If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.

Charlotte Bronte, “Jane Eyre”

5 April 2023

• 6:45-6:50 Kawaramachi Matsubara to Kyoto station bus, 7:10-8:20 Kyoto station to Kashiharajingu-mae station train (Kintetsu line), 8:30- 9:25 Kashiharajingu-mae to Yoshino station train, 15m shuttle bus to Naka Senbon
• Hiking up to Oku Senbon (2h) – sakura mochi, Hanayagura Observatory, Mikumari Shrine, Mount Takagi Observatory, Kimpu Shrine, and Saigyo-an Heritage
• Hiking down to Naka Senbon (1.5h) – tofu stand, Sakura ice cream, Kimpun-ji temple, Yoshimizu Shrine
• Hiking down to train station (~20m)
• 16:05-17:04 Yoshino Kintetsu station to Kashiharajingu-mae station express train, 17:07-18:20 Kashiharajingu-mae to Kyoto station train, 18:30-18:40 Kyoto station to Kawaramachi Matsubara bus

Yoshino Mountain

Kyoto was overcast this morning. Not an ideal weather for a day trip to Japan’s number one sakura spot.

The way there was long, with a lot of standing inside cramped, local trains. I thought I had set out early enough to beat the crowd.

Then I arrived at sunny Yoshino. The mountain was divided into four sections, based on the cherry blossoms’ stage of bloom. For this reason, and unlike the rest of Japan, it bloomed every year for over a month.

The lowest section was lame and wilting. Everyone got on the shuttle bus from the station to the second one (Naka Senbon).

I hadn’t planned on boarding it as well, but I didn’t want to hike all the way up and make it to the good spots when they’d be even more congested.

Instead of exploring that area, however, I decided upon arrival to hike up to the third section. The ascent was so steep, that I was limping and panting before long. I got a Sakura mochi with red bean paste wrapped in permission leaves – a delicious and much-needed sweet, for some energy.

The clerk said today was the last best day. It showed. The sky was blue; the birds were singing. The mountain was in equal parts pink and green. So far I’d seen pops of the former among the latter. The place with the most cherry blossoms in Japan, indeed.

It was fun to just sit at various viewpoints en route and soak up the various shades of pink, in addition to some rest. ‘Tranquil’ was the word that passed my mind.

The most amazing and stupefying aspect of such a view was the variegation of the vegetation: how multicolored all the trees were. Pale pink, bubble gum, strong pink; bold pink with red leaves, or white pink with green leaves. Trees in shades of moss, or faded green. It was like a polychrome painting. They complimented each other well, and ensured each popped more. If every tree on the mountain were fully bloomed and faint pink – probably the most famous and sought-after form of Sakura – it would’ve been boring.

I couldn’t believe this was a real landscape my eyes were beholding.

From here, I continued past few houses with enviable cherries in their backyard, as well as frequent toilets, rest houses, and food stalls. Finally, I arrived at Hanayagura observatory, the best lookout point on the mountain.

There was a traditional seating area, with cushions instead of shoes. I asked a Dutch tourist with the best seat around if I could join her.

She had also come to Japan for three months. We had fun chatting for quite some time, and compared our vastly different experiences of hiking Kumano Kodo. There was also a middle-aged Japanese couple sitting next to us who kept reverting to English when talking to me, even though I replied in Japanese. Perhaps they weren’t used to conversing with white people in their language.

The view during our conversation was so phenomenal – Yoshimizu shrine, surrounded by so much pink! – that I asked the Dutch girl and the Japanese couple to take a bunch of photos.

After Hanayagura, the Dutch girl and I parted ways. She went down, while I continued up to Mikumari shrine.

No foreigners, nor explanations in English; a microscopic shrine, albeit with a huge, weeping Sakura in its center.

Then I hiked up to Mount Takagi observatory. It was so steep and agonising, that I was ready to die.

Sakura was only beginning to bloom up here, with red, autumnal leaves instead of green, spring ones. A nice change of scenery.

Helicopters were flying over Yoshino every now and then, presumably to take photos, or perhaps as part of luxurious, private tours.

I hadn’t intended on going all the way up to Oku Senbon (the highest section). Yet the Japanese couple had urged me to visit a hut at the top that exemplified “the essence of Japanese culture”.

The weather got pretty chilly at this point, since the elevation was over 700 metres. More cypress trees than cherry blossoms here, more birds than people. I felt like I was back in Kumano Kodo.

Kimpu-jinja, along the way, was yet another tiny, nondescript shrine. I got a stamp simply as evidence of my laborious climb here.

Saigyo-an Hermitage

After a lot of sweat and tears dangerously narrow trails, I reached Saigyo-an Hermitage, the hut where the poet and Buddhist monk Saigyo had lived in seclusion in the 12^th century. The slender slope was so precarious, that everyone was reading carefully in a single file. It was harder on my knees than the long way up.

“Why couldn’t this country have been flat?!” I thought, weary of mountains.

Then I saw the view.

He had lived here nearly a thousand years ago, all alone, for three years, in a one-room hut. It was minimal and simple, with just the bare essentials. Plenty of Sakura right in his front yard. I couldn’t believe he had seen this on a daily basis. It made all the literal ups-and-downs worthwhile.

I tried to imagine what the scenery would have looked like in winter, or the atmosphere at night, and how I’d feel if I’d also lived here. It struck me as both humbling and buoying at the same time. I figured I’d also be inspired to become a monk and write poems… and prompted to carry out the latter.

Another interesting detail about Saigyo’s hut was the lack of foreigners or English translation, yet again. It made sense: I’d heard about this place from Japanese people, rather than from tourists.

Yoshino’s Delicacies

On the long way down to Naka Senbon, I came across a tofu stand. They sold tofu donuts. I tried one. It was the best donut I’d ever had.

Donuts were usually very fat and very heavy. But this one was made of tofu, deep fried and sweet. The result was a light donut so delicious – SO delicious – that I immediately bought another one.

I was ready to keep going, when something pulled me back. Gluttony and hunger. I wasn’t ready to part with this food stall. They had lots of tofu products.

I got a huge slab of agedashi-doufu, which was nice. Then I returned to the donut girl for the third time. I wanted to buy ten more donuts. But three were enough.

“Will I ever come across a tofu donut again?” I wondered as I left the stand, a complimentary bag of okara in hand. Like zunda, it felt like a special treat I wouldn’t find elsewhere.

Most of the signs and shops en route to Naka Senbon didn’t have any translations. I wasn’t sure how tourist-friendly this mountain was.

No complaints here.

I got a Sakura ice cream – could I really pass on the chance to eat one, here of all places? – and momentarily ascended to heaven. The shop was near Kimpusen-ji, a grossly overpriced temple. And for what, a couple of blue oni sculptures inside? I left without entering, and went to Yoshimizu Shrine instead: the best viewpoint on the mountain, after Hanayagura.

After that, I’d pretty much ticked all my boxes in Yoshino. I was exhausted, having woken up at 6:00 and spent most of the day either standing or hiking. I descended to the lowest section (zero sakuras), until back at the train station.

When I returned to Kyoto three hours later in the evening, it was raining.

Like Himeji and Iya Valley, Yoshino-yama had immediately joined my list of favorite places in Japan. Today was exhausting, but worth every minute and step. I saw quite a lot of people wearing pink, and a few even sporting pink hair. What a dazzling mountain, with a surprising number of shrines, temples, and culturally significant stops along the way!

They all turned today into an instant highlight of this trip.

I no longer worried about not making it to all of Kyoto’s Sakura spots. This truly was the country’s best one.

Today’s highlights: sakura mochi; the variegtion of the Yoshino trees; the view from Hanayagura observatory; Saigyo-an Hermitage; tofu donut; sakura ice cream; and the view from Yoshimizu shrine.

6 April 2023

• 11:25-11:30 Shijo Kawaramachi to Gojozaka bus
• Kiyomizu-dera temple (1.5h)
• Kodai-ji temple (30m)
• Kennin-ji temple (50m)
• Miyako Odori (1h)

Yet another late night of writing. I couldn’t bear to wake again with an alarm. So I started my day late. My feet and legs were still sore from yesterday’s hike.

Since I’d booked a ticket for a show at 16:40 months in advance, I needed to stay in the Gion area. So I settled on two temples nearby.

Kiyomizu-dera Temple

First stop: the insanely popular (and beautiful) Kiyomizu-dera, whose kanji meant “pure water temple”. I got a cheese yuba in front of it from a stand – delicious first bite of the day – and went in.

A big red gate. A three-storehouses pagoda. An insane number of people in kimonos. I couldn’t decide if I liked this phenomenon or not; if I should do it as well.

After shunning the guided tour inside Ginkakuji, the first thing I did was join a line to something indoor here, not knowing what it was.

It turned out to be a five-minute visit to an underground tunnel symbolising a Boddhisatva’s womb. Pitch-black, devoid of all light, I slowly progressed by holding on to a bean rail. Immediate flashbacks to Naoshima’s Minami-dera.

No sound. No light. Like crossing vacuum. I treaded tiny step by tiny step, thinking I would bump into something. Fun and scary.

The smell of incense. Then, a dim light illuminating a spherical rock. I touch it and prayed. Eerie and quiet.

It really did feel holy.

Then I headed outside. The temple grounds were a gorgeous combination of green hills and a tall pagoda peeking out between trees. The horde of visitors was noisy, but orderly nonetheless.

Hitting deep gongs and bowing on the floor. Golden Buddhas. Foreigners taking photos where they weren’t allowed. I even saw a white girl, dressed in a kimono, eating an onigiri inside.

My first day in Kyoto, in Ginkakuji, I’d noticed a white couple kissing in public. The first PDA I’d seen in Japan. They’d strolled down Philosopher’s Path around the same time as me, lovey-dovey all the while. It was a cultural shock moment: the Japanese were known for their aversion of public displays of affection.

I’d mentioned this fact to that couple, and immediately felt rude for pointing out their rude behaviour.

So now, in Kiyomizu-dera, I didn’t say anything to that girl. But it struck me bizarre that someone who was trying to partake in Japanese culture by wearing their most unique and formal form of clothing would eat at a place where no food and drinks were allowed.

I walked past her, and noticed a British girl sketching the temple in a hefty moleskin journal.

This sight was so unlike the one I’d just witnessed, that I had to compliment her. I’d bought a pocket version of her journal a few weeks ago in Kanazawa, but hers was perfect in every way: sketches, watercolor drawings, diary entries, beautiful handwriting, stamps from various stations in Japan, words she’d been studying in Japanese. Just my aesthetic.

I wasn’t surprised to learn she’d taken illustration in uni. But I did exclaim some delight when she mentioned documenting this trip on a blog. What a coincidence!

We chatted for a long while and exchanged details. Meeting people like her was as fun as visiting places like this.

She continued sketching, while I advanced down to the temple’s “waterfall” (three thin streams of water falling into a pond). Drinking from them was believed to grant wishes – yet drinking from all three was considered greedy.

After using an ultra-violet sterilizer, I grabbed a ladle and drank from the middle stream, seeking to find some balance in my life.

Kodai-ji Temple

From here, I walked a short while to Kodai-ji, an important Zen temple. Few visitors, quiet grounds.

Inside the main hall, there was a wedding ceremony. Tourists were watching. Like in Kumano Hayatama Taisha, I felt that I was intruding.

Tea houses, gardens, and a small bamboo grove. Lacquer art. The adjacent museum was minuscule and boring. Like in Shimanami Kaido’s Kousan-ji, there sold no stamps.

It was one of the temples on my list I’d been looking forward to the most, and I left it after half an hour, feeling disappointed.

Back in the street, I passed two white women in Geisha outfit and makeup. I almost mistook them for Japanese.

Kennin-ji Temple

I had plenty of time till my show, so I decided to check out a temple a Japanese girl with the coolest stamp book I’d seen told me about, when standing in line for Kiyomizu-dera’s stamp. I crossed through narrow back alleys, rather than crowded main streets. They really did have that stereotypical, old, traditional Japanese alley vibe, with wooden houses and tiled roofs. People were coming there just to take photos with their kimonos.

Kennin-ji was the oldest the oldest Zen temple in Kyoto. Yousai, the founder, had been ordained at 14, and later introduced tea from China to Japan. He then founded the tea ceremony.

There was a gold leaf folding screen depicting the winder and thunders gods – the mark of the temple. Old and contemporary sliding door art, using traditional and new techniques. And a large, dry landscape garden.

The latter couldn’t have been more serene. Quiet and carefully laid out. It was both fulfilling in the sense that it proved human will, effort, and determination – yet also emptying, because it was just gravel, and pale in coloration, and bare. I felt uplifted and dispirited at the same time.

Birds were chirping on trees. People were walking on gravel. Wooden floors were ever acreak. Sitting on the veranda, I felt like the ants on the rocks beneath me: small and unimportant, always striving towards things that wouldn’t matter in the end.

At least ants enjoyed the fruits of their labour. At least they contributed to the ecological system. What had I achieved in my life? What mark had I left upon the world? What a waste of a body and a soul.

I felt both optimistic and pessimistic about existence in general and mine in particular, and grew surprised at this mixture of emotions, in a place I hadn’t intended to visit. Once again, I was struck by the value of the unexpected, and discovering things that spoke to me more than the ones on my list.

Inside the main hall of the temple, a ceiling painting from 2002 commemorated the 800^th anniversary of its founding. 108 tatami-sized, drawn with finest quality ink on thick Japanese paper, in a gymnasium of an elementary school in Hokkaido. The artist, Koizumi Junsaku, took almost two years to complete it. Large and impressive, it depicted twin dragons in gray and black tones.

Yasaka Shrine

After the temple, I still had an hour until my show. Having only eaten two small cubes of cheese yuba since morning, I returned in a desperate bout of famine to Yakasa shrine, for the same cheese hashimaki from two days ago.

It wasn’t as crowded. There were three times more people back then. Even though it was also a weekday.

I walked all the way to the end of Maurayama Park, but the other stalls either did not entice me, or contained pork. So I returned to the same stall for a fried egg hashimaki.

“Why were people such slow walkers?” I grouched on my way out. I’d been finding myself at complete standstill way too many times today.

Before I knew it, there were only ten minutes until my show. I ran there with two Hashimakis in my stomach (not a good idea) and settled into my seat, three minutes before the start. I asked if I could add a tea ceremony to my ticket at the last minute, but it was too late for that.

Miyako Odori

Miyako Odori was one of the biggest shows in the Geisha district of Gion. Performed by maiko, Geishas in training, it included dances and songs depicting traditional Japanese life. This year was the first since COVID when performances were held.

It was very elaborate and very extravagant, very slow, and full of chants. I was hungry, tired, and my mind was elsewhere. Nearly fell asleep. At least it was only one hour. The performance was neat, but didn’t speak to me at that moment.

On my way out of the theatre, I heard someone call my name.

It was the Israeli couple from Iya Valley. What a coincidence, for us to meet again. We both expressed our disappointment at the abundance of tourists in Kyoto and omnipresence of Hebrew. I’d been hearing Hebrew every day, multiple times a day since coming here. It was hard not to; Israeli tourists were often the loudest.

The abundance of people in Kyoto made me fear for the long visit I had planned for Tokyo.

Then I stopped by 7/11 for the first time in Kyoto for dinner. I had to stuff myself with something quick, or I’d die.

I finished the day by hanging out with a Taiwanese tourist, and went to bed later than I would’ve liked.

Stray observations:

• Food and drinks in Japan are either ice cold or scorching hot. There was no in-between.
• Bit weird how I’ve progressed to more touristy areas, and still get stared at by locals.
• Lately, instead of (or before) asking “どこから来ましたか？” locals have been asking me:

“日本に住んでいますか？”

“違います,” I answer, “観光です。イスラエル出身です。”

“イスラエル？！？！？！！” most repeat in utter disbelief.

A few have no idea what country I’m talking about.

“Israel,” I say in an English accent. Most understand. A handful have never heard of it.

Then they ask about my Japanese. I tell them how I’ve studied, and that I’m traveling Japan for three months.

“三ヶ月？？！？！！” all repeat in utter disbelief.

I enjoy this conversation every single time.

Today’s highlights: cheese yuba; the underground womb at Kiyomizu-dera; the British girl and her moleskin journal; the dry landscape garden at Kennin-ji; cheese & fried egg hashimaki; and bumping into acquaintances by an incredible stroke of luck.

7 April 2023

• Nishiki Market
• Kyocera museum (45m)
• Heian Shrine (~1.5h)
• Museum of Modern Art (20m)
• Late lunch: tempura soba and grilled fish at Ikedaya Hana no
• Dinner: sushi at Kura conveyor belt sushi

Today I headed out at 11:00, just like yesterday. Once my body settled on a new biological clock, good luck changing that.

Prior to coming to Kyoto, people had been telling me to explore it early in the morning. So far, it hadn’t been working.

It was a rainy day, with a nonstop drizzle. To avoid getting wet, I decided to do the only indoor attractions on my list today.

I loved how, at the entrance to every place, there were either umbrella stands with locks, or a long and thin plastic cover. Everyone was carrying see-through umbrellas, borrowed from their hotel. I was too.

Nishiki Market

My first stop was Nishiki Market, which the British girl said was covered by a roof. It was a cool and colorful sight, but the market was more like one long and extremely narrow alley. So congested, that it was impossible to move or take a look at all the stands.

I got a strawberry mochi and a mushroom fish cake (the former was heaven, the latter was a mistake). How were people comfortable being squashed by strangers in every direction, without wearing a mask? This market had no toilets, no communal seating areas, and few restaurants, which were all expensive. Most of the time, there was a complete standstill. I grew enraged at people for being such slow walkers and annoying to overpass, and the food for not being that enticing. It struck me how, in rural places, I’d always been the tallest person around, while here, where tourists outnumbered locals, I was dwarfed by superiors. I wanted to leave, recalling Sapporo’s market with a sigh in my heart.

Tiny shrines, like tall tourists, were another common sight in Kyoto. They were literally everywhere. Every few hundred metres. Even in shopping arcades. I found myself walking among shoppers and bumping into a local, who had stopped to bow and clap hands.

Hungry yet fueled by bitterness, I strode for half an hour to the museum area. Like yesterday at the show, my mind drifted to lyrical lands, and came up with a poem. I felt the wires in my brain changing. I’d never been into poetry, but lately I’d been inspired to write more and more.

I crossed a part of the city with only locals. Such a refreshing change. The first museum was just as quiet and free of foreigners.

Kyocera (Kyoto City Museum of Art)

Kyocera wasn’t on my list, but the British girl had recommended it to me. It was right in front of the Museum of Modern Art, so I figured I’d pay it a visit.

The collection focused on the modern period and Japanese painters who were influenced by the west. But it was the contemporary paintings that captivated me. There were so many whose picture I wanted to take. I hadn’t enjoyed contemporary art like this in forever.

Heian Shrine

Next, I stopped by Heian shrine, because it was literally just there. Yet another unplanned visit.

By now, it was pouring. Puddles on gravel made me wish I’d worn my hiking boots. A tree of pink wishing ribbons resembled Sakura from afar.

I paid entry to the expansive gardens, fancying a view of cherry blossoms in the rain. It was a bit repetitive, to always admire them in sunny weather.

My whim paid off. The petals looked so defeated up close. Something so tender and magical, now ruined. Water had gotten to them. I felt that it had gotten to me as well.

I could stand there for hours and listen to raindrops hit my umbrella, in spite of my damp shoes. It was so much more stimulating than sunny petals, that this gloomy weather actually enlivened me. I would’ve spent far less time inside the garden otherwise.

Finding the magic in places I’d overlooked during my research – in paths less trodden and travelled – had been a recurring highlight of this trip. There was no feeling like surprising yourself.

I spent a long time chatting to a Ukrainian tourist there. She was very tall (only two centimetres shorter than me), and had an equally long braid, just like the Ukrainian student I’d met in Okunoshima.

We both enjoyed the drizzling atmosphere. She had no concrete plans for today, so she joined me on a whim.

Kyoto Museum of Modern Art

On the way to the museum of modern art, we found a small Yatsuhashi shop, Kyoto’s oldest confectionary. I got a chocolate banana one. Cheap and delicious.

The museum was just as cheap, but a complete letdown. A small collection focusing on Georges Rouault (a painter known for thick black contours and grotesque depictions of people from the margins of society); avant-garde calligraphy, which was interesting yet so abstract, that I never would’ve been able to read it without the signs; and textile art. The only cool thing was rocks made of textile. I would’ve taken that idea further, and expanded them to a dry landscape garden.  

Funny how the museum on my list couldn’t compare to the one not on it.

We left the museum in search of a restaurant. By this point in the afternoon, I was ready to eat wet grass.

A Magical Late Lunch

Before long, we stumbled upon a random Shinsengumi-themed place, with set decoration from that era. There were also drinks, dishes, and merch of an anime she loved. It felt like we’d come to the right place.

In every restaurant I’d eaten in Japan, there was unlimited cold water and hot tea. Kyoto was the first place where the latter was replaced by matcha.

We shared a tempura rice and a set of grilled fish and rice. I hadn’t had the luxury of eating a multiple-small-dishes sort of meal in too long. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t that expensive.

Dining with her was an eye-opening experience. She journaled on a daily basis (second day in a row of meeting such a person) and worked as a programmer, yet spoke about life and the world like a poet. We had an instant connection, so much that the conversation had become one of the deepest I’d had in forever; the last time was in the summer, also with someone I’d just met.

“Art is like breathing with your mind,” she said at some point. I had to write it down.

I realised we saw the world in a similar way, and that we even shared the same Myers-Briggs personality type. I’d never met someone like that.

But I’d made plans for dinner at 19:00, a 4-min walk from where we were, with a local guy. I was bummed by our parting, and exchanged details with her.

Dinner Date at a Conveyor Belt Sushi

Then I went to Kura conveyor belt sushi, a chain both the British girl from yesterday and this Taiwanese expat liked. We waited for a table between 19:20-20:40. Like Heian Shrine from earlier today, it paid off.

Plates were constantly being conveyed on belts. If you ordered something on the tablet, it came rushing to your table on a higher, express belt. It made me giddy, like I was playing with a toy train.

I saw a beef sushi and a hamburger sushi. The tea here was matcha, too. The sushi I ate included eel, tamago, maguro, squid, shrimp-onion-avocado (the best one!), and a cucumber gunkan roll. I also got a probiotic drink, which couldn’t have been more refreshing.

From one delicious and engrossing meal to another. I had the best time with this guy. We strolled around the city at night and saw Pontocho, an amazing, traditional alley full of izakayas. So atmospheric, that I resolved to return here next week for dinner.

What a cold, wet, cordial day. Rain and great company: I couldn’t have asked for more.

Today’s highlights: strabwerry mochi; leaving my umbrella in stands; crossing drizzling, residential areas; the contemporary paintings in Kyocera; the downpour at the garden of Heian Shrine; chocolate banana yatsuhashi; late, traditional lunch with the Ukrainian tourist at the Shinsengumi restaurant; and dinner with the Taiwanese expat at a conveyor belt sushi.