The Two Kinds of Loneliness I Felt at Lake Biwa

When I woke up in the morning, there was no one at the lake.
It was eerily quiet, with only the sound of the rain swaying.
The hustle and bustle of the day before felt like a lie, and I felt a little scared.


That was during Golden Week last year.
It was when my daughter and I set out on an eight-day, seven-night camping trip.
We finally reached Lake Biwa and managed to secure a spot at a campsite crowded with families and groups, and then we went to sleep.

However, the surroundings were just too noisy.
I had a bad feeling, so I opened the weather app on my phone, and the forecast was taking a turn for the worse.
Ah, I see, I thought, as I slipped out of my sleeping bag and put the gear left outside the tent into the car.
Thinking this would be enough to get by, I crawled back into my sleeping bag and finally fell into a deep sleep.


The next morning, when I noticed, the rain and wind were shaking the tent.
I had experienced worse on previous camping trips, so I thought this wouldn't be a big deal.
But it was strangely quiet.
All I could hear from outside the tent was the sound of rain and wind. Wondering what was going on, I looked outside.

And what did I see?
It was a ghost town.
It wasn't just that people weren't walking around.
The various tents of all sizes that had been swarming the site were almost completely gone.
We were the only ones left, all alone.

Covered in light gray clouds and air, puddles were spreading everywhere in the campsite.
Lake Biwa, which had shone so brightly yesterday, was now just rippling in a dull way.
I had thought everyone was just keeping their belongings inside their cars, but I never imagined they would all pack up and leave during the night.


I am not good with crowds.
I travel in search of nature, wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of the city.
When choosing a campsite, I aim for sites with high independence, as far away from neighboring sites as possible.
Due to budget constraints, I decided on this cheap and popular free site, but when we arrived, the sheer number of people and the liveliness made me regret trying to save money.

In particular, as a two-woman team of a single mother and daughter, when we mixed in with other families and groups, I would suddenly be struck by a sense of loneliness and helplessness.
Even if I acted brave in front of my daughter, laughing and stuffing my face with meat, inside my heart, I was overwhelmed by the cheerful atmosphere around me.

So, originally, a site that felt like it was rented out just for us, with no one else around, was perfect for me to be able to breathe.
But at that moment, I felt a little lonely.

After leaving Kanto, passing through Kamikochi and Achi Village, I finally reached Lake Biwa, which I was seeing for the first time.
Because we had gone out to buy supplies while ignoring the crowds yesterday, the sun had set before I could enjoy the lake water shining under the blue sky.
Facing Lake Biwa, which I had come all this way to see, what was spread out before me now was a hazy landscape and a campsite where the voices had died out.
A different kind of loneliness than yesterday was there.


After a while, when the rain weakened, my daughter, still holding her umbrella, was picking up small stones by the shore alone.
When I asked her, she said she wanted to go home soon.
Mom feels the same way, too.

I will probably continue to remember that morning when everyone was gone, and I felt a little lonely, but it was so fantastical that I could finally breathe.