⏱️Time Travel Photobook | Looking Back: A Record of a Kyoto Weekend Trip

Travel memories tend to lose their sharp edges as time passes, but it is strange how, when you suddenly look back at photos, the scenery, the atmosphere, and even the feelings of that moment come vividly back to life.

In this "Time Travel Photobook," I am attempting to retrace past journeys, using those photos as my guide.

What I have pulled out this time is a record of a short weekend in October 2007, when I met up with my wife in Kyoto after finishing a business trip.
The photo folder begins with a shot taken in front of Kitano Tenmangu Shrine on that Saturday evening. It was already dusk—a mere fragment of time, perhaps too brief to even call a trip.

Yet, even in the memory of such a small journey, there is a lingering scent that remains.
The machiya-style inn, the quiet morning of the next day, the stone-paved streets we walked.
And the last thing left in the photo collection was a picture of my wife dressed as a maiko. Even though I knew it was just a typical tourist service, it was a photo that felt both slightly embarrassing and heartwarming.

This time, I would like to trace the scenery in my memory along with these photos of that "weekend in Kyoto."

A trip that began in front of Kitano Tenmangu at dusk

Looking back through the photo folder, the beginning of this trip was a shot taken on Saturday, October 6, 2007, in front of Kitano Tenmangu at dusk.

I believe I had finished my business trip in Kyoto by that day and met up with my wife in the afternoon. I don't remember clearly, but the fact that it was "taken in front of Kitano Tenmangu" suggests we probably met around there and started walking together from that point.

The photo shows the area around the main front gate. I remember the setting sun shining on it, making the roof of the gate glow slightly gold.
At the time, I was using a small digital camera, and the resolution looks a bit grainy now. Even so, the scent of the air back then and the feeling of the approaching autumn chill come back to me through the screen.

After that, we walked along the street of "Kamishichiken," which is very close to Kitano Tenmangu.

Looking back at the photos, I found one that captures the impressive row of lattice-doored houses and the soft lights of dusk. Kamishichiken is an area that still retains the charm of a geisha district. There was an atmosphere as if time were flowing slowly.
I feel like we were walking along, quietly impressed with each other, thinking, "So this is the 'beauty of Kyoto's alleys.'"

We must have stayed at a machiya-style inn that night. My memory of this is also vague, and I don't even have the name of the inn left.
I only remember that it was a machiya-like building and the stairs were steep.

The Kyoto Imperial Palace, Rozan-ji Temple, and the story of the waist amulet

The next morning, the travel photos began around the entrance to the Kyoto Imperial Palace.

The shadows of trees stretching straight across the gravel path. There are almost no people in the photo, and it seems to have been a time of day with a bit of the quietness typical of a Sunday morning.

I don't have a very clear memory of it, but I feel like we entered from the south side of the Imperial Park and walked leisurely along the gravel path.
At the time, I didn't have a particularly strong interest in the "Kyoto Imperial Palace," but it is a strange memory where only the pleasure of walking under the open sky and the sound of crunching gravel remain in my ears.

The next place we stopped by was Rozan-ji Temple.

This temple is said to be the site of Murasaki Shikibu's residence, and looking at the photos, the flat-style karesansui (dry landscape garden) was beautifully maintained.
In the small white sand garden, a few moss-covered stones were placed here and there; it wasn't flashy, but it had a stillness that made you want to stop and look.

I only remembered the name Rozan-ji after looking at the photos and checking it again later. At the time, I think we probably just stopped by on a whim, thinking it had a nice atmosphere.
But looking at it again now, I feel it was a calm, quintessentially Kyoto space—a little treasure of a spot during our trip.

We headed back toward the Kyoto Imperial Palace and took a photo in front of the 'Kyoto Gyoen' sign.

And then we just kept walking to the 'Hamaguri-gomon Gate'.

For history buffs, this area would naturally bring up stories from the end of the Edo period, but to be honest, it didn't hold much significance for us at the time; we were just walking around as we pleased.

At Goou Shrine, which we visited afterward, we had an unexpected 'connection'.

Right after the photo taken in front of the torii gate, there was a shot of us looking at the picture scroll of Wake no Kiyomaro.

Actually, this Goou Shrine is known as the guardian deity for legs and lower backs, which I learned later—it was perfect for us at the time.

That's because my wife was suffering from lower back pain back then, and even climbing stairs seemed a bit difficult for her.
That was when we found the 'lower back amulet'.
I remember us laughing and buying it, saying, 'Isn't this perfect for me right now?'
There was one photo of that amulet that remained clearly.

Come to think of it, perhaps it's these small, modest events, rather than sightseeing, that truly shape the memories of a trip.

Ichijo Modoribashi Bridge and Seimei Shrine, a place where a mysterious wind blows

After leaving Goou Shrine, it seems we kept walking west.
The next photo is a shot of us passing in front of 'Ichijo Modoribashi Bridge'.

Ichijo Modoribashi Bridge—the name itself sounds meaningful, and in fact, it is a place with no shortage of legends and anecdotes.

At the time, I didn't know much about its historical background, but my wife often talked about how this bridge frequently appears in 'Kyoto mysteries'.

She said the bridge appears time and again in novels by authors like Misa Yamamura and Kyotaro Nishimura, and she would look at it with deep emotion, as if to say, 'Oh, this is that crime scene!' Unlike when taking photos at tourist spots, she would stop and gaze down at the bridge's railing, a sight that still remains strangely vivid in my memory.

Across the bridge was Seimei Shrine.

A shrine dedicated to the well-known onmyoji, Abe no Seimei. As soon as we passed through the torii gate, the 'pentagram' crest caught my eye, and there was a unique atmosphere, as if the air in the precincts was just a little bit tense.

To be honest, I wasn't that interested in it at the time either, but I think my wife walked through the grounds looking strangely happy. I even remember her drawing an omikuji fortune while saying, 'I really do like places where this kind of mysterious aura remains.' I don't remember what she got, though.

After leaving the shrine, we went back in front of Ichijo Modoribashi Bridge to take more photos. Thinking about it now, since we had just passed by it earlier, the fact that we stopped again to take pictures must mean it left quite an impression on my wife.

Looking at it this way, this might have been the time during our trip that felt the most like a 'story.' I think that while we were walking through the actual streets of Kyoto, the world of fiction was overlapping in our minds.

From Yasaka-dori to Kiyomizu-dera Temple. Fragments of a trip in the heart of the classics

After leaving Seimei Shrine and Ichijo Modoribashi Bridge, I think we probably took a city bus and headed toward Higashiyama. I don't have any photos of the route we took, but the next thing that appears is us already walking along Yasaka-dori Street.

I vaguely remember that along the stone-paved slope, there were souvenir shops typical of Kyoto, with crepe crafts, chopsticks, and folding fans hanging colorfully. In the photo, along with other tourists, my wife is standing there looking a bit shy, and I feel like I clicked the shutter while saying, 'It's a bit embarrassing to take photos in a crowd, isn't it?'

On the way, we also took a shot in front of a 'Yojiya' store.

That sign with the black brush-lettered symbol on a white background is one of the icons of Kyoto that still remains in my memory. I don't remember what we bought, but I do know that I felt a little excited, thinking, 'Oh, this is *that* Yojiya.'

Before long, the main gate of Kiyomizu-dera Temple came into view.

This area is truly the 'center' of tourism. The photo shows a line of people, the vermilion gate, and our backs as we climbed the stairs. We slowly headed toward the main hall, exchanging words like, 'We always end up coming here, don't we, even if it is a classic.'

Inside the grounds, we took a commemorative photo with the stage of Kiyomizu-dera in the background, using almost the same composition as the photos in common guidebooks.

And so, after finishing my prayers, I spent a little while looking down at the city of Kyoto from the stage.

The October sun was still gentle, the sky was bluer than I had imagined, and I think the autumn colors were just beginning to mingle with the cityscape below.

It is the most classic of tourist spots, but even so—the "Kyoto of that time" was there.
The way the air flowed and the way time felt were different from everyday life.
Looking back now, I feel that Kiyomizu-dera at that time was like a "grand stage" within our trip.

Memories of the Maiko transformation, and what the photos didn't capture

The photos after leaving Kiyomizu-dera jump forward in time a bit.
The next ones to appear are photos of my wife dressed as a Maiko—it seems we stopped by a Maiko experience service for tourists.

I can't quite remember the exact location, but it was probably around Kiyomizu-zaka or Yasaka-dori. I vaguely remember seeing signs for such services lined up in that area.

In the photos, my wife has a slightly nervous smile from the unfamiliar white makeup, giving her an atmosphere completely different from her usual self.
She was shy at the time, but looking back now, it has become a uniquely special snapshot of our trip memories.

This photo is the last one remaining from this trip.
There is no record of what we did afterward or our journey home, but I assume we probably had a light meal somewhere and took the evening Shinkansen back to Tokyo.

—As I thought that, I suddenly realized something.
In this photo folder, there is not a single photo of a meal. This was quite unusual for our family trips.

For us, more than half the fun of traveling lies in the "food," so we usually leave some kind of record of our meals.
Whether it's the bread we had for breakfast or the coffee we drank at a cafe, it's a habit of ours to snap a photo.
Yet, for some reason, I can't remember at all where or what we ate this time.

Perhaps because it was right after a business trip, we were a bit relaxed, or maybe we just didn't have a strong consciousness of "properly recording our travels" back then.
Even so, I strangely remember the impression of this trip very well.
Despite it being only a one-night weekend trip, it feels as if we had traveled for several days.

That is likely because there are many "blank spaces not captured in photos" left in my memory.
Because they weren't photographed, there is room for imagination, which makes the feeling of nostalgia grow—it was a travel record that made me feel that way.

When it comes to travel records, we tend to focus on the number of photos and the amount of information, but perhaps the existence of these "missing pieces" actually enriches our memories.
Next time I visit Kyoto, I want to walk around with the feeling of "reclaiming" what we ate back then.

🔔Bell