We started the day in Tokyo and took the Shinkansen from Tokyo Station to Kyoto. The train covered 282 miles in just 2 hours and 14 minutes—roughly the same distance as Philadelphia to Pittsburgh, a trip that takes 6 hours by car or 7.5 hours by train. It’s fast, reliable, and impressively efficient. Comparing it to the Acela feels silly; while Amtrak runs once an hour and barely counts as “high-speed,” Shinkansen trains arrive every few minutes.
We woke up early, unsure how to catch an earlier train, so we explored Tokyo Station and grabbed a few snacks. I booked seats in the more comfortable green car and intentionally chose seats on the Mt. Fuji side of the train, though someone warned us the view is a coin flip. Fortunately, we lucked out with a beautiful view and sped by at 200 mph. My only complaint about Japan’s rail system is the online ticket-buying process, which can be confusing. Different websites offer tickets for various types of trains, many of which only release tickets 30 days in advance, providing a dizzying array of delivery options. Some tickets are even limited to purchase during Japanese business hours. To simplify things, we used a third-party site called Klook. It added a surcharge, but it worked.
After arriving in Kyoto, we dropped off our bags at Hotel Monday in Marutamachi and visited famous temples. A friend I scuba dive with described Kyoto as a “distillation of traditional Japanese culture.” I get it now. The city feels like a serene sanctuary for the Japanese spirit, but still unmistakably a city. It carries a calm, high-end vibe different from Tokyo’s frenetic energy.
We walked to Ginkakuji, the Silver Pavilion, a majorly important Zen temple. It was built in 1482 as a shogun’s retirement villa; after his death, it was converted into a temple. As someone more familiar with religious sites in Latin America and Europe, I still find Eastern temples fascinating because they’re so unfamiliar. My first real encounter with one abroad was in Ho Chi Minh City.
Every corner of Ginkakuji looks like a postcard. The intricate gardens and centuries-old buildings feel cinematic. I especially loved the moss-covered lawns shaded by trees. We didn’t go inside any buildings—we just wandered the grounds, which was enough.
Afterward, we followed the Philosopher’s Path (Tetsugaku-no-michi), a tranquil stone walkway that winds along a cherry-tree-lined canal. It’s about two kilometers long and offers a peaceful blend of nature, history, and Kyoto’s reflective spirit. Lots of folks come here to stroll and enjoy the beauty.
This is where I saw the strangest quirk of Japan’s tourism scene: white people in kimonos. In Kyoto, anyone can rent a kimono and wander around taking photos. It struck me as ridiculous then, and it still does now. I even started writing a song on the spot—“White People in Kimonos”—and kept refining it throughout the trip.
Most cherry blossoms had fallen, but a few clung to the branches. The petals scattered on the ground added a soft, beautiful accent. The path meanders past temples, shrines, cafes, and shops. We stopped at a café for lemonade, and I learned a small but essential detail about Japanese dining etiquette: you never pay at the table. Instead, you walk to the register to settle your bill.
Recharged from the lemonade, we continued down the Philosopher’s Path to Nanzenji, another historic Zen temple established in 1291. We entered the temple and, jet lag setting in, sat for a few quiet minutes to enjoy the gardens. I was drawn to the dry gardens, where pristinely raked gravel creates a meditative stillness. Sitting there, staring across the pebbled landscape, felt ephemeral and grounding at once.
We wandered the temple grounds and stumbled upon the Suirokaku aqueduct, a striking brick structure from the Meiji era. We followed it out of the temple complex and eventually returned to a regular street.
We made only two high-end meal reservations for the entire trip, but we never struggled to find fantastic food in Japan. I never got tired of it. Unlike Scotland, where I was tired of the cuisine, Japan delivered consistent quality. That night, we dined at Takehisa, a tiny kappo-ryori restaurant near our hotel. The space had only eight seats. We removed our shoes before entering, and the experience felt as intimate as delicious. Chef Takehisa and one staff member ran the entire place. A group of three Japanese guests looked genuinely surprised to see tourists walk in.
Chef Takehisa was incredibly kind. Although he spoke little English and we knew no Japanese, we had a real conversation by passing phones back and forth using Google Translate. It worked surprisingly well. One of the standout dishes was taranome, a tempura-fried tree bud with a subtle nutty flavor. The chef had foraged it earlier that week and explained that it’s only available for about two weeks each year. We felt lucky.
After dinner, we headed to Fushimi Inari Shrine. Before diving in, I want to explain Japan’s two religions, Shintoism and Buddhism, briefly. They coexist peacefully. Here’s how I, as a tourist, kept them straight—Shintoism has shrines, and Buddhism has temples. Shintoism is Japan’s native spirituality, focused on sacred spirits in nature, while Buddhism arrived in the 6th century with its philosophical path to enlightenment. I knew a bit about Buddhism from school, but Shintoism was new. It doesn’t seem particularly open to outsiders, but I admire its deep connection to the natural world.
Fushimi Inari Taisha is one of Japan’s most iconic Shinto shrines, and it dates back to 711 CE. It’s dedicated to rice and fertility. It is open 24 hours a day and is best known for its thousands of orange torii gates, which form winding trails up a mountain. Exhausted, we fell asleep in the Uber on the way there, so we didn’t hike the mountain. But even just walking through the gates at night felt quiet and magical.
Afterward, we hopped on a train back to our hotel and fell asleep when our heads hit the pillows.
Next: Japan – Day 2: Kyoto