Kyoto in Winter - a Travel Journal

2 hours ago

Fall again, fair snow,

onto the lingering drifts,

and spread your cloak wide.

We will see little of you

when spring haze stands in the sky.

kenu ga ue ni

mata mo furishike

harugasami

tachinaba miyuki

mare ni koso mime

I love Kyoto in all seasons: the heat of summer; the dazzling leaves of autumn, and the swirling cherry blossom petals of spring.

But there's something about the stillness of winter that captures my heart. The lanes are quiet. The air is crisp and cold.

When I first began Zusetsu, I travelled to Kyoto in the January of 2019. I remember wrapping up in double-layers and walking the length of Higashiyama reciting Japanese verb conjugations, to try and memorise them!

This year, 2025, I returned again in January, but it was a very different trip. Our family has evolved and changed over the intervening years - this time I was visiting my oldest son Cally who is now married to our beloved Yukki and living in a vibrant and beautiful area of Tokyo. When I boarded the plane at London Heathrow, this time I knew I would be staying with two people who I love enormously at the other end.

Having family in Tokyo, and meeting their wonderful friends, has helped me feel closer to Japan. My perception of this amazing country has altered over the last few years, the more I've got to know it. My perception of Tokyo has changed radically as I've begun to discover some of the neighbourhoods which make up this dazzling city.

My language skills are noticeably better. Not my speaking - but my listening. I was surprised how much I could listen to conversations and understand a little of what was being spoken of.

I remember my first ever trip to Kyoto in 2011, when I came up out of a subway and stood with my case on a Kyoto street for the very first time. The city whirled - I could make no sense of what I was seeing: everything I knew had been turned upside-down.

That first day we walked to Nijo Castle, Ninna-ji, Ryoan-ji, and Kinkaku-ji. That night I couldn't sleep as I was so dazzled by what I had seen.

I wanted to understand why Kyoto was so beautiful. I went back to the beginning - the early literature, to try and understand why Kyoto is the way that it is.

I still find the city utterly beguiling.

A visit to Japan is always enchanting, always full of surprises. I feel wonder at the depth to which people can be extraordinarily kind; and I feel wonder at the places I was so kindly invited to: a tea ceremony at a shrine's teahouse that meant an enormous amount to the family; a tea ceremony class with a gathering of the kindest people you could ever hope to meet; the patience of the ikebana and tea master who helped me understand the beautiful way of flowers; and the incredible local religious practices, both Buddhist and Shinto that printed wondrous images onto my imagination.

Returning to Kyoto

This January, Kyoto was blossoming with cerise camellias in hedges and temple gardens. I was staying at Chishakuin Temple in southern Higashiyama, close to the mesmerising hall built by Taira clan leader Kiyomori, Sanjūsangen-dō, with its one thousand and one gold-leafed wooden statues of Kannon, goddess of compassion.

I wanted to get my bearings, so I headed north towards Kiyomizudera, joining the tourist crowds along Sannenzaka, Ninenzaka, and Nene no Michi, happy to be back in an area which means so much to me. I had the most tremendous time, staying in Higashiyama during Gion Matsuri two summers ago: my hotel was near to Kennin-ji, and the lanes around this area feel like home.

I had risen early that morning, to catch the shinkansen from Tokyo. I wanted to settle into Kyoto, sit in a quiet temple with a bowl of matcha and a sweet, so I popped in to beautiful Entoku-in. The holidaymakers were left behind; the temple was serene, sunlit, and empty.

I sat on the veranda with my bowl of matcha, delighting in the sweetness of the gilded okashi, and the exquisite combination of bitter matcha afterwards. It was heavenly!

I gazed at the framed portraits of Fujiwara and Heian ladies around the walls of a tatami room.

Entokuin was lived in by Nene, the wife of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. From here she would walk along the serene lane which is now named after her, to visit the nearby temple called Kodai-ji, which she had built as a memorial to her beloved husband. She would come here to pray for him.

I walked along the pretty lanes to Maruyama Kouen and dropped down through Yasaka Shrine, flooded with extraordinary memories from Gion Matsuri: the kagura dances on the stage facing the gods; the transference of the Thunder God into the mikoshi under starlight; the torches and the bandana-wearing men carrying the mikoshi, jigging it up and down calling washo! washo!; the procession like a moving Heian manuscript bringing the young boy chigo to the shrine; the chigo, hot and bursting with pent-up energy, downing cartons of juice in the fierce sunlight.

I love the cafe Sagan, on Matsubara-dori, near the ancient stronghold of the Taira clan at Rokuhara. I sat at a table near the back of the cafe, and after a while, two young maiko sat opposite me at the table. I carried on eating, keeping my cool, but I did glance up to see their perfectly coiffed black hair, ready for an evening event!

When I stayed in this area that previous summer, I would often walk back through Gion and pass maiko and geiko making their way to an evening event. In the street beyond the further end of Kennin-ji I would pass maiko slipping into restaurants, or climbing into a taxi. It was one of the many enchanting things about staying in this area.

From Sagan, I walked along the street past the ancient shrine Rokuharamitsuji in the direction of Chishakuin. I discovered quiet lanes of beautiful old wooden houses, and a cute coffee shop too.

I've described my stay at Chishakuin in more detail in our blog called Kyoto Temple Stays. From my Japanese room I could watch the brightly-coloured drapes surrounding the Kondō move in the breeze.

A New Year Tea Ceremony

I caught the city bus from outside Sanjūsangen-dō, which, via Kyoto Station took me nearly to Kitano Tenmangu shrine. I enjoyed walking the familiar lanes to the shrine. It's the shrine devoted to Heian nobleman Sugawara no Michizane: the man who was betrayed and banished from his beloved Kyoto. He was devastated to leave his beautiful plum blossom garden, so much so, he wrote a poem to it.

Kitano Tenmangu is full of plum trees in his honour. I happily wandered the shrine searching for plum blossoms - they had been in flower when I visited in January all those years ago. But this time, all plum blossom was tightly in bud.

Mai walked towards me as I stood at the torii gate entrance, and I did a little skip! I love Mai, she is extraordinarily kind, and wonderful to be with. She has a deep knowledge of the Kyoto traditions of Tea, and she has invited me to the most wondrous places: tea ceremonies of all kinds, and they are amongst some of the most wonderful memories I have. There was the temple tea ceremony in the summer with the warm rain falling behind us like a sheet; there was the lovely tea ceremony at her friend's home near Shimogamo, which was full of friendship and warmth; there was her tea class with her sister and her sensei on a raw day in January - upstairs above a teahouse, cosy and warm. There was the tea class above the teahouse in the heat of late summer. There was the wondrous wabi-sabi teahouse in a subtemple of Daitoku-ji, where the host was aged 99, and we all marvelled. There was the formal tea ceremony where Mai wore a dazzling orange flowered obi over her olive kimono - woven by her great-uncle; national treasure, master of weaving in Nishijin.

I was full of wonder when Mai led me to a small chashitsu in a clearing, and I followed her, removing my shoes, to step in to the tiny entrance building to sign our names. To sign in to the tea ceremony we used a brush pen and sumi ink - I clumsily wrote my name in katakana. Above us was a welcoming scroll of tsubaki camellias. We changed into our pure white socks, and neatly put away our belongings in a small cupboard at the back. We knelt on the tatami by the heater, appreciating the warmth.

We sat in a little wooden shelter in the small garden for a while, and when we were called, we stepped on the little round stone path, moving through the space of separation between our everyday cares and the enchanting moment of stillness and wonder that is the tea ceremony.

We stepped onto the fragrant tatami inside the small chashitsu in our white socks, and kneeled, placing our beautiful tea ceremony sensu fans before us, to bow before in greeting. (Thank you, Mai, for mine!)

How fortunate am I that Mai has invited me to this quiet beauty? I can't express my gratitude - it's moments like this where I feel that I step beyond a veil, into a timeless Kyoto, where there is a continuity of ritual and quiet contemplation, friendship and togetherness, and tea that has been savoured down the long ages.

The chashitsu was warm when the fusuma sliding doors were closed behind us. Kyoto people, men and women, knelt around the edge of the small tatami-matted room. Beyond them I could see the dusky tokonoma alcove, with an inked calligraphy scroll, and a fresh, green bamboo container pinned to the wall with a green willow spray obscuring the space, and at its base the buds of tsubaki camellia.

Mai explained to me that the ikebana was Musubi Yanagi: it's a traditional arrangement that celebrates the first tea of the year. One branch is made into a single loop - it symbolises the move into spring, and the return from yin to yang. The willow represents longevity and flexibility.

Ladies in kimono flurried from the kitchen, bringing us hanabiramochi sweets and then bowls of frothy green matcha. The kimonos were fluttering works of art - I especially couldn't take my eyes off the plum blossom obi sash - which anticipated spring to come.

Hanabiramochi is a folded disc of white mochi, shaped like a palest-pink petal: perhaps a plum blossom petal. Inside, it has a second disc of red hishi-mochi rice cake which includes white miso, and a strip of soy-sweetened burdock. It is soft and sweet and slightly salty - really delicious with the frothy bitter matcha tea. It is the perfect way to celebrate the new year.

Steam drifted and curled from the kettle which was sunken into the tatami floor. Beyond the tea master, there was a small shoji-papered window outlined in thin wood, and soft shadows. The tearoom was warm, inviting, and I felt present, very much in the moment. I think back to the book we read for JanuaryInJapan called The Wisdom of Tea: ichigo ichie - one moment, one time. This gathering will never be repeated.

It was warm and cosy in this room - cosy because of the closed space lined with cheerful people looking forward to the ceremony, and happy to see one another (the tea community in Kyoto is extremely gracious and lovely). Warm because of the ro firepit and the steam curling from the kettle. Warm because the space was small, the hosts unhurried but efficient. It was such a lovely place to be on a raw-cold January day.

Mai and I lingered in the tea room after the ceremony when the guests had begun to leave. The ritual of admiring the tea ceremony implements - chosen with special care for this one moment - meant that the guests had leaned forward on their knees with great interest and hushed chatter.

I listen to Mai as she notes the beauty of the raised carving of painted chrysanthemums upon the black lacquer surround of the sunken fire pit. Next to it is a little vessel of carefully drawn-up ash like a cone: steeped in soft lines, and a small square of incense placed on the top.

Mai has already shared with me about the Heian lute or biwa that I'm seeing with wonder on the ornate water jar - it is very associated in my mind with The Tale of Genji. She explains: this year is the Year of the Snake, but many people in Japan aren't fond of the image of the snake, so sometimes the reference appears as the biwa. The biwa is the instrument of the Buddhist deity Benzaiten, and she is associated with a white snake as it is one of her attendants. Benzaiten is one of the seven gods of fortune, governing the fine arts as well as riches. The sensu fan that Mai so thoughtfully passed to me has the image of the biwa. The white water jar features the incense-game markings of Genji-kō, too.

We cannot detect

the flowering plum tree's blossoms,

for white flakes of snow

flutter to earth everywhere,

obscuring the lofty skies.

ume no hana

sore to mo miezu

hisakata no

amagiru yuki no

nabete furereba

Later in the day, I walked the northern lane called Kinukake no Michi - Silk-Draped Way - named when the 9th century Emperor Uda requested a summer landscape draped in white silk so that he could believe he was looking out onto snow.

I follow the road from Kinkakuji towards Ryōan-ji, stopping at Gallery Gado to steep myself in gorgeous Masao Ido artworks.

Ryōan-ji: sleety grey, the temple lamplit, atmospheric, and almost empty. I sit and absorb the grey beauty.

There are dramatic ink-painted dragons on the temple walls. The pool, always beautiful, is bleak on this January day. Cerise camellias create points of brightness in the hedges.

I'm natsukashii - nostalgic for the magic that made me fall in love with this city, so I walk through silent Myōshin-ji, the looming temple buildings appear like giant old friends. I stayed here one autumn, in jewel-like Shunkoin. I love the beauty, and the tranquility.

A train from Hanazono Station brings me back to Kyoto, and I walk across the city to Chishakuin.

A Timeslip at Kamigamo Shrine

The next morning I wake before dawn and gather with the other guests to be guided by a young robed monk to the morning service.

I've written about this amazing experience here: Kyoto Temple Stays.

After the warming breakfast, I head to the bus stop to catch the bus to Kamigamo in the north of Kyoto. I'm unsure I'm at the right place, but I see a shoe-shop owner cleaning the entrance to his shop with water, so in my rudimentary Japanese I ask him if this is the bus stop for Kamigamo Shrine. He cheerily and expansively waves me to the bus stop. The first bus that arrives is not the number bus I want, so I hang back from the queue, only to see the cheery shoe-shop owner, who has taken the trouble to come out of his shop, wave me onto the bus. What do I do? I get on anyway! I hastily open up the city bus map on my phone to see where I can get closest to Kamigamo Shrine. I can get off near Shimogamo Shrine, and take that lovely walk north along the river. It's a perfect day for it, vivid blue skies, bright and chill. I'm happy that kindly man waved me onto this bus!

Kamigamo Shrine is extraordinary. Surely it's one of the most beautiful shrines in all of Kyoto, and it's so ancient, the shrine of Heian Emperors, a northern shrine protecting the capital from misfortune, and it features in a key scene in The Tale of Genji.

Today I've come to see the re-enactment of Heian military archery: Musha Jinji.

It's like a moving manuscript: the characters of Genji are moving out of my imagination and walking onto the compound before me, carrying the most magnificent long, striped bows. The bows are so tall!

A Heian noble comes forward and bears half his breast to the icy wind that is coming unimpeded from the mountains. It brings to my mind the passage by Lafcadio Hearn in Kokoro, where he's describing the samurai boy who is hardened to hardship young: when he is cold, he is ordered to run barefoot in the snow.

The ritual of loading the arrow is careful and unhurried. Moments slip away as the arrow is positioned. Then - there is a strange humming whine as the arrow flies towards the target.

I gaze at the beautiful robes, and I feel like I've time-slipped into another world.

I warm up with cinnamon churros and matcha in a car-wash cafe by the river. Seriously, I can watch the cars being washed on-screen while it happens out of the window! The owner sits in the corner. He is on-screen and almost next to me at the same time!

I call in at the Eirakuya Tenugui exhibition in central Kyoto, curious to see the evolution of the stunning designs we sell in our Zusetsu store.

And, as dusk starts to fall and the bright red mochi-patterned Gion lanterns begin to glow, I step into Gion's theatre to see an introduction to Kyoto arts. A maiko dances Gion Kouta to ethereal live singing and a plucked shamisen, and a tea master serves whisked matcha tea. It's a nice way to end the evening.

Jōnan-gū and the Yutate Kagura

I've spent the weekend in Tokyo with my family, and we hosted JanuaryInJapan - thank you to everyone who came!

It's Monday and I'm on an early shinkansen leaving Shinagawa for Kyoto.

I'm staying in a machiya renovation this week, owned by Shimaya Stays, so I leave my case in a locker at Kyoto Station to collect later, and I take the Karasuma subway train to Takeda station and walk to Jōnan-gū.

Jōnan-gū is a hugely significant shrine, built when the capital was established in 794 to protect the city from the south. Emperors and retired emperors visited the shrine to pray for the safe-guarding of the city. There is a garden devoted to The Tale of Genji including an enchanting Heian garden. The shrine is famous for its weeping plum blossom trees and for its collection of camellias; it's varied styles of gardens walk you through the different Kyoto eras. Most of all it is special owing to its sanctity: it's here that you can see the vibrant Yutate Kagura and be blessed by the spray of boiling sacred spring water.

The ancient music was entrancing, as was the dancing of the miko before the ceremony. The anticipation built to the moment a senior priestess moved to the barrel of steaming sacred water at the heart of the outdoor space at the shrine. She stirred into the water sake, rice, and salt as offerings to the kami, then grasped two long, leafy branches of bamboo.

The priestess plunged the branches into the boiling water, and raised them in a wide arc, sending droplets of beneficence all over the nearby crowd. It was spectacular!

yutate kagura and shrine priestess, Kyoto Jonangu

Back at Komatsu Residences, in the back lanes behind Kennin-ji, I met Takase-san who kindly introduced me to the front room of the machiya, which was to be my warm cosy stay for most of the week.

ikebana and tea master before a tokonoma in Kyoto

A Lesson in Ikebana

Next morning, I caught the Karasuma subway to Kurumaguchi, and wandered through a shrine that was near to Yuki's (@ukiukichachacha) ikebana and tea ceremony school, Hosokawa Mishoryu Iemotoi.

I stepped through the wooden gate into a small courtyard, and Yuki welcomed me into the house. The house was wonderfully old - over one hundred years.

There were two large tatami-matted rooms. The further one held a beautiful altar with family photographs, and a tokonoma in the corner with a scroll.

I knelt on the tatami in the first room, before a broad tokonoma which featured a scroll that described snow on a pine tree. It symbolised resilience and strength.

I had a wonderful morning with Yuki-san, tea and ikebana master, whose mother taught tea and ikebana, and whose grandmother taught tea and ikebana, too - all the way back through ten generations.

I was excited when I saw a paper-wrapped bundle of tall branches and flowers placed on the floor beside me. Tools were brought - secateur-type tools to carefully snip stems, and vases to choose from to grow my ikebana design.

Kyoto house with ikebana flower display and tokonoma scroll

Most wonderful of all, Yuki-san brought in a huge ikebana display that he had made, featuring bright orange and yellow lilies and branches of plum blossom. I had searched all over Kyoto for plum blossom, and I found it here in this old house near Shimogamo Shrine: the flowers in ikebana always express the next blink of a season to come. We're anticipating the fragrant plum - let there be plum!

Yuki-san is a very kind and patient teacher. As the morning progressed he patiently helped me arrange the branches of kodemari (Reeves spirea), with their tiny flowerbuds like snow, and the bright optimistic pops of violet and soft mauve colour through the daisy-like gerbera and small chrysanthemums.

He explained about the concept of negative space within the ikebana construction - to the right should be a space where our imagination fills in the story. We have space to imagine water flowing, but today we imagined the warming spring breezes to come.

One branch was pushed into the sword-like kenzan: a small round, nailed piece of metal which is placed in the bottom of the vase. A second branch directed at an angle towards the left and the sun. The green leafy branch was placed in the foreground, creating a triangle of differing plants and heights. Within this imaginary triangle were placed the gerbera and the chrysanthemums, again at differing heights to create interest. Each branch was measured against the height of others - this one should be two-thirds the height, or, this one should be one-third the height.

scroll with calligraphy and ikebana flower display

Thanks to Yuki-san's careful consideration, I was happy with the result of my first ever ikebana lesson, and I was delighted when he placed it in the tokonoma for me to photograph!

If you would like to take part in an ikebana lesson or a tea ceremony lesson, get in contact with Yuki-san through his Instagram, or take a look at the Chanomade website (details in Sources below).

Yuki-san waves in that customary Kyoto way - waiting till I turn a corner to stop. Always turn around if a gracious Kyoto person is waving you off!

It's lunchtime, and I want to process the beauty of the morning by having matcha tea and a sweet. I walk to the beautiful teahouse Saryou Housen, through lovely Shimogamo Shrine. It's mid-week and it's quiet. I'm soon seated on tatami before a camellia-brightened tokonoma, with the welcoming serving of dark, roasted hōjicha in a little teapot, and beautiful, appetising little sweets.

The sunlight dapples the flooring. The teahouse is beautiful - wood, shoji, tatami, with a view onto a garden. I choose to take my time, and relax into the beauty.

The okashi and matcha is brought to me. I couldn't resist the bunny. I've never had one! I'm not sure of the symbolism, and can't help confusing it in my mind with spring Easter bunnies here in the UK. Maybe it is for spring - the only bunny I know in Japanese legend is the bunny who lives in the moon, and who can be seen pounding mochi at tsukimi!

The chawan teabowl is magnificent. In a nod to all that Mai has patiently taught me, I balance it on my palm, rotate it twice, and drink the delicious tea. The bowl is admirable - one side festooned in spring blossoms, the other side ablaze with autumn maple leaves.

And then - I simply walk back to my little house behind Kennin-ji. I move down through the lanes, astonished at the quiet residential streets and proximity to nature as I head south towards Heian Shrine. I'm amazed at the small temples that connect like a river running down from the mountains. It's a beautiful walk, and the sun is lowering when I stand in Yasaka Shrine, and then head to Sagan for rice, miso, and pickles.

Kameoka and Keishun-in

I'm on a train passing over a vivid green river gorge on my way to Kameoka. I'm here to meet Anna. You will discover more about her soon in our My Japan Journey series!

Returning to Kyoto, I get off at Hanazono, and walk through Myōshin-ji again, to a tiny sub-temple in a hidden-away lane, called Keishun-in. The temple is empty except for the kindly man who invites me in. I sit on the red mat before the mossy garden in the shadows and he brings me tea and a sweet. I feel like I could sit here forever and not be disturbed.

Kyoto is a place where it is easy to tune into peace, and stillness.

In the stillness of Keishun-in, I wonder about the hectic nature of Gion and Kiyomizudera. Gion was created around the pilgrims and tourists who came to see the shrine of the Thunder God, brother of the Sun Goddess, Amaterasu. Was there always provision and souvenir shops for visitors here? And are we all (as foreign visitors) a part of a long line of people who have come to Kyoto to see?

Noh chanting at Murin-an

I'd heard about the beautiful villa and garden at Murin-an, and I was intrigued when I signed up for the hour of Noh there.

But it was dazzling.

How often is it that you experience a shock of beauty? I think it was enhanced because, as we all filed in to the open-walled room of the villa, the Noh master was there, and I should be finding my seat, not staring with wonder at the vivid view of the garden behind me.

We sat around a small heater as the day was bright and cold. The chanting was written mainly in hiragana so I was able to join in! The master's voice deeply reverberated, reaching out to the shoji corners of the room, like an opera singer.

Later, I sat in the open-walled tatami room next door, and had tea and a sweet near to the tokonoma where the scroll featured a painting of rich red camellias.

The whole place is like a jewel-box. I hope you can see from the photos!

Afterwards, I walked the highest lane above Higashiyama, where it is aligned with the mountain forests. I walked all the way to Ginkaku-ji, and walked the stunningly beautiful garden, and then returned to Gion on the Philosopher's Path.

I had to drop into Kagizen. I always go to Kagizen when I'm in Kyoto. I sat in the quiet tearoom near to a vase with a twisting branch of camellia, and I was served hōjicha tea and higashi dried sweets to start. Then the main event: an okashi shaped like an orange plum blossom, set on a glazed plate which featured an inky green mountain - just like the mountains of Higashiyama that I had just walked beside.

In the further side of the tearoom? Sprays of gloriously scented pink plum blossom!

Takase-san met me at the Komatsu machiya in order to help me move into a larger family-size room on the ground floor. The following morning, he showed me up to the rooftop balcony where we stood looking over the city.

We walked up towards the lanes below Kiyomizudera, and he showed me in to the larger property of Shimaya Stays. It's a wonderfully restored machiya which would be fantastic to stay in - all modern amenities - painted the traditional colours of the area. The location is wonderful, set in a quiet lane but near to Higashiyama and Gion, just like the property I stayed in called Komatsu Residences.

Thank you to everyone in Japan who helped to make my stay so amazing: family, old friends, new friends, and product suppliers for our Zusetsu Store.

Thank you for reading my Kyoto Travel Journal. I hope it inspires you in your own adventures, or brings back wonderful memories for you of this captivating country.

Cathy