Feeling old in Kyoto

Kyoto is city of kept secrets. Dark tunnels and imposing gates mark the entrance to even the most touristed sites. Although you take the bullet train into town, you must still bow your head entering the ancient capital's myriad temples and shrines, lest you trip on the raised entrance. There is something of the old ways left in Kyoto.

You wouldn't know it upon arrival. Kyoto Station is a cavernous steel and glass monument. A much-maligned building, it dwarfs the hundred-year-old tin-covered wooden structures below. From the top of the station you can make out two temples: Nishi Hongan-ji and Higashi Hongan-ji. Headquarters of the True Pure Land sect of Buddhism, Nishi Hongan is a showcase of Japan's architectural and historic achievement. Higashi Hongan-ji, while less important historically, is one of the biggest wooden structures on earth, every bit as fantastic as that sounds. Viewed as one of the same beast, the station and the temples offer a basic metaphor for the country as a whole and Kyoto in particular.

Alex Kerr writes: "In contrast to Europe... change to came to China, Japan and Southeast Asia in a truly precipitous fashion. What's more, these changes were introduced from a completely alien culture. Consequently, modern clothing and architecture in China and Japan have nothing to do with traditional Asian culture. Although the Japanese may admire Kyoto and Nara, and consider them beautiful, deep in their hearts they know that these places have no connection to their modern lives. To put it bluntly, these places have become cities of illusion, historical theme parks."

For 500 yen we bought a bus card and entered the park.

The first place we visited was Rokuon-ji Temple, location of Kinkaku, the Golden Pavilion. From the station it was a forty minute bus ride through a vast urban wasteland identical to that of any city in the country. It was worth the effort though.

I'm certain that the first glimpse of gold shimmering through the leaves dilated my pupils. Seeing the entire gold building hovering on the reflecting pond took my breath away. The grounds were awash with tourists, but even that did not detract from the pavilion's serene aura of power and wealth.

After the Golden Pavilion there wasn't much to see on the temple grounds. The small paths leading into the forests were closed to the public; as tourists we were corralled into a gift shop before exiting. We quickly bypassed the manic kitsch characteristic of Japanese gift shops and hopped on a bus bound for Ryoan-ji Temple, whose rock garden is likely one of the better places in the world to sit and contemplate the meaning of nothing.

Entering the temple grounds there was a picturesque pond which until recently was home to a flock of mandarin duck. From there the pathway headed uphill, along a stone stairway toward the main temple and location of the garden.

At first I was disappointed. "This is it? There's nothing else here?"

I sat down with the other tourists and stared at the garden, fifteen rocks arranged in a bed of white gravel. A tiled yellow wall surrounds the garden and beyond that is a mixed forest. Clouds passed over the sun, softened the shadow effect. The crowd's mood softened as well. People spoke in hushed tones. The sun returned and harsh light fell onto the white gravel. Conversation became more animated. After a while I felt relaxed and able to think clearly. Simple as it is, the garden at Ryoanji works a type of magic.

That night a different sort of magic appeared. There was an hour to kill before the last train to Kobe so went to Gion, the ancient geisha district. We didn't expect to see anything exciting, only to walk the car-less streets and admire the classic wooden buildings, red lanterns swaying in the summer breeze.

Walking back to the bus stop we noticed a small crowd gathered in front of a building. A group of taxis sat idling. There was a flash of kimono from behind a curtain. In a flurry of activity eight or nine geisha emerged, as perfect as Van Gogh's Sunflowers. Three or four hopped into a taxi and disappeared down the street; one dressed in purple walked this way and that, unsure of where she was headed; a pair ducked into the building next door; one simply walked into the night. Then it was over.

Geisha make even the Japanese feel foreign. They are mysterious, powerful, beautiful and cultured, a link to an ancient way of life and an outdated way of doing things. That it is still possible to see them going from one party to the next speaks volumes. Although the exterior may be shiny and modern, this is an ancient country with ancient ways. Hopefully those ways continue: I never want to consider Kyoto a theme park.