Kyoto 2024, Day 5

Continuing with the documentation of our holiday in Japan last year, the 17th of November marked our fifth day in Kyoto. The day before, we had gone up Mt Hiei and been rewarded with sweeping views and a riot of autumn colours. After such an excursion, we thought it best to slow down a little. With our holiday beginning to wind down, we decided to move around the city itself and take it easy.

That morning we woke later than usual, and after a simple breakfast we set out. Our first destination was Tō-ji Temple, a UNESCO World Heritage site not far from Kyoto Station. It was already past noon when we arrived. By mid-November, one never knows quite what to expect with the autumn foliage. Some years the colours arrive early, other years late. In 2024, the colours were only beginning to show during our visit. So we were a bit lucky to see some splashes of red and yellow among the temple trees.

Walking through the precincts, we were struck first by the spacious layout. Wide gravel paths criss-crossed the grounds, bordered by ancient wooden halls and a carefully tended garden. The Japanese garden was a particular delight: a reflective pond edged with stones, maples bending gracefully over the water, and raked gravel sections that seemed to invite quiet contemplation. At the centre of it all rose the temple’s most famous landmark, the five-storey pagoda. At 55 metres, it is the tallest wooden pagoda in Japan, rebuilt in 1644 after earlier versions were destroyed by fire. Its dark timbers and sweeping eaves rose elegantly into the sky, a sight so iconic that it has come to serve as a symbol of Kyoto itself.

Tō-ji, or “East Temple,” has been part of the city’s story for more than 12 centuries. Founded in 796, just two years after Kyoto was established as the imperial capital of Heian-kyō, it originally formed a pair with Sai-ji, the “West Temple,” which no longer survives. The Japanese Buddhist monk, Kūkai, better known as Kōbō Daishi, made the temple a centre of learning and worship, and to this day Tō-ji remains one of the Shingon school of Buddhism's principal sites.

One of the halls was hosting an exhibition of Japanese paintings and drawings. It was a serene contrast to the bustling world outside. The works on display were elegant and understated, filled with motifs so central to Japanese art: pine trees, cranes, waves, and mountains. Even without fully grasping the artistic techniques, it was impossible not to admire the balance and clarity of the compositions.

The buildings themselves were architectural wonders. Their great wooden beams and rafters interlocked with astonishing precision. I found myself wondering whether nails were used at all. Later, I learned that much of traditional Japanese temple architecture relied on intricate joinery, with slots, grooves and interlocking joints holding everything in place. 

We spent about two hours wandering through Tō-ji, never in a hurry, simply taking in the gardens, the halls and the pagoda that towered above it all. Hunger eventually nudged us back towards the city streets. A small udon restaurant caught our eye, and although I have always preferred ramen, I decided to give it a try. The bowl was hearty and satisfying, proving that perhaps Japanese food really does taste best in its own country. Still, it was a curious experience as we found ourselves the only customers in the restaurant the whole time. Maybe it was already past the usual lunch hour, leaving us with a strangely quiet dining room.

After lunch we boarded a bus bound for Gion. I was checking directions on my phone when I realised too late that we had missed our stop. The bus sped away into unfamiliar streets until we hurriedly pressed the button to get off. Yet the mistake turned into a small gift: we found ourselves walking through parts of Kyoto that we would not normally have seen. Eventually we caught the right bus and resumed our journey to Gion.

This time the contrast was complete. The bus was packed, shoulder to shoulder, so crowded that we were squeezed in like sardines. Perhaps it was because it was a Sunday; tourists mingled with locals, everyone heading into the historic district for the weekend. It was almost a relief to step down into the streets of Kashiwayachō, where the atmosphere was lively but no longer overwhelming.

There we found a small shop selling onigiri. We bought a few and quickly realised just how good they were: plump, perfectly seasoned and among the best we had ever tasted. We enjoyed them so much that we decided to buy extra for the next day’s breakfast.

Dinner that evening was simple. We stumbled across a nondescript stand-up noodle diner run by an elderly husband-and-wife team. There were no chairs, only a counter where customers stood, slurped their noodles and left. It was unpretentious, stripped of ceremony, but that was its charm. The noodles were hot, the broth comforting and the couple moved with the efficiency of long habit. We ate quickly, paid and stepped out into the Kyoto night. Another small memory added itself to the tapestry of our holiday.