Unfairly—in the grand scheme of things—it's gentle and peaceful in Kyoto. Cars honk so seldom that it's startling when they do. I ran around a small park near the house this morning, and two teenage paddle-tennis players silently paused their game and stepped aside to let me pass on every lap. A city of unobtrusive navigation.
Yesterday, we visited Nijojo Castle, with its elaborate front gate and nightingale floors. The interior rooms looked older than they are, and the wall paintings seemed crude and bold in a country known for delicate art.
Afterward, we stopped by fantastic Morita Washi to stock up on Japanese paper, then wandered through the endless shopping arcades—block after block of underground market stalls selling anything edible, useful, and useless you can imagine. Let's just say that Dollar Tree has nothin' on the 100-yen store.
We spent most of today on the Path of Philosophy, a beautiful three-mile walk along a narrow canal lined with cherry and maple trees.
Along the way, we stopped to explore the elegantly sculpted garden at Ginkakuji and a few of the Buddhist temples at Nanzenji.
This was all by way of reaching Maruyama Park, which leads to the Gion neighborhood and its celebrated teahouses. Every April, apprentice geisha perform seasonal dances (known as Miyako Odori) for the public, and we managed to score a few seats on one of the balcony tatami mats for an afternoon show.
The dancers were graceful and charming, and the older geisha lining the stage had crazy shamisen skills and deep, haunting voices—but I was mostly blown away by the sets. Colorful and elaborate, they were changed entirely every 10 minutes or so by some manual sleight of hand performed backstage.
Take that, Hollywood. I'd bet a Kyoto stage crew against your CGI budget anytime.
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