Kyoto 2024, Day 6

With our Japan holiday drawing to a close, we decided to spend our final full day just wandering around Kyoto Station and its surroundings. That was one thing that we still hadn't done. So we took the train to the Kyoto station. 

The moment we stepped out, the familiar sight of the Nidec Kyoto Tower loomed above us. I remembered that on our last trip, we had walked in that direction and somehow ended up at a sushi restaurant in a shopping complex or multi-storey building. Try as I did this time, I couldn’t retrace those steps. Perhaps the place had shut down or relocated elsewhere. Never mind though, we chose instead to stroll aimlessly, dipping in and out of the shops nearby.

A stop at Kyoto Yodobashi was, of course, compulsory. That vast electronics store could easily swallow up half a day and so, even the hour we spent there felt woefully short. Still, it was an improvement over our fleeting visit to one of their Tokyo outlets eight years ago. Soon, hunger took over and we found ourselves outside a restaurant advertising wagyu beef. It didn’t take much convincing. Lunch was decided.

Afterwards, we wandered further from the station and came across another familiar sight: the Higashi Hongan-ji temple, one of the landmarks we had briefly visited all those years ago. We stood there for a moment, wondering where to go next, when a bus suddenly appeared. Feeling a little adventurous, I tugged Saw See along and we hopped on. Destination unknown. For 230 yen, the price of a single bus ride, it seemed well worth getting lost in Kyoto.

Eventually, the bus stopped at Shijo Street, near the Kyoto-Kawaramachi station and not far from Gion again. Shijo Street is one of Kyoto's busiest and most vibrant. But instead of walking around here, we went looking for Nishiki Market, another of Kyoto’s famed destinations. The crowd was tremendous as we joined it. As expected, we ate our way through the entire stretch, sampling snacks and sweets from one end to the other, until the shutters began rolling down. It was only about 6.15 p.m., and the shops were already closing! Emerging once more onto the main Shijo Street, we decided it was time to call it a day and slowly made our way back to the hotel. We were contented, a little weary perhaps but quietly grateful for one more full day in Kyoto.

An afterthought: Farewell, Japan, will we ever see you again? The next day passed without much excitement. We checked out from the hotel and made our way to Kyoto Station to catch the Haruka Express to Kansai International Airport. The AirAsia X flight left Kansai on time, making its scheduled stop at Taoyuan International Airport in Taipei. What puzzled me, though, was why passengers continuing to Malaysia had to disembark with all their cabin belongings and then reboard the same plane after another security check at a different gate. Later, I learnt that this was standard procedure at Taoyuan. Even for transit passengers, the airport authorities require everyone to undergo a fresh security screening before reboarding. It was more than a little inconvenient as I was groggily half-sleepy, but I suppose the Taiwanese take no chances. Still, it did feel rather odd walking off one plane only to queue up and board the very same one again. All that effort just to end up back in the same seat!

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.

Totsu-totsu

I first came across the totsu-totsu dance several years ago quite by chance when I attended a workshop organised by Dr Cecilia Chan at the Bagan Specialist Centre in Butterworth. I remember being intrigued not just by the gentle rhythm of the movements but also by the man leading it. He was a genial Japanese gentleman named Osamu Jareo, whose warmth seemed to fill the room.

The totsu-totsu dance isn’t a performance in the theatrical sense; it’s more like a quiet conversation between body and mind. The movements slow and deliberate, feet tapping, simple arm gestures that sweep through the air like you’re brushing away clouds, using simple props like stools. There’s a natural sway from side to side, a subtle rocking forward and back, each step paired with steady breathing. No rush, no strain, just an unhurried, slow-motion flow that feels almost like moving through water.

Originating in Japan, the totsu-totsu dance was created as a community-building exercise for seniors, particularly those living with memory decline. Its name, “totsu-totsu,” echoes a Japanese onomatopoeia that suggests a slow, rhythmic tapping much like the heartbeat of the dance itself. In Japan, it’s often taught in eldercare centres and community halls, not only for physical activity but as a way to bring people together in a calm, non-competitive setting.

That day in Butterworth, I didn’t think too much about it beyond the pleasant novelty of seeing an unfamiliar form of movement therapy. But the memory stayed with me.

Fast forward to this year’s George Town Festival 2025, Saw See and I were wandering around the Hin Depot after dinner with See Ming, a friend visiting from Kuala Lumpur, when we stumbled upon a small group in rehearsal. There was that same unhurried rhythm, the same gentle swaying, and it brought back memories of the dance we’d seen in Butterworth. And yes, there was Osamu again, still radiating that same patient energy. We noticed Cecilia practicing her introductory spiel and went up to say hello.

Seeing it again, I realised how well suited the totsu-totsu dance is for dementia therapy. Its repetitive, predictable patterns help stimulate memory recall and give participants a sense of mastery. The slow tempo reduces the risk of falls while still engaging balance and coordination. For caregivers, joining in becomes a shared experience. A rare moment where both can move together without the pressure of achievement, just the comfort of presence. There’s something grounding about it, as though the steady rhythm quiets the mind and makes space for connection.

Perhaps that’s the real gift of the totsu-totsu dance: it’s less about the steps themselves, and more about creating a gentle rhythm that people can immerse themselves into, together.

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.

Kyoto 2024, Day 3 (pictures)

Here are the pictures to show from our second full day in Kyoto where we visited Kameoka by the scenic train and returning by boat to Arashiyama. It was a full day outing among nature, quite different from the previous day that was spent within Kyoto itself.

Sagano scenic train

Down the Hozugazu river

Arashiyama bamboo grove