Sabbatikos

Our last morning in Kyoto had arrived and the weather was nice, overcast, but bright. We had a Nozomi Shinkansen back to Tokyo around 2:00 that afternoon, but after sleeping in we still had a few hours left in Kyoto and wanted to squeeze just a little more out of her before before leaving. Nothing ambitious. We’d keep it simple. There was a beautiful five story pagoda about a mile from our hotel, so we decided we would simply walk over, take a few pictures, enjoy the neighborhood, and head back.

The pagoda was Yasaka Pagoda. Rising 46 meters (150 feet) above the traditional wooden buildings of the Higashiyama district. The five story tower dates to the 15th century, although the temple traces its origins much further back. We photographed it from the street and continued uphill, where we could have kept going toward Kiyomizu-dera. We had already visited Kiyomizu earlier in the trip, though, so instead we turned down a side street and decided to see where it took us. That decision changed our entire morning.

We wandered along a shopping street, ducking into a few stores without any particular agenda, when above the rooftops we noticed the unmistakable head of an enormous Buddha looking down from the hillside. We had to investigate. A few minutes later we found ourselves at Ryōzen Kannon, a World War II memorial dominated by a 24 meter (~80 foot) statue of Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy. The statue and temple date from 1955 as a memorial to those who died in the war. 

We paid the admission fee and were each given a stick of incense, which we lit and placed near the entrance before wandering into the memorial grounds. Nearby was a large wishing ball, where we each silently made a wish by walking around the ball three times. From there we scattered in different directions. I found the enormous carved footprints, then noticed that there was an entrance leading inside the Buddha statute itself. Naturally, I went in. Within the statue were small stations dedicated to the twelve zodiac signs, where visitors could light candles before the figure associated with their birth year. I lit one for myself, and one for Tawny.

I eventually wandered farther back into the grounds, through trees and smaller memorials, before reconnecting with Clara near a building that looked almost like a small chapel. Inside was the Memorial Hall, which unexpectedly became something much more profound than we had planned for. The hall contains a monument to the Unknown Soldier as well as records documenting 48,146 Allied prisoners of war who died or went missing while in Japanese custody during World War II. It also contains vessels of soil collected from military cemeteries around the world. Elsewhere on the grounds are memorials and records for Japanese war dead, including monuments associated with branches of Japan’s previous military. 

The juxtaposition was powerful. There were Japanese soldiers being remembered for their sacrifice, but there was also explicit remembrance of tens of thousands of men from other countries who had died or disappeared as prisoners of Japan. It felt complicated and I suppose that was the point. It was complicated. Having visited places such as the Pearl Harbor memorial on Oahu, where we had encountered this history through an American lens, standing here offered another and balanced non-judgmental perspective on the same war.

We had not planned to come here. We had set out to photograph a pagoda and see a giant Buddha. But, instead, we had stumbled into a place that challenged our thinking about history. It was sad and beautiful.

From Ryōzen Kannon we continued to nearby Kōdai-ji, a Zen temple founded in 1606 by Nene, the widow of Toyotomi Hideyoshi, in memory of her husband. It had beautiful gardens, ponds, historic buildings, and, most importantly for us, a bamboo grove. We had deliberately skipped Arashiyama’s social media famous bamboo forest on the other side of Kyoto because of the crowds. We had been slightly disappointed, though, that we might leave Kyoto without getting the bamboo forest experience. But Kōdai-ji fixed that.

We followed the temple paths through its beautifully arranged gardens and eventually entered a dense stand of towering bamboo. Perhaps not a forest, but a grove. There were no influencers. For stretches of the path before us we essentially had the grove to ourselves and only a few others. Bamboo rose high above us, tiny mushrooms at our feet. It was exactly the experience we had hoped for, only quieter and more intimate.

Our quick morning walk had turned into a spontaneous and memorable half day. It felt like a fitting ending to our time in Kyoto. Or so we thought.

We grabbed a taxi back toward Genji Kyoto, although the narrow residential streets around the hotel meant getting dropped a short few blocks walk away. Rather than heading directly back, we followed the Kamo River for a few minutes. There we spotted a perfect final Kyoto gift: a grey heron standing along the river nexts to us. The Gray Heron is the same heron that plays such an unforgettable role in Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron.  After all of our Studio Ghibli connections on this trip, seeing one beside the river felt magical. We stopped for a few minutes and watched it. And then there was also a cat. We are always a sucker for a cat. Now Kyoto was complete.

Back at the hotel we collected our backpacks. Our larger suitcases were already on their way to Tokyo, courtesy of Japan’s magnificent luggage forwarding system, which had become one of my favorite discoveries of the entire trip. We headed to Kyoto Station and, continuing another fatherly tradition, arrived ridiculously early for our train. This time that worked to our advantage because we had enough time for lunch. We found a soba shop inside the station, where what we expected to be a functional meal turned out to be excellent. Then, because we were about to sit on a train for two hours, we also bought bento boxes and drinks for the ride.

Soon we were aboard the Nozomi and accelerating toward Tokyo at 178 miles per hour. We had seats on the left side of the train this time, positioning ourselves for another attempt at seeing Mount Fuji. The clouds and rain towards Tokyo declined our request. We’d just have to come back.

We arrived at Shinagawa Station and took a taxi to the Tokyo Marriott, where another small logistical miracle awaited us. The suitcases we had forwarded from Kyoto were already in our room, joining the three suitcases of things we had purchased in Tokyo and left behind before heading to Kyoto. We quickly dropped things off, and nobody even needed to discuss what came next. We all knew where we were going. We were going back to Uobei for robo sushi!

Earlier in the trip, Uobei in Shibuya had become one of our favorite Tokyo meals. It wasn’t fancy but it was ridiculously fun. We again ordered from a touchscreen, and moments later your sushi came directly to your seat on its own little delivery track. The second visit was every bit as entertaining as the first, with plates of delicious but inexpensive sushi, drinks, and dessert. The entire meal once again costing somewhere around $15 per person.

After dinner, Shibuya was absolutely hopping with crowds. We wandered without much purpose through the crowds, popping into shops, window shopping, and people watching Tokyo. At some point Clara spotted a photo booth on the street that turned out to be part of an entire Photomatic shop filled with photo booths. We waited our turn, crowded inside, and took a series of pictures together. They came out surprisingly well and even included a little video, all for just a few dollars. It was a nice momento.

We briefly considered returning to Golden Gai. Our previous experience there had been so unexpectedly wonderful that it was tempting, but we decided against it. We didn’t want to spoil it with a lesser experience and decided to just leave a perfect travel memory as is. Besides, our feet hurt, we were tired, and Tokyo still had one final day waiting for us. So we headed back to the hotel early to rest our feet.