The Soul of Summer - Fujirock Festival 2025

Where mountains sing, strangers become family, and music melts into mist

The Naeba Ski Resort in July is a study in alchemical transformation. By winter, it’s a snow-laden wonderland; by summer, it becomes Japan’s sacred ground for music pilgrims. 

As I stepped off at the Echigo-Yuzawa Station—the 90-minute Shinkansen ride from Tokyo already feeling like a ritual—I felt it again: that  tingling sense of homecoming . This wasn’t just a festival. It was a reunion with a valley that breathes music.  

The Stage Is Set: Mountains, Music, and Mist    

Fuji Rock’s irony is legendary: it hasn’t been near Mount Fuji since 1997. After a typhoon-battered debut, it found its forever home in Naeba’s emerald embrace. Here, the Dragondola gondola; the world’s longest) soars over forests, stages nestle between rivers, and the air hums with anticipation. With 12 stages hosting 200+ artists, the 2025 lineup was a masterclass in curation:  

-   Fred Again (Green Stage, Friday) opened with seismic waves of electronic soul  

-   Vampire Weekend   (Green Stage, Sunday) closed with sun-drenched indie anthems  

-   RADWIMPS   (Green Stage, Saturday) fused rock with orchestral grandeur  

-   Field of Heaven, my sanctuary, hosted  Ezra Collective’s  jazz explosions and   Ego-Wrappin'  ’s smoky reveries  

💡  Pro Tip: The Red Marquee hosts secret raves until 5 AM. Follow the neon glow.   

The Real Magic: The Fuji Rock “Tribe”    

I’ve traveled to festivals worldwide, but  nowhere breeds connection like Fuji Rock. This year, our ragtag crew—forged via Jimmy’s legendary WhatsApp group—became a microcosm of the festival’s spirit:  

-   David, (a LA Dad): Our “den father,” handing out anecdotes and dad jokes in equal measure with his ready helping hand and a camera 

-   Amman & Sam (Malaysia/Spain BAs): Masters of crowd navigation. Sam’s “conquest chronicles” (a la Jimmy Olsen) fueled late-night laughs, while Amman cracked us up with quips. 

-   Sooyeon & Ashley (California Design/Dentistry Duo):  drew our crew and kept our smiles bright—literally.  

-   Mai (Tokyo): Our “Golden Ticket” guru. She’s stayed at Naeba Prince Hotel for 8 years straight via lottery wins. Her genuineness was priceless.  

-   Mark (Canadian Teacher): A fellow music nerd, kept the conversation alive with meditation and etymology and NewDay supply runs 

- Evan (British Exchange student) : Another kindred spirit and a festivals nomad, with a cute smile and kind eyes, happily regaled with music stories and helpfully lent me his power bank

- Iresha (an Australian startup techie) : a fellow boarder at the mountain cabin, with whom i shared stories on kangaroo fights and dating perils. Very kindly tagged my teen along on a shuttle 

-   Jimmy (Festival Patriarch): Admin of the 100+ member Reddit/WhatsApp community. His 15-year Fuji Rock streak is a masterclass in joyful curation.  

We were architects, dentists, students, nomads, bankers - united by Naeba’s pulse.   

 A Mother’s Moment:

As a solo parent, am always bracing for teenage eye-rolls. Instead, my 15- year-old was absorbed into the fold with breathtaking grace . Sam and Clara hung around with him.  When crowd packed the White Stage on Saturday, David materialized to get him to the group, “Dads instincts”. At 2 AM, as the Red Marquee throbbed and I was catching a shut eye in the car, the group just took care of him, treated him as one, ribbed him for being tallest and youngest with a kid’s wristband.  No ask, just instinct.  

This is Fuji Rock’s secret sauce: communal care.   It’s why 17,000+ camp on golf-course-turned-campsites, ship tents ahead, or book lodges years early. You’re never truly alone here.  

Survival Secrets & Spiritual Sustenance    

Logistics  matter in this mountain paradise:  

-   Sleep  : Camp (¥5,000) for camaraderie, or book  now  for 2026 lodges (Mitsumata/Shuttle Stop 3 is quieter).  

-   Eat  : Follow the curry bread scent to “Oasis”—30+ global food stalls. The Hokkaido crab soup revived me daily.  

-   Move  : Shinkansen + shuttle bus (¥6,790 + ¥2,000) beats traffic. Parking is ¥5,000/day.  

-   Pack  : Waterproof boots (mud is biblical), reusable bottle (free water stations), and an open heart.  

But beyond practicality lies  something sacred  :  

- Soak your feet in   Kaikake Onsen’s   hot springs as the sun sets.  

- Wander the  “Crystal Palace”   woods for impromptu DJ sets.  

- Dance barefoot in the creek near   Field of Heaven   while Galactic’s horns echo.  

Why Fuji Rock, Indeed?    

In a world of hyper-curated festivals, Fuji Rock remains  wild, organic, defiantly human. It’s where:  

-   Sustainability   isn’t buzzword—it’s policy (“cleanest festival” ethos).  

-   Kids under 15 enter free because music is birthright.  

-   Rain becomes a bonding agent, mud a badge of honour.  

As T.S. Eliot wrote, “To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.”

As I hugged Jimmy and the others goodbye at 3:30 am on 28th Jul,  under the red and green of Crystal Palace; already plotting 2026—I realized this valley doesn’t just host music. It weaves temporary families  from Tokyo commuters, Malaysian analysts, Spanish ‘chick magnets’; California dentists and Graphic Designers and Canadian teachers. 

We arrived strangers. We left as keepers of a shared story, written in guitar riffs, downpours, and the stubborn belief that  joy is best multiplied 

Fuji Rock doesn’t just rock. It reverberates in your bones.   

Copyright©Neer 

Fuji Rock Festival 2024: A Journey Through Music, Memories, and Magic

Nestled in the lush, verdant embrace of Naeba Ski Resort, Fuji Rock Festival 2024 promised an unforgettable blend of music, nostalgia, and serendipity. As the sun dipped below the horizon on July 26th, the air was charged with an electric anticipation. The festival, now in its 25th year at Naeba, had grown into a pilgrimage for music lovers, a place where memories were made and cherished.

The journey to Fuji Rock began with a scenic train ride from Tokyo to Echigo-Yuzawa Station, a 90-minute escape from the urban sprawl into the heart of nature. We picked our rental right outside the station. Driving through the twists and turns of Naeba - exhausted and excited and a wee bit hangry looking for food; before the opening ceremony was a prelude to the adventure, that awaited. 

On Day 1, the sprawling festival site unfolded like a dreamscape. The main entrance, adorned with vibrant banners and the hum of activity, welcomed us into a world where time seemed to stand still. The first day's headliner, The Killers, had replaced Sza, setting the stage for an explosive start.

As I wandered through the labyrinthine paths of the festival, I encountered a tapestry of characters, each adding a unique thread to the festival's rich fabric. There was Hiroshi, a local from Niigata, who had attended every Fuji Rock since its inception. His stories of past festivals, of rain-soaked nights and sun-drenched days, painted a vivid picture of the festival's evolution.

Then there was Marie, a Norwegian backpacker, her eyes wide with wonder at her first Fuji Rock. She spoke of her love for Girl in Red, one of the up-and-coming artists performing this year. We bonded over our shared excitement for the weekend ahead, promising to meet up later for her set.

The vibe at Fuji Rock was a harmonious blend of tranquility and exhilaration. The festival's commitment to sustainability was evident everywhere, from the biodiesel-powered Gypsy Avalon stage to the eco-friendly food stalls. The air was filled with the scent of diverse cuisines, tantalizing the senses as we navigated through the food areas.

The stages themselves were a marvel. The Green Stage, the heart of the festival, was a sprawling expanse where headliners like Kraftwerk and Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds would perform. The smaller stages, each with their unique charm, offered intimate experiences with artists like Erika de Casier and Christone "Kingfish" Ingram.

Music at Fuji Rock was a journey through genres and emotions. Kraftwerk's performance was a mesmerizing blend of techno-pop and visual artistry, their pioneering sound resonating with the crowd. Turnstile's energetic set had the audience in a frenzy, while Yussef Dayes' jazz rhythms provided a soulful interlude.

One of the standout moments was Angie McMahon's set at the White Stage. Her raw, emotive voice cut through the evening air, leaving the audience spellbound. As she sang "Slow Mover," I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me, memories of past loves and lost moments surfacing with each note.

As night fell, the festival grounds transformed into a realm of enchantment. The Pyramid Garden, with its candle-lit installations and serene ambiance, became a haven for those seeking a moment of quiet reflection. It was here that I met Yuki, a fellow music lover with a shared passion for the ethereal sounds of Floating Points.

I made friends of strangers; our conversations flowing as effortlessly as the music around us. There was a magical quality to our connection, a sense of serendipity that only Fuji Rock could conjure. As we watched the fireworks light up the night sky, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude for this unexpected romance of the moments.

The second day's lineup promised a diverse array of performances, from the psychedelic sounds of Yin Yin to the bluesy riffs of Christone "Kingfish" Ingram.

One of the highlights was the surprise performance at the Naeba Shokudo stage. Junji Ikehata, leading the Naeba Ongaku Totsugekitai, delivered an electrifying set that had the audience dancing with abandon. The intimate setting of the Shokudo stage, combined with the infectious energy of the performers, made for a truly memorable experience.

Fuji Rock was as much about the people as it was about the music. I met Hana, a Tokyo-based artist who had created a series of installations for the festival. Her work, inspired by the natural beauty of Naeba, added a layer of artistic depth to the festival experience. We spent an afternoon exploring the art installations, our conversations drifting from the creative process to the transformative power of music.

Then there was Tom, an expat from London who had made Japan his home. His love for Fuji Rock was infectious, his stories of past festivals filled with laughter and nostalgia. Together, we navigated the bustling OASIS area, sampling the diverse culinary offerings and soaking in the vibrant atmosphere.

As the festival drew to a close, a sense of nostalgia began to settle in. The final day's performances were a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting nature of these moments. Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds delivered a powerful set. Ride at Red Marquee was a surprising gratification with their anthems and Oasis cover echoing through the mountains and leaving a lasting impression on the audience.

One of the most poignant moments was Rufus Wainwright's performance at the White Stage. His hauntingly beautiful voice, combined with the picturesque backdrop of the Naeba mountains, created a moment of pure magic. As he sang "Going to a Town," I felt a deep connection to the music, a sense of shared experience with everyone around me.

As the final notes of the festival faded into the night, there was a collective sense of gratitude and fulfillment. Fuji Rock 2024 had been a journey through music, memories, and magic, a celebration of the human spirit and our shared love for the arts.

The people I had met, the music that had moved me, and the moments of unexpected romance and connection all blended into a tapestry of memories that I would carry with me.

Fuji Rock Festival 2024 was more than just a music festival; it was a celebration of life, a reminder of the beauty of human connection and the power of music to bring us together. As I left Naeba, I carried slivers of the people I had met, the music that had moved me, and the moments of unexpected romance and connection all blended into a tapestry of memories. 

I knew that I would return, drawn back by the promise of new adventures and the enduring magic of Fuji Rock.

Copyright©Neer

D.U.O.M.O - Faith cradled in History

 As I stepped into the cavernous interior of Milan's Duomo, the air seemed to shimmer with centuries of whispered prayers and hidden secrets. The Gothic arches soared overhead, their stone fingers reaching towards the heavens as if trying to grasp eternity itself. The cathedral's vastness was both awe-inspiring and slightly disorienting, as if I had stumbled into a realm where time and space bent to the will of the divine.

The light filtering through the stained-glass windows painted the marble floor in a kaleidoscope of colors, each step revealing new patterns and stories. I found myself drawn to a particular spot near the entrance, where a brass rod stretched across the floor. As I examined it more closely, I realized it was part of an ancient sundial, still marking the passage of time as it had for centuries. 

The thought of countless generations passing over this same spot, their footsteps echoing through the ages, sent a shiver down my spine.

As I wandered deeper into the cathedral, my eyes were drawn to the intricate details adorning every surface. The forty massive pillars that divided the five naves seemed to pulse with life, their capitals adorned with sculptures so lifelike I half expected them to blink or speak. Each pillar pulsing with whispered tales of saints and sinners, heroes and monsters.

The air grew thick with the scent of incense and the weight of history as I approached the presbytery. The wooden choir, dating back to the 16th century, seemed to hum with the echoes of countless hymns sung within its embrace. Above, the enormous Crucifix loomed, its wooden form a stark reminder of sacrifice and redemption. But it was the small shrine above that truly captured my attention - the resting place of the Holy Nail, said to be from the very Cross of the Crucifixion. I imagined the annual Rite of the Nivola, when the archbishop would remove this sacred relic, and for a moment, I could almost see the ghostly outlines of centuries of worshippers, their faces upturned in reverence.

As I turned, my gaze was arrested by a sight both beautiful and horrifying. The statue of Saint Bartholomew stood before me, his flayed skin draped over his shoulders like a macabre cloak. The anatomical detail was so precise, so lifelike, that I found myself instinctively reaching out to touch it, half expecting to feel the warmth of living flesh beneath my fingers. I quickly pulled back, shaking off the uncanny sensation. The saint's eyes seemed to follow me as I moved away, filled with an unspeakable mixture of suffering and determination.

Seeking solace from the intensity of that gaze, I found myself drawn to the mesmerizing stained-glass windows. Each pane was a portal to another world, telling stories from the Old and New Testaments, the life of the Virgin Mary, and the trials of countless saints. The oldest window, dating back to the 15th century, seemed to glow with an inner light, its Renaissance style a stark contrast to the Gothic architecture surrounding it. As I stared, the figures in the glass seemed to move, acting out their eternal dramas in silence.

My wandering feet led me to the baptistery, a 16th-century marvel dominated by an exquisite baptismal font made of deep red porphyry. The stone's rich color reminded me of wine, or perhaps blood, and I wondered how many souls had been cleansed in its waters over the centuries. As I leaned in to examine the intricate carvings on its surface, I could have sworn I heard the faint cry of a newborn echoing from its depths.

Nearby, the Trivulzio Candelabrum stood tall and proud, its seven branches reaching towards the heavens. As I circled this 12th-century masterpiece, I marveled at the biblical scenes and allegorical representations adorning its surface. One figure, depicting the Allegory of Vices as a drunk man, seemed to wink at me as I passed, his bronze features momentarily softening into a mischievous grin.

As I made my way back towards the entrance, I found myself drawn to the floor once more. This time, I noticed something I had missed before - a series of zodiac signs etched into the marble. I followed the trail, each constellation leading me to the next, until I found myself standing in the exact center of the cathedral. Looking up, I saw a small red light bulb glowing in the dome above the apse, marking the spot where the Holy Nail was kept. At that moment, standing at the intersection of heaven and earth, time seemed to stop.

The fading afternoon light cast long shadows across the cathedral floor, bringing the marble slabs to life. Pink and white Candoglia marble, ranging from the 16th to the 20th century, told its own story of the cathedral's long construction. As I watched, the shadows seemed to dance and shift, revealing hidden patterns and messages in the stone. For a fleeting moment, I could have sworn I saw the outlines of future additions yet to be built, ghostly shapes shimmering in the dimming light.

As I reluctantly made my way towards the exit, I passed the tomb of Gian Giacomo Medici di Marignano, the Medeghino. His Renaissance likeness gazed pensively into the distance, flanked by allegories of war and peace. As I paused to admire the craftsmanship, a chill ran down my spine. For just an instant, I could have sworn I saw the statue's eyes move, following my progress towards the door.

With one last look over my shoulder at the vast interior of the Duomo, I stepped out into the fading light of day. The bustling sounds of modern Milan rushed in to fill my ears, but they seemed muffled and distant compared to the whispers of history I had heard within. As I walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that the cathedral was more than just a building - it was a living, breathing entity, holding centuries of secrets within its marble walls.

The Duomo had revealed some of its hidden messages to me that day, but I knew there were countless more waiting to be discovered. 

Like the generations before me and those yet to come, I had left my own invisible mark on its ancient stones. And somewhere in the deepening shadows of its vast interior, I was certain that the Duomo was already weaving my story into its ever-growing tapestry of tales.

Copyright©Nee

Lake Como

Ripples of enchantment dance across Lake Como's surface, where reality and fantasy intertwine like lovers' whispers. Sunlight shimmers on water that holds secrets of centuries past, as villas sprout from cliffsides like vibrant flowers defying gravity. Time stretches like taffy here - a single day expands into eternity, each moment infused with possibility. Boats glide by, their wakes leaving trails of stardust. In the distance, mountains shift and breathe, guardians of this liminal realm where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. Step into a world where every blink reveals a new wonder, where gelato melts on your tongue and transforms you into a creature of myth. 

Lake Como: where magic isn't hidden, but woven into the very fabric of existence

 Copyright©Nee

p.s: did not run into George - seems he was away .. ah well, someone's gotta work 

Milan - The Magic

Last evening, as our plane descended into Milan's Malpensa Airport, the city greeted us with an unexpected spectacle. 

The sky, a canvas of deep purples and grays, crackled with electricity, welcoming us with a thunderous applause. We stepped off the plane, the air thick with anticipation and the scent of rain-soaked earth.

Our journey from Ferno to Milano began as twilight embraced the landscape. The raindrops, now gentle whispers against the train windows, seemed to dance in rhythm with the clacking wheels. As we sped through the countryside, the storm's fury subsided, leaving behind a misty veil that blurred the lines between reality and dream.

Streetlights flickered to life, their glow refracted through the lingering droplets, creating halos of soft light that guided our way. The city's silhouette emerged from the mist, its spires and domes reaching up to touch the clearing sky. 

This morning, wandering through the centuries old alleyways of Via Lupetta, as hunger pangs took hold, we wandered to Bar Mercurio, a century-old pizzeria that has been serving Milan since 1927. The aroma of baking dough and melting cheese was intoxicating. The vintage interior whispered stories of generations past. 

The walls of the pizzeria seemed to hum with the laughter and whispered stories of generations past. As I took my first bite, the flavors exploded in my mouth, transporting me to a realm where time stood still. Each slice was a piece of history, a testament to the enduring magic of Italian cuisine, the flavors of tradition melting on my tongue.

Bellies full, hearts content, we begin our trek towards the heart of Milan, the Piazza del Duomo. 

And suddenly we find ourselves in front of the cathedral. 'It’s breath-taking!'; is an understatement!  As the mid morning light kissed the spires of the Duomo, the cathedral's marble façade shimmered with an ethereal glow, as if the very stones were whispering ancient secrets. The sun glinted off the Gothic spires. The Madonnina atop the cathedral seemed to wink at me, promising a day filled with wonder and magic. The cathedral towered over the square, its intricate marble façade adorned with thousands of statues that seemed to come alive in the shimmering light.  Entering Duomo was on the agenda later. 

For now, just this! Let the grandeur tantalise us.

We wandered through the piazza, the air thick with the scent of history and the soft murmur of the city awakening.

As the sun climbed higher, I found myself at a quaint salon on Via Garibaldi. The barber, Franco Bompieri, a 83 year-old maestro with scissors, welcomed me with a knowing smile. 

As he worked, it felt as though he was weaving a spell, each snip of the scissors a note in a symphony of transformation, while regaling me with tales of his illustrious clientele, their photos winking from the wall. The mirrors reflected not just my image, but glimpses of these past patrons, their stories intertwining with mine. 

With a flourish, he finished by singeing the ends of my hair with a thin candle flame, ensuring it would grow back thicker and fuller. I felt reborn, ready to embrace the magic of Milan!

Under the spell of time lapse mental montage of juxtaposition of timeless beauty of Duomo, and nouveau beauty of my framed face... onwards we go, meandering towards the cobblestone streets of Via Brera, a street that felt like stepping into a bohemian dream. 

It’s fondly called Milanese Montmartre. Artists and poets seemed to float around me, their spirits lingering in the air. The cobblestones beneath my feet whispered tales of creativity and passion. The air just hummed with creative energy; as we passed art galleries, antique shops, and the renowned Pinacoteca di Brera, its walls pulsing with centuries of masterpieces.

 We stop at the Brera Art Gallery, where the paintings seemed to come alive, their subjects stepping out of the frames to join the bustling street. The Brera museum nearby was a sanctuary of calm, where time seemed to slow, and the grass dancing with abandon amidst the cobblestones; in a symphony of whispered secrets.

 

Whilst normally I avoid Starbucks like my mom's cousin twice removed; the charm of Palazzo delle Poste was seductive enough for me to step through into the opulent Starbucks Reserve Roastery.

Found myself at a kitsch bar corner sipping an espresso, the heady aroma of coffee beans swirling with the ghosts of Italian artisans. A place where the mundane act of drinking coffee became a ritual of enchantment. The baristas, like alchemists, crafted brews that seemed to hold the essence of dreams. 

Finally, I wandered down Via Lupetta, the narrow lane embracing me like a secret passageway to another realm. The streetlights cast a soft glow, creating a dance of light and darkness. 

The magic of Milan had seeped into my bones, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. 

As I drifted off to sleep, visions of marble statues, masterpiece-lined walls, and the whisper of an ancient barber's scissors danced through my dreams, a testament to the enchantment of this timeless city.

Copyright©Nee