The WHOOOOOSH of the Shinkansen screaming through the station was enough to make my hair stand on end. Sixteen cars flew by faster than I could take a bite of my 7-Eleven cucumber (which, by the way, was my favorite snack of the entire trip 🥒). We found our seats and settled in for an ear-popping, eye-widening journey to Kyoto at nearly 200 mph.
Two hours later, we disembarked into a heaving throng at Kyoto’s central station, walking circles to find the platform for our bus to the hotel. Stifling humidity and the press of people ticked my adrenaline higher and higher as we climbed and descended staircase after staircase, emerging at sidewalk level and always on the wrong side of the road. The repeated up and down, glowing shop signs of the underground mall, and bumping into passengers who knew where they were going felt uncomfortably akin to living inside the ubiquitous carnival Whack-a-Mole game.
Thirty interminable minutes later, we finally jumped a barricade and jaywalked across a non-pedestrian zone to reach our bus. Breaking rules feels bad, but living as a mole in Kyoto Station for the rest of my life felt worse.
The exhausted travelers slept in until 9 am, then spent the morning doing laundry. The afternoon was spent on a hop on/hop off bus tour which predictably brought us to all sorts of places overflowing with tourists. We waded through a crowd at the Golden Pavilion, got rained on at Kiyomizu-dera Temple, and Jess took more pictures of trees than the famous gold-leafed and vermilion-painted buildings. 🤩🌲🍁
Thursday, May 22 was a high day (happy birthday to my baby sister!). I’d reserved a morning visit at Kokedera – the “Moss Temple” – months earlier. Some anxious waiting for the bus and an eventual taxi ride later (with Jess watching the GPS, convinced the driver was leading us into the wilderness), we arrived at the temple gates without a minute to spare. The next two hours were spent losing all composure oohing and ahhing and weeping over 120 species of moss covering the forest floor, paving stones, and tree trunks. I wasn’t sure anything could ever hold a candle to Mt. Fuji, but the Moss Temple left me breathless. I found myself ready to submit my application to become a Buddhist monk, spending my days caring for moss. Some naysayer friends have informed me that one can have moss without monkhood, but I’m undeterred in chasing my dream.
And probably shared without request.
On a nature high and with 3 hours before our next appointment, I convinced Nancy to follow me into an unmapped forest trail just beyond the Moss Temple. A quiet stream, majestic stands of bamboo, and mossy log-lined steps into hardwood forest beckoned me further up and further in… but prudence turned me around as I recognized walking deeper in the forest would make me late.
We bused our way to the Arashiyama forest for more bamboo views (joined by 6,000 other bamboozlers) en route to our afternoon appointment – an authentic Japanese tea ceremony.
At the tea house, we were ushered into a women’s dressing room where we were given a garment bag and instructions to change. I was surprised to be given a very light white garment, feeling sheepish as I came out of my dressing booth and feeling immodest in the thin material. I was relieved to be guided to a rack of kimonos and asked to choose one to wear over my white undergarment. Phew.
No fewer than four bands of fabric were used to tie up my midsection to the headmistress’ satisfaction (Why do all cultures seem to value binding their women around the middle?). Nancy and I waddled our way in constricting sandals for a photo op before joining the group to make wagashi, a traditional rice and bean paste sweet served* with green tea.
*I would typically use “enjoyed” here, but my Nordic palette staunchly chooses pastry over paste. I tried to like wagashi, I really did. Multiple times. Just like the multiple swallows it took for me to empty my mouth of the delicacy.
I was enthralled by the detailed, intricate tea preparation steeped in tradition. Our hostess Yuki explained each step and exhibited grace and poise, even as I squirmed on my numb feet and finally gave up my low kneeling posture for a more comfortable side sitting position on the tatami floor mats. What fun to play dress up and drink tea for an afternoon!
Our third and final day in Kyoto started early in an attempt to beat the crowds. We stashed our luggage at Kyoto Station – a much more welcoming stop before rush hour – and carried on to Fushimi Inari, a collection of mountain shrines famous for its numerous vermilion torii gates. We climbed Mt. Inari with a few thousand other tourists, enjoying a forest path lined by huge gates and bathed in birdsong and komorebi (dappled sunlight).
Our afternoon itinerary had been left open, so we scrolled the map and landed on the Kyoto Botanical Gardens as a quiet place to kill some time. Boy were we rewarded! Nancy got lost in the bamboo exhibition and I ogled an expansive garden of roses, delighting in innumerable colors and shapes and sizes with a crowd of octogenarians enjoying ice cream on a Friday afternoon. I eventually pulled myself away from the roses to find a lakeside bench to share with my new friend Yori and his watercolor hobby.
Thanks for the highlights, Kyoto. Up next: Hiroshima!
Conversations on El Camino 