Two Months in Japan

The Three Sisters' Inn is located in a quaint residential area, right near Heian-jingu and the Kyoto Municipal Art Museum. Also close by is the Kyoto Handicraft Centre - perfect for souvenir shopping. And the famous Path of Philosophy is also within (a little longer) walking distance. A short walk from the inn is a bus stop that can take you anywhere in Kyoto, given that the bus system is so efficient and easy to follow. (It's better to take the bus rather than the subway to the inn.)

This inn is a ryokan, complete with tatami-matted rooms and futon beds. It's lovely, with a more traditional Japanese feel, and spotless. The service is very friendly and helpful. One example - they watched our many bags for us on our last day. Another time, they were extremely helpful at helping us plan which temples to visit. Yet another time, they made a Japanese phone call to get us some info we needed.

Although breakfast is optional, I loved having the traditional Japanese one before heading out for the day. (An American breakfast was another option.) Plus, each evening, they asked me about my breakfast, since I have food allergies. They were extremely attentive and understanding.

The inn is set in the middle of a traditional, well-tended garden. Some of the breakfast-room tables overlook it, making for a very peaceful way to start the day.

The only drawback is that there is a curfew at 11pm. We found it a little limiting, since we went out with friends.

I highly recommend this inn to people who like to feel more immersed in the culture of where they are, and to people who like a homier, more unique feel.

Trying to hurry to arrive at the market early on a Saturday morning was a challenge for the two of us. But the pace was even more hectic at the market, which we got to around 7am (a Saturday-morning miracle!). What a mad, frantic, vivid place!

For every main sloshy aisle we crossed, we had to look both ways. Teeming throngs of fish mongers were pulling or pushing carts, or driving these tiny motorized trucks called ta-rays, all of them laden with fish of some sort. Dozens of times we were almost run over. We got beeped at and physically moved between shoulder-high stacks of seafood...some of it still flailing.

But amongst all of the chaos of needing to prepare for the wholesalers--who come around 9 a.m.--the mongers would still pause. Some even seemed to appreciate our incredulity. A few knowingly slowed down so I could take a shot. One man even posed the massive tuna carcass he was hacking (with the longest blade I’ve ever seen).

It was pretty gory, but still visually stunning. There were amazing colours. The deepest red squid in white containers. Crackled silver fish, white iced in blue boxes. And the mongers’ faces were so expressive. They had this incredible calmness about them, in the din of it all.

Supposedly, the market takes up 56 acres. Every day except Sunday, 2300 tonnes of fish end up there. Over 400 types of seafood are prepared for sale, leaving me to wonder how there can be anything left in the sea if THAT many fish come ONLY to Tokyo. I started feeling really bad for them--such beautiful creatures--after I got adjusted to the visual onslaught. Admittedly, it didn’t stop either of us from having an unbelievably fresh sushi breakfast.

Another quick fact – 60,000 people pass through the market each day. We pushed through a good chunk of them later on to get Colin’s delicious ramen lunch. He ate it at the standing counter, but almost everything around had been made into a table. The truck parked behind us on the street had an open back, packed with buckets. Even they had been covered with wood pieces for noodle-bowl resting. For us, it was perfect crowd-watching.

Our first shinkansen (high-speed train) whizzed us up north of Tokyo on a two-hour trip, dropping us in the picturesque mountain-side town of Nikko. It’s a World Heritage Site due to its impressive line-up of one temple and three shrines.

All are mind-bogglingly beautiful in their own unique way. It definitely doesn’t hurt that they are watched over by massive red-barked pines, bordered by gurgling streams, and surrounded by thick moss and fern carpets.

The centerpiece is the ostentatious Tosho-gu shrine. At first glance, I was blinded from all of the gold glinting in the sunlight. Looking closer I found the sheer number of carvings crammed on every building almost unbelievable: gold-mouthed, red-eyed dragons with blue, green, and red scales; peacocks flaunting their plumage across the gate walls; angry-eyed gods with gold and silver spears; black lacquer backdrops for gold flowers; and brown monkeys with red fruit in their white paws. To name just a few. There were many, many more.

We preferred the sedate Taiyuin-byo shrine, tucked to the side of one stream’s towering rock wall. Because each building is set on a different terrace, we got to climb up steep stone steps, beside majestic tree trunks and moss-topped lanterns. Lovely! We felt lucky because only one other couple and their child were there. I guess since the sun was setting, most of the crowd was heading back into town. We had to do the same, but only after craning our necks to get a good look at the treetops and saying goodbye to the friendly rows of stone lanterns.

Kyoto has piles of temples and shrines, making it really difficult to decide where to start. We went to four. Two of them ended up being my favourites.

Sanjusangen-do was incredible. We had to round a couple of corners of the enormously long, dark, dusty, 700-year-old temple hall before we got our first peek at them – 1001 somewhat tarnished, yet shimmering golden statues of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. There they were, with the heavy beams above, the wide floorboards below, and the thick, musty, incensed air all around.

The statues looked like they were emitting their own light rather than reflecting it from the paper-screened windows running down one entire side of the hall. We slowly walked (crept?) past the first five hundred figures to the gigantic one in the middle. That was amazing enough. But we still had another five hundred to pass. Each one is individually carved from cypress and covered in gold leaf. And each one has its very own expression. Awe-inspiring.

Another morning, we boarded a bus that crawled up the twisty roads of Mount Hiei in order to drop us at magical Enryaku-ji – a complex of mountainside temples that have been around for over 1200 years. Being high up on the autumn-clad mountain, away from the noisy crowds, in the chilly air was so peaceful and beautiful.

With only an hour to spare before the bus returned to take us back to Kyoto, we decided we’d hurry and do the one-kilometre hike to the Sai-to temples, nestled in the forest. Our effort was rewarded. Sunlight beams filtered down past the tall heads of the thick trees. New bamboo stretched out onto the path, which a couple of monks were calmly sweeping with thresh rakes. Luscious moss spread everywhere, skirting the forest’s gnarly legs.

Kiyomizu temple in Kyoto, although not one of my top two, was very pretty and definitely worth seeing. It is set at the top of cobble-stoned streets, with a massive wooden terrace overlooking the city and a pretty stream running through its hilly grounds.

I got dreadfully lost when I went to Yanaka - the only area of Tokyo that is made up of old buildings from before WWII and even the earthquake of the 1920s. Wandering in circles isn’t so bad because there’s always something interesting to see, but I still blame the guide-book maps. They usually list only one major street for a five-block radius, making it impossible to gauge which direction is which. URG! Anyway, after asking a few people and finding a few street-corner maps, I found the big, bronze Buddha.

Buddha watches over the garden of the Tenno-ji temple, which is found in the very large Yanaka cemetery. People were wandering along its main roads, and some were tending the grey graves. I got caught up with taking pictures of the austere wooden markers (prayer sticks?), standing like worn-out sentinels throughout the whole cemetery. As I moved about carefully, fearing to tread disrespectfully, I caught some sweet wafts of incense.

To get to the market area, I decided to try following these two old women who seemed to being walking purposefully. They led me down a bumpy walk of stones, with arthritic black tree boughs arched over it. Very storybook-like. Brilliant green moss ran beside the path, on top of the ancient plot markers.

The market was a mismatch of colour and products. Veggies, sandals, teapots, pastries, sweaters, combs. I’m glad I got there just as evening was landing because everything popped out more as the lights turned on. I followed one of the twisty streets that branched off of the main one, and found alleyways stuffed with faded houses, withering flower boxes, and shiny rows of bicycles. On the way back to the subway, I bought large, roasted rice crackers that were really crunchy and salty. A great reward for all of the walking.

If you like to explore and really get a sense of how locals live, then you should go to Yanaka. But be tenacious - it doesn't appear on many guidebook maps. Also go if you like to see the oldest parts of a city.