When you gotta go, you gotta go.
Visiting implies a departure, book-ended by a Fuji-viewing aerial angle that was not possible in Hiroshige's day. Call it a sky-bound possible 54th mid-station along the Tōkaidō, somewhere around Yoshiwara or Yui, but higher than the treetops of closed-country yesteryear.
So long to the old path, the fading prints, the finely colored woodblock sky gradations, sumo wrestlers mounted on pack mules... we all take trains now, and are sadder for it.
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