I will forever dream, simply as I did in my childhood, and therefore suffer only little.

Miekichi Suzuki

With all due respect to the father of Japanese children’s literature, I have to disagree. Dreaming makes you suffer.

10 April 2023

• 13:45-14:25 Shijo Kawaramachi to Kinkakuji-michi bus
• Kinkakuji temple (Golden Pavilion) (45m)
• Ryoan-ji temple (45m)
• 16:40-17:20 Roanji-mae to Shijo Kawaramachi bus
• Dinner: sashimi, sushi, and sake at a random bar in Pontocho

After going to sleep at 3:00 last night, I woke up a bit late today, too exhausted, physically and mentally, to leave my bed.

I wrote for hours until lunchtime, and, upon realising the time, rushed outside.

Kinkaku-ji Temple

First stop: Kinkakuji temple. The long yet fast-moving line led me to the opposite of Ginkakuji. The pavilion wasn’t just golden, it was pure gold – shimmering in the sun, and instantly recognisable from afar.

It struck me as both remarkable and over-the-top, impressive and flashy, mesmerizing and gaudy. I found it hard to believe that a family had once resided in this golden stupa. In the 14^th century, the third Shogun of Ashikaga Shogunate had converted it to a palace. There, he had welcomed emperors and trading partners from China. Following his passing, it had become a temple, per his will.

An English-speaking girl was taking photos of her friend in front of the pavilion, one photo per millisecond. Each time she snapped one, she said “yeah”. The American equivalent of the Japanese shutter sound.

Overall, there wasn’t much to do beside admire the gold. Everyone was taking selfies and moving on.

A single, golden Pheonix was standing tall on the roof, not unlike the couple on Byodo-in’s Phoenix Hall. I did enjoy this small touch. A symbol of revival and resilience that I would like to have in my home, should I ever own one.

Overall, I disliked this structure and its overrated popularity, though it did occur to me that it would be nice to live on a pond. There was a tiny waterfall with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it rainbow nearby.

Ryoan-ji Temple

From Kinkakuji, I walked 20m to Ryoan-ji temple. At the entrance, I bought a Sakura yatsuhabashi.

Taking off shoes at the entrance inside a temple was always a good sign. Originally an aristocrat’s country villa, the structure was later converted into a Zen temple in 1450.

The garden, from mid-15th century, was the prime example of a dry landscape garden in all of Japan. Comprised of fifteen rocks in five groupings, arranged in a bed of white gravel, it stretched 25m from East to west, and 10m from north to south. From any vantage point, at least one rock was always hidden to the viewer.

It was different from the other dry landscape gardens I’d been to. Oil seeping from the clay walls added to its peculiarity. The presence of late-blooming weeping cherry trees didn’t hurt, either. I thought about a lot of things while sitting on the veranda and observing the neatly shaped gravel, particularly after last night.

It was very congested, with barely any space on the veranda. But people were still somewhat quiet and respectful enough so that one could hear the birds. I forgot to take a proper photo of the garden, and couldn’t re-enter it. It would live on in my mind.

I left at 16:30, intending to visit Ninnai-ji, per someone’s recommendation. It had just closed.

Pontocho

So instead, I took the bus back to the city centre. I’d wanted to have dinner in Pontocho ever since glimpsing it with the Taiwanese expat. I’d heard 17:30 was the best time to spot a geisha there, on her way to work.

Without planning to, I arrived at Pontocho at precisely 17:30. Before noticing the alley, I beheld two geishas from up close.

Ghastly white faces. Elaborate kimonos. Bells that rang with each step. The tallest wooden platforms, which they somehow wore with ease.

I entered the alley in search of an izakaya (something I hadn’t experienced yet in Japan). Two more geishas walked past me, their faces stern. They didn’t seem to enjoy being filmed by others, let alone being stared at.

After a few minutes of scouring menus, I found an indoor izakaya, tiny but nearly empty, with only two Japanese patrons inside. The menu had no English.

“Sorry,” a staff told me in English at the entrance, “today is reservation only.”

It was a Monday.

Disgruntled (and slightly hurt), I crossed the whole alley in search of another place like this. They were all either Japanese-only and expensive, or had cheap okonomiyaki.

Pontocho was the last place where I would eat that.

Finally, I found another tiny bar. This one had an English menu in addition to Japanese, so I knew they’d accept me. And indeed, inside were two tourists.

Bit of a letdown, having wanted a purely Japanese experience, but still, the place looked good. A light wooden bar and soft piano music: sophisticated and way beyond my price range.

I was so dispirited by that incident, that I ordered a sashimi set and sake for triple my budget. The dish came without rice.

So no breakfast, a tiny konbini lunch, and now amazing sashimi that only made me hungrier? I ordered a tuna and an eel-cucumber makizushi. My head was spinning by this point from all the sake I’d been downing.

The chef prepared the sushi right in front of me, dabbing his fingers in water and cleaning them with a wet cloth every time he touched the food.

An entire day’s worth of budget, spent on a single meal. It was worth it. I hadn’t eaten fish that good since Sapporo’s food market.

I returned to my hotel and booked a long-distance bus from Kyoto to my next destination. Then I glanced at a ticket for a day trip I’d been planning for seven days from now. It was one of the most popular and sought-after (and luxurious) attractions in the Alps, scheduled to open in five days. When telling locals about my intention to go there, they’d often get excited and jealous.

There was only one slot left for the day I could be there, at 13:20.

“This day trip will have to be a rushed, half-day trip,” I grumbled, as I hurried to snag the spot. Hopefully, it would suffice.

Today’s highlights: the dry landscape garden at Ryoan-ji; beholding geishas up close; and the sushi restaurant.

11 April 2023

• 7:35-7:45 Kyoto Kawaramachi station to Katsura station train, 7:57-8:05 Katsura to Arashiyama station train
• Arashiyama bamboo forest (~45m)
• Otagi Nenbutsu-ji temple (20m)
• 13:25-13:35 Arashiyama station to Katsura station train, 13:40-13:50 Katsura to Kyoto Kawaramachi station train

Arashiyama Bamboo Grove

Today’s itinerary was simple: a day trip to Arashiyama in northwest Kyoto. A quiet suburb famous for its bamboo groves, it was one of the most popular attractions in the city, and I was adamant to beat the crowd.

I arrived at the most popular bamboo grove at 8:25. It was teeming with early risers.

It was also small – one minute to cross the whole path – but still beautiful. The forest invited visitors with its shading trees and cooler temperatures. The bamboos were so tough and sturdy, that it was hard to believe they were technically grass.

After forty minutes of standing on my spot, waiting for people to move and searching for someone I could ask to take my photo, I gave up. It was getting more and more crowded, and I realised I wasn’t going to get the perfect photo. This sort of thing had been happening to me over and over again on this trip, such as at the teamLAB exhibition in Osaka. A caveat that came with solo travel.

Tenryu-ji Temple

Next stop: the adjacent Tenryu-ji Zen temple. I wanted to glimpse at the interior, without paying the separate entry to the garden (I’d been to enough of those). But that was impossible, and consequently, irksome.

So I paid for the entry. The garden was one of the oldest in Japan, and the first to be designated as a Special Historical Scenic Area by the government.

It was also a letdown.

The temple charged separate entries to the main hall, as well as to a temporary exhibition with some painting. Three tickets to see one temple, though? No thanks.

I left annoyed with Arashiyama. So far, two disappointments out of two.

From here, I wanted to see a smaller, more unique temple. Instead of taking the bus, I traversed less-known, more peaceful bamboo groves. Breeze and crows.

An insane number of carriages carried by locals in tight, short shorts (bit like cycling gear) populated Arashiyama. Seeing people lounging on a carriage while the carrier was panting made me uncomfortable.

After forty minutes of small groves and charming, preserved streets – finally, some quiet! – I arrived at Otagi Nenbutsu-ji temple.

Otagi Nenbutsu-ji Temple

No less than 1,200 Rakan statues covered the hillsides, all with unique facial expressions: serious and medidating, smiling and laughing.

“Nowhere in Japan can you find such an eclectic mix of religious figures that combine both the sublime and the earthly,” the pamphlet claimed.

I recalled at least two temples I’d been to with the same feature. And they were vastly superior to whatever was going on here. Because the statues couldn’t compare to previous ones I’d seen, and even here there were tourists! A tour guide was lecturing (or rather yelling) in Hebrew and mispronouncing words in Japanese. Three strikes in Arashiyama out of three.

I did like Jizo Bosatsu – an ashen-faced sculpture that offered longevity and protection from accidents of fire – but it also reminded me of blackface.

A sculpture I hadn’t seen before, however, was a Kannon made specifically for the blind. This one could actually be felt: the artist had made sure to incorporate a lot of details, as my hands soon found out. I didn’t take a photo, though. It was meant to be touched.

Leaving the temple, I no longer blamed the locals in Kyoto who had shunned me at the entrance to places. The tourists here were indeed annoying. I bet some residents had been missing the period before the borders had reopened.

An Underwhelming Traditional Lunch

Near the temple, I came across a small and traditional restaurant. It was 11:20, ten minutes before its opening. After last night’s incredible yet touristy dinner, I fancied a traditional setting, and waited for them to open.

I took off my shoes, received a numbered tag for them (an odd but nice touch), and sat alone in a large tatami room right by a river. Water was streaming softly. I ordered Ayudon – sweet fish with honeydew eggs, rice miso soup, and pickles.

The waitress wore what I assumed was samue, traditional everyday winter clothes. Every time she approached the room, she said “失礼いたします” (a rare, more formal version of 失礼します), and then slid the door. Even if the tray she was carrying offered no more than a glass of water, she placed it on the tatami first, sat on her shins, and only then served me. After the last few hours, this was just what I needed.

Similar to the sushi bar in Pontocho, the toilet featured separate slippers and a self-rising lid. The chopsticks (not disposable, obviously) were the longest I’d used. The wet hand towel was warm.

But then the dish I was served turned out to be considerably smaller than the picture on the menu. By now, I’d grown used to the Japanese way of taking extreme close-ups of things to make them seem bigger. Thus, I understood why the price for the dish was within my budget, at an upscale place like this.

As soon as I bit into the fish, I regretted it.

The soup, vegetables, tamago, sauce, and rice were excellent. But the fish was overcooked to the point of being completely dry.

To cap it all, the bill came with a 10% tax, which was not included in the prices on the menu. The first time this sort of thing had happened to me here.

Growing more and more vexed, I walked all the way back to the station for a long time. Arashiyama had become even more crowded. I got yudoufu at a stall (hot tofu, a local specialty), and then failed to resist the red bean taiyaki stand nearby.

It was the worst taiyaki I’d had. The complete opposite of the heavenly one in Osaka.

How many strikes was that by now? As I waited for the train, I realised Arashiyama was not a full day trip, let alone half a day. It was a few disappointing hours at an extremely leisurely pace.

In a moment of weakness, I considered taking an express train to Osaka, just for that taiyaki and a decent bar for tonight, before returning to Kyoto on the last train.

I hadn’t had anything else planned for today, and already checked the train schedule, when I came to my senses. One of the nights I’d spent at a bar in Osaka was great; the others, not so much. There was no guarantee that tonight would be any better.

Fed Up with Kyoto

I returned to my hotel room at 14:00, and didn’t leave it.

My list of attractions in Kyoto was almost done. Only one left for tomorrow morning. I no longer cared about the city. Today started with frustration, and progressed to ennui.  

It was one of those days on this trip when I felt lonely, and worse, bored.

Nine nights in Kyoto were too many. My original itinerary was too sparse for that: I’d assumed certain attractions would take me longer, e.g. the imperial palace and Arashiyama, and hadn’t wished to find myself in a rush. Yet I ended up doing more than I’d wanted in no rush at all, with one and a half days to spare.

I was recommended cycling around Lake Biwa, but there wasn’t much to do around it. This past few weeks had included enough cycling and enough lakes.

So instead, I took a long, hot bath, listened to Carly Rae Jepsen, sang a little, and ate a konbini dinner, all at the same time. At least I found a way to have some fun.

Today’s highlights: the Kannon for the blind at Otagi Nenbutsu-ji; the bath.

Stray observations:

• Kyoto is the first place where I’ve seen gigantic bees & sandwiches with stir fried noodles inside bread.
• This is hardly a new observation, but when given multiple notes as change, the clerk always counts them in front of you, so it’s clear how much you are given.
• Every time I go to 7/11 – every single time – I look for their salmon and cream cheese sandwich. A sight as rare as a tofu donut in Japan. It’s double the price of the other sandwiches, and double the yum. Yet I’ve only seen it three or four times in two months.

12 April 2023

• 6:48-6:56 Gion Shijo station to Fushimi Inari station train
• Fushimi Inari shrine (2.5h)
• 9:50-10:05 Inari station to Uji station train
• Tea ceremony @ Taiho-an (20m)
• Ujikami shrine (10m)
• 13:05-13:30 Uji station to Kyoto station train
• Cat café (~20m)

Fushimi Inari Taisha

Today I forced myself to get out of bed at 6:00, even though I hadn’t managed to doze off until 1:00. After the abundance of early risers in Arashiyama, I was determined to make it to Fushimi Inari long before 8:00.

I arrived at 7:00 sharp. Street vendors were not even open yet. Rainclouds and barely any people. Yay.

The atmosphere inside the torii tunnels was amazing. The multitude of gates made them feel like a cave. Cool, shaded, and quiet.

The other visitors and I made frequent stops to snap photos. It drizzled for five minutes or so. I recalled the downpour in Heian Shrine, and how much I’d enjoyed it. No complaints here.

The hike up the mountain was relatively short and easy. One and a half hours, 233 metres of elevation gain, all through tunnels of torii. Along the way, I heard ducks quaking in a pond.

There were tiny shrines and converging paths, yet ample signage; unique sculptures, like a feline water fountain, and decorations, including miniature gates and piles of straw sandals. I even saw construction workers install a new gate.

Once I passed the first viewpoint, around forty minutes into the hike, fewer and fewer gates were to be found, and as a result, fewer people as well. There were 2-3 small shops, however, and the houses of their owners. Crazy that people were living here.

Despite the signs warning against them, I didn’t see any monkeys or boars. Shame.

On the way down, I ran into two girls I exchanged a few words yesterday in Arashiyama. So weird, running into people like that.

I returned to the main shrine at 9:20. Judging by its amount of newly-arrived visitors, I had indeed managed to beat the crowd.

Fushimi Inari instantly became my favorite place in Kyoto, among others like Philosopher’s Path and Nijo Castle. Satisfied, I hopped on the short train to Uji.

Tea Ceremony in Uji

So good to be back to the pictureqsue tea capital of Japan. The lady at the tourist information centre remembered me, and asked questions about Israel. She even had details of my reservation, even though I’d made it at another centre.

Uji was virtually empty today. Not surprising, considering it was a weekday with pouring rain.

I stopped by a shop near the station. The staff sparked up a conversation with me. We introduced ourselves; one of them shook my hand.

Utter disbelief. Japanese people always bowed. Yet the woman who did this didn’t like masks, either. So I guess she wasn’t the average local. She gave me some Sakura latte to try.

Afterwards, I returned to the bakery from Sunday, for the same matcha muffin filled with match cream. Finally, I headed to my tea ceremony.

It was held inside a traditional house. The female servers wore kimonos, while the sensei, oddly enough, a suit. An middle-aged Italian couple soon joined me. The man ran an anime and manga shop near Rome.

The ceremony took twenty minutes. First ,we were served a pink mochi that looked like a cherry petal. Then tea. The server made complicated and precise movements all the while: the way she placed cups and utensils on the tatami and picked them up, folded and unfolded her handkerchief, poured matcha tea and twisted the cup. The correct manner was to hold the cup with the right palm underneath and the left palm around the side. Then, to rotate the cup a little to the right two times, so that the painted “face” of the cup was pointing forward. Only then we could drink, and, as was customary, admire everything.

The sensei explained all the while using the most formal words, which I’d heard more in class than in Japan. Having grown used to casual speech, I found myself reverting to it when replying, and felt a little bad.

So I didn’t dare shift my position into a more relaxed one, even though sitting on my bent legs was painful.

Ujikami Shrine

After the ceremony, I crossed the bridge to Ujikami shrine – right behind Uji shrine – which the Ukrainian tourist and I missed.

Ujikami held the distinction of having the oldest extant Shinto main shrine building. It consisted of three inner buildings, built side-by-side, in a “flowing” style. A sweeping roof covered them all.

Moreover, the worship hall was the oldest extant Shinto worship hall. With narrow, roofed areas appended to the sides of the inner area, it featured a residential-like design. No wonder that it had been intended for the use of human beings (as opposed to the main building, where the deity was enshrined).

It was raining cats and dogs by now. My umbrella, borrowed from the hotel, didn’t manage to cover both my pants and bag. I headed back to the station, and checked out a matcha shop I’d laid eyes on for souvenirs on Sunday. They said that matcha powder was best consumed within a few weeks, and I still had one month left here. So I didn’t buy any.

I had a quick bite at a random restaurant – bright green matcha udon – and took the train to Kyoto. Like yesterday, the rest of my day was wide open. I walked 35m back to my hotel instead of taking the bus.

It was 14:00, again like yesterday, and I had tired of Kyoto. I never expected to grow bored here of all places.

Fed Up with Kyoto… Again

My time in Kyoto was, as always with my life, unexpected. Instead of being wowed by everything and not managing to see everything on my list, I found myself disappoint half of the time, did more than I’d intended to, and still had almost two days to spare. I’d always thought it was best to end things with a taste of more.

I kept seeing PDA by tourists, kept finding myself at complete standstills, and, for the first time in two months, was repeatedly barred entry into places, as a non-Japanese.

My hotel was perfectly situated in Kawaramachi, near the central station, and within a walking distance from Gion and the “nightlife” area. Having booked it months in advance, it wasn’t expensive. The price had doubled or even tripled since.

Yet I heard sirens from my room, which was unpleasant, and Hebrew, every single day.  

I couldn’t in all fairness call Kyoto one of my favorite places. If I’d visited here before the borders had reopened, like the British girl from Kiyomizu-dera had, I might’ve reacted more positively. If I returned to Kyoto, it would be in winter, when piles of snow would outnumber people.

Cat Cafe

After a few hours in bed, I decided this was my chance at visiting one of Japan’s famous cat cafés.

Cats of different kinds with the fluffiest fur on Earth. Roaming, jumping, napping, sometimes fighting. Shelves with manga, screens with Nintendo Switch, acoustic music, and only locals.

It was as cute and relaxing I’d hoped it would be. I’d worn my cat socks specifically for this. Couples had come to read manga and nap; one girl was glued to a Switch. A staff member was petting the cats and cleaning the steps using rollers. I wouldn’t have minded working here for a few weeks.

After twenty adorable minutes, I returned to my room, deep in thought about what was next.

That afternoon atop Goishizan in Shodoshima had been haunting me ever since. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d written after it: that I’d rather worry about my present than about my future.

It was a conclusion I had not expected to make. In a place where fog was kissing mountain peaks, and clouds were closer than before; in that moment before my crash, when I felt like I’d grown wings; with my feet on the edge – I felt free.

I started thinking about the next chapter of my life, after this trip. Three months in Japan, and then what?

I grew scared at the day I would no longer be able to see the world, even though half of the time, I didn’t even like it.

That night with the Ukrainian tourist, she’d told me to accept the world for what it was.

“Values can’t be achieved in reality,” she’d said. That was when I’d started to cry.

Being an adult meant giving into reality and no longer trying to change it. Accepting things as they were. Not unlike Buddhists.

I realised how, in that sense, I would never truly grow up. The more I matured, the more I felt like a child.

Regardless of how the next chapters would read, money would be a necessity. So I resolved to save up as much of it, and make budget cuts. I was taking a risk – I was creating pain – I was afraid of making a mistake. But to fly above the clouds, and find the joy in existence…

And if no one turned out to catch me in the air, I would just catch myself.

I spent the rest of the evening cancelling a few business hotels I’d booked for the following weeks and finding cheaper hostels instead.

Today’s highlights: Fushimi Inari; the tea ceremony; matcha udon; and the cat cafe.