I Experience a 'Canned Stay' in a Kyoto Machiya, Feeling Like a Literary Master

* This story is a work of fiction.
The content was slightly revised on June 30, 2024.

The story is modeled after a certain shopping street in Higashiyama, Kyoto, and the images used were taken with permission.
The actual shops on the shopping street may have changed since the photos were taken.
Regarding the lodging, Oki no Machiyado kindly cooperated with our coverage. Thank you very much!!

"Sensei, if you're not making any progress, why don't you go get 'canned' at some inn?"

So suggested Yoko, my secretary, patron, and wife, who could no longer bear to watch me groaning in frustration.

"Hmm, I see, 'canned.' That is a brilliant idea. However, one needs funds to stay at an inn, you know."

"It's alright, Sensei. A friend of mine introduced me to a wonderful place. It's an inn located in a small shopping street that retains a strong Showa-era atmosphere while also housing modern shops. I hear it's a guesthouse renovated from a Taisho-era machiya. The rooms don't seem very large, but there's a spacious shared living room and kitchen. Nearby, there's the Shirakawa single-plank bridge—said to be crossed by the Ajari monks when they enter the city after completing the Sennichi Kaihogyo—as well as Chion-in Temple and Awata Shrine. And what's more..."

"And what's more...?"

She continued with a beaming, heartfelt smile.

"It's a lovely inn that's also kind to your wallet."

Apparently, during this time of year, you can stay at a reasonable price on weekdays depending on the day.
I made the reservation, received an envelope from my wife containing a few bills to cover the one-night stay and meals, packed my essentials and a change of clothes into my bag, and left the house.

After a 15-minute train ride, I arrived at my destination station.

According to the map, the entrance to the shopping street is right by the station, but being a contrarian, I decided to head for the entrance from the south instead. Well, since I'm here, it might be fun to cross the rumored single-plank bridge.

Immediately after heading east from the subway exit, I went south along the east side of the Shirakawa from Sanjo-dori and crossed the single-plank bridge.
In other words, I turned right from the exit, turned right again at the Shirakawa from Sanjo-dori, and walked straight south along the path on the left side of the river, and the single-plank bridge appeared on my right.

Using street names plus cardinal directions is the Kyoto way of explaining locations. Explanations that might sound like incantations to the uninitiated are, to those accustomed to them, the clearest way possible.

And so, I crossed the single-plank bridge. Come to think of it, I had already crossed this bridge several times before.
Oh well.

A large lantern with the name 'Shirakawa-cho Shopping Street' hung at the entrance.

As I walked down the narrow, long passage of the shopping street, where shops, private homes, and shuttered storefronts mingled to evoke a sense of the Showa era, I spotted a group of people cleaning the street.

Were they people from the shopping street? They were surprisingly young.

'You're working hard.'

I mutter in my heart and pass by in silence.
I am a shy person, after all.

Just before arriving at the inn, I discovered a delicious-looking coffee shop. I couldn't help but buy some and take a picture.

I arrive at today's inn for my 'canned stay'.

Hmm, it has quite a Taisho-era feel, a perfect atmosphere for enjoying the mood of a literary master.

When I slide open the front door and head inside, there is a front desk area. Behind the desk sits a tall, historic chest of drawers.

Oh, this is quite nice, isn't it?

I am welcomed by a young landlady wearing a two-piece kimono and a lovely, smiling four or five-year-old 'young landlady,' and I complete the check-in.

'You live quite close by, don't you? Are you staying for work today?'

'Yes, well, you could say that. There is something I absolutely must finish tonight.'

'Oh, so you are here for a canned stay.'

'A canned stay...?'

'Yes, we have guests who come here just like the literary masters of the past—to write, to develop work proposals, or simply to stare into space and face themselves. Rather than just a place to stay, they come seeking an extraordinary space to create something. We call that purpose a canned stay.'

The landlady explained happily while showing me to my room.

'Of course, we are a small inn, and unlike the inns actually used by literary masters, we are quite casual. That is exactly why you can use us for a little change of pace. This here is the shared living room for everyone.'

Passing from the front desk through the backyard, I saw a tatami living room with a traditional veranda, and next to it, the long, narrow kitchen characteristic of Kyoto machiya. The kitchen sink was inlaid with nostalgic mosaic tiles, and the high ceiling made my heart flutter whether I liked it or not. Cups and plates were lined up on the built-in wooden shelves.

Please feel free to use these as well.

The living room features a hanging scroll, traditional furnishings, and wooden sliding doors that are rarely seen nowadays, creating an atmosphere that truly evokes the Taisho Roman era.

This room seems like it would go well with a kotatsu.

Yes, we put out a kotatsu in the winter.

I imagined how delicious it would be to drink hot sake while sitting at a kotatsu with a mandarin orange, gazing at the pure white snow piling up on the trees in the garden.

I am guided to my room.

A Japanese-style room with an alcove. It is not spacious, but it is not cramped either, and it has a clean, refined air. The toilet and shower room are brand new, and above all, when I open the window, I can see the round paper lanterns hanging in the shopping street. I made eye contact with a lantern that had a face resembling a Halloween pumpkin.

Hmm, this is quite nice.

I thank the landlady and her daughter. Once they leave the room, I immediately unpack my luggage. Then, I lie down spread-eagled on the fluffy futon.

A 'canned stay,' huh.

Yes, I came here to be 'canned' just like a literary master.

I immediately take my laptop and room key and move to the living room I was shown earlier.

Come to think of it, the landlady said the other guest staying for multiple nights wouldn't return until late at night, so this place is all mine until then.

I enter the Wi-Fi password found on the desk and connect to the internet. Unlike in the past, writers these days create on computers.

I face the computer for about an hour, but I only manage to write about three lines.

How should I put it? This place is just too comfortable. I find myself relaxing unconsciously, trying to simply feel this Japanese space—this wooden house where the time of past residents is etched—with all five senses.

I cast my eyes toward the garden. By May, the sunlight is becoming more intense, and even though it is evening, I can still see its brilliance.

Since I am in such a retro shopping street, shouldn't I go out and do some research?

Having come up with a good excuse, I immediately shove my computer back into the room, put my wallet in my pocket, and head outside.

I stroll through the shopping street from one end to the other once more.

"Welcome home. How was your day?"

The proprietress of the chicken shop is calling out in a loud, clear voice to a boy who looks like an elementary school student.

"Come on in, come on in!"

The call of the fishmonger wearing rubber boots.

At the greengrocer, a woman was asking the owner how to cook something.

My five senses capture all sorts of things: the scents of various foods, voices heard from here and there, and the sound of something being sharpened with a swishing noise.

It is a nostalgic feeling, like the world of Sazae-san—a place I have never been, yet somehow know.

The shopping street is by no means crowded with people. Of course, it might just be that there happen to be few people at this time of day.

In this day and age, you can buy everything at once if you go to a supermarket.
Amidst that, I felt moved by the spirit, or perhaps the strength, of the shop owners running their businesses in the shopping street.

Also, unlike a supermarket where you can complete your shopping without a single word of conversation, there is the pleasure here of being able to shop while chatting with the owner.

Supermarkets are very convenient. But isn't there also value in the existence of a shopping street, where you can feel human connections and culture, even if it is inconvenient and slightly more expensive?

We must not let the unique culture of Japanese shopping streets die out.

With that, I suddenly awakened to a sense of mission that I must protect the shopping street culture, so I bought side dishes for dinner at a deli and picked up some Omi sake at a grocery store that helps with the dining table.

When I returned to the inn, there was a young man who had been cleaning the shopping street walkway earlier. When I asked, it seemed he was the owner of this inn, that is, the husband of the proprietress.

"Please make yourself at home."

Seeing his friendly smile, I thought that this couple were two of a kind.
They have similar ways of laughing.

Suddenly, I wondered about myself and my wife. Thinking that perhaps there are parts of us that are unexpectedly similar, even if we haven't noticed it ourselves, I took my computer in the room and headed back to the living room.

When I realized it, it was 10:00 AM. There was only one hour left until checkout.
I hurried to the bathroom.

While taking a shower, I ruminated on last night's events, wondering where I had gone wrong.

The side dishes I bought for dinner were all delicious. And the sake, too. It was a mistake that I ended up drinking too much while feeling tipsy.

And it was also a mistake that I ended up drinking the wine brought back by another guest who returned around 8:00 PM, saying they had finished their work early.

The photographer, who had come from the Kanto region, was very interesting to talk to, and our conversation never ended; in the end, we drank the other bottle of sake I had bought as a souvenir while talking until dawn.

He said he was taking the 9:00 AM Shinkansen home, so he must have already left. Well, he is still young at 30, so I can assume a little hangover or lack of sleep won't be a problem for him.

However, it was very hard on me, being in my fifties. Generally speaking, I haven't overindulged or talked until dawn in the last ten years.

And the manuscript...

I picture my wife's face.
If I go home now with only three lines written, what will she say? What kind of expression will she have?

I felt a shiver run through me. I hurriedly wiped myself down, wrapped my head in a towel, and turned on my computer.

Bad, bad, bad.
It's dangerous to go home like this.
I have to write, I have to write, I MUST WRITE...!!

Is this what they call the superhuman strength of a crisis?

With 45 minutes left until checkout, I somehow managed to finish a short piece of over 3,000 characters.

"Thank you very much. Please do come back to the shopping street again."

Seeing me off with the soothing smiles of the landlady and her daughter, I left the inn.

On the way to the station, I felt a gaze, and when I looked up, a lantern that looked like a yellow duck was looking down at me.

Feeling a sense of fulfillment from completing my task, while staggering from lack of sleep and a hangover, I went straight home without stopping at Chion-in or Awata Shrine.

"Welcome home. Sensei, how was the inn?"

"The inn was very good. I was able to cover the shopping street, and as planned, I finished the short piece."

I talk to my wife while lying down in the small living room of our home.

"Well, you really did lock yourself away and finish it. That's wonderful."

"...I honestly didn't think a 'canned stay' would be this effective. Thank you for suggesting it. Please give my regards to your friend as well."

My wife smiled, looking a bit embarrassed.

"I'm glad to hear you say that. But this is a relief, isn't it?"

"A relief?"

"Yes. Whenever you hit a wall again, you can just go to that inn and lock yourself away, can't you?"

I recalled the inn's cozy living room.
I thought of the inn's landlady, the young proprietress, and the master.
I thought of the shopkeepers in the shopping district.
I thought of the photographer who had returned to the Kanto region.

And I thought of the yellow duck-like lantern I had locked eyes with on my way out.

I felt once again that I had experienced a very precious and intense two-day, one-night stay.

"That's true. When I'm in trouble again, I'll go back to lock myself away."

Would I be able to meet that good-natured young man, like the photographer, again then? Would I be able to encounter something interesting and stimulating once more?

Even though I had just returned, I found myself already looking forward to my next 'canned stay'.

Locking oneself away nearby once in a while isn't so bad.

Thinking this, guided by a strong wave of sleepiness, I drifted pleasantly into sleep.