The metallic whoosh of the Shinkansen doors sliding open wasn’t just sound—it was a starting pistol. Kyoto Station, cavernous and humming, swallowed me whole. Above, the “Skyway” staircases crisscrossed like giant origami unfolding toward sunlight. My backpack felt lighter than air; my heart? A drum solo. This is it. The city of a thousand temples, and it all starts here.
7:30 AM – The Station’s Pulse
Kyoto Station defies expectation. Neon signs blinked beside wooden ramen stalls steaming with miso scent. Salarymen in crisp suits glided past kimono-clad locals—a dance of old and new. At % ARABICA, I clutched a matcha latte, watching sunlight bleed through the glass roof. The barista smiled: “Gozaru matcha, take your time.” Time? I had all day. Every foreign face I saw mirrored my own thrill—wide eyes, phones poised, maps fluttering like surrender flags to adventure.
8:15 AM – The Grand Exit
Stepping outside, Kyoto unfolded like a painted scroll. To the left, the Kyoto Tower pierced the blue, sleek and alien. To the right, a row of jinrikisha (rickshaws) waited, drivers’ straw hats tipped low. I chose forward—down Shiokōji Street, where cherry blossoms dusted the pavement like pink snow. A cyclist rang his bell (rin-rin!), weaving through shadows. This isn’t just streets and sidewalks, I thought. It’s a living museum, and I’m walking its halls.
9:00 AM – First Temple Whispers
My feet led me to Higashi Honganji Temple, just 15 minutes from the station. Giant wooden gates towered, smelling of ancient cedar. Inside, a monk chanted, his voice a low river under tourists’ whispers. I slipped off my shoes, felt cool tatami beneath my socks, and sat in a sunbeam. A Dutch couple beside me breathed, “Stilte is hier goud” (Silence is gold here). They were right. In that quiet, Kyoto’s soul whispered: Slow down. See deeply.
The Thrill in the Tiny Things
- The Vending Machine Wonder: A pixelated peach danced on a screen. I pressed a button—clunk!—and out slid a hot can of Royal Milk Tea. Magic.
- The Polite Paradox: At a crosswalk, an old woman bowed to a stopped car. The driver bowed back. No rush, just respect.
- The Language Tango: My “Sumimasen?” met with a shopkeeper’s eager nod. We pointed, laughed, and traded 500 yen for dorayaki (red bean pancakes). Sweet triumph.
By 10 AM, sitting on a bench near the Kamo River, I scribbled in my journal: “Kyoto doesn’t greet you—it embraces you. The station was the doorway, but every step since has been a discovery. The real journey? Letting go of plans and feeling the city’s heartbeat.”
For fellow wanderers: Start early. Let Kyoto Station be your compass, not just a stop. Buy a bento from Ekibenya Matsuri, breathe the dawn air, and walk where your pulse leads. The temples will wait. But this feeling—this electric hum of a new beginning—only comes once. Cherish it.
Next stop: Fushimi Inari’s red gates. But that’s a story for sunset…