Back in 1989, I visited 金閣寺 (kinkakuji), the Golden Pavilion, during my first visit to Kyōto. It was May and the city was awash with students who had traveled there as part of the annual multi-night field trips that occur at both the junior and senior high levels.
Everywhere I turned as I made my way into the pavilion’s grounds, there were small clusters of uniformed kids, each of which either collectively chorused a Japanese pronunciation of hello—harō—or which had forced one of their number to do the honors for all of them.
It was cute the first time, but because I considered myself an unofficial ambassador of polite foreignness, I smiled and waved at everyone.
Beyond that, I remember the glittery goldness of the pavilion itself, a Buddhist temple bedecked in gold leaf. Originally constructed in 1397, during the height of the Muromachi Period, the sumptuous amount of gold leaf was indicative of that age, where decorative beauty, in excess, was all the rage among Japan’s aristocracy, samurai families, and yes, Buddhist monks.
And, having seen it once, I did not include it on the itinerary for my most recent visit to Kyōto this past March. I confirmed this exclusion with my travel partner and husband, Hiro, who recalled visiting it during one of his school field trips.
But the itinerary was barely that. Instead, we had a list of places we wanted to visit, and we let the weather and our friends’ availability determine much of our plans. Our first full day in Kyōto, it was softly raining, and we met an old friend for a mid-morning parfait at 祇園辻利 (Gion Tsujiri), a shop dedicated to confections made with renowned green tea from the nearby city of Uji. (By the way, their website has an English page and includes information on their Tōkyō locations, too.)

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