Kyoto 2024, Day 4

In hindsight, I suppose our little adventure to Mount Hiei achieved most of what I had in mind—though not quite everything. I’d originally planned this outing with a modest but earnest intention: to walk one of the trails winding through the mountain forests and make my way, on foot, to the historic Enryaku-ji temple. It’s one of Mount Hiei’s most renowned spiritual landmarks and the highlight of the entire mountain. But, as it turned out, the day had its own ideas.

The morning didn’t begin as briskly as I’d hoped. We indulged in a long, lazy lie-in, the kind where one eye occasionally peeks at the clock and then shuts again waiting for the next alarm to ring. Eventually, we stirred ourselves out of bed and made our way down to the hotel breakfast room, where we dawdled some more over coffee and toast. The walk to Omiya Station was unhurried, bordering on leisurely, and by the time we reached Demachiyanagi Station to catch the Eizan line, I already suspected that the clock was no longer our friend.

Still, spirits were high. The Eizan train took us through scenic suburbs until we arrived at Yase-Hieizanguchi, where a short walk brought us to the base of the mountain at Cable Yase station. From there, our ascent to Mount Hiei’s summit began. The first leg was aboard the Eizan Cable Car—a classic funicular, reminiscent of the one going up Penang Hill, with that same satisfying clunk as it climbs the slope. At the halfway point, Cable Hiei Station, we were meant to transfer to the Hiei Ropeway, a proper cable car that would whisk us up to Hiei-Sancho Station at the top of the mountain. That, at least, was the plan.

But just as we were about to make the transfer, we were waylaid by the sheer beauty of the scenery around Cable Hiei Station. All around us, the maple trees had exploded into their full autumn glory. Fiery reds, deep oranges, golden yellows. The entire hillside looked as if it were ablaze. It was the kind of visual that stopped us in our tracks. We wandered, we gawked, we took photos, we lost all sense of time. We were like children again, skipping through the trees, shuffling through fallen leaves, marvelling at nature’s ability to outdo any man-made spectacle.

It wasn’t until sometime after two o’clock that I checked my watch and realised, with a jolt, that the morning had vanished. So much for hiking to Enryaku-ji! But at that point, our stomachs were louder than our regrets, and thankfully, the top station wasn’t too far off. We hopped aboard the ropeway and soon found ourselves at the summit, where the first sight that greeted us was a sign for Café de Paris.

It was, quite literally, a sight for sore eyes and growling bellies. The name alone hinted that we shouldn’t expect any udon or soba here and sure enough, the menu was unapologetically French. A charming little eatery offering things like gratins, onion soup, buttery tarts and freshly brewed coffee. The whole experience was a surprise, a taste of continental Europe perched atop a Japanese mountain, surrounded by cypress and cedar trees. It felt wonderfully surreal.

As we later discovered, the café was actually part of the Garden Museum Hiei, an outdoor art garden inspired by the French Impressionists. It was one of those unexpectedly curated spaces that Japan seems to specialise in: part cultural tribute, part horticultural wonderland. The museum blended themed gardens (there was a fragrance garden, a Monet-inspired water lily pond, and a rose garden) with life-sized reproductions of paintings by the likes of Monet, Renoir and Van Gogh. All of it artfully arranged on a hilltop offering sweeping views over Lake Biwa on one side and the Kyoto basin on the other. A gentle breeze, a gentle meal and a panorama that defied description. A quiet kind of magic.

We wandered through the museum grounds for a while, entranced by the flowers and the art, before a fine drizzle began to fall. Not quite enough to soak us, but just enough to make us duck into the souvenir shop and linger there longer than intended. By the time the drizzle let up and we emerged back into the open, the light was already beginning to fade. Dusk was descending, the chill was setting in, and it was clear that our hopes of reaching Enryaku-ji would have to be deferred to another visit, if there was another opportunity. It simply wasn’t practical or safe to go venturing further in the dark, especially on unfamiliar trails.

And so, with a slight tinge of regret but no real disappointment, we began our descent. Back down the ropeway, back onto the funicular and eventually back to the base at Yase. There, just as we were thinking about dinner, something unexpected caught our eye. A Lebanese restaurant tucked into a quiet corner near the station. Lebanese food. In Japan. Neither of us could quite explain the impulse, but it must have been the name. Falafel Garden. Somehow, we found ourselves stepping inside, drawn by curiosity and hunger. Till today, I still don’t know what possessed us, but the food turned out to be surprisingly good.

So no, we didn’t make it to Enryaku-ji that day. But did I regret it? Not really. Because what we ended up experiencing was something else entirely: a slower, richer and altogether more surprising day on Mount Hiei. One full of colour, art, food and small joys. Sometimes, detours make the best destinations.