Golden Pavilion

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.

Here we go again…

Just this morning, I made my mad dash across Hakone to spend a few minutes with Fuji-san. Now, in Kyoto, I’m presented with a similar scenario. It’s been a long day, but I’m leaving tomorrow and doubt that I’ll be able to fit in the Golden Pavilion before catching my morning train. I jump on a bus and travel to the other side of town, hoping to catch the Golden Pavilion before it closes. On the bus, I meet some Canadians who are on a similar mission and together we spend a tense thirty minutes, talk about our respective Japanese adventures to-date as we squeeze through rush hour traffic towards the Northwestern outskirts of the city .

Had our intention been to arrive at the precise moment that the temple grounds close, we couldn't have timed our arrival at Kinkaku-ji better, but - despite attempts to enter via the exit or to obtain a view from atop a wall - we are denied a glimpse of the golden prize we sought. Disappointed, we shake hands and depart company. I have a chance of seeing the pavilion tomorrow, but my temporary companions are leaving Kyoto sooner so, sadly, will have to go without.

I make my way back across town towards Gion and my hostel. It’s dark by the time I arrive and I fear I might face some difficulty in locating my hotel amid the ubiquitous two-storey, be-lanterned Old Kyoto residences. In the end, I find my way home by happy accident while attempting to find a good spot to photograph the Yaska shrine in the moonlight. I change and then head back out into Gion in search of Kyoto’s culinary highlight: the kaiseki. I find a promising establishment, and seat myself at the bar. The kaiseki is fabulous, comprising of a variety of dishes including smoked duck, eel, several kinds of tofu, some sort of bony fish soup, some excellent sashimi and a lacquered cabinet containing all sorts of goodies, such as rice, tempura, pickles and a kind of vegetable jelly. Washed down with considerable quantities of sake, it’s a meal fit for a shogun and once again I am glad I ordered without trying too hard to decipher the menu. I spend the evening wandering around Gion and the Yasaka shire, admiring the lanterns before returning to the hostel.

I wake early and wander around the nearby Kodai-ji temple grounds and admire the Ryozen Kannon - a huge Buddha-esque Goddess of Mercy build in the 1950s as a memorial to Japanese victims of World War II. Then I turn my thoughts once again to the Golden Pavilion of Kinkaku-ji…

Philosopher’s Path

I arrive in Kyoto around lunchtime, after another relaxing ride on the shinkansen. I’ve not given myself a huge amount of time in Kyoto, so I drop off my bag at the ryokan and head straight out to gorge myself on temples in Kyoto’s historic east: Higashiyama. Within minutes of leaving the ryokan, I stumble into Chion-in, a busy temple complex with huge halls and a multitude of tourists. Chion-in was founded in 1175 and is the home of one of Japan’s most popular Buddhist sects: Jodo, or ‘pure land’.

Wandering through Marayuma park, I find a statue of Sakamoto Ryoma and Nakaoka Shintaro [pictured] - legendary samurai who contributed to the Meiji restoration but were murdered in Kyoto before they got to see their dreams of a modern Japan realised. The sheer weight of history in this part of Kyoto is almost oppressive.

As I make my way north to Ginkaku-ji and the Philosopher’s Path I decide to limit myself to one temple visit so choose Nanzen-ji, the head temple of one of the Zen sects and home to the famous Leaping Tiger garden, as well as several masterpieces of the Kano school including Tanyu Kano’s screens of tigers in a bamboo grove. I'm clearly not enlightened enough to see the tigers in the rocks of the Leaping Tiger garden, but I can appreciate the balance achieved by the combination of busy vegetation and the dry expanse of raked gravel.

After leaving the serenity of Nanzen-ji, I join the Philosopher’s Path - a hillside walk named after Nishida Kitaro. It’s a very pleasant stroll and I can imagine that before the intrusion of modern life and the bustle of tourists, these moss-covered stones and the tranquil setting inspired many a great thinker.

Before long I am approaching Ginkaku-ji and the Philosopher’s Path joins a wide, commercial street, flanked on both sides by souvenir shops and cafés. Inside the temple grounds the gardens are dominated by a large ‘dry garden’ containing a huge cone of silver sand (Kougetsudai) designed to reflect moonlight during the frequent Moon Gazing festivals that occurred at the temple. The path then continues to Ginkaku, the Silver Pavilion.

Although inspired by Kyoto’s more famous Golden Pavilion, Ginkaku is a simple building; small and dark, it waits for your attention, rather than grabbing hold of it the moment it comes into view. Whether or not the legend is true (that money run out before the pavilion could be covered in silver), I’m left with the thought that the mountainside retreat and moon temple of Ginkaku is just as it should be - blending in with its surroundings, rather than dominating them.