sandals and box fresh white canvas trainers respectively, no waterproofs, not even a jumper between us. Supplies? We bought only a big bag of pastries and it turns out I can’t barbecue even with the most helpful, comprehensive step-by-step guide. When our spoons started pooling with horizontal rainwater we gave in, retreated to the tent and chewed through our croissant supply.

The weather raged on and I drifted off only to be woken by a knock at the door. It was the campground management moving us to a bricks and mortar villa given the strength of the storm. Our barefoot kid slept in my husband’s arms as we walked through the storm, debris flying. Halfway through the 10-minute walk one of the campground staff, who all seemed so much like a family, turned to me and said: "And now you have a memory!" And, with my hair whipping around my head, the night forest all around us, I realised he was right. I was loving every moment.

Settled in our beautiful villa we woke and stepped outside into a bright blue day and the most majestic sight of Mount Fuji. We explored the town including the much-reported "banning" of tourists from a specific mountain view behind an iconic Lawson’s convenience store, now a new viral tourist spot in its own right.

Canoeing on Lake KawaguchikoCanoeing on Lake Kawaguchiko (Image: Kerry Hudson)

I did not believe there could be a better experience than emerging from a barrel sauna smelling of local citrus oils to drink water directly from Mount Fuji next to a bonfire while watching my husband and son chopping wood with all the pride of the first cavemen but then, then there was the next morning.

On our last full day we were picked up and taken to canoe on Lake Kawaguchiko. The sky was a perfect blue, the lake a mirror, entirely still and reflecting Mount Fuji. It was, in a fortunate life of great experiences, one of the best. As my son’s first canoeing trip I can’t help but think we spoiled him. He paddled enthusiastically like the rest of us but he was most interested in the crackers and honey (made locally and outstanding thanks to so many varieties of flowers in the region) and tea served on the small island rest-stop.

That night we drank beers, cooked ourselves a hotpot (I cannot barbecue but turns out any form of soup making is in my Scottish genes) and then opened the shutters to have a jacuzzi looking out at the great lady herself, Mount Fuji.

Was it camping? Sort of. Was it perfect? Absolutely. Were there bears? No, but watching a Japanese eagle soar above us was reminiscent of my heart as I watched my boy slurp up his Hoto noodles knowing it wouldn’t be his last camping trip.