Little Matcha Magic: A morning stroll through Kyoto

We had woken up with the sun. When we stepped out of our hotel, we were greeted by the very forgiving rays of the spring sun, ready to tickle the sakura petals, waking them from their sleep.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ☁︎｡⋆✧ ✧˚₊‧⋆｡˚ ✦₊

We weren’t about to climb a mountain or catch a plane, or do anything that would warrant an early morning. But, after all, we would indeed travel that day.
If one finds oneself in Kyoto, at the end of March, one has to expect a lot of people. Mostly taking pictures. Hundreds of them. Of themselves. The masses grinding through the narrow streets of the old town, up or down, taking away some of the enjoyment a visit to Kyoto would always grant so selflessly. But alas none of us was a Kyoto citizen, and complaining about such annoyances seemed hypocritical to say the least, we were like them, after all: Hungry, rushing, never satisfied. Behind us the background of the old capital.
So, to somehow beat the crowds, we got up early, descended to the trains and had it take us underneath the chess board that is this ancient city. We emerged before a bridge. One of the many bridges of Kyoto. I wondered where it would take us.

In Japan, things have their own time. And at this early hour no shop was opened, the emptiness of the street reminding me of the warning that had been ushered a few centuries ago to not go out at night, or else one would encounter a hoard of demons parading the streets at night.
But, it wasn’t night anymore and the danger of encountering demons was arguably pretty low. Instead, we encountered an open convenience store (one of the perks of Japan) and got what had been my favourite for months: An onigiri.

I think it’s nearly impossible to imagine what power an onigiri holds. And yes, it is a rice ball. Firstly, it’s cheap-maybe 150 yen-and secondly it is quite filling. I had expected to start disliking the wrapped rice at some point, just because of the constant repetition of eating it day in, day out. But strangely it has yet to grow tired on me (?). Maybe it’s the variations of fillings and convenience stores that made the difference. Or the fact that I can never get tired of rice.
So, we made our way into the old town. For us, it was all about the way up. Up the cobbled streets, a few stairs, above us one of the first Sakura trees to bloom, a tree that would later become a photo spot. But now, there was peace and quiet.

At the end of the hill, passing all the closed shops, we reached our goal: Kiyomizu-dera.
But this is not a story about our goal. Kiyomizu-dera is magical and important and overrun. When we were there, we wandered along the temple grounds, left them to find another temple, tucked away on a hill so empty one couldn’t believe it was the same Kyoto, returned, contemplated if we should get some blessed water (no) and then saw a cormorant fishing in one of the temple’s pond, very much unbothered by the now steadily emerging crowds.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ☁︎｡⋆✧ ✧˚₊‧⋆｡˚ ✦₊

At this point it was 10:00 in the morning, a full day still awaiting us.
As the city of a thousand temples, finding a new one to enter was not and never will be difficult. So, we wandered, finding a Buddhist temple promising a zen garden, Kodai-ji. Keen on escaping the ever growing presence of people, we entered. We were ushered into the rooms of the temple (obviously without shoes!) and shown the zen garden.
After that we once more enjoyed the other parts of the temple and somehow landed in front of a tea house, doors wide open, inviting us to sit down and gaze on the adjourning garden.
And of course we accepted. The tea house, while in the middle of the temple grounds, still had its own entrance and was therefore separate from everything else. Now, I have read about the tea ceremony and the philosophy behind it, but back then, I knew nothing of the sort.

As soon as I overstepped the threshold, there was silence. Not outside. The lady attending the tea house came out of the kitchen to welcome us, confirming that we were two, her kimono perfectly positioned, as she gestured us to our seats.
But inside, there was silence. We were now in a strange space between inside and outside, looking upon moss, stairs and green bamboo, the view framed by the dark wooden pillars of the tea house.

‘お待たせしました’ interrupted my admiration. It was a lie, because we hadn’t even had time to wait.
She placed in front of us two dark trays, with two dark tea bowls and a small tray with a cute mochi each.
From the tea bowls an intense green colour was shining. They weren’t filled very high, but still, it seemed reflective, like the colour of the moss and the bamboo in front of us.
This matcha was different. Far away from matcha lattes carried through big cities by fashionable women. Far away from added syrups and cream. Just simple, bitter matcha. It was like tasting the moss and the bamboo, the garden itself. As if time had stopped or overlapped. There was no such thing as now, or yesterday, just nothing and everything all together, while the matcha unfolded its subtle layers. This time, there was no need for thoughts. It was just us, drinking matcha, in a tea house, in the magical city of Kyoto. And for a moment all was well.

This is a post I originally made on Substack. You can check it out there, too! ^ ^

.₊˚.✦₊૮₍ ´• ˕ • ₎ა ♡‧₊˚ ✩‧₊˚ ✧˚₊‧₊˚ ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა ✩₊˚.