Japan > The Philosopher's Path

I wake up relatively late. I hadn’t set an alarm, but had expected to be woken by the other travelers in the dormitory. Not so. Probably because many others are also sleeping in, but also because the cabins are well insulated. I have coffee at the Excelsior bar right next to the hotel. The hotel breakfast is nothing special. Afterward, I walk about half an hour to Nijo Castle. Construction of the castle began in 1543 during the Edo period. At the entrance, visitors are asked to remove their shoes. As I walk barefoot over the floors, I hear a squeaking sound. The floor is designed to create a nightingale-like sound when walked upon. I’m told it was designed this way to alert residents to uninvited guests. The rooms are adorned with beautiful Japanese paintings of birds, animals, and trees. The best painters of the time were commissioned for this work. It gives the castle more atmosphere than the Himeji Castle I visited earlier. The garden behind the castle is also stunning, with water features, rocks, small pine trees, and a waterfall.

Japan - The Philosophers Path on the east side of Kyoto

If it weren’t so hot, it would be a perfect place to linger. I quickly dive into the subway for some cooling relief. I travel east in the city, where the Philosopher’s Path begins near Nanzen-ji Temple—a walk along a small canal lined with cherry trees. In spring, this must be gorgeous when the trees are in bloom. The two-story-high Sanmon gate of the Nanzen-ji complex is impressive. The brick aqueduct from the late 19th century looks a little out of place, but perhaps that’s what makes it so special. Water still flows over the aqueduct. I skip the gardens and temple itself, following the canal along the Philosopher’s Path. A philosopher used to walk this route daily to keep in shape. At Hoden-in Temple, I leave the path. Nestled against the mountains and under dense foliage is a small temple of the Jodo sect. The gravel in the gardens is raked into patterns. The sky darkens above me, and I hear thunder in the distance. Will I reach Ginkaku-ji Temple before the rain? I didn’t bring any rain protection—not even a plastic bag for my camera and passport. I don’t have to wait long for an answer. Less than five minutes later, it begins to pour. Just as I pass a small restaurant, I dash inside. I order a sandwich and a cola while a downpour rages outside. I wouldn’t have known what to do if I had stayed out. After the rain, I set out again. The stones are slippery, so I walk carefully. At Ginkaku-ji, the souvenir vendors are drying their stalls as the tourist flow picks up again. For many Japanese, the Silver Pavilion is a masterpiece of garden architecture. The pavilion dates from the 14th century. Covering the roof with silver, in imitation of the Golden Pavilion at Kinkaku-ji, was never carried out. I follow the walking route through the gardens, passing a viewpoint overlooking the city via some steps. I see Kyoto, but also the dark clouds above it.

Japan - A cozy meeting in a small restaurant in Kyoto

Soon, it begins raining again, so I hurry back. In front of the temple, a line of people waits—presumably for the bus. Two Italian girls explain how the bus works and how to pay. I ride to the Gion district and walk back to my hotel. Luckily, all the large department stores along this street have canopies, as it’s sprinkling again. In the evening, I deliberately walk in the opposite direction, away from the touristy Pontocho street. I pass small restaurants, none with English signage. On a whim, I step into one, maybe just for a beer. I’m allowed to sit at the eating bar, looking out onto the kitchen. Someone rushes upstairs to fetch a handwritten English menu. I order specific Kyoto dishes, though I have no idea exactly what I’ll get. With my beer, I call out “Kanpai” (cheers) to the men next to me. Everyone laughs. Where am I from? What do I think of Japan? How long will I stay in Kyoto? The conversation is a mix of gestures and limited English. We take a photo together. The other guests and staff crowd around to join in. The man next to me apologizes for having to leave; he’s clearly disappointed. Just as I’m about to leave, I’m offered another beer. I learn the man at the bar recently had a birthday. The lights go out and a cake with candles arrives. He insists I join in eating it. Another photo, another selfie. The translation app is hilarious—I thought I typed “Can I pay?” but the replies make it look like “Are you paying?” When leaving the restaurant, two men walk me outside, and we hug. Such hospitality! This feels so much more enjoyable than the tourist-focused eateries. With a special feeling, I crawl back into my cabin, getting used to my little one-by-two-meter room.