Kyoto, today a hectic city full of tourists, originally bore the name Heian‑kyō (“The City of Peace and Tranquility”). It was founded by Emperor Kammu in the year 794 as his new imperial residence. The city was built according to the Chinese feng shui urban model, on a plain in the middle of a basin surrounded by forested hills. This style is characterized by features such as rectangular shapes, parallel streets, a city protected from the north or sides and open to the south (similar, for example, to the city of Kamakura).
In Kyoto we had a truly special place to stay — a genuine Kyoto machiya, a traditional wooden townhouse. Right in front of the station stands the Rinn Kyoto Station hotel, which also manages the Rinn Shijō Machiya. That’s where we checked in, received our keys, and got into a taxi they called for us. After a 5–10 minute ride, we arrived at what would be our home for the next three nights. The house was located north of the station (about 2 km), between the Shijō/Ōmiya subway stops (a 10‑minute walk west) and Karasuma/Shijō (a 10‑minute walk east).
A machiya is characterized by its raised wooden tatami‑floored interior, sliding doors, and the fact that the front part of the house often served as a shop. From the outside, this single‑story house didn’t look particularly spacious, but it hid a respectable 72 square meters. On the ground floor there was an entryway with space for shoes, umbrellas, and coats; a living room with a kotatsu table (set into the floor with electric heating underneath); a small kitchenette; a toilet; a washing machine tucked into a closet; and a bathroom with a stone bathtub overlooking a small zen garden.
Upstairs there was a second toilet and two bedrooms — one traditional, with tatami flooring and futon bedding, and the other with two standard “Western‑style” beds. The entire house was tastefully furnished and well equipped. At the time, the price for this accommodation came out to roughly 46 EUR per person per night.
Kyoto in the rain
Since Kyoto has witnessed countless earthquakes, floods, fires, and various wars throughout its long history, its urban landscape has been in constant transformation, and today it resembles a mosaic of different historical periods. Only a few buildings date back to before the year 1600, with most having been replaced by newer replicas. The city escaped American bombing during World War II, and as a result, Kyoto now boasts roughly 1,600 Buddhist temples and 400 Shinto shrines (!). That truly earns it the title of Japan’s cultural heart.
Many of Kyoto’s beauties, however, aren’t obvious at first glance — you have to look for them. Low, not‑particularly‑aesthetic houses mix with traditional machiya; here and there a modern building appears, or an apartment block, or a structure built in the brutalist style of the 1950s. And tucked between them are temples and shrines. It’s sometimes an architectural mix that doesn’t exactly please the eye.
On the second day of our stay, it was pouring from early morning. I didn’t want to just sit at home or spend the day in a shopping mall, so I decided to take advantage of the weather and at least explore the temples in the nearby area. I was curious what their atmosphere would be like in the rain, when they aren’t overwhelmed by crowds of tourists.
The first place I visited was Chōhō‑ji Temple, surrounded today by modern buildings and also known as Rokkaku‑dō (“The Hexagonal Temple”), a name referring to the unique shape of its main hall, which symbolizes the six senses (including the mind). This temple is considered the birthplace of the Japanese art of flower arrangement, ikebana. It is home to the Ikenobō school — the oldest and most prestigious ikebana school in Japan. According to legend, monks at the pond beside the temple began arranging flowers as an offering to the goddess Kannon — and from this simple ritual an entire artistic tradition emerged.
The temple has become a refuge for many pigeons, and swans swam in its pond. Its atmosphere is enhanced by the drooping branches of willow trees and small statues of the deity Jizō.
The next temple I visited was Bukkō‑ji (“Temple of the Buddha’s Light”). There was truly no one around, and the temple looked closed, so I at least took a photo of the main hall from the outside. It reminded me of Higashi Hongan‑ji. Since my shoes were already completely soaked, I managed to squeeze in one last stop — Byōdō‑ji. It is also known as Inaba‑dō, the “Thousand‑Year Temple of the Healing Buddha.” People come here to pray for recovery, especially from serious illnesses. You can also find various omamori (protective amulets) here, many of them featuring cat motifs.
Even though I had an umbrella, a raincoat, and waterproof covers for my pants, I returned to our machiya with completely soaked shoes, which I then dried — along with my socks — under the heated kotatsu table (and I wasn’t the only one ☺).
The way of water
The next day the weather finally cleared up. My cousin and I took the subway to Keage Station, where Kyoto’s “Baťa Canal” begins. This ambitious Meiji‑era project (built between 1885 and 1890) brings water to Kyoto from Lake Biwa, the largest freshwater lake in Japan (63 km long and 23 km wide). After 1868, when the capital was moved to Tokyo, Kyoto lost its political importance and began to stagnate economically. The city needed a new push for development. Local leaders therefore looked for a way to revive industry, transportation, and the water supply. The solution became a bold project — to bring water from Japan’s largest lake, across the mountains, into the city. Thousands of workers took part in its construction.
The canal itself is about 20 km long and includes various tunnels, aqueducts, water steps, and iconic brick bridges — the most famous being Suirokaku near Nanzen‑ji Temple. From 1895 onward, the Biwa Canal powered Japan’s first hydroelectric power plant. It supplied electricity to industrial production, street lighting, and even the city’s tram system. In the past, both goods and passengers were transported along the canal. Today you can still book a sightseeing cruise, which is especially popular during cherry blossom season.
A popular spot for viewing cherry blossoms is the Keage Incline — a sloped track lined with cherry trees. It is 582 meters long and was once used as a water‑powered incline railway that allowed boats to be moved up and down the slope on rails. Boats were loaded onto carts and pulled by a cable system either uphill or downhill. A model of this mechanism, along with many other dioramas and interesting exhibits about the Biwa Canal, can be seen at the nearby Lake Biwa Canal Museum (free admission). Perhaps because the cherry blossoms had long since fallen, the place felt like a peaceful corner away from the usual tourist routes. This canal is a fascinating project I had known very little about before. The small but well‑designed museum is definitely worth a visit.
On the Keage rise in Sosui Park you can also find the remains of the old boat incline and the former hydroelectric power plant, as well as a statue of Sakura Tanabe — the architect of the Biwa Canal. If you follow the flow of the water northward, after about 300 meters along the canal you’ll arrive directly at the Nanzen‑ji temple complex. Here, at a height of 9 meters, the water flows through the previously mentioned brick aqueduct Suirokaku (93 meters long), which is elegantly set among the trees and temple buildings. The aqueduct is still functional and gives the place a unique atmosphere, a striking contrast, and excellent opportunities for photography.
The Kyoto aqueduct Suirokaku in Nanzen-ji temple area
Nanzen‑ji was once the residence of Emperor Kameyama, who retreated here after his abdication in 1274. The temple is set within a pine grove at the foot of Mount Daimonji and belongs to the Rinzai school of Zen Buddhism — the largest and most well‑known school of Japanese Zen. It is also one of Kyoto’s most important Zen temples. Throughout the entire complex you can see the influence of the Chinese karayō architectural style, which arrived in Japan together with Zen Buddhism.
When touring the main temple in the abbot’s quarters, you can notice the close connection between garden design and landscape painting — the rooms are filled with famous works, such as Tigers in a Bamboo Grove. The exteriors are complemented by tranquil Zen gravel gardens and covered wooden walkways.
Nanzen-ji temple gardens
When exiting the temple, to the left of the Sanmon gate (by the way, one of the largest wooden gates in Japan at 22 meters tall), don’t miss the Tenchū‑an gardens. You’ll find two gardens here — one a gravel garden (dry and tranquil, with geometric forms) and the other a lush green garden with a pond (alive and moist, the complete opposite of the gravel one). The atmosphere is enhanced by small waterfalls, stone pathways, dense vegetation with a bamboo grove, and koi carp swimming in a pond filled with water lilies. The garden is small, but extremely photogenic — highly recommended.
After exploring the Nanzen‑ji complex, we headed to the nearby Heian Shrine. On the way, we stopped at the Kyoto City Museum of Art, where part of the exhibition was open to the public for free. The museum, opened in 1933, is the oldest public art museum in Japan. At the time of our visit, the space was dominated by works of Takashi Murakami, best known for his smiling flowers (a symbol of joy, but also of superficiality). Outside stood his golden sculpture Flower Parent and Child, perched on a Louis Vuitton suitcase. Inside, an entire wall in one of the main halls was covered with his brightly colored flower motifs.
Next to the museum stands a massive, bright‑red torii gate, which at 24 meters tall and 34 meters wide is one of the largest in all of Japan (we had already spotted it from afar, from the hydroelectric plant on the Keage hill). It symbolizes the transition from the mundane world to the sacred spiritual grounds of a Shinto shrine. Heian Shrine was built in 1895 to commemorate the 1100th anniversary of the city’s founding (back when it was still called Heian‑kyō, if you were paying attention at the start of this blog). It is dedicated to the first (Emperor Kammu) and the last (Emperor Kōmei) Kyoto‑based emperors, and it is a replica of the original imperial palace that stood here from 794 until it burned down in 1227. Its size corresponds to 5/8 of the original palace (due to a lack of available land at the time of construction), and its architecture clearly reflects the strong Chinese influence of the Heian period. Elements typical of Buddhist temples — such as vivid, colorful paintwork — began appearing on Shinto shrines as well.
One of the two clusters of small pagodas at the entrance to Heian Shrine
On the left side of the courtyard is the entrance to the Shin‑en Gardens (“Gardens of the Gods”), which cover more than 3 hectares and are divided into four sections according to the cardinal directions. The first is the Southern Garden, which most closely resembles the court gardens of the Heian period. Wide grassy areas and open space create a feeling of calm and elegance. You can also find an old carriage from Kyoto’s original streetcar line on display here — the line opened in 1895 for the National Industrial Exhibition in Kyoto.
The Western Garden is known for its seasonal flowers, and this is where the changes of the seasons are most visible.
The Central Garden is famous for its large pond and big stepping‑stone blocks (anyone brave enough can try what contestants on Takeshi’s Castle had to deal with ☺). There is also a small teahouse, and the pond is home to various species of fish and turtles.
The Eastern Garden is the largest. It is dominated by the expansive Seiho Pond and the elegant covered wooden bridge Taiheikaku. By the way, the water in the garden ponds is supplied by the Biwa Canal.
In the early evening, I still managed to take a retro tram from Shijō‑Ōmiya Station to the Arashiyama area (“Storm Mountain”) on the city’s northwestern edge. The ride on the Randen line took about 22 minutes and cost 250 yen. Upon arrival, I was greeted at the station by clusters of brightly colored kimono fabrics, part of the Kimono Forest exhibition. They somewhat resemble the famous bamboo grove, which we’ll get to in a moment.
Not far from the station is the 155‑meter‑long Togetsu‑kyō (“Moon‑Crossing Bridge”), which has a history stretching back a thousand years. It’s said that Emperor Kameyama gave it this name after watching the moon “cross” the night sky from east to west. The bridge offers lovely views of the Arashiyama hills, and in the evening it’s illuminated by lights powered by a nearby hydro‑generator. You can also rent sightseeing boat rides through the picturesque Katsura River gorge — even accompanied by shamisen music.
Kimono Forest at Arashiyama Station
Togetsu‑kyō - “Moon‑Crossing Bridge”
Arashiyama Park also offers beautiful views, and I wandered through it on my way to the bamboo grove. The Sagano Bamboo Forest covers an area of roughly 16 km². This famous — and perhaps a bit overrated — slice of nature consists of densely packed bamboo reaching heights of 5 to 10 meters, and it attracts an enormous number of tourists. For that reason, I’m not sure I would actually recommend visiting it. The walk through the grove is fairly short, and it’s quite difficult to find a spot to take photos or videos without the ever‑present crowds.
Summary: Kyoto is called the city of water for good reason. Water accompanies you everywhere here and is one of the fundamental motifs that shape its character. Among other things, it provides purification at the entrance to countless temples and shrines. Despite the number of tourists, many of these places can still be explored in relative peace — you just have to choose those away from the biggest crowds. I will always be happy to return to Kyoto, because there are as many interesting places here as there are drops of water in the sea.
To finish, here’s a short video of the Kimono Forest at Arashiyama Station:
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