At this point, I don’t know very much about the Golden Pavilion. I wonder if I should just get on the train to Osaka as planned, with nothing but the memory of my failed attempt to see Kyoto’s most famous sight. I look at the postcard that - prematurely, perhaps - I bought yesterday. It looks impressive enough: it’s gold, it’s a pavilion, but do I have the inclination to travel to the other side of town and, more importantly, do I have time? Since I have to check out anyway, I do that and delay the need to make a decision by heading to the station, which is roughly on the way to Kinkaku-ji and a good place to get a bus.
En route to the station I continue the debate: years from now, will I be saying "I'll never forget the Golden Pavilion" or - just another box checked on a list of things-to-see - will I say "Hm, what's that? Golden Pavilion. Yes, I've done that". Finally, I make a decision. Sort of. I reason that if there's somewhere I can leave my bag, I'll give the pavilion a second chance; if not, it's on to Osaka.
I arrive at the station and look around for luggage lockers. I find them. I get confused. There aren’t any English instructions or any indication of how long I get for the indicated 200 yen. Finally, despite visions of my locker springing open when the money runs out, or of my bag being lost forever in some incomprehensible Japanese Lost and Found organisation, I close the locker and head to the bus stop.
Under the shadow of the obstinately modern Kyoto Tower, there are huge queues at the two stops where the buses for Kinkaku-ji pull-up and I start to get anxious, but after half an hour a bus arrives and - miraculously - we all fit on board. It’s not the most comfortable bus ride I’ve ever experienced, but an hour later I emerge at Kinkaku-ji, glad of the fresh air and the fact that I didn’t bring my luggage with me.
A lot of people visit Kinkaku-ji. I’m not sure of how else to put it; it’s popular. As I progress through the queue and ticket booth and join the path that leads to the pavilion, I become part of a single, shuffling mass. There is a tangible sense of expectation and, as the first golden twinkle appears from within the trees, there is a collective intake of breath that is expelled forcefully when we round the corner and are presented with the full glory of the pavilion. It hits you - not once, but twice, as its reflection shimmers in the Kyoko-chi (Mirror Pond). I can’t believe I even entertained the notion of skipping this. There are some things in this world that a photograph cannot do justice and I’ve just been privileged enough to see one of them: a three storey building, plated with gold and gleaming incongruously in the middle of a forest. It's bizarre, it's opulent, it's definitely not just a checked box on an itinerary.
As the touristic mass separates to visit tea rooms, gift shops and the like, I return to the bus and make my way to the station. I arrive to find my bag safe and sound within the still-locked locker, just as it was three hours ago. I board the Thunderbird Limited Express to Osaka and wonder if I’ll see anything else as captivating as Kinkaku on this trip.
En route to the station I continue the debate: years from now, will I be saying "I'll never forget the Golden Pavilion" or - just another box checked on a list of things-to-see - will I say "Hm, what's that? Golden Pavilion. Yes, I've done that". Finally, I make a decision. Sort of. I reason that if there's somewhere I can leave my bag, I'll give the pavilion a second chance; if not, it's on to Osaka.
I arrive at the station and look around for luggage lockers. I find them. I get confused. There aren’t any English instructions or any indication of how long I get for the indicated 200 yen. Finally, despite visions of my locker springing open when the money runs out, or of my bag being lost forever in some incomprehensible Japanese Lost and Found organisation, I close the locker and head to the bus stop.
Under the shadow of the obstinately modern Kyoto Tower, there are huge queues at the two stops where the buses for Kinkaku-ji pull-up and I start to get anxious, but after half an hour a bus arrives and - miraculously - we all fit on board. It’s not the most comfortable bus ride I’ve ever experienced, but an hour later I emerge at Kinkaku-ji, glad of the fresh air and the fact that I didn’t bring my luggage with me.
A lot of people visit Kinkaku-ji. I’m not sure of how else to put it; it’s popular. As I progress through the queue and ticket booth and join the path that leads to the pavilion, I become part of a single, shuffling mass. There is a tangible sense of expectation and, as the first golden twinkle appears from within the trees, there is a collective intake of breath that is expelled forcefully when we round the corner and are presented with the full glory of the pavilion. It hits you - not once, but twice, as its reflection shimmers in the Kyoko-chi (Mirror Pond). I can’t believe I even entertained the notion of skipping this. There are some things in this world that a photograph cannot do justice and I’ve just been privileged enough to see one of them: a three storey building, plated with gold and gleaming incongruously in the middle of a forest. It's bizarre, it's opulent, it's definitely not just a checked box on an itinerary.
As the touristic mass separates to visit tea rooms, gift shops and the like, I return to the bus and make my way to the station. I arrive to find my bag safe and sound within the still-locked locker, just as it was three hours ago. I board the Thunderbird Limited Express to Osaka and wonder if I’ll see anything else as captivating as Kinkaku on this trip.
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