Kyoto

My final day in Japan was supposed to be an exploration of its wonderful cultural patrimony at its historic capital: Kyoto. I’d hoped that by going on a weekday at the crack of dawn I might avoid the throngs of tourists I’d come to loathe – hopes that were quickly dashed upon arriving at Kinkaku-ji Temple, my first stop. It’s not that I detest all tourists; that would of course be hypocritical. I’m only referring to the kind who are engrossed not in the beauty of their surroundings but instead in trying to capture one small part of it on their phone screens. I had begrudgingly abided their company everywhere on my trip, but in Kyoto they seemed omnipresent. I began to have a dreadful premonition that my entire day would be spent following these gormless twits on the well-trodden path around Kyoto’s key landmarks.

Imagine my delight, then, to discover that photography was prohibited inside at the next place I visited: Nijo Castle. The highlight was the beautiful waiting and audience rooms – opulent but characteristically elegant. I followed the tour along the “nightingale” floors, which squeak when stepped upon as a security measure against intruders. Definitely my favourite spot in Kyoto.

Yet unbeknownst to me, this pleasant interlude was really the calm before the storm. Anyone on social media will doubtless be familiar with images of the Fushimi Inari Shrine. It’s Japan’s largest Shinto shrine and the most beautiful I’ve seen, unfolding along a scenic mountain path delineated by thousands of vermilion torii gates. Yet far from the tranquil vistas so often presented, my experience was closer to a laser maze, frantically ducking and weaving so as to not despoil anyone’s perfect picture. Never have I experienced more scowls, sighs and harrumphs in my life. I oscillated between contempt and pity for the biddable men forced to tirelessly traipse around taking innumerable photos of their spouses – don’t even get me started on the ones wearing kimonos. Suffice to say I’ve never been happier to be single in my life.

Unable to bear any more of this torment, I decided to pivot and ensconce myself in some less sexy but hopefully less busy museums instead. I first tried the Kyoto National Museum but this was unexplainedly closed.

Undeterred, I pressed on to the Kyoto Railway Museum, casting my mind back to fond childhood memories of the London Transport Museum. It was certainly impressive, but I swiftly realised that I’m not five anymore, nor am I particularly interested in trains. It also didn’t help that most of the exhibitions were exclusively in Japanese, though, in fairness, I can’t imagine this place features prominently on Tripadvisor’s “Best things to do in Kyoto”. I tried the train simulator which was as exhilarating as it sounds. I’ll hold out for the kamikaze museum next time.

Feeling a little dejected by the day’s travails, I decided to cheer myself up by visiting Mimizuka. Below this stone memorial are buried the noses and ears of some 38,000 Koreans, taken from Japan’s failed invasion of the peninsula in the late sixteenth century. These grisly trophies were seen as more practical to transport than the traditionally favoured severed heads of slaughtered enemies, given the distance and considerable body count. Never underestimate a nation’s resourcefulness in wartime.

Flicking through my camera roll at the end of the day, I couldn’t help but laugh at how many photos I’d ended up taking – so many in fact that I had to increase my data storage. A little hypocritical perhaps, but to paraphrase Joseph Stalin: one incessant photographer is a nuisance, a million is just a statistic.