Father and Son Part 3

Our bullet train speeds into Kyoto station. Quite possibly the handiest form of transport in the entire world, bullet trains (aka shinkansen) rush around the countryside of Japan at up to 300km/hr, making travel between any two major cities a breeze.

For the first two nights we are staying in a high-class Ryokan, a traditional Japanese style of accommodation running since the days before hotels. Upon arriving, there is a lot of bowing from the kimono-clad hosts. The diminutive women steal our heavy suitcases and insist on hauling them into our room, while we adventure out into the local neighbourhood. When we return that night, we are shown to our room. Tatami mats, sliding doors and bamboo shades. The only piece of furniture in the room is a low-lying table, which you use while sitting on the mat. Here we are served green tea (with traditional lollies!) and asked what time we would like to use the bath. We book it for 9pm, and the woman leaves with a thousand apologies.

The baths are traditional Japanese style, a room made entirely out of wood, where you sit on little seats while showering and then jump into a steaming hot body of water. It is indeed very relaxing, and very atmospheric with all the wooden walls and whatnot. After bath-time we go back to our room, which has undergone a sudden transformation in our absence. The table is gone, and in its place there are two futons, with little paper cranes on the pillows. I manage to move my dads out of the way before he collapses on it.

We booked breakfast for 8am. As westerners, we figure that means that someone will come to our room at 8am with breakfast. But that is not how it works in traditional Japanese culture. Breakfast at 8am means that at 8am you will be putting the food into your mouth. As a result, I am still asleep when the two kimono-clad breakfast pixies come into our room, and they decide it would be best to leave momentarily while I put some pants on. When everyone is fully dressed, the futons are collapsed back into the cupboard and the table resumes its position in the centre of the room. And the breakfast plates start coming...and keep coming...and coming...In the end we have about 20 plates on the table, a veritable banquet of traditional Japanese foods. I am still three-quarters asleep, I wake myself up gradually to the taste of rice and tofu.

Our bamboo shades have also been opened, and we can see all the wonders of the world outside. Our Ryokan is located in Kyoto's Higashiyama district, chock filled with temples, shrines and quaint alleyways. We can see examples of all three while we eat breakfast. If not for the lonely planet sitting on the table, I could easily believe we were in ancient Japan. Every day is a little bit different in the Ryokan - the breakfast is different, the kimonos they wear are different, and even the cranes on our pillows are made differently.

During the day, we leave the Ryokan (with lots of bowing, smiling and 'we'll be waiting for your return' from the hosts) to explore the city. There is plenty within walking distance - the famous Ninenzaka and Sannenzaka, and Shinbashi street, said to be some of the most beautiful alleys and streets in all Asia, are all part of our local neighbourhood. So too are the platforms of Kiyomizu temple, jutting out over a hill looking over all Kyoto from the forest. Here, we also take a side tour into one of Kyoto's strangest attractions - a tunnel inside a buddha statue, where you grope around in pitch blackness while a rope leads you around. Being without the sense of sight for about 5 minutes is a strange feeling indeed, and coming back into the sunshine is, as the pamphlet promises, an enlightening experience.

While walking the lane ways near the temple, we spot our first Geisha. There are only 1000 Geisha and Geisha apprentices in all of Japan, so when a Geisha walks down the street, everyone looks. More so when they are three of them. Always graceful, they were about a hundred layers of clothing, and in the blazing heat of the middle of the day I can't imagine they would stay out for very long. The only one who has more reason to complain is the monk chanting on the street, who wears one hundred and one layers of clothing and stands in full sunlight for hours on end. Only in Kyoto!

We are also within easy walking distance of the central city, where temples give way to shops, shops, and more shops. Even here though, Kyoto keeps a distinct charm. Little canals make their way through the city, and there is a peaceful river nearby, with a bridge built specifically for people to stand and sigh on as they look out over the mountains in the distance.

On any given day, hundreds of people sit on the riverbanks as the sun sets, and in the night they gather under the bridges to watch the buskers play. Here we treat ourselves to a very expensive meal on the outdoor deck of a restaurant on Pontocho, while looking out over the river. All of Kyoto seems to move at a very different tempo to Tokyo - it is slower, more relaxed, more cultural, and more human. The roads are made for ambling rather than rushing, the buses are leisurely compared to Tokyo's speedy trains, and people seem to exist as individuals rather than a human sea.

We are back on the bridge before too long, ready to experience another integral part of Japanese culture - Matsuri! Matsuri translates as 'festival' or 'celebration', and in the lead up to one of Japan's greatest, the Gion Matsuri (which we will not be there to see, dagnabbit), a shrine is to be carried through the city streets to be washed in the waters of the river we have recently been admiring, in a tradition dating back more than a thousand years. Muscle-bound men in headbands and simple cotton robes walk the streets clapping and chanting. The chanting is not just for appearances sake - it is to spur on those who are carrying the shrine on their shoulders, which by the look on their faces is very very heavy. Other men carry flaming logs over their shoulder, and whenever they turn to look around flaming embers fly all over the place. As well as the muscle-bound men, a very creative cast of characters from Shinto priests to kimono-clad Geisha walk the streets, and follow the shrine all the way to the temple. Given its historical significance, the actual running of the parade is rather casual, there are no boundaries or security, and ordinary people (or camera carrying tourists like myself) can mingle with the sweaty shrine-carriers, geisha and priests to their hearts content.

For the last two nights we transfer from our traditional Ryokan to the height of modernity, a very upper class western-style hotel located literally inside Kyoto's station building. It is interesting to compare the two forms of luxury - a room on the upper floor of this towering shiny building costs about the same as a night in the tatami and wood Ryokan. We still have tiny women insisting on carrying our gigantic suitcases, but there are no cranes on our pillows, and the furniture no longer transforms when we step out of the room. Instead of eating breakfast on the floor in our room, we catch an elevator 20 floors down and gorge on a buffet downstairs. The convenience can't be beat, however; after breakfast we walk out the door into the middle of the station building, and from there we have our choice of buses, trains or bullet trains to take us wherever we would like to go.

We quickly check off most of the remaining tourist sites, like the golden pavilion and the thousand and one kannon statues, and find the time to see a few museums and craft shops too. We also spend a fair few hours with map in hand wandering the back-streets, getting a taste of the 'real Kyoto' as we try to figure out where we are and where we are trying to get to. The meals are, as always, another highlight, and by the time we are finished here my dad has tried just about every Japanese cuisine there is.

One night, while both lost and hungry, we end up chancing it on a Sukiyaki restaurant who's menu is far too complicated for me to make any sense of. Upon arriving, my backpacker instincts perk up - something is wrong. The staff seem confused, a little bit unsure of what to do. It's too quiet, the people are too polite and too well dressed. If I was on my own, I would have almost certainly ran back out the way I came, but we are hungry and this place does appear to serve food. We are shown to a private room, and having heated up the sukiyaki pot, a kimono lady cooks and serves it to us piece by piece, chatting politely all the while. I figure out why my backpacker alarms are sounding - this place is far too high class for me to afford on my own, and it doesn't seem like they've ever had a foreigner here before. Luckily my dad is paying for it, my ability to speak Japanese smooths over the apprehension of the hosts, and eventually I just sit back and enjoy the experience of high-class Japanese food. When we leave, I notice the sign which tells me that this shop has been serving up Sukiyaki to the wealthy for over one hundred and fifty years. Ah, Kyoto...