The Shinkansen glides to a stop and the doors open onto Kyoto Station — a cathedral of glass and steel that somehow doesn't feel out of place.
I'd been warned about the crowds. Late March, cherry blossom season approaching, every ryokan within a kilometer of Gion sold out months ago. But stepping outside into the cool evening air, the city feels quieter than I expected. The crowds are real, but so is the sense of space — wide boulevards, low skyline, mountains visible in every direction.
Nishiki Market
The first stop was Nishiki Market, the narrow covered arcade running five blocks through the center of the old city. They call it "Kyoto's kitchen." At 6pm it's still packed, vendors closing their shutters while the last customers argue over which pickled plum to take home.
I bought a stick of tamagoyaki — hot, sweet, slightly dashi-scented — and ate it standing in the middle of the crowd. It cost ¥200 and was perfect.
The Ryokan
The place I'm staying is technically in Gion, though "in Gion" covers a lot of ground. It's a converted machiya — a wooden townhouse, narrow front, deep into the block — run by a couple in their sixties who've been doing this for twenty years.
The futon was already laid out when I arrived. There was a small garden visible through the sliding glass door. The wifi password was written on a card in careful English.
I was asleep by 9pm.