November 25 – December 2, Japan. Another tough goodbye. I had fallen in love with Takayama and didn’t want to leave. Of course, next stop was Kyoto. As it was my first time, and tons to see, I distracted myself with daydreams. It was a long haul getting to Kyoto from Takayama. We didn’t arrive until evening, and it was hard finding the place in the dark. We got off at Emmachi Station and then wound our way through a sinuous collection of alleys. We were staying in the Ukyo ward between Nijō castle and Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, closer to the castle end of town. The old house was a bit down at the heels, run by an American woman, as part of her cat rescue project Maneki Machiya Cat Cafe.

We found out how old it was when we used the bathroom, which appeared to have been an outhouse that was later walled in and connected to the house. Being a light sleeper, I asked if we could take separate rooms. That way Shawn could watch soccer as late as he wanted, while I could try to get a good sleep. It rained that night, and I loved hearing the rain drum against the roof shingles. I always sleep better when it’s raining. I think a lot of people do.

I woke up refreshed, so thankful for the bikes they had left for our use. They had recommended a nearby bakery Tentacion d’Ange, and we eagerly pedaled there, excited to find a new cafe. They had the widest variety of pastries, cakes, cookies, bread, and other delicacies I’ve ever seen. Literally. The service was great, the staff were lovely, and they had a lovely sitting area outside where you could visit with their rescue cats. And their lattes and cappuccinos were outstanding. Visiting the bakery became part of our morning ritual.

After a delicious repast of goodies and a latte, we pedaled in the rain to Myōshin-ji Temple, where Shawn had stayed with friends during a past visit. Founded in 1337–1342 by Emperor Hanazono and Zen master Kanzan Egen, Myōshin-ji is the head temple of the Rinzai Zen Myōshin-ji school, overseeing over 3,400 temples. Originally an imperial villa, the extensive complex, known for strict monastic training, was burned to the ground and rebuilt in 1467, the Warring States Period. The Hatto (Dharma Hall) features a massive dragon painting on the ceiling and houses the Oshikicho bell, which was cast in 698 and is one of the oldest in Japan. It also has several historic gardens. Sadly, I didn’t enter the dharma hall, as they charged separate admission and I hadn’t known about the bell and dragon painting. Next time.

The paving stones glistened in the rain. I noticed a clump of trees, and went to investigate. There was a small entrance, and I walked down the path to a window, where I paid to enter. I was in Yokō-en Garden within Taizō-in Temple, the oldest and most significant sub-temples within the expansive Zen Buddhist complex. Founded in 1404, it serves as a repository for crucial Japanese cultural treasures, featuring historically significant dry landscape and modern pond gardens. The grounds were stunning, and I longed to see it in the spring with the cherry trees in bloom. I contacted Shawn and he joined me. We sat in contemplation looking out over the rock garden, and I felt the serenity of the place and centuries of practitioners.

I could have spent all day, but felt the need to press on, as there was much to see in Kyoto. Our next stop was Tenryu-ji and the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove. From there we planned to walk or ride to Otogi Nenbutsu Temple, which had been highly recommended by our Airbnb host. It was a Buddhist temple founded in the 8th century. The rain was coming down harder now. We had mapped out a route, and separately took off on bikes, riding as fast as we could without risking a wipe out. We finally got to Tenryu-ji, and locked our bikes along a small path.

Tenryu-ji was full of people. It had stopped raining, and the Japanese maples were at peek color, attracting hoards of visitors, mostly Japanese. The temple is located at the foot of Mt Hiei, whose temple complexes we planned to check out another day. Tenryu-ji has a beautiful teahouse and serene expansive gardens, and the Arashiyama Bamboo Forest was contiguous. Unfortunately, we were in a long unmoving queue on a path around the gardens. And there was a boisterous group of school kids just behind us, so irritating that I found a spot to pull over and let them pass. Despite the crowds, I enjoyed the garden immensely. The rain had stopped, which made it easier to walk in a leisurely fashion.

Shawn escaped the mobs before me, and headed by bike to our final destination, Otogi Nenbutsu Temple. I finally got free and decided to ride my bike along the path that ran next to Ogura Pond along the base of the mountain. There were wonderful shops and historical buildings and gardens along the way. I particularly liked Rakushisha, a thatched hermitage of 17th-century haiku master Mukai Kyorai, a chief disciple of master haiku poet Matsuo Basho. It served as a vital hub for Basho’s followers and a peaceful retreat for him to compose poetry, including the famous Saga Nikki (Saga Diary) in 1691. It was named “Hut of Fallen Persimmons” after a storm knocked off all the fruit from his trees overnight, just before Kyorai was to sell them. Basho visited this secluded, rustic cottage multiple times to find inspiration, write, and mentor his students, solidifying it as a significant landmark in Japanese literature.

Close by, I found a beautiful garden (Choujin Shrine Groves) dotted with large boulders with inscribed characters. I wondered if they stone monuments inscribed with haiku, like those at Rakushisha. Months later, I came such a monument inscribed by Basho on a small island off the coast of Matsushima. Next I rode by Saga-Toriimoto, a quiet, car-free area of traditional, 19th-century wooden homes and shops. Nearby was the Mausoleum of Emperor Go-Kameyama. The afternoon was getting late, so I pushed on to Otogi Nenbutsu. After paying my entrance fee, I started hiking up the moss covered steps. I stopped in my tracks. There were hundreds of Rakan (Buddha disciples) stone statues.

Initiated by head priest and sculptor Kocho Nishimura, these statues were created between 1981 and 1991 by amateurs nationwide to mark the temple’s restoration, creating unique, expressive figures. Nishimura taught ordinary people how to carve, encouraging them to create their own statues, resulting in a diverse range of expressions rather than strict, traditional forms. They express many different moods, including humor, joy, serenity, and mischief. Some carry cameras, tennis rackets, and even bottles of sake. I especially liked the one looking out from between his legs, and another doing a headstand.

I finally ran into Shawn. He had been there for 30 minutes enjoying the grounds, and pointed out a few statues I had missed. Unfortunately I’d arrived 15 minutes before closing, and the temple guardians had begun to round people up for the day. I raced uphill to the furthest point from the entrance, giving me more time to enjoy the grounds as I slowly descended. By the time we got on our bikes to ride back, it was dusk. A beautiful of time of day to ride, especially through the Saga area. We found an izakaya to eat at on the way back.

Next day we planned to explore the temple complex on Mt. Hiei. We had a decadent breakfast at Tentacion d’Ange, then rode bikes to the Eizan Cable Car at the base of the mountain. It was hard to figure out where to park, since the Japanese are very strict about impounding bikes parked in illegal spots. More on that later, as I experienced it first-hand. The ride up was very steep (apparently Japan’s steepest) and spectacular. At the top, some people stayed at the Hiei Station Observation Deck, while others took the ropeway to the temple complex. Shawn and I chose to walk a trail (though separately) through the forest, which felt much more traditional, as there were no ropeways or cable cars when these temples were established. At some point I saw a huge lake below, and discovered it was Lake Biwa. Sakamoto Cable Car runs from the lake to the mountain top.

I followed the path, unaware that I was walking away from Enryaku-ji, the main temple. I descended a long set of stairs through a grove of towering cedar to a serene, sacred temple called Jodo-in. The garden was beautiful, and there was a path to the back, where I found a mausoleum. It turned out to be the resting spot for Saicho, the founder of Tendai Buddhism. Built in 822 near Todo, Jodo-in is considered the purest sanctuary of the 1,200-year-old World Heritage site, where Saicho’s spirit is believed to still hold meditative silence.

After quiet contemplation, I continued along the path. I turned to see a monk sweeping the path in front of Jodo-in. He looked up and smiled. Some time later I reached the Shaka-do, the main hall of the Saita (West Pagoda) portion of Enryaku-ji Temple. It is the oldest building on Mt. Hiei, dating back to 1595. Originally built at Mii-dera templemin Nara Prefecture, it was relocated to its present site by Toyotomi Hideyoshi during the rebuilding of Hieizan following Oda Nobunaga’s destruction of the monastery in 1571.  It enshrines a standing statue of the Shaka Buddha (Shakyamuni Buddha). Near the Shaka-do are the Ninaido (Two-Stage Hall), connected by a corridor, which is linked to the legend of the warrior monk Benkei, who is said to have carried it on his shoulders.

After exploring, I doubled back, and found the trail I’d missed that led to the Todo (East Pagoda) area where Enryaku-ji Temple was first founded. I texted Shawn, since it was getting late, and we met in the large general store/cafeteria complex outside the main temple complex. I hadn’t realized there was a cost to enter, a fairly hefty one, and I asked Shawn if he thought it was worth it, particularly because I didn’t have much time. He said no, and expressed interest in seeing the west portion of the temple grounds. So I led him on the trail back to Jodo-in and the Shaka-do. It was a serene walk. I hoped I hadn’t missed out on too much by skipping the main Enryaku-ji Temple.

While we walked, Shawn told me a bit about the history of this temple’s construction. Due to its position north-east of the ancient capital of Kyoto, it was thought in ancient geomancy to be a protective bulwark against negative influences on the capital, which along with the rise of the Tendai sect in the Heian period (8th – 12th centuries) meant that the mountain and the temple complex were politically powerful and influential. Later schools of Buddhism in Japan were almost entirely founded by ex-monks of the Tendai sect, such as Hōnen, Nichiren, Dōgen and Shinran, who all studied at the temple before leaving Mount Hiei to start their own practices. The temple complex was razed by Oda Nobunaga in 1571 to quell the rising power of Tendai’s sōhei (warrior monks). It was rebuilt and remains Tendai headquarters to this day.

Shawn liked Jodo-in and Shaka-do, and thanked me for showing him. We hiked the mountain trail back to the observation deck in the fading light, and waited in line for a cable car. By the time we had descended, it was raining and night had fallen. We had a cold wet ride home, grateful to be back. We laid out our wet gear, hoping it would dry by morning.

The next day Shawn suggested that we walk and bike the Philosopher’s Path (Tetsugaku-no-michi), a scenic 2 km pedestrian path following a canal lined with hundreds of cherry trees, cafes, and boutiques. Named after philosopher Nishida Kitaro, it offers a peaceful walk between Ginkaku-ji (Silver Pavilion) and Nanzen-ji, ideal for spring blossoms or quiet fall foliage. We rode our bikes to Ginkaku-ji, so named in the Edo Period in contrast with Kinkaku-ji (Gold Pavilion). Ashikaga Yoshimasa, the 8th shogun of the Muromachi shogunate, originally built Ginkaku-ji as the Higashiyama-den palace. He became the family head at age 9, and shogun at age 15. He spent his lifetime pursuing aesthetic beauty. His Higashiyama-den palace reflected the essence of Higashiyama culture of refined simplicity. After he passed away, the palace became a Zen Rinzai School temple named after his posthumous Buddhist name of “Jisho-in.”

It was a beautiful temple with amazing gardens. I was overwhelmed by the number of stunning temples, shrines, natural areas, and historic preserved districts in Kyoto. Shawn suggested we check out several other shrines and temples along the path, including Honen-in Temple, Kumano Nyakuōji Shrine, and Otoyo Shrine. It was a beautiful fall day, and we would our way along, enjoying the fall colors until we arrived at Nanzen-ji Temple. The massive 22-meter Sanmon gate was built in 1628 to honor those who died in the Siege of Osaka Castle. The former head priest’s residence houses a designated scenic, zen-style karesansui (dry gravel) garden called Hojo Garden, refered to as the “tiger cub crossing the water” because of a series of boulders that looked like said animals. Shawn particularly liked the dry gravel garden and sat in contemplation for a long time. The complex includes smaller temples, notably Nanzenin Temple (emperor’s mausoleum) and Konchi-in Temple (tea house and paintings).

It was another full day, but I wanted to check out the neighborhood between Nanzen-ji and Kiyomizu-dera, and parked my bike so I would be a bit less fettered. It’s an old and amazing part of Kyoto, and I wandered through small streets and alleys, poking my head into shops and looking at their wares. I tend to be shy about going into a place if I don’t intend to buy, as I feel like I’m wasting the shop keepers time. So I only go in if I’m considering buying something or feel especially emboldened. I got a text to meet Shawn in Gion, Kyoto’s premier geisha district, which wasn’t far. The area originated in the late 1300’s as a medieval rest stop for travelers and pilgrims visiting adjacent Yasaka Shrine, founded in 656. Renowned for its preserved wooden machiya merchant houses, it evolved into an exclusive entertainment district, becoming renowned for geiko (geisha) and maiko (apprentices) by the 1700’s. I’d wanted to explore Gion, curious about the layout and architecture of the buildings.

I met him at Rissei Hiroba Square and locked my bike against a rail, hoping it was legal to do so. From there we walked along Shirakawa-Minami Dori, parallel to the Shirakawa Canal, admiring the Takase River, willow trees, and traditional wooden buildings. Shawn found a place to eat nearby, crowded with tourists and pleasure goers. After dinner we walked more, then returned to the spot I’d locked my bike. Except it wasn’t there. Panicked, I raced inside, hoping someone might know where it went. I asked at the concierge desk of the Gate Hotel Kyoto Takasegawa. Shawn was irritated that I was panicked, and wouldn’t help translate. So I was on my own. The staff made some calls, and found out it had been moved by security to the sidewalk. We went out to the spot, only to find it gone, with a note saying where it had been impounded.

Apparently the security guard had moved it to an illegal spot, and the police had immediately impounded it. Great. Shawn was on his bike, while I was on foot. I had the address of the place, and walked there. Shawn met me, and we searched for the place, which wasn’t easy to find. Then realized it had closed 10 minutes earlier. Despondent, I sat down, exhausted from rushing. By this time Shawn was more sympathetic. We ended up walking home together, and resolved to come back the next day at the appointed hour.

I was dejected, plus worried about how much it would cost. And whether they had damaged the bike, which I was borrowing from the Airbnb guest. The hotel had told me they were very rough on bikes, throwing into the back of a truck and often damaging them in the process. I had a horrible night’s sleep, and the next day, took the bus to get closer to the destination. We presented the slip, and sure enough, they had the bike. It was a bit banged up, but nothing I couldn’t fix. The fee was $40, nothing compared to the $600 impoundment fee for cars in San Francisco. Relieved, I paid happily (cash only – luckily I had it), and got my bike back.

The next day we headed back to Nanzen-ji to explore the traditional streets of Ninenzaka and Sannenzaka leading to Kiyomizu-Dera Temple. The streets were absolutely jammed with people, so packed that it was hard to move. Much like the crowd at Tenryu-ji. The pedestrian-only streets were lined with historic wooden shophouses selling a wide variety of traditional Kyoto crafts, specialty snacks, and souvenirs. I saw shops selling foods like pickles (tsukemono), tofu (yodofu), Matcha-flavored soft ice cream, yatsuhashi (cinnamon rice dough), local pastries, green tea from Uji, and other traditional delicacies. Other shops sold traditional crafts like pottery (Kyo-yaki), fans (sensu), incense, Japanese paper products (washi), furoshiki (wrapping cloths), chopsticks, Japanese masks, kimono rental, and woven goods.

I bought Matcha-flavored soft ice cream and 4 pair of lacquerware mother of pearl inlay chopsticks. Then I continued with the crush of people into Kiyomizu-Dera Temple, a UNESCO site built in 778. . What a stunning spot! I walked through the vibrant red Niomon main gate, climbed the hill, and admired the massive wooden stage 13 meters above the hillside. Part of the main hall, this expansive stage was built without nails, relying on a unique interlocking wooden pillar system, offering breathtaking views of Kyoto and surrounding cherry and maple trees. I walked down to the base of the main hall, using a cup on a long pole to drink from three streams, representing longevity, success at school, and a fortunate love life.

From here I walked to Otowa Waterfall’s sacred streams. Next I walked to Jiso shrine, dedicated to the deity of love and matchmaking. I watched as people lined up to walk between the two “love stones” 18 meters apart; walking between them with eyes closed is said to bring luck in finding love. From there I continued on the path to take a gander at the Three-Story Pagoda (Sanjunoto). As one of Japan’s largest three-story pagodas, this vibrant, 30-meter-tall, bright red structure is a defining symbol of the temple. I did not get a chance to walk through Zuigu-do Hall (Tainai Meguri), a completely dark basement, symbolizing the womb of a female Bodhisattva, said to help in finding spiritual rebirth. On my way out of the complex, I passed Koyasu Pagoda, a small pagoda historically visited by those praying for a safe and easy childbirth. I saw a large number of women make offerings there.

I followed the path from Otowa Falls, past the stairs leading up to the pagoda, and found a fence with a narrow gate. A sign near the fence read “Seikan-ji, 1 km”. I exited the temple grounds. The trail followed a paved road then became an earth and gravel trail. I climbed a final slope when I saw a temple. I learned that Seikan-ji is a Shingon Temple, founded in 802, and it has a tragic, but romantic, history. The temple is the final resting place of Emperor Takakura (1161-1181), who died (allegedly of a broken heart) at the age of 21, after the woman he loved (a beautiful girl named Kogo-no-Tsubone) was forced to renounce the world and become a priestess at Seikan-ji. 

Apparently, word of the emperor’s infatuation with Kogo-no-Tsubone reached the emperor’s father-in-law, Taira-no-Kiyomori–who wasn’t pleased that his daughter’s husband had wandering eyes–emperor or no. Taira-no-Kiyomori also deposed Emperor Takakura in 1180, and installed his infant grandson as the new Emperor Antoku, which might have had something to do with the “sickly” emperor’s death the following year. Or maybe the young former emperor truly did die of a broken heart, as the legend says. Emperor Takakura’s tomb is located on the temple grounds, as is the tomb of faithful Kogo-no-Tsubone, who remained a nun at Seikan-ji and continued to pray for Takakura’s soul until the day she died. The tombs are higher up the mountain behind the worship hall. That area isn’t open to the public, but the fact that an emperor is buried here helps to explain why this little mountain temple is so lovingly maintained.

I walked around the small grounds, and spied a kanameishi, a sacred keystone. The stone had a Shinto boundary marker indicating that a kami dwelt there. According to the sign, the deity inhabiting the stone would grant a heartfelt wish for anyone who asks. I wondered if it was the spirit of Kogo-no-Tsubone, the nun who loved the emperor. I stood before the stone, and asked that Trump be stopped in his tracks, unable to wreak devastation on the country and world. This was my prayer at every temple and shrine I visited in Japan. I also asked that the spirit of the two lovers could be reunited.

I turned to go, and some pottery sitting on the floor of the temple caught my eye. I approached and saw it was the snowflake crackle, one that I have loved ever since a friend who dealt with Ming dynasty pottery let me hold a tea bowl with that pattern, purportedly used by a Chinese emperor. It is a specialized, thick-application ceramic glaze that creates delicate, intersecting, white crystalline patterns resembling ice or snowflake structures on pottery during firing. I was intrigued. A man approached and I asked about the 2 pieces, a sake bowl and cup. He said he made them (I used Google Translate). We talked for a bit, and I bought them.

Later I learned that there have been kilns in the vicinity of Seikan-ji for centuries. The area is historically associated with Chawanzaka, which became a significant hub for producing pottery and tea bowls (Chawan). During the Tensho to Keicho periods, master potters including Masayi, Manyemon, and Sohaku operated kilns in the Otowa and Seikanji areas. The pottery tradition from Seikan-ji is considered a direct predecessor to the famous Kiyomizu-yaki.

It had been an amazing day. I headed back to my bike, and Shawn and I met for dinner. Then the ride home, and a good sleep. The next day I found a small shop that sold a local specialty, kijishi (woodturned bowls). Artisans use a rokuro (potter’s wheel) to shape wood, a technique in practice for over 1,200 years to create perfectly symmetrical, smooth bowls. I purchased a lovely bowl and told Shawn, since he was also looking for wooden bowls. From there I rode my bike to the big city complex featuring museums, the zoo, and the famous shrine. I parked at Okazaki Park, and noticed a large set up of vendors of all types, mostly local handcrafts. Intrigued, I wandered from booth to booth, and ended up buying handmade coin purses, earrings, a Tsuba (I’m fascinated with Japanese swords), and a handful of knick knacks. It was a grand time, and I loved meeting the women who made the items. It was inspiring to see their dedication and genuine love of the process.

Ahead of me was the immense Heian-jingū Shrine, established in 1895 to mark the city’s 1100th anniversary. The 80 ft vermillion torii is one of the largest in Japan. It was built as a 5/8 scale replica of the original 794 Heian Period Imperial Palace. It honors Emperor Kammu (first ruler of the capital) and later Emperor Komei, with bright vermillion, Heian-style architecture. Heian Jingu was constructed when the Kyoto economy was suffering and its population declining, partly as a result of the capital being transferred to Tokyo. The shrine was one of several projects planned to celebrate the city’s long history and encourage economic growth. It opened the same year that a large industrial exhibition was held in the city to showcase new technologies and attract new industries. In the years that followed, the economy began to improve and the population recovered.

I had hoped to visit Shin’en Garden, among the biggest gardens in Kyoto. Covering about 8 acres, Shin-en Gardens means “garden of the gods”, and most visitors to this popular tourist site are unaware they exist, hidden as they are behind the main structures of the shrine. They consist of four large, strolling-style gardens designed in the Meiji era, renowned for their weeping cherry trees and irises. Unfortunately the temple was closing 10 minutes after I arrived, and staff blocked the paths to the gardens.

I’d read a review extolling the virtue of the Kyoto Museum of Crafts and Design, and wanted to investigate. It was just across the way. Shawn was also interested, so we met there and spent the next hour or so fascinated. The museum, located in the basement in Sakyo-ku showcases all 74 categories of Kyoto’s traditional crafts. It featured exhibitions on traditional techniques, materials, and live artisan demonstrations, along with a shop selling authentic crafts. The demonstration was on Maki-e, a specialized Japanese lacquerware technique often used on sword scabbards (saya). Maki-e sprinkles fine metal or stone powders (like gold, silver, or charcoal) onto wet lacquer to create intricate, textured designs. Shwans loves hands on stuff, as do I. It was fascinating learning about the complex world of Japanese craftsmanship.

The last day in Kyoto, we went to Tō-ji (East Temple) is a 1200-year-old UNESCO World Heritage Site founded around 794. What most intrigued me, besides the giant Kondo and Kodo Hall, was the paintings inside the Five-Storied Pagoda (Gojunoto). Built in 1644, this tower is the highest in Japan at 55 meters as an iconic symbol of Kyoto. The Kondo Hall (main hall), rebuilt in 1603, houses a massive wooden statue of the Yakushi Buddha. The Kodo Hall (Lecture Hall) contains 21 ancient Buddhist statues arranged as a “three-dimensional mandala,” representing the teachings of Shingon Buddhism. One of the original guardian temples from the start of the Heian period, Tō-ji survives as a profound example of Esoteric Buddhist art. The ancient wooden halls were works of art. Shawn and I stood gaping at the joinery, wondering how they managed to build such gigantic buildings. It was impossible to comprehend.