Tag: Travel

现代京都中的平安京记忆

As someone who has always been fascinated by history, Kyoto was the city that I had wanted to visit for the longest time. More than simply another destination, it seemed to me like a place where the history of Japan could still be encountered in the landscape itself. Modern Kyoto grew from Heian-kyō, the imperial capital founded in 794, and for more than a thousand years the city remained at the heart of Japan’s courtly and cultural life. Although the imperial capital eventually moved to Tokyo, the old capital never completely disappeared. This was what fascinated me most about Kyoto. To walk through Kyoto, therefore, was in some sense to walk through layers of Japanese history, from the imperial court of Heian-kyō to the Buddhist temples and samurai culture of later centuries, and finally to the modern city that exists today. After having read and imagined so much of this history, I was finally able to see it with my own eyes.

作为一个历史爱好者，京都是我长久以来最想造访的城市。对我而言，它不仅仅是一个普通的旅行目的地，更像是一座能够从城市景观中亲身感受到日本历史的地方。现代京都脱胎于794年建立的平安京，在此后的一千多年里，这座城市始终是日本宫廷生活与文化发展的中心。尽管日本的皇都最终迁往了东京，但这座古老的都城却从未真正消失。京都最令我着迷的，正是这一点。因此，漫步在京都的街道之间，在某种意义上也是在穿越日本历史的层层积淀，从平安京时代的宫廷文化，到后来几个世纪的佛教寺院与武士文化，再到如今这座延续至今的现代城市。在阅读和想象了如此多关于这座古都的历史之后，我这次终于有机会亲眼见证我眼中的京都。

My first stop in Kyoto was the Kamo River, just a short walk from where I was staying near Shijō. After stepping away from the busy streets, the city suddenly seemed to open up. The river flowed quietly through the heart of Kyoto, its broad banks creating a long strip of sky, water, and greenery between the buildings on either side. In the distance, the mountains surrounding Kyoto formed a gentle backdrop. Along the riverbanks, people walked, cycled, jogged, or simply sat beside the water, while birds moved across the shallow currents. The contrast was striking: behind me was the lively commercial center of Kawaramachi, filled with shops, restaurants, and traffic; in front of me was the calm, open landscape of the Kamo River.

我在京都的第一站是鸭川，从我当时住在四条附近的地方步行片刻便可抵达。离开繁忙的街道之后，眼前的市井仿佛一下子开阔起来。鸭川静静地流经京都市中心，宽阔的河岸在两侧建筑之间铺展开来，形成了一条由天空、流水与绿意交织而成的长长风景带。远处，环绕京都的群山构成了一道柔和的背景。沿着河岸，人们或散步、骑行、慢跑，或只是静静地坐在水边；鸟儿则在浅浅的水流间穿梭。眼前的景象形成了鲜明的对比：身后是热闹繁华的河原町商业中心，商店、餐馆与往来车辆交织在一起；而眼前，却是鸭川宁静而开阔的自然风景。

Standing there, I began to understand something about Kyoto that I had previously known only from history. The Kamo River was not merely a river running through a modern city. It had been part of Kyoto’s landscape since the days of Heian-kyō, flowing past the ancient capital for more than a thousand years. The Sanjō bridge behind me was famously used as a public execution ground. It has a remarkably dark historical side related to Ishida Mitsunari. After Toyotomi Hideyoshi’s death, Mitsunari emerged as one of the principal leaders opposing Tokugawa Ieyasu. His Western Army was defeated at Sekigahara in 1600. Mitsunari was eventually captured and brought to Kyoto. On 6 November 1600, he was executed at Rokujō-gawara and his head was subsequently displayed at Sanjō-gawara near Sanjō Bridge. Standing on this bridge, it’s hard to imagine that this tranquil river and the surrounding city once witnessed such a dark history. The Kamo River, which has flowed from the Heian period to the present day, not only carries the natural scenery of Kyoto, but also silently records the rise and fall and vicissitude of this city over thousands of years.

站在这里，我开始逐渐了解一些过去只能从历史书中认识的京都。鸭川并不只是一条流经现代城市的河流。早在平安京时代，它便已是京都城市景观的一部分，静静地流淌在这座古都旁，见证了千余年来的历史变迁。我身后的三条大桥也有着一段鲜为人知的黑暗历史。这里曾经是公开处决犯人的刑场，而其中最著名的一段历史，与战国人物石田三成有关。丰臣秀吉去世后，石田三成逐渐成为反对德川家康势力的重要领袖。然而，他所率领的西军最终在1600年的关原之战中战败。此后，石田三成被捕并押送至京都。1600年11月6日，他在六条河原畔被处决，随后首级被悬挂示众于三条大桥附近的三条河原。站在这座桥边，很难想象眼前这条宁静的河流与周围的城市，曾经见证过如此沉重的历史。从平安京时代延续至今的鸭川，不仅承载着京都的自然风景，也默默记录着这座城市千百年来的兴衰与变迁。

Yasunari Kawabata is a famous Japanese writer. His novel ‘ Kyoto’ had a detailed description of the landscape which really impresses me. “For such a large city, the color of the leaves in Kyoto was beautiful. The groves of pines in Gosho and the imperial villa of Shugakuin and the trees in the expansive gardens of the old temples all caught the eye of the traveler, as did the rows of willows in the center of the city, along the banks of the Takase River.”

{ 京都は大都会としては、木の緑が美しかった。修学院離宮や御所の松林、古寺の広い庭の木々はもちろん、市内の木屋町や高瀬川畔、五条や堀川の柳並木も、旅人の目をひいた。それはほんとうの柳であった。緑の枝が地にとどくほど垂れて、しなやかであった。}

川端康成是日本著名的文学家。他的小说《古都》中，对京都自然景观的细腻描写尤其令我印象深刻。他曾这样描绘这座城市：“对于这样一座规模宏大的城市而言，京都的树木色彩之美实在令人赞叹。御所与修学院离宫的松树林，以及古老寺院宽阔庭园中的树木，都吸引着旅人的目光；而在城市中心，沿着高濑川河岸绵延排列的柳树，同样构成了一道令人难忘的风景。” 

Kawabata Yasunari’s description of Kyoto in The Old Capital had long shaped my imagination of the city. His words painted a picture of a metropolis where greenery and historical scenery existed in quiet harmony, where ancient temple gardens, graceful willows along the rivers, and the wooded mountains beyond the city formed an inseparable part of Kyoto’s character. This literary image became my first impression of Kyoto even before I set foot there. When I finally arrived, I was eager to explore the places he had described, to walk along the rivers and through the old streets, and to discover for myself the landscape that had inspired his words.

川端康成在《古都》中对京都的描写，早已在我的想象中勾勒出这座城市的模样。他笔下的京都，是一座绿意与历史景致静静交融的都市。古老寺院庭园中的树木、沿着河岸优雅排列的柳树，以及城市之外层峦叠翠的群山，共同构成了京都独特而不可分割的城市风貌。甚至在真正踏上这片土地之前，这幅文学画卷便已成为我对京都最初的印象。当我终于来到这里，心中便充满了探索的期待。我想亲自走访他笔下描绘的那些地方，沿着河流漫步，穿行于古老的街巷之间，亲身寻找那片曾经启发他写下这些文字的风景。

The Shirakawa Canal was one of those places in Kyoto where the charm of the old capital seemed to reveal itself in the smallest details. A narrow stream of clear water flowed gently between stone banks, its surface reflecting the branches of willows and the wooden facades of traditional houses that stood quietly along its course. Small stone bridges crossed the canal at intervals, connecting the narrow lanes on either side, while the branches of trees leaned over the water as though they had been watching over this little corner of Kyoto for centuries.

白川运河是京都众多能够让人从细微之处感受到古都韵味的地方之一。一条清澈而狭窄的溪流沿着石砌河岸缓缓流淌，水面倒映着垂柳的枝条，以及静静伫立在两岸的传统木造房屋。几座小巧的石桥间隔着横跨运河，将两侧狭窄的街巷连接起来。树木的枝条轻轻探向水面，仿佛数百年来一直默默守望着京都的这一隅。

There was something particularly graceful about the scene. Unlike the grand temples and imposing gates that often draw visitors to Kyoto, the small canal possessed a more intimate beauty, one that revealed itself slowly to those willing to wander without a particular destination. The soft murmur of flowing water, the delicate green of the overhanging leaves, and the weathered textures of wood and stone created a peaceful landscape that felt removed from the haste of the modern world.

眼前的景致有一种格外优雅而从容的美。与那些吸引无数游客前来的宏伟寺院和庄严门楼不同，这条小小的运河呈现出一种更为亲切而细腻的美，需要人们放慢脚步，在没有特定目的地的漫游中，才能逐渐体会。潺潺的流水声、探向水面的嫩绿枝叶，以及木头与石材历经岁月留下的斑驳质感，共同构成了一幅宁静的画面，仿佛将人带离了现代世界匆忙的节奏。

From the quiet waters of the Shirakawa Canal, I continued toward Hanamikoji Street, in the heart of Gion, one of Kyoto’s most celebrated traditional districts. The atmosphere gradually changed as I entered its narrow streets, where rows of old wooden townhouses stood close together beneath dark tiled roofs. Their latticed windows, timber facades, and understated entrances seemed to preserve the elegance of another age. Here and there, discreet signs marked traditional restaurants and teahouses, some hidden behind wooden doors and curtains that offered only a glimpse of the world within.

离开白川运河宁静的水畔后，我继续向花见小路走去，来到了京都最负盛名的传统街区之一：祇园的中心地带。随着我走进一条条狭窄的街巷，周围的氛围也逐渐发生了变化。一排排古老的木造町屋紧密相邻，深色瓦顶在街道上方延伸开来。格子窗、木质外墙以及低调而雅致的入口，仿佛都在默默留存着另一个时代的风雅。街道两旁，不时可以看到一些不起眼的招牌，标示着传统料理店与茶屋的所在。有些店铺隐身于木门之后，门前悬挂的布帘遮住了内部景象，只隐约透露出里面的另一番天地。

Hanamikoji was particularly captivating for its association with Kyoto’s geisha culture. Behind these unassuming facades lay a centuries-old tradition of music, dance, conversation, and hospitality, cultivated in the exclusive teahouses of Gion. The district had developed during the Edo period around Yasaka Shrine, serving visitors who came to worship and gradually becoming one of the city’s most renowned entertainment quarters. Even today, its streets retain an atmosphere distinct from the modern commercial districts nearby. What fascinated me was the way the traditional and contemporary existed side by side.

花见小路最吸引我的，是它与京都艺伎文化之间深厚的联系。在这些看似朴素低调的建筑背后，延续着一项数百年的传统，涵盖音乐、舞蹈、谈话与待客之道，并在祇园那些私密而讲究的茶屋中代代传承。祇园街区在江户时代逐渐发展起来，最初围绕八坂神社形成，为前来参拜的访客提供服务，随后逐渐演变为京都最负盛名的娱乐街区之一。时至今日，这里的街道依然保留着一种独特的氛围，与附近现代化的商业街区形成了鲜明的对比。最吸引我的是传统与现代在这里并非彼此割裂，而是自然地并存于同一片街区之中。

Near Yasaka Shrine, Gion is a wonderful place to experience Japanese food. The Gion Duck Rice I tasted was not just a meal, but a unique culinary experience. What made it truly special was its creative presentation, with small test tubes used in a chemistry laboratory. The dish combined the rich, savory flavors of duck rice with a touch of modern Japanese creativity. The test-tube-like containers made the food feel like a scientific experiment, turning an ordinary dining experience into something playful, artistic, and memorable. It was a wonderful example of how Japanese cuisine brings together tradition, innovation, and attention to detail.

祇园靠近八坂神社一带，也是体验日本美食的绝佳去处。我品尝的祇园鸭肉饭带给我的不仅仅是一顿美食，更是一次别具一格的味觉体验。最特别之处在于它充满创意的摆盘方式，餐具中竟然使用了类似化学实验室里装试剂的小试管。这道料理将鸭肉饭浓郁而醇厚的咸香风味，与现代日本料理的创意巧妙地结合在一起。那些宛如实验器皿般的小容器，让整个用餐过程仿佛变成了一场有趣的科学实验，也将原本平常的用餐体验转化为一场兼具趣味性、艺术感与记忆点的美食体验。这也是日本料理令人着迷的地方之一：它善于将传统、创新与对细节的极致追求融为一体。

At the southern end of Hanamikoji Street, it is Kennin-ji, a Zen temple founded in 1202, during the early years of the Kamakura shogunate. After walking through the traditional streets of Gion, I found myself entering a different world, one shaped by the quiet discipline of Zen Buddhism and the long history of Japanese religious culture. Every temple in Kyoto has an interesting history for visitor to explore.

在花见小路的南端，便是建仁寺，这座禅寺创建于1202年，正值镰仓幕府建立后的早期。走过祇园充满传统风情的街道，我仿佛进入了另一个截然不同的世界。这里的一切都沉浸在禅宗佛教所崇尚的宁静与修行氛围之中，也承载着日本悠久的宗教文化与历史积淀。京都的每一座寺院都有着值得探寻的历史。

Kennin-ji was established by Eisai, the Buddhist monk who helped introduce Zen teachings from China and encouraged the cultivation and drinking of tea in Japan. Its history belongs to a period when the old imperial capital was undergoing profound changes. Political authority was shifting toward the samurai, while Zen Buddhism was gaining the patronage of the warrior class. Temples such as Kennin-ji became important meeting places for religious thought, Chinese learning, and the cultural traditions that would eventually shape so much of Japanese life.

建仁寺由荣西禅师创建。他是一位曾赴中国学习佛法的日本僧人，回国后将禅宗思想引入日本，并积极倡导茶叶的种植与饮用，对日本茶文化的发展产生了深远影响。建仁寺的历史，正处于日本古老的皇都经历深刻变革的时代。当时，政治权力逐渐从朝廷转移至武士阶层，而禅宗佛教也开始受到武士阶层的重视与支持。像建仁寺这样的寺院，逐渐成为宗教思想、中国文化与学术交流的重要场所，也成为孕育日本传统文化的重要空间。

From Gion, I continued eastward into the Higashiyama district and arrived at Ninenzaka, one of the most famous streets in Kyoto. The narrow stone-paved street was filled with visitors moving slowly up and down the slope, stopping in front of shops, taking photographs, and admiring the traditional buildings. Ninenzaka was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was also one of the busiest places I had encountered in Kyoto. The street itself climbed gently along the hillside, its uneven stones worn smooth by generations of footsteps. On both sides stood rows of traditional wooden townhouses with dark timber facades, tiled roofs, lattice windows. Teahouses, confectionery shops, restaurants, and souvenir shops occupied the old buildings, bringing a lively commercial energy to what was once a much quieter approach to the temples of Higashiyama.

离开祇园后，我继续向东走进东山地区，来到了二年坂，这是京都最著名的传统街道之一。狭窄的石板路上挤满了来来往往的游客，人们沿着坡道缓缓上下，在店铺门前驻足、拍照，欣赏沿街的传统建筑。二年坂无疑十分美丽，但同时也是我在京都遇到的最为热闹拥挤的地方之一。街道沿着山坡缓缓向上延伸，凹凸不平的石板经过一代又一代行人的踩踏，早已被岁月磨得光滑。道路两旁是一排排传统的木造町屋，深色的木质外墙、瓦片屋顶与格子窗，共同构成了京都古老街巷的典型风貌。茶屋、和果子店、餐馆与纪念品商店占据了这些古老的建筑，为这片街区增添了热闹的商业气息。而在过去，这里原本只是通往东山寺院的一条相对宁静的道路。

Among the many scenes of Ninenzaka, one image stayed with me more than any other. Looking down the narrow stone-paved lane, the old wooden shops stood closely along both sides, their dark timber facades and tiled roofs forming a continuous frame around the street. At the far end, rising above the rooftops, stood the slender dark silhouette of the Yasaka-no-Tō Pagoda. The five-story pagoda seemed almost perfectly placed at the end of the lane, as if the entire street had been arranged to lead the eye toward it. The contrast was beautiful: the deep tones of the weathered wood and pagoda against the clear blue of the sky and the fresh green of the trees.

在二年坂众多景致中，有一个画面尤其深深地留在了我的记忆里。沿着狭窄的石板街道向远处望去，古老的木造店铺紧密地排列在道路两旁，深色的木质外墙与瓦片屋顶仿佛为整条街道勾勒出一道连续的框架。而在街道的尽头，修长而深黑的八坂之塔从层层屋顶之上拔地而起，映入我的眼帘。这座五重塔仿佛恰到好处地矗立在街道的尽头，宛如整条街道的布局都是为了将人们的目光引向它。眼前的景色形成了十分迷人的色彩对比：历经岁月的深色木建筑与古老的佛塔，与湛蓝的天空和清新的绿色树木相互映衬，构成了一幅极具京都韵味的画面。

I stopped for a while to take in the view. Perhaps this was why Ninenzaka had become such a famous image of the city. It was not simply one beautiful street; everything seemed to come together in a single composition. As I continued along the slope, I realized that experiencing Kyoto meant accepting both sides of the city: the quiet ancient capital I had dreamed about, and the living, crowded city that exists today. Ninenzaka showed me that history does not always survive in silence. Sometimes, it also lingers in bustling streets, crowds of people, and in the ongoing daily life.

我停下脚步，静静地欣赏了一会儿眼前的景色。或许，这正是二年坂成为京都最具代表性的城市画面之一的原因。它并不只是一条美丽的街道，而是所有景致恰好汇聚在一起，构成了一幅浑然天成的画卷。继续沿着坡道前行时，我渐渐意识到，真正体验京都，也意味着要接受这座城市的两个不同面貌：一个是我曾在想象中无数次描绘的宁静古都，另一个则是如今依然充满活力、熙熙攘攘的现实城市。二年坂让我明白，历史并不总是以沉寂的方式留存下来。

I continued climbing the slope toward Sannenzaka, where the street became another beautiful scene of old Kyoto. The stone pavement rose gently between rows of traditional wooden shops; many decorated with colorful Japanese umbrellas that added a delicate touch of color to the monotonous grey tones of timber and tiled roofs. The narrow street remained lively with visitors making their way uphill toward Kiyomizu-dera.
我继续沿着坡道向上，来到了三年坂。这里又呈现出一幅别具韵味的京都古街景象。石板路在一排排传统木造店铺之间缓缓向上延伸，许多店铺门前装饰着色彩缤纷的日本和伞，为原本以灰色木材与瓦片屋顶为主的街道增添了一抹柔和而雅致的色彩。狭窄的街道依然十分热闹，游客们络绎不绝地沿着坡道向上行走，朝着清水寺的方向前进。

What caught my attention most was the Japanese girls dressed in traditional clothing. Many wore elegant kimono or yukata, their bright colors and intricate patterns standing out beautifully against the old wooden buildings. Some wore their hair in carefully arranged traditional styles, while others carried small handbags or walked together with friends, stopping occasionally to take photographs. Their presence made the historic street feel even more vividly connected with Japanese tradition. As I climbed higher, the street became a meeting point between past and present. The buildings and stone steps recalled the old capital, while the crowds, shops, cameras, and smartphones belonged to modern Kyoto.

吸引我目光的，是那些身着传统服饰的日本女孩。许多人穿着优雅的和服或浴衣，鲜艳的色彩与精致的图案在古老的木造建筑映衬下显得格外美丽。有些女孩将头发精心梳理成传统发型，有些则提着小巧的手提包，与朋友结伴而行，偶尔停下来拍照留念。她们的出现，让这条古老的街道仿佛与日本传统文化有了更加鲜活而真实的联系。随着我继续向坡道上方走去，这条街道逐渐展现出连接过去与现在的独特面貌。古老的建筑与石阶让人想起昔日的京都，而熙攘的人群、沿街的商店、相机与智能手机，则无不属于现代京都。

After climbing the winding lanes, I finally arrived at Kiyomizu-dera, one of Kyoto’s most celebrated Buddhist temples. Standing before me was a magnificent vermilion gate, its brilliant red pillars and beams glowing against the blue sky. The vivid color contrasted beautifully with the dark wooden structures and the surrounding greenery, making the entrance appear both imposing and welcoming. A long flight of stone steps led up toward the gate, drawing visitors gradually toward the temple grounds. Two stone lions stood guard in front of the gate, one on either side of the approach. With their heads held proudly and their bodies carved in a firm, imposing posture, they seemed to watch over everyone ascending the steps.

沿着蜿蜒的街巷一路向上攀登，我终于抵达了清水寺，这座京都最负盛名的佛教寺院之一。映入眼帘的是一座宏伟的朱红色大门，鲜艳的红色柱子与横梁在湛蓝的天空映衬下显得格外耀眼。明亮的朱红色与深色的木质建筑以及周围的绿意形成了惊艳的对比，使这座入口既显得庄严雄伟，又带着一种迎接来访者的气势。一段长长的石阶向上延伸，直通大门，引领着游客一步步走进寺院。大门前还矗立着两尊石狮，分列道路两侧，仿佛守护着这座古老的寺院。它们高昂着头颅，身姿威严，坚实有力的雕刻线条赋予了它们庄重而肃穆的气势，仿佛正静静注视着每一位拾级而上的来访者。

The Nio-mon Gate of Kiyomizu-dera stood proudly at the entrance to the temple grounds. The deep red of the timber, the dark roof tiles, and the white walls and decorative details like the traditional plague left me deep impression. Despite its vivid colors, the gate possessed a solemn character. Its name, Nio-mon, refers to the guardian gate traditionally associated with the fierce Nio protectors of Buddhist temples. These powerful figures stand watch over the entrance, symbolically guarding the sacred grounds against evil and impurity.

清水寺的仁王门庄严地矗立在寺院入口处。深红色的木质结构、深色的瓦片屋顶，以及白色的墙面与传统装饰细节，以及门上的传统匾额与装饰，更给我留下了深刻的印象。尽管色彩鲜艳，这座大门却丝毫不失庄严肃穆的气质。仁王门之名，源于佛教寺院入口处的守护者，名称与传统的守护佛寺的仁王尊者密切相关。这些威武的护法神通常以金刚力士的形象出现，守立于寺院入口两侧，阻挡邪恶与污秽进入。

At the top of the steps, the brilliant vermilion Sanjū-no-tō came into my view. Rising against the blue sky above the temple grounds, its vivid red walls and dark, gently curving rooflines created one of the most striking images of Kiyomizu-dera. The vermilion color made it especially vivid against the natural landscape, while the intricate details beneath the eaves revealed the craftsmanship of traditional Japanese architecture. After passing through the crowded streets of Sannenzaka and climbing steadily uphill, the pagoda felt like a visual reward at the end of the ascent. It was one of those scenes I had seen many times in photographs before coming to Kyoto, yet seeing it in person made it feel entirely different.

登上石阶后，鲜艳的朱红色三重塔映入了我的眼帘。它高高耸立在寺院上方，背靠湛蓝的天空，鲜红的塔身与深色而略带弧度的屋檐相互映衬，构成了清水寺最引人注目的景象之一。朱红色在周围自然景观的衬托下显得格外醒目，而屋檐下精巧细致的装饰，则展现了日本传统建筑工艺的精湛。穿过熙熙攘攘的三年坂，再沿着坡道一路向上攀登之后，这座佛塔仿佛成为了漫长旅程终点的一份视觉馈赠。它是我在来到京都之前，早已在无数照片中见过的经典景象之一。然而，当真正站在它面前时，亲眼所见的感受却与照片截然不同。

I noticed one old gate in the temple complex. Beneath the heavy wooden beams of this gate hung a white ceremonial curtain, its fabric patterned with repeated black emblems. I had noticed similar curtains throughout Japan, but here I began to appreciate that they were more than decoration. This curtain is kadomaku, a larger ceremonial curtain used at temple gates. The large circular black motifs appear to be mon (紋) which is heraldic emblems or crests. It identifies the institution and marked the character of the space. The stylized plant like emblem is another heraldic motif related to Sakanoue no Tamuramaro. the military commander associated with the early history of Kiyomizu-dera, encountered deer while hunting in the area. The legend says that he later became involved with the establishment of the temple and that the deer were buried nearby.

我注意到寺院建筑群中有一座古老的大门。厚重的木质横梁下悬挂着一幅白色的仪式帷幕，布面上重复装饰着黑色的纹样。在日本旅行期间，我曾在许多地方见过类似的帷幕，但直到这里，我才开始意识到，它们并不仅仅是装饰品。这种帷幕称为「门幕」，是一种较大型的仪式性帷幕，常悬挂于寺院大门等建筑入口处。上面醒目的黑色圆形图案似乎属于日本传统的具有象征意义的纹章或家纹。它们不仅具有装饰作用，也用于标识所属的寺院或机构，并体现出这一场所的身份与文化特征。其中，类似植物形态的纹样还与坂上田村麻吕有关。他是日本平安时代初期的重要军事将领，初代征夷大将军，也是清水寺创建历史中一位颇具传奇色彩的人物。相传，他曾在这一带狩猎时遇见鹿，后来参与了清水寺的创建，而那些鹿则据说被安葬在附近。

This kind of motifs can be observed in the main as well. At the heart of the hall is the Eleven-Headed, Thousand-Armed Kannon Bodhisattva, the object of worship that has drawn pilgrims to Kiyomizu-dera for more than a thousand years. The statue itself is kept within the innermost sanctuary and is not normally visible to visitors. Instead, worshippers stand in the outer sanctuary at the point closest to the Kannon, facing inward toward the sacred space. It is a super famous travel site and crowded by travelers from the world.

类似的纹样在本堂的建筑装饰上也随处可见。在本堂的中心，供奉着十一面千手观音菩萨，这是清水寺最重要的供奉对象。一千多年来，无数前来参拜的信众与朝圣者，正是为了瞻仰和祈求这尊观音菩萨而来到这里。观音像本身被安置在本堂最深处的内殿之中，通常不会向普通访客公开展示。前来参拜的人们则站在外殿距离观音像最近的位置，面向内侧的神圣空间进行祈祷。作为京都超级著名的旅游景点，清水寺始终吸引着来自世界各地的游客。

Inside the Main Hall, I found myself in a space much quieter and darker than the brilliant landscape outside. The enormous wooden structure was divided into several layers by massive round pillars, creating a gradual transition from the world of visitors to the sacred world of the temple. Worshippers are not allowed to enter, and they stand in the outer sanctuary at the point closest to the Kannon, facing inward toward the sacred space. The ritual is simple: make a slight bow, offer some money, and quietly put both hands together before Kannon.

走进本堂内部，我发现这里的氛围与外面明亮而开阔的景色截然不同。殿内显得更加幽暗，也更加宁静。宏大的木质建筑由一根根粗壮的圆柱支撑，层层延伸的空间结构形成了一道逐渐深入的界限，仿佛将外面游客所处的世俗世界，与寺院内部的神圣空间缓缓分隔开来。信众并不能进入最深处的内殿，而是站在外殿距离观音菩萨最近的位置，面向内侧的神圣空间进行参拜。整个仪式十分简单而庄重：微微鞠躬，将供奉的钱投入功德箱，然后双手合十，在观音菩萨面前静静祈祷。

The wooden stage of Kiyomizu-dera must be the most familiar views of Kyoto. The great veranda stretched out above the forested hillside, its weathered wooden floor opening toward the vast landscape beyond. From here, Kyoto seemed to unfold gradually beneath me: the green slopes of Higashiyama in the foreground, the dense city spreading across the basin, and the distant mountains forming a quiet boundary around the ancient capital. Everyone around me seemed to be doing the same thing: stopping, turning toward the city, and raising a phone or camera to capture this famous view.

清水寺的木造舞台无疑是京都最为人熟知的景观之一。宽阔的木质露台从寺院主体向外延伸，悬立于长满树木的山坡之上，历经岁月洗礼的木质地板一直延伸至眼前开阔的远方。从这里望去，京都的城市景观仿佛在我的脚下徐徐展开。近处是东山连绵起伏的绿色山坡，中间是沿着盆地向四周铺展的密集城市，而更远处，则是环绕着这座古都的群山，仿佛为京都勾勒出一道宁静的边界。周围的游客似乎都在做着同样的事情：停下脚步，转身面向城市，然后举起手机或相机，试图将这幅著名的京都全景留在镜头之中。

The stage itself was almost as impressive as the view. Its enormous wooden pillars descended into the steep valley below, creating the extraordinary impression that the entire structure was suspended above the trees. Standing there, I could finally understand why the Kiyomizu Stage had become such an enduring symbol of Kyoto. The temple’s present stage was reconstructed in 1633 and rises about thirteen meters above the slope, supported by eighteen great zelkova pillars and a complex framework of interlocking timber.

舞台本身也几乎与眼前的景色同样令人震撼。巨大的木柱向下延伸，直插陡峭的山谷之中，营造出一种非凡的视觉效果，仿佛整座建筑都悬浮在树木之上。站在这里，我终于明白，为什么清水寺的木造舞台能够成为京都经久不衰的象征。如今所见的舞台于1633年重建，距离山坡约十三米高，由十八根巨大的榉木柱支撑，并依靠复杂而精巧的木构架相互咬合、彼此承托。

Beneath the slopes of Mount Otowayama, I came across a small Japanese-style garden, where the carefully arranged greenery and quiet landscape offered a moment of peace away from the crowds. Looking across the garden, I could still catch a glimpse of the red pagoda rising above the surrounding trees, its vivid color standing out against the soft greens of the landscape.

在音羽山的山坡下方，我偶然发现了一座小巧的日式庭园。园中草木经过精心布置，景致幽静，为我提供了一刻远离人群喧嚣的宁静时光。透过庭园望去，仍能隐约看见一座红色佛塔从周围的树木间探出身影。鲜明的红色在柔和的绿色景致中格外醒目。

The Kiyomizu area was the first place I visited in Kyoto, and it left a deep impression on me. I was captivated by the lush greenery covering the surrounding mountains, the old temples and their pagodas rising above the trees, and the dark tiled roofs of traditional houses and temple buildings that lined the narrow streets. Together, these elements formed a landscape in which nature, architecture, and history seemed to exist in perfect harmony. Even as I made my way towards my next destination, I could still feel the atmosphere of Kiyomizu lingering in my mind, as though I had carried a small piece of old Kyoto with me.

清水一带是我在京都游览的第一个地方，也给我留下了极为深刻的印象。这里最吸引我的，是覆盖着周围群山的葱郁绿意、从树木间隐约显现的古老寺院与佛塔，以及沿着狭窄街道两旁延伸的传统民居和寺院建筑那深色的瓦顶。这些元素交织在一起，构成了一幅自然、建筑与历史彼此交融、和谐共存的景象。即使后来我已经踏上前往下一个目的地的路途，清水寺一带的氛围仍久久萦绕在脑海之中，仿佛我将一小片古老京都的记忆，也一同带在了身边。

I continued move northwards to the Kōdaiji Temple. It is one of the city’s most enchanting places to experience traditional Japanese beauty. It is a place where elegant wooden architecture, carefully composed gardens, moss-covered stones and whispering bamboo create an atmosphere of serenity that feels far removed from the busy streets beyond its gates. It was founded in 1606 by Nene, the wife of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. When Hideyoshi died in 1598, Nene was deeply affected by his loss. She became a Buddhist nun and, in 1606, established Kōdai-ji Temple to pray for his soul. The Toyotomi family eventually lost its political power, and Hideyoshi’s legacy was overshadowed by the rise of the Tokugawa shogunate. Nene lived through these changes until her death in 1624. She was buried at Kōdai-ji, the temple associated with her name and devotion to her husband represented her deep remembrance of her husband, thus became a historical witness to her life and emotions.

随后，我继续向北行进，来到了高台寺。这里是京都最富有魅力的地方之一，能够让人真切地感受到日本传统美学的韵味。典雅的木造建筑、精心布局的庭园、覆满青苔的石头，以及竹林间轻柔的沙沙声，共同营造出一种宁静幽雅的氛围，仿佛与寺门之外繁忙喧嚣的街道隔绝开来。高台寺于1606年由丰臣秀吉的妻子宁宁创建。1598年秀吉去世后，宁宁深受丧夫之痛。此后，她出家为尼，并于1606年创建高台寺，以祈求丈夫的灵魂得到安息。丰臣家族最终失去了政治权力，随着德川幕府的崛起，秀吉留下的历史影响也逐渐被新的时代所掩盖。宁宁亲身经历了这一系列历史变迁，直至1624年去世。她最终长眠于高台寺，这座以她的名字和对丈夫的深情追思而闻名的寺院，也因此成为她人生与情感的历史见证。

The gardens at Kōdaiji are among its greatest treasures. Designed in the tradition of Japanese landscape gardening, they combine water, stone, trees and open space into scenes that feel both natural and meticulously composed. Reflective ponds mirror the surrounding maples, pines and temple buildings, creating especially beautiful scenes in winter. Stone arrangements and raked gravel evoke the simplicity and symbolism of Zen-inspired garden design.

高台寺的庭园是寺院最珍贵的景致之一。它们沿袭日本传统庭园造景的艺术，将水、石、树木与开阔的空间巧妙地融为一体，既呈现出自然随性的美感，又处处体现出精心构思与布局。清澈的池水倒映着周围的枫树、松树以及寺院建筑，构成一幅幅静谧优美的景象，尤其在冬日，更显出别样的韵味。庭园中的石组布局与细致耙理的砂砾，则展现出受禅宗美学启发的造园理念。

One of the most memorable features of Kōdaiji is its small bamboo grove, tucked into the hillside behind the main temple buildings. Unlike the vast, often crowded bamboo forest in Arashiyama, this is a more intimate and sheltered place, where a narrow path winds between tall, slender bamboo stalks. The bamboo rises gracefully on either side, its green stems reaching towards the sky while delicate leaves form a soft canopy overhead. Sunlight filters through the foliage, illuminating patches of the path and casting shifting patterns of light and shadow. It is a lovely place to pause, breathe deeply and appreciate the understated elegance of Japanese landscape design.

高台寺最令人难忘的景致之一，是一片隐匿于主殿建筑后方山坡上的小型竹林。与岚山那片广阔而时常人潮拥挤的竹林相比，这里显得更加幽静而私密。一条狭窄的小径蜿蜒穿行于高耸纤细的竹竿之间，两侧的竹子优雅地向上伸展，翠绿的竹身直指天空，轻盈的竹叶则在头顶交织成一层柔和的绿荫。阳光透过层层竹叶洒落下来，在小径上点亮一片片光斑，也投下随着微风轻轻变幻的光影。这里是一个令人心旷神怡的地方，静静感受日本庭园设计中那份含蓄而优雅的美。

As I continued northwards, I arrived at the famous Yasaka-jinja. Known for its brilliant vermilion architecture, glowing lanterns and centuries-old traditions, it offers a wonderful glimpse into Kyoto’s cultural heritage. The striking Nishiromon Gate is the shrine’s entrance in the western side of the grounds. With its bold red pillars, elegant roof and commanding position above the surrounding streets, the gate is one of Gion’s most recognizable landmarks. The vivid red-orange timber stands out against the traditional tiled roof and the surrounding cityscape.

继续向北行进，我来到了著名的八坂神社。这里以鲜艳的朱红色建筑、熠熠生辉的灯笼，以及延续数百年的传统祭祀活动而闻名，让人得以一窥京都深厚的文化底蕴。引人注目的西楼门位于神社境内的西侧，是进入神社的重要入口。门楼以醒目的红色柱子、典雅的屋顶和居高临下的建筑位置，成为祇园一带最具辨识度的地标。鲜艳的红橙色木质结构，与传统的瓦顶以及周围的城市景观形成鲜明对比。

The Buden inside is a traditional Japanese shrine pavilion known for its beautiful architecture and numerous traditional lanterns hanging from its wooden structure. It serves as a sacred space for religious ceremonies, traditional dances, and cultural performances dedicated to Shinto deities. The warm glow of the lanterns creates a peaceful and enchanting atmosphere, especially in the evening, while the wooden pillars and elegant roof reflect the beauty of traditional Japanese craftsmanship.

神社境内的舞殿是一座典型的日本神社建筑，以优美的建筑风格和悬挂在木质结构上的众多传统灯笼而闻名。这里是举行宗教仪式、传统舞蹈以及各种奉献给神道神明的文化表演的神圣场所。一盏盏灯笼散发出温暖柔和的光芒，为舞殿营造出宁静而迷人的氛围，尤其到了夜晚，更显得别有韵味。支撑建筑的木柱与线条优雅的屋顶，则展现了日本传统木造建筑工艺的精致之美。

Yasaka-jinja in Kyoto has many small shrines within its grounds because each one is dedicated to a different Shinto deity and serves a particular spiritual purpose. These are known as subsidiary shrines, and they allow visitors to pray for different blessings beyond those associated with the main shrine. For example, Eki Shrine is associated with protection against epidemics and illness, while Utsukushi-gozen-sha is linked to beauty and Okuninushi-sha is associated with good relationships and marriage. Together, these smaller shrines reflect the Japanese Shinto belief that different deities can offer different forms of protection and blessings.

京都八坂神社的境内分布着许多小型神社，这是因为每一座小社都供奉着不同的神道神明，并承担着各自特定的祈愿功能。这些小社让参拜者除了向主神祈求庇佑之外，也可以根据不同的愿望，前来祈求各种祝福。例如，疫神社与驱除瘟疫、守护健康有关；美御前社供奉着与美丽相关的神明；而大国主社则以祈求良缘和婚姻幸福而闻名。这些散布在境内的小神社，共同体现了日本神道信仰中的一种观念：不同的神明各有所司，能够为人们带来不同形式的庇护与祝福。

Yasaka-jinja founded in 656 AD and has a long history of protecting people from epidemics and misfortune. Many local people come here to pray at night. Its most distinctive feature is the dance stage decorated with hundreds of lanterns, many bearing the names of local businesses that donated them to the shrine. As night fell, lanterns were illuminated one by one, their warm glow illuminating the entire dance hall and creating a beautiful and tranquil night scene.

八坂神社始建于公元656年，拥有悠久的历史，长期以来一直肩负着守护人们免受瘟疫与灾祸侵扰的使命。直到今天，仍有许多当地居民在夜晚前来参拜，祈求神明的庇佑。神社最具特色的景观之一，便是装饰着数百盏灯笼的舞殿。其中许多灯笼上都写有当地企业的名称，这些灯笼是由当地商家捐赠给神社的。夜幕降临后，一盏盏灯笼相继点亮，温暖的光芒映照着整个舞殿，形成一幅美丽而宁静的夜景。

The area surrounding Yasaka-jinja reflects Kyoto’s historical urban design, where a series of temples, shrines, and traditional streets form a connected cultural landscape. Nearby temples such as Chion-in, Shōren-in, and Kōdai-ji represent different periods of Japanese religious and architectural history. I walked all the ways northwards and visited them one by one. This layout shows how Kyoto developed around its eastern foothills, where religious institutions, gardens, parks, and traditional streets grew together over centuries. This photo was taken at the enormous Sanmon gate of Chion-in Temple, which stands about 24 metres tall and 50 metres wide. The gate’s history can be traced back to 1621 under the Tokugawa shogunate.

八坂神社周围的区域展现了京都传统的城市布局特色。寺院、神社与传统街道彼此相连，共同构成了一片富有历史底蕴的文化景观。附近的知恩院、青莲院和高台寺，分别代表了日本宗教与建筑历史上不同时期的发展与演变。我沿着这片区域一路向北行走，依次探访了这些寺院。这样的空间布局也反映了京都如何沿着东部山麓逐渐发展起来：数百年来，宗教机构、庭园、公园与传统街道在群山脚下相互交织，共同塑造了这座古都独特的城市风貌。这张照片拍摄于知恩院巨大的三门前。这座气势恢宏的门楼高约24米，宽约50米，规模十分惊人。它的历史可以追溯到1621年，当时正值德川幕府统治时期。

Chion-in Temple is the head temple of the Jōdo (Pure Land) school of Buddhism. Its origins date to 1175, when the Buddhist priest Hōnen began teaching here, and the temple was formally established by his disciples in 1234. Inside the spacious grounds, visitors can explore the grand Mieidō hall, traditional gardens, and a massive bronze bell weighing approximately 70 tonnes. The temple’s large wooden structures, stone stairways, and carefully arranged buildings reflect the influence of Buddhist beliefs and the patronage of the Tokugawa shogunate during the Edo period.

知恩院是日本净土宗的总本山。它的历史可以追溯到1175年，当时佛教僧侣法然在此开始宣讲净土教义。到了1234年，他的弟子们正式建立了这座寺院。在宽阔的寺院境内，游客可以参观气势恢宏的御影堂、传统日式庭园，以及一口重约70吨的巨大青铜钟。寺院内规模宏大的木造建筑、层层延伸的石阶，以及布局严谨的各式殿堂，共同展现了佛教信仰对建筑艺术的深刻影响，也体现了江户时代德川幕府对寺院的支持与庇护。

Near Chion-in Temple, it is the Shōren-in established in the 12th century under the patronage of the retired Emperor Toba. It is particularly notable for its close relationship with Japan’s imperial family. Shōren-in was one of Kyoto’s prestigious monzeki temples, where the head priests traditionally came from the imperial families. It served as a temporary imperial residence after a great fire destroyed Kyoto’s Imperial Palace in 1788. It is therefore also known as Awata Gosho, meaning the Awata Imperial Palace.

在知恩院附近，还有一座建于12世纪的青莲院，它是在鸟羽上皇的庇护下建立的。这座寺院最大特点，是它与日本皇室之间长久而密切的联系。青莲院曾是京都地位显赫的门迹寺院之一。所谓门迹寺院，是指住持通常由皇室成员或贵族出身的僧侣担任的寺院，因此往往具有特殊的宗教与政治地位。1788年，京都御所遭遇大火焚毁后，青莲院曾一度被用作临时皇室居所。也正因如此，它又被称为“粟田御所”。

Kyoto is an interesting place for a history lover like me because I could somehow meet a famous name or a historical place accidentally when I wandered around the small streets on my way to my next destination. Tomb of Akechi Mitsuhide is hidden in a small corner near the Shirakawa canal. Mitsuhide is best known for the Honnō-ji Incident of 1582, when he turned against his lord, Oda Nobunaga, and attacked him at a temple in Kyoto. Nobunaga died during the attack, dramatically changing the course of Japan’s struggle for unification. However, Mitsuhide’s victory was short-lived: just 11 days later, he was defeated by Toyotomi Hideyoshi at the Battle of Yamazaki. This tomb hidden in the street corner preserves the story of his tragic downfall.

对于像我这样热爱历史的人来说，京都是一座充满惊喜的城市。沿着狭窄的小街漫步，在前往下一个目的地的途中，有时会不经意间遇见一个熟悉的历史人物，或是一处承载着重要历史记忆的地方。这种偶然的发现，也让京都的每一次漫步都充满了探索的乐趣。图中明智光秀的墓就隐匿在白川运河附近一个不起眼的角落里。光秀最为人熟知的历史事件，便是发生于1582年的本能寺之变。当时，他背叛了自己的主君织田信长，率军袭击了位于京都的本能寺。信长最终在这场袭击中身亡，这一事件也彻底改变了日本统一进程的走向。然而，明智光秀的胜利并未持续太久。仅仅11天之后，他便在山崎之战中被丰臣秀吉击败，最终走向覆灭。这座隐于街巷一隅的墓碑，默默保存着这段充满悲剧色彩的历史。

I like playing strategic games like Nobunaga’s Ambition and Akechi Mitsuhide must be a familiar character for me. I think his decision to turn against Oda Nobunaga is one of the great unsolved mysteries in Japanese history. One theory suggests that Mitsuhide had grown resentful of Nobunaga’s harsh treatment and humiliations. Other theories propose that Mitsuhide acted with encouragement from political figures, such as the imperial court, the former shogun Ashikaga Yoshiaki, or even Nobunaga’s rival Toyotomi Hideyoshi. These theories are intriguing and left me continue to think when I travel in Kyoto.

我一直很喜欢《信长之野望》这类策略游戏，因此，明智光秀对我来说是一个熟悉的历史人物。在我眼里他为何决定背叛织田信长至今仍是日本历史上一个谜团。其中一种说法广泛认为，光秀长期以来对信长严厉的对待方式以及多次受到的羞辱心怀不满，最终促使他采取了反叛行动。另一些观点则认为，他的行动可能得到了某些政治势力比如前将军足利义昭，甚至是信长的竞争对手丰臣秀吉的暗中鼓动。这些不同的历史假说众说纷纭，却始终没有一个能够得到确凿证实的答案。也正因如此，当我漫步在京都的街道之间，这段历史总会再次浮现在我的脑海中，让我不由得继续思考：当年是什么原因，促使明智光秀做出了那个改变日本历史走向的决定？

Kyoto was Japan’s imperial capital from 794 until the capital moved to Tokyo in 1868. Its history is best experienced through a combination of ancient temples, Shinto shrines, former imperial residences and old streets that still preserve the atmosphere of traditional Kyoto. Heian-jingū is a special building that celebrates Kyoto’s history as Japan’s imperial capital. It was established in 1895 to commemorate the 1,100th anniversary of the founding of Heian-kyō, the former name of Kyoto when it became the capital in 794. The huge vermilion gate is a landmark. Walking towards the shrine from the south gave me a wonderful sense of scale.

京都自794年起便是日本的皇都，直至1868年日本迁都东京。要真正感受京都的历史底蕴，最好将古老的寺庙、神道教神社、昔日的皇室居所，以及至今仍保留着传统京都风情的古老街道结合起来游览。

平安神宫是一座承载着京都作为日本皇都历史记忆的特别建筑。它建于1895年，是为了纪念平安京建都1,100周年而修建的。平安京是京都在794年成为日本首都时的旧称。神宫前那座巨大的朱红色鸟居是当地的标志性建筑。从南面沿路步行前往神社时，我深深感受到了建筑所呈现出的宏伟气势与空间尺度，令人印象深刻。

It is a place where I can experience both the grandeur of Japan’s imperial heritage. The Ōtenmon Gate is an impressive two-storey entrance to the shrine courtyard. The contrast of red, green and white makes the complex particularly striking in photographs.

The shrine’s main complex is modelled on the State Hall of the ancient Imperial Palace, built at five-eighths of its original scale. This is the Outer Oratory, officially known as Daigoku-den which is the magnificent main hall at Heian-jingū. It is one of the shrine’s most important buildings. The arrangement of its buildings evokes the formal ceremonies and political life of Japan’s imperial court. The shrine enshrines two emperors associated with Kyoto’s imperial history. Emperor Kanmu is the emperor who established Heian-kyō as the capital in 794 and Emperor Kōmei is the last emperor to rule from the old imperial capital before the move to Tokyo. This building represents the long history of this period.

The Sōryūrō Tower is one of the two elegant towers flanking the main ceremonial hall at Heian-jingū. Its name means “Azure Dragon Tower” . With its vermilion pillars, pale walls, layered green roof and gracefully sloping eaves, it contributes to the shrine’s symmetrical, imperial-palace appearance. It balances the opposite Byakkorō, or White Tiger Tower, framing the main hall and creating the impression of an orderly imperial complex. In ancient Chinese cosmology, the Azure Dragon was the celestial guardian of the East. It was one of four mythical guardians associated with the cardinal directions: Azure Dragon — East; White Tiger — West; Vermilion Bird — South; Black Tortoise — North. These ideas influenced the planning of Heian-kyō, Kyoto’s ancient capital, including its relationship to Chinese cosmology and geomancy.

Behind the grand vermilion buildings of Heian-jingū lies a beautiful hidden world called Shin-en. This garden feels like a completely different Kyoto: quiet ponds, winding paths, elegant bridges, flowering trees and reflections that change with the seasons. The West Garden is a tranquil waterscape with a large pond, carefully positioned rocks, irises and water lilies give this garden a peaceful, contemplative character.

The middle garden displays irregular stepping stones cross the pond, leading my eyes across the water towards a small island and rustic teahouse. The garden reflects the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi: finding beauty in simplicity, imperfection and the passing of time.

The eastern garden is the largest of the three gardens and it centres on a spacious pond surrounded by trees and elegant historic wooden structures. Its highlight is Taiheikaku, a roofed bridge pavilion originally associated with the Kyoto Imperial Palace. I could stand here and enjoy the garden view without rushing. It offers a softer expression of Japanese culture: patience, balance, and quiet appreciation of nature.

My first day’s trip around the area of Gion is a straight line from the Kiyomizu-dera to the Heian-jingū Shrine. The second day trip is along the famous Philosopher’s Path. On the eastern side of Kyoto, beneath the wooded slopes of the Higashiyama mountains, runs this Philosopher’s Path in the photo, a quiet walking route following a small canal between Ginkaku-ji and Nanzen-ji. The path takes its name from the philosopher Nishida Kitarō, who was said to walk here regularly while reflecting on his ideas. But for me, its deeper attraction was the way it connected so many of Kyoto’s temples with the natural landscape of the eastern mountains.

Walking along the path, I could feel that the temples of Higashiyama were not isolated monuments scattered around the city. They seemed to form a continuous spiritual landscape beneath the mountains. Ginkaku-ji, Honen-in, Nanzen-ji, and many smaller temples and sub-temples are tucked among trees, stone walls, gardens, and narrow lanes branching away from the canal. The continuous trees and temple walls made the city almost disappear.

Ginkaku-ji, commonly known as the Silver Pavilion, was one of the most famous temples along the Philosopher’s Path. Originally built in the late fifteenth century as the retirement villa of Ashikaga Yoshimasa, the eighth shogun of the Ashikaga shogunate, it was later converted into a Zen temple. Although Yoshimasa had intended to cover the pavilion with silver foil, as a counterpart to his grandfather Ashikaga Yoshimitsu’s Golden Pavilion, this plan was never realised.

The building retained its natural wooden appearance, weathered by centuries of time. Perhaps this is precisely what gives Ginkaku-ji its distinctive character: instead of dazzling visitors with gold or silver, it expresses beauty through simplicity, restraint, and the passage of time.

The temple grounds are equally remarkable. In front of the pavilion lies the famous sand garden, with its carefully raked white gravel forming patterns that resemble waves on the surface of the sea. Two features immediately catch the eye: the broad, flat Ginshadan, often called the Sea of Silver Sand, and the carefully shaped Kogetsudai, a large conical mound of sand said to resemble Mount Fuji. It reflects the cultural world of Ashikaga Yoshimasa, whose retirement years helped shape the Higashiyama culture.

Beyond the sand garden, a beautiful moss garden spreads beneath the trees, with small ponds, stone paths, bridges, and carefully arranged greenery. Walking through the garden, I could appreciate how the Japanese landscape tradition turns even simple materials such as sand, moss, stones, and water into an expression of harmony and contemplation.

Ginkaku-ji also carries the cultural spirit of the Higashiyama period, when Yoshimasa’s patronage helped nurture the development of Japanese arts, including tea ceremony, flower arrangement, ink painting, and garden design. Its beauty is closely associated with wabi-sabi (an appreciation of simplicity, imperfection, and the quiet elegance of things shaped by time). Standing among its wooden buildings and carefully maintained gardens, I felt that Ginkaku-ji represented a very different side of Kyoto from the brilliant architecture I had seen elsewhere.

Walking along the Philosopher’s Path after a light rain was one of those quiet moments when I could fully appreciate the beauty of Kyoto. The narrow canal flowed gently beside the path, while small stone bridges appeared one after another, allowing me to cross from one side to the other. The stone surfaces were still damp from the rain, and the surrounding trees seemed fresher, their colors more vivid against the soft winter light.

Along banks of the canal, fallen red leaves had gathered in scattered clusters, covering the ground and occasionally floating on the surface of the water. Their deep colors contrasted beautifully with the dark, rain-soaked stones and the gentle movement of the stream. As I passed over the little bridges, I could pause and look along the canal, watching the leaves drift slowly with the current. There was something almost poetic about the scene: the rain had quietened the surroundings, the crowds seemed distant, and the whole path felt wrapped in a peaceful atmosphere.

As I continued along the Philosopher’s Path, I came across several small temples tucked quietly among the trees and old houses. Some were almost hidden behind wooden gates and stone walls, with narrow paths leading into their peaceful grounds. I occasionally stepped away from the canal to explore these unexpected places. Their ancient entrances, framed by old trees and covered with fallen autumn leaves, seemed to hold a quiet charm of their own.

Hōnen-in is one of the most tranquil temples. Its beauty lies not in magnificent buildings or elaborate decorations, but in its natural surroundings, moss-covered landscapes and tranquil atmosphere. Approaching the temple along a narrow woodland pathway, surrounded by tall trees and dense greenery, I gradually felt as though I was entering a quiet sanctuary hidden within the mountains. The temple is named after Hōnen, the Buddhist priest who founded the Pure Land school of Buddhism in Japan. Although the site is associated with his religious teachings in the twelfth century, the present temple was established in 1680 to preserve his legacy.

What I particularly enjoyed about Hōnen-in was its quiet and unpretentious beauty. There were no spectacular buildings competing for attention; instead, moss-covered pathways, a small pond, wooden bridges and shaded gardens create a beautiful natural landscape that left me deep impressions.

After following the Philosopher’s Path, my next destination was Eikandō, one of the most celebrated temples in Kyoto’s eastern mountains. Unlike the smaller temples I had encountered along the canal, Eikandō had a much larger and more elaborate temple complex, with traditional wooden buildings, gardens, and corridors extending toward the wooded hillside. Its history stretches back to the Heian period, and over the centuries it became an important centre of Pure Land Buddhism. As I entered the temple grounds, I came across the Chūmon, or Middle Gate, a traditional wooden entrance with a gently curved tiled roof. Although its architecture was relatively modest, it possessed a quiet elegance that seemed perfectly suited to the surroundings. Built in 1744, the gate had witnessed centuries of changing seasons and generations of visitors.

Beyond the Chūmon, I gradually discovered that Eikandō was much more than a single temple building. Its extensive grounds spread along the foothills of the eastern mountains, with traditional wooden halls, covered corridors, gardens, and pagodas arranged at different elevations. Walking through the complex, I passed several temple buildings, including the Shakadō, Miei-dō, and Amida-dō, each with its own religious significance. As I continued exploring this area, I was increasingly attracted to the smaller details of its gardens. Scattered among the trees and pathways were traditional stone lanterns, their weathered surfaces darkened by age and covered in places with soft green moss. Some stood quietly beside the stone paths, while others were partially hidden among the shrubs and trees.

One structure that particularly caught my attention was the Tahōtō Pagoda, standing among the trees on the hillside above the main temple buildings. Its distinctive shape, with a square lower level and a rounded upper section, made it look quite different from the more familiar five-storey pagodas I had seen elsewhere in Japan. I followed the uphill path toward it, gradually leaving the main temple complex behind.

The gardens themselves were equally beautiful. A carpet of green moss spread beneath the trees, surrounding carefully arranged stones and small shrubs. Narrow pathways led through the greenery, occasionally opening onto quiet corners where I could pause and appreciate the simplicity of the surroundings. There was something particularly appealing about the way the garden combined natural elements without making them appear overly arranged. The stones, moss, trees, and fallen leaves seemed to exist in harmony with one another.

One thing I particularly appreciated about the temples along the Philosopher’s Path was their shared sense of tranquility and their beautiful green landscapes. Although each temple had its own history, architecture, and religious significance, they seemed to share the same quiet character. Surrounded by wooded hills, ancient trees, moss-covered gardens, and peaceful ponds, they felt naturally connected to the greenery of the Higashiyama mountains. Unlike some of Kyoto’s more crowded landmarks, these temples offered spaces where I could slow down, walk quietly, and enjoy the scenery at my own pace.

At the southern end of the Philosopher’s Path, I finally reached Nanzen-ji. After spending the day walking among the smaller temples, quiet gardens, and wooded paths of Higashiyama, I found Nanzen-ji particularly impressive because of the scale of its temple grounds and the grandeur of its architecture. Its history dates back to the late thirteenth century, when Emperor Kameyama converted his former imperial residence into a Zen temple. The enormous Sanmon Gate immediately caught my attention. Its massive wooden pillars and imposing structure made it look almost like the entrance to an ancient fortress.

Nanzen-ji is a large temple complex. It was long been admired not only by monks and visitors, but also by poets and writers who found inspiration in its landscape. During the Edo period, the poet Rai San’yō wrote about the temple’s pine trees and the mountains of Higashiyama, capturing the scenery that had attracted visitors for generations. Reading about these descriptions made me feel that I was experiencing something that had moved people long before my arrival. The buildings might have changed, and generations of visitors might have passed through its gates, but the relationship between the temple, the mountains, and the surrounding greenery remained.

Looking back on my walk from Ginkaku-ji through the Philosopher’s Path, I felt that Nanzen-ji brought the journey to a satisfying conclusion. Throughout the day, I had encountered temples of different sizes and histories,and enjoyed the atmosphere of the quiet pathways, the gardens after rain, the fallen autumn leaves, and the feeling of moving through a landscape where nature and history had remained intertwined for centuries.

This is the map of Ancient Heian-kyō which was laid out on a planned grid inspired by the Chinese capital city model. Similar to Heijō-kyō (Nara), Heian-kyō (Kyoto) transforms Tang Chinese urban ideas to Japan. Chang’an was the major model for this north–south, east–west grid tradition. Its broad avenues regularly arranged streets and clearly defined palace district reflected the political ideals of the imperial court. I stayed in the street called Shijō which means “Fourth Avenue.” The name preserves the numbering system of the old capital’s east–west avenues. Other familiar Kyoto street names, such as Nijō, Sanjō and Gojo, carry the same historical legacy. There are so many ancient historical sites well conserved and I stayed in this city for 8 days to visit them in 5 major areas (Higashiyama, City center, North mountain, Arashiyama, and Fushimi).

I have always been fascinated by the history of Japan, and among its many periods, the Sengoku period has held a particular fascination for me. It was an age of fractured power, rival warlords, shifting alliances and almost constant warfare. The next day’s journey was planned around the people and events of the Sengoku era. Instead of simply visiting famous sights, I wanted to trace the places like the castles and temples where these figures had once lived, fought, negotiated and, in some cases, met their final fate.

The former site of Honnō-ji is a place that today looks almost insignificant: only a stone monument remains amid the ordinary streets near my hotel. It was difficult to link this quiet neighborhood with the events that had taken place here. In 1582, this was the Honnō-ji where Oda Nobunaga died there. On the morning of June 2, Nobunaga’s trusted general, Akechi Mitsuhide, suddenly turned against him. Mitsuhide brought a large force toward Kyoto and surrounded Honnō-ji. Nobunaga had only a small number of men with him. What began as an ordinary stay at the temple became a desperate battle. Standing beside the stone marker, I tried to imagine the scene that had unfolded here more than four centuries ago: the sudden arrival of soldiers in the early morning, the sound of fighting within the temple walls, the buildings catching fire, and Nobunaga realizing that the world he had spent his life trying to unify was collapsing around him.

At the gravesite of Oda Nobunaga in the Amidaji Temple, I reflected on the Sengoku period. Nobunaga was the first of the three great unifiers of Japan, followed by Toyotomi Hideyoshi and Tokugawa Ieyasu. His ambition was to bring the fragmented country under a single political authority. After Nobunaga’s death, Hideyoshi moved rapidly back from western Japan, defeated Mitsuhide at the Battle of Yamazaki, and eventually took over much of Nobunaga’s political inheritance. Ieyasu would later complete the process of unification and establish the Tokugawa shogunate. So the Honnō-ji Incident was not simply the death of one warlord. It was a turning point in the chain of events that transformed Sengoku Japan into unified early-modern Japan. Standing before his grave, I was struck by the irony that a man who came so close to reshaping Japan completely never lived to see the country he sought to unite.

Nijō Castle stands in the heart of Kyoto as a remarkable witness to the rise and fall of shogunate governments. Although it was built in 1603, just as the country emerged from the turmoil of the Sengoku period, its history is closely connected to the great unification of Japan under Tokugawa Ieyasu. His victory at the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600 paved the way for the establishment of the Tokugawa shogunate in 1603. It was in this historical context that Nijō Castle was constructed. Commissioned by Ieyasu, it served as his residence when visiting Kyoto, the imperial capital, and as a powerful symbol of the new military government’s authority. The castle was not simply a defensive stronghold; it was also a political statement that the age of competing warlords was giving way to a new order under Tokugawa rule.

Around the castle, I first encountered its broad moats, massive stone walls and imposing gates. These features evoke the military character of the castles in the Sengoku age, when fortifications were essential to survival of each daimyo.

Passing through the entrance, it was the stylish Karamon Gate. It immediately stood apart from the austere, heavily fortified gates often associated with Japan’s Sengoku-era castles. Its gracefully curved karahafu roof, dark wooden framework, golden fittings, and intricate carvings of flowers, birds, and mythical creatures give it an unusually elegant and lavish appearance. Rather than expressing power through sheer military strength, the gate conveys the prestige and refinement of the Tokugawa shogunate through craftsmanship, ornament and ceremony. As the grand entrance to the Ninomaru Palace, it was not simply a functional gateway but a carefully designed statement of authority.

The Ninomaru Palace is the heart of Nijō Castle and one of the finest surviving examples of early Edo-period palace architecture. The palace consists of a series of interconnected wooden buildings, with long corridors leading through rooms decorated with gold-leaf sliding doors, elaborate painted screens, carved transoms and magnificent images of pine trees, birds, tigers and other auspicious motifs.

The interiors become progressively more formal with many reception rooms where the shogun received important visitors and conducted political affairs. Visitors must take off shoes to visit them. One of the most memorable features is the nightingale floor, whose wooden boards produce a characteristic squeaking sound when walked upon. Originally serving as a practical security measure, it also gives the palace a distinctive atmosphere: even in the quiet corridors, the building seems to respond to your footsteps.

The rooms are richly decorated in a style that reflects refined taste of the Tokugawa shogunate. The walls are covered with gold-leaf sliding doors and painted screens, creating a warm, luminous atmosphere, while large compositions of pine trees, bamboo, plum blossoms, tigers, hawks, and other auspicious subjects unfold across the panels. The paintings were largely produced in the Kanō-school tradition, characterized by bold forms, strong outlines, and carefully controlled compositions that could be appreciated from across the spacious rooms.

The Ninomaru Garden lies beside the Ninomaru Palace. Designed in the shoin-style garden tradition, it centres on a large pond scattered with carefully placed islands and rocks, surrounded by old pine trees, stone lanterns, and precisely arranged vegetation. From the palace, the garden unfolds as a carefully composed landscape rather than a natural wilderness: every rock, tree, and curve of the shoreline has its place. What I found especially beautiful was the balance between formal design and natural scenery.

Most Japanese castle includes structures like Ninomaru, Honmaru, and Tenshukaku. Honmaru literally means “main circle/enclosure.” It was generally the most important and most heavily protected part of the castle, including the lord’s main residence and important administrative spaces. Ninomaru means “second enclosure.” It surrounded or protected the Honmaru and often had a mixture of residential, administrative, ceremonial and defensive functions. The Tenshukaku, usually called the castle keep is generally a tall, heavily fortified structure located within the Honmaru. Its functions included observation and defense. In this photo, the Honmaru is protected by successive walls and moats which separate it from Ninomaru.

I think the Honmaru Garden offers a quieter landscape than the grander Ninomaru Garden. Located within the castle’s innermost enclosure, the garden is characterized by its open lawns, carefully arranged trees, gently undulating ground. Rather than centering on a large ornamental pond filled with islands and bridges, it has a more spacious, restrained appearance, allowing the greenery and surrounding architecture to define the scenery. Today, the garden feels less like a battlefield stronghold and more like a peaceful retreat within the historic castle grounds, where trees, open space and architectural remnants quietly recall the transformation of Japan from the age of the Sengoku warlords to the modern era.

Standing atop the Ruins of the Tenshukaku, I was rewarded with a fantastic panoramic view of the Honmaru grounds. From this elevated vantage point, the inner enclosure unfolded below me, with its spacious greenery, carefully arranged trees, and traditional buildings set against the surrounding cityscape.

The contrast between the tranquil castle grounds and the urban landscape beyond the walls was particularly striking, as if two different eras of Kyoto existed side by side. It was easy to imagine how this elevated position once served as a strategic observation point, allowing the castle’s defenders to survey the surrounding area. Today, however, the view offers something quite different: a chance to appreciate the scale and layout of Nijō Castle from above, and to reflect on its history. Although the original Tenshukaku no longer stands, the remaining stone foundation preserves the memory of the castle’s former grandeur. Looking out across the Honmaru, I could almost trace the layers of history embedded in the landscape, from the turbulent age of the Sengoku period to the peaceful centuries of Tokugawa rule.

The Honmaru-goten Palace which is the most important building however looks surprisingly modest compared with the magnificent Ninomaru Palace. Its understated appearance, characterized by traditional wooden walls, tiled roofs and simple architectural lines, gives it the feeling of a quiet Japanese aristocratic residence rather than an imposing shogun’s palace. The present building was originally part of the Kyoto Imperial Palace before being transferred to Nijō Castle. Its relatively restrained design reflects the refined residential architecture associated with the imperial court, rather than the overt display seen in the Ninomaru Palace.

The rooms inside the Honmaru-goten Palace are characterised by a restrained elegance. Traditional tatami mats cover the floors, while wooden frames and sliding fusuma doors divide the rooms into flexible living and reception spaces. This simplicity gives the rooms a calm, residential atmosphere, reflecting the palace’s origins as part of the Kyoto Imperial Palace.

Before I left the castle, I visited the Seiryu-en Garden. Created in 1965, it combines traditional Japanese garden design with elements of a Western-style landscape, bringing together a tranquil pond, carefully arranged rocks, stone lanterns, trees and open lawns. Two historic tea houses lend the garden a sense of understated elegance, while stepping stones and winding paths invite visitors to explore the landscape at a leisurely pace.

Inside the garden, I found a commemorative tree in the garden recalling Taisei Hōkan, the historic event of 1867 when Tokugawa Yoshinobu, the fifteenth and final Tokugawa shogun, announced his decision to return political authority to the imperial court. The event took place in the Ninomaru Palace and marked a decisive turning point in the decline of the Tokugawa shogunate, bringing to a close more than two and a half centuries of Tokugawa rule. The tree serves as a quiet living reminder of this momentous transition, connecting the peaceful garden with the political upheaval that reshaped Japan. Standing beneath its branches, it is striking to reflect on how Nijō Castle, once a symbol of the shoguns’ power after the Sengoku period, also witnessed the end of their government.

To me, Nijō Castle is an excellent place to understand the history of the Tokugawa shogunate and the lives of the powerful rulers who governed Japan during the Edo period. It is a historical landmark where the rise, glory, and eventual decline of the Tokugawa shogunate can be traced through the buildings and landscapes that remain today.

In the north of Nijō Castl, it is the Kyoto Imperial Palace. After Emperor Kanmu moved the capital to Heian-kyō in 794, Kyoto then became the home of the imperial court for over a thousand years. The present site became the permanent imperial residence in 1331 until Emperor Meiji travelled to Tokyo in 1868. Nowadays this is a very large area like a city garden surrounded by walls. Behind the long earthen walls stretched an expansive landscape of gravel courtyards, enormous pine trees, quiet gardens and traditional wooden buildings. Everything seemed spacious and dignified.

The imperial palace is free to visit. Before the visit, the first thing that caught my attention was the imposing dark wooden gate. Its massive timber frame and deep black-brown color stood in sharp contrast to the surroundings. The broad tiled roof curved gently downward at the edges, giving the gate a martial appearance. From a distance, it almost reminded me of a traditional samurai helmet, with its wide brim and dark, protective form. It was the gateway to the world of the Imperial Court. The heavy wooden doors, carefully proportioned roof and restrained decoration conveyed authority without the need for elaborate ornament.

I followed the visitor route deeper into the Kyoto Imperial Palace. The atmosphere immediately became more formal. Broad gravel courtyards opened between long wooden buildings, while carefully maintained pine trees and gardens softened the strict geometry of the palace grounds. Unlike a European palace filled with grand rooms and elaborate furnishings, the Kyoto Imperial Palace revealed its character largely through its architecture, courtyards and gardens.

The first important area was the Shishinden, the Hall for State Ceremonies. Standing before its broad wooden façade, I could imagine the formal ceremonies of the imperial court taking place here. The enormous gravel courtyard in front of the hall created a remarkable sense of space and ceremony. From the visitor path, I could look towards the building from the Jomei-mon Gate but could not simply walk inside; the interiors remain largely closed to ordinary visitors.

The route then continued toward the Seiryōden, historically the emperor’s principal residence and one of the most important buildings within the palace. Its architecture reflects the different functions of the imperial residence. Along the way, the visitor path passed through a succession of gates, courtyards and wooden buildings, each giving another glimpse into the carefully ordered world of the Imperial Court. It is like an open museum. Visitors experienced the palace from the outside, following designated paths and looking through open spaces toward the buildings.

Eventually, the route opened into the Imperial Garden, where the atmosphere became much more relaxed. Ponds, streams, bridges, stones and enormous trees replaced the formal gravel courtyards. The Oike-niwa Pond Garden was particularly beautiful, with its tranquil water and carefully arranged landscape. Here, the strict ceremonial character of the palace gradually gave way to the quieter aesthetics of a Japanese garden.

I think it was an interesting visit here. The scene was gradually moving from the formal world of imperial ceremony into the quieter world of court life and gardens. Even though most of the palace interiors remained beyond the visitor’s reach, the arrangement of the buildings and the landscape gave enough clues to imagine the life of emperor that once unfolded here.

Kyoto is a city shaped by its mountains. Rising along the eastern and northern edges of the basin, they have always formed a natural boundary around the ancient capital. It was in these wooded foothills that generations of monks built temples, gardens, and places of retreat, turning the mountains into an inseparable part of Kyoto’s spiritual landscape. After spending time among the temples of Higashiyama in the east, I began to follow the mountains northward. The scenery gradually changed: the streets became quieter, the crowds thinner, and the temples seemed increasingly surrounded by forests rather than by the city.

Among these temples, Kinkaku-ji is undoubtedly the most famous and iconic. Unlike many of Kyoto’s ancient temples, whose beauty lies in their weathered wooden halls and quiet simplicity, Kinkaku-ji captivates my eyes with its brilliant golden exterior, which seems to glow against the surrounding greenery. Standing beside a tranquil pond, the three-storey pavilion reflects the changing colors of the sky and the trees, creating a scene in which architecture and nature appear perfectly united.

As I approached it, I could find its top is decorated with a golden bird. Against the sky, the golden figure stood as a striking crown above the three-storey building. Originally built in the late fourteenth century as the retirement villa of the shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu, it was later converted into a Zen temple after his death. Although the original pavilion was destroyed by fire in 1950 and subsequently rebuilt, its image has endured as one of the defining symbols of Kyoto.

Yukio Mishima’s famous novel The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, published in 1956, was inspired by the real incident in 1950 when a young monk set fire to the temple and destroyed the pavilion. Through the story of a young acolyte named Mizoguchi, Mishima transformed this historical tragedy into a profound exploration of beauty, obsession, and the destructive side of human nature. Knowing this literary background gave me another way of looking at Kinkaku-ji when I stood before it and made me think of life philosophically.

Although Kinkaku-ji is the main attraction, the temple grounds extend beyond the Golden Pavilion into a small but beautifully arranged Japanese garden. Winding paths lead through clusters of trees, moss-covered ground, and carefully placed stones. As I continued walking through the grounds, the scenery gradually shifted from the dazzling reflection of gold upon the pond to the softer beauty of trees, rocks, and shaded pathways. The garden was not particularly large, yet its carefully composed landscape offered a glimpse of the Japanese appreciation for nature.

On my way toward the temples of northern Kyoto, I happened to pass Kitano Tenmangū, just south of Kinkaku-ji. I had not planned to visit the shrine, so at first it was simply another unexpected landmark along my route. Yet its imposing and broad door soon caught my attention. Behind the entrance stood a large shrine complex surrounded by old trees, stone lanterns, and wooden buildings, giving the place a very different atmosphere from the Zen temples I had been visiting.

Kitano Tenmangū is dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane, the Heian-period scholar and statesman who was later revered as Tenjin, the deity of learning. The shrine was founded in 947, and its long association with scholarship explains the many students who come here to pray for success in their studies. I found it interesting that, without deliberately seeking it out, I had once again encountered another layer of Kyoto’s long history. The city seemed to reveal its history naturally along the way, not only through the famous destinations I had planned to see.

Passing through Kitano Tenmangū, I was drawn to its imposing Rōmon Gate, whose black structure was decorated with rows of hanging lanterns. Each lantern carried a name, quietly recording the people, families, or groups who had contributed to the shrine. Above the entrance, in the upper centre of the gate, hung a large painted plaque featuring a magnificent white horse. It immediately caught my attention because it represented the Year of the Horse, corresponding to the traditional East Asian zodiac. Beside it was the inscription 令和八年, the eighth year of the Reiwa era (2026). The horse, the zodiac system, and the traditional calendrical ideas all ultimately trace their origins to ancient Chinese culture, revealing how deeply Japan had absorbed and transformed cultural traditions that had travelled across East Asia centuries ago.

Inside the courtyard of Kitano Tenmangū, I came across a beautiful cherry tree in full bloom. Its soft pink blossoms stood out against the darker wooden buildings and the muted tones of the shrine grounds, bringing a gentle touch of colour to the ancient surroundings. In Japanese, sakura refers specifically to the blossoms of cherry trees, a flower that has come to symbolize the beauty and transience of life. Their brief flowering season makes them especially meaningful in Japanese culture: beautiful precisely because they do not last.

Kyoto is a city particularly well suited to travelling alone. Its extensive public transportation network like subways, trains, buses, and the tram make it easy to move around the city, while the many different routes give me the freedom to choose my own way. I enjoyed this sense of independence. I did not have to follow a fixed itinerary or wait for anyone else, but could simply decide where to go next. After my unexpected stop at Kitano Tenmangū, I continued north-westward toward my next destination by tram. My next stop was Ninna-ji, another ancient temple nestled the mountains of northern Kyoto.

Nio-mon Gate is one of the most impressive structures at Ninna-ji. Standing at the entrance to the temple grounds, this magnificent two-storey wooden gate immediately gave me a sense of the temple’s historical dignity and grandeur. Its imposing structure features a broad, dark-tiled roof with gracefully curved eaves, supported by massive wooden pillars. The weathered timber and traditional architectural details give the gate a sense of age, while its substantial proportions reflect the importance of Ninna-ji as one of Kyoto’s major Buddhist temples. On either side of the entrance stand the fierce guardian statues known as the Nio, whose powerful expressions and imposing postures are intended to protect the Buddhist sanctuary from evil spirits.

The UNESCO World Heritage property of Historic Monuments of Ancient Kyoto, inscribed in 1994, comprises 13 Buddhist temples,3 Shinto shrines and 1 castle. Together, they represent more than a thousand years of Japanese religious, architectural and cultural history, from the ancient Heian period to the era of the shogunate. Among them, along the northern and western foothills of Kyoto’s mountains. Kinkaku-ji, Ryōan-ji, and Ninna-ji form a remarkable group, each offering a distinctive expression of Japanese Buddhist architecture and garden design. mountains. From the spacious courtyard of Ninna-ji, I could see the gentle silhouettes of the mountains rising in the distance beyond the temple grounds. Under the open sky, the courtyard felt particularly expansive and peaceful, allowing my eyes to wander from the ancient wooden structures towards the distant mountain ridges.

Inside, several traditional wooden buildings are scattered across the temple compound, each reflecting the architectural elegance and historical significance of this ancient Buddhist institution. Among them, the Golden Hall (Kondō) is the most important. Originally constructed as an imperial palace building during the early Edo period, it was later transferred to Ninna-ji and converted into the temple’s main worship hall.

Nearby stands the Five-Story Pagoda, one of the most recognisable structures within the temple grounds. The history of Ninna-ji is closely connected with the Japanese imperial family and the development of Buddhism in Kyoto. Founded in 888 AD during the Heian period, it was established by Emperor Uda, who played an important role in its creation and later became its first imperial abbot. This gave Ninna-ji a special status among Japanese Buddhist temples, as it became the head temple of the Omuro branch of the Shingon school of Buddhism.

The temple’s origins can be traced to the reign of Emperor Kōkō, who initially planned to establish a Buddhist temple at this location. However, he passed away before the project could be completed. His successor, Emperor Uda, continued the undertaking, and the temple was finally completed in 888. It was named Ninna-ji after the era name Ninna, during which it was established. It has close relationship with the imperial household. In 899, after abdicating the throne, Emperor Uda entered Buddhist priesthood and took up residence at the temple, becoming its first imperial abbot. Thereafter, for centuries, Ninna-ji was traditionally led by members of the imperial family or aristocracy. The Ninna-ji Palace Garden (Goten) is undoubtedly the must-see attractions since it was originally the residence of the temple’s head priests, many of whom came from the imperial family. The complex offers a more intimate glimpse into the refined lifestyle of Japan’s imperial household.

As I entered, I was immediately attracted by the beautiful paintings decorating the sliding doors, known as fusuma-e. These paintings cover the wooden partitions with delicate depictions of flowers, trees, birds and seasonal landscapes. Some feature colourful blossoms and flourishing vegetation, while others portray natural scenery in more subdued tones. What makes them particularly fascinating is that they are not displayed as independent artworks but are incorporated directly into the architecture. The sliding doors themselves become enormous paintings, transforming the interior rooms into artistic spaces.

The Shinden Hall, the main ceremonial building of the palace, is particularly noteworthy for its elegant architecture and decorative paintings. Its traditional wooden structure, tatami-covered floors, decorative alcoves and sliding partitions create an atmosphere of understated sophistication. The rooms are connected by covered wooden corridors, with open verandas overlooking the surrounding gardens. Walking through these spaces, I could appreciate how traditional Japanese architecture creates a seamless relationship between indoor and outdoor environments. Rather than completely separating the rooms from nature, the sliding doors and open corridors allow the gardens to become part of the interior scenery.

It contains two distinctive gardens, each with its own character. I could view them quietly under the corridor. The South Garden is relatively simple and restrained, featuring carefully arranged white gravel, pine trees and traditional landscaping. Its minimalist composition creates a sense of order and tranquility, reflecting the aesthetic principles of Japanese garden design. The North Garden, by contrast, is more elaborate and naturalistic, with a beautiful pond, a small waterfall, an artificial hill covered in greenery and a traditional teahouse. From my viewpoints, the Five-Story Pagoda can also be seen rising above the surrounding trees, creating a particularly picturesque composition.

After leaving Ninnaji, I jogtrotted on the way to Ryoan-ji. It was like wandering through a living poem, along the northern foothills of Kyoto, where towering trees embraced the winding paths and bamboo groves whispered gently in the breeze. Sunlight filtered through the lush canopy, casting delicate shadows across the forest floor, while the tranquil mountain scenery unfolded with every step. For me it was a peaceful encounter with Kyoto’s timeless beauty, where every tree, every leaf, and every whisper of the wind told a story of serenity.

Ryoan-ji reveals its stunning beauty around Kyoyochi Pond, where nature unfolds in a more enchanting landscape. The tranquil pond mirrors the surrounding trees, lush greenery and distant seasonal colours, creating a beautiful tapestry of reflections that shifts gently with the breeze. Graceful branches stretch over the water, while delicate ripples ripple across its surface, as though nature itself were painting a living masterpiece.

The Zen rock garden of Ryoan-ji is a masterpiece of simplicity, embodying the Japanese aesthetic of Karesansui (枯山水), or dry landscape gardening, where nature is recreated not through flowing water and lush vegetation. Fifteen stones of different shapes and sizes rest upon a sea of white pebbles, their arrangement suggesting islands scattered across an endless ocean, or mountains emerging from a misty landscape. The fine patterns raked into the gravel evoke the gentle movement of waves, giving the illusion of water flowing through a landscape that is entirely dry. Yet what makes this garden so profound is its expression of Wabi-sabi (侘寂) . It is the beauty of imperfection, simplicity and impermanence. The weathered stones, uneven shapes and deliberate emptiness remind us that beauty does not need to be perfect, symmetrical or extravagant to be meaningful. Interestingly, the fifteen stones are arranged so that one is always hidden from view, suggesting that our perception is never complete and that perfection may forever remain beyond our reach.

There is a sitting area outside the main hall for visitors to appreciate this special Japanese culture. Sitting quietly before this minimalist composition, I began to appreciate that its beauty lies not in what is present, but also in what is absent: the silence, and the empty spaces. It is a garden that asks for no admiration, yet rewards those who take the time to look beyond its simplicity. In the spirit of Zen, it teaches us that sometimes less is more, and that true beauty can be found in stillness, imperfection and the art of letting go.

Amid the tranquil surroundings of Ryoan-ji, I discovered a little haven of warmth and comfort at Seigen-in, where a traditional Japanese hot tofu meal offered the perfect respite from the winter chill. This restaurant is surrounded by traditional Japanese landscapes.

As the gentle steam rose from the pot of silky, delicate tofu, I savoured the simple yet exquisite flavours of Yudofu, accompanied by traditional Japanese delicacies. Through the window, a beautiful garden landscape unfolded like a living painting, with lush trees, tranquil greenery and the quiet elegance of nature. Outside, the winter air whispered through the branches, while inside, the warmth of the meal and the peaceful surroundings wrapped me in a feeling of contentment. A little warmth on a cold winter’s day, a beautiful view beyond the window, and really a moment to treasure long after the journey ends.

What made the experience even more unforgetable was the traditional Japanese atmosphere that embraced every corner of the restaurant. I particularly loved its inside decorations, from the beautiful calligraphy displayed on the walls to the warm wooden interiors and the delicate tatami flooring, each reflecting the elegance and simplicity of Japanese culture. Before entering the dining area, guests are invited to remove their shoes, a lovely custom that adds a sense of intimacy and respect for the traditional space.

Just south of Ryoan-ji lies Tōji-in, a hidden treasure of Kyoto that became one of the most memorable discoveries of my journey. It was not in my travel plan and I visited it by accident. Founded in 1341 by Ashikaga Takauji, the first shogun of the Ashikaga shogunate, this tranquil Zen temple carries a rich history, yet its greatest enchantment, to me, lies in its magnificent Kaiyūshiki Teien, a traditional Japanese strolling garden.

Beautifully designed around tranquil ponds, the garden brings together graceful trees, carefully arranged rocks, lush greenery and delicate seasonal flowers in a harmonious composition. As I wandered along its winding pathways, every turn revealed a new perspective . Sometimes a serene pond reflecting the surrounding foliage, sometimes an elegant bridge or a picturesque view framed by trees. The gentle interplay of water, light and greenery creates an ever-changing landscape, inviting me to slow down and savour each moment. Unlike the minimalist Zen rock garden, this strolling garden celebrates the richness and diversity of nature. I prefered this kind of beauty, the peaceful reflections on the water and the feeling of being immersed in a world untouched by time. Of all the gardens I visited in Kyoto, Tōji-in’s garden may well be my favourite, a place whose quiet beauty has left an especially lasting impression on my heart.

Kyoto has more temples in the north and east mainly because of its geography and historical development. When Kyoto became Japan’s capital in 794, it was designed as a symmetrical city, but the western half was low-lying, damp and marshy, making it less attractive for settlement. The eastern side, with its scenic Higashiyama foothills, attracted aristocrats, wealthy families and Buddhist institutions, leading to the construction of numerous temples. The northern mountains, particularly Mount Hiei, also became important centres of Buddhist learning and spiritual practice. In contrast, the south and west remained relatively less developed, although they still have important temples such as Tō-ji.

Tō-ji is one of Kyoto’s oldest and most historically significant Buddhist temples, founded in 796, shortly after Kyoto became Japan’s capital. In 823, it was entrusted to the Buddhist monk Kūkai, who established it as an important centre of Shingon esoteric Buddhism. The temple is best known for its magnificent five-storey wooden pagoda, standing 55 metres tall and recognised as Japan’s tallest wooden pagoda. In Japenese culture, each storey symbolises one of the five Buddhist elements: earth, water, fire, wind and space, representing the structure of the universe. Built using traditional Japanese timber construction techniques, the pagoda stands without a central supporting pillar carrying the entire weight of the building in the modern sense; its distinctive central column, known as shinbashira, is an important feature of its earthquake-resistant design.

Its Lecture Hall houses an impressive collection of 21 Buddhist statues arranged to represent the Buddhist universe. The statues, many dating from the 9th century, are masterpieces of Japanese Buddhist sculpture and reflect the teachings of Shingon esoteric Buddhism introduced by the monk Kūkai. Unlike many of Kyoto’s temples situated in the northern mountains or eastern hills, Tō-ji stands on flat land in southern Kyoto, reflecting its original role as a guardian temple at the entrance to the imperial capital.

Before I left Tokyo, I visited the two temples with similar names and similar layouts near the train station. Higashi Hongan-ji and Nishi Hongan-ji are two major Buddhist temple complexes in central Kyoto, belonging to separate branches of Jōdo Shinshū (True Pure Land Buddhism). Both trace their spiritual origins to Shinran (1173–1263), whose teachings emphasise faith in Amida Buddha and the aspiration for rebirth in the Pure Land. Originally, there was only one Hongan-ji, but a succession dispute between Shinran’s descendants led to its division. In 1602, Tokugawa Ieyasu supported the establishment of Higashi Hongan-ji to the east, while the original temple became Nishi Hongan-ji to the west. This division also served the shogunate’s political interests by reducing the influence of a powerful Buddhist institution.

The two temples looked really similar for me. Both have two enormous main halls with same colour and decorations. The Founder’s Hall and Amida Hall are positioned side by side with same layout. Both have impressive ceremonial gates, bell towers, and large open courtyards. Although both temples use similar architectural arrangement, but they are not symmetrical or exact mirror images.

Among the many photographs I have taken of Kyoto’s ancient temples, shrines, traditional streets and historical architecture, this is perhaps the only one that captures its modern face. Taken in front of Kyoto Station, with the towering Kyoto Tower rising prominently in the background, it offers a glimpse of a different Kyoto, a modern, vibrant city that has evolved with the times while preserving its remarkable historical heritage. Two contrasting faces of Kyoto, both equally fascinating.

During my trip in Kyoto, I have tasted many traditional Japanese food. Among them, I still remember the udon I enjoyed in Gion. It looked like the Chinese dry mixed noodles and was served without soup, with the freshly boiled noodles drained and tossed in a savoury sauce until evenly coated. The thick, chewy udon noodles absorbed the rich flavours of the sauce and were topped with chopped green onions, minced meat and vegetables, adding freshness, texture and a satisfying savoury taste. Unlike the more familiar udon served in a hot broth, this dry-style preparation allowed the flavours of the sauce and toppings to shine through, making it a comforting and hearty meal after a day of exploring Kyoto’s historic streets and temples.

The yakitori I enjoyed in a small local restaurant in Japan left a particularly deep impression on me. Unlike dining in a formal restaurant, the experience was wonderfully intimate and authentic. The chef grilled the skewered chicken and other ingredients right in front of me, carefully turning them over the hot charcoal until they were beautifully cooked, lightly charred and infused with a smoky aroma. As each skewer was ready, the chef would pass it directly to me, allowing me to enjoy it piping hot and fresh off the grill. The simple preparation, delicious flavours and personal interaction made the meal especially memorable. It was not just about the food, but also about experiencing the warmth, simplicity and charm of everyday Japanese dining in a neighbourhood restaurant.

For the formal dinner, it was a delightful experience to taste a set menu of freshly prepared Japanese tempura. Rather than serving everything at once, each piece was deep-fried and presented individually, allowing me to appreciate the delicate batter, crisp texture and natural flavours of the ingredients while they were still hot. Ingredients used for making tempura include shrimp, squid, mushrooms, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, eggplant, and zucchini. The tempura was accompanied by a specially prepared white carrot-based dipping sauce, which was surprisingly refreshing and complemented the light, crispy coating beautifully. The meal was further enhanced by a glass of Japanese umeshu, whose gentle sweetness provided a lovely accompaniment to the tempura.

I think an interesting trip to Japan would not be complete without experiencing both its humble street food and more formal dining. The small local eateries offer an authentic taste of everyday Japanese life. On the other hand, a formal Japanese dinner introduces a different dimension of its food culture, with carefully prepared dishes, artistic presentation, seasonal ingredients and attentive service.

Most of my photographs of Kyoto were taken during the daytime, when the temples, shrines, gardens and historic streets were filled with visitors. Yet I found the city equally extraordinary after nightfall. As darkness settled over Kyoto, the streets gradually became empty, and the temples and traditional buildings seemed to return to their original atmosphere. Without the crowds, the familiar streets took on a completely different character. The quiet lanes, old wooden houses, tiled roofs and softly illuminated temples revealed a more intimate side of the ancient capital, allowing me to imagine what the city might have looked like in another time. I took these nighttime photographs shortly before leaving Kyoto. Looking back, they became my final impressions of the city, and perhaps some of the most memorable ones.

Among all the places I visited in Japan, Kyoto remains the city that, to me, most fully represents traditional Japanese culture. Its temples and shrines preserve centuries of religious history; its gardens express a distinctive appreciation of nature and simplicity; its wooden townhouses, narrow streets and traditional architecture retain the atmosphere of an older Japan. At the same time, Kyoto is not simply a city frozen in the past. Modern life continues alongside these historical surroundings, creating a remarkable continuity between tradition and the present. It had given me a deeper appreciation of Japanese history, aesthetics and cultural identity. Those quiet nighttime streets were the last images I carried away with me, and they made saying goodbye to this ancient city all the more difficult.