Kyoto 2015 Garden Tour – Day 1 | Japanese Garden Travel Blog

A Rainy Start in Kyoto

Needless to say, we were very eager to start our garden tour as soon as we arrived in Kyoto. After dropping our bags at the (rather festive!) hotel, we hurried off to catch the bus to our first stop.

It was drizzling a little, but honestly — rain in a Japanese garden is never a bad thing. Sure, it’s not the best for photographs, but for me, gardens in the rain are something else entirely. Moss turns a supernatural green, leaves glow like jewels, and the whole place feels calm and hushed. (This may also be because I grew up in a very rainy part of the world…)

So, with umbrellas in hand and spirits high, we set off!

Ninna-ji — A First Encounter with Karesansui

Our first destination was Ninna-ji, a World Heritage Site with a long, impressive history. The complex is large, including the Kon-dō (main hall, reconstructed in the 17th century), a famous five-story pagoda, and the massive Nio-mon gate from the Heian period.

But we headed straight for the gardens surrounding the Shinden (the palace-style residence), in the southwest corner of the grounds.

For me, these were an introduction to karesansui style. In the Nantei (South Garden), the raked white gravel stretches wide, while the Hokutei (North Garden) combines sand with a large pond curving around one corner. The contrast between stillness and water created such a reflective atmosphere.

I especially loved the borrowed scenery: the five-story pagoda rising above, set against the simple thatched roof of the small teahouse, Hitotei, by the pond. That contrast — grandeur and humility side by side — is exactly what makes Japanese gardens so moving.

The white gravel was the pale shirakawa-suna, glowing all the more against the glossy green of the pond. A beautiful and thoughtful start to our tour.

But my favorite garden of the day was still ahead…

Tōji-in — A Garden of Magic by Musō Soseki

Next came Tōji-in, a temple whose gardens are traditionally credited to Musō Soseki — the “national Zen teacher” and one of the most famous monk-designers of the 14th century.

Walking past the long gravel garden beside the Main Hall, you catch teasing glimpses of something more through the eastern side. And then suddenly — there it is.

The garden is not large, but it is rich. Everywhere you look, there are textures, colors, and small details that draw you in. From the Shoin hall, I couldn’t resist slipping on outdoor slippers to get closer. I even found myself wishing the matcha on offer were Alice in Wonderland’s shrinking potion — so I could crawl among the bushes and stones to discover the “secret world” hiding there. It felt like magic beyond the human eye.

Musō may have been more wizard than monk.

The palette of colors was astonishing: jade pine, vivid moss, gold-yellow, deep crimson, fiery orange. Twisted trunks, hollowed branches, and wild growth left untamed gave the trees such presence. Musō clearly balanced the miniature, carefully clipped shrubs against the free spirit of living trees.

And then there were the stones — pale-grey, low, angled in unexpected ways. Looking closer, I noticed colonies of lichen painting patterns across them, echoing the lichens on nearby tree bark. Whether planned or simply appreciated, the harmony of mineral and wood was undeniable.

At the lowest level of the garden lay the ponds. The eastern pond forms the kanji for “heart” (心), with a small island where the Pavilion of Wonderful Sounds once stood. Though the structure has vanished, the foundation stones remain, whispering of its presence. To the west, the Fuyōchi pond blooms in the shape of a lotus flower, also with its own island dense with stone and plant.

Water mirrored everything: stones, trees, sky — and thought. The tiny waterfall on the eastern side rippled softly, calming the curiosity of all those intricate textures. Needless to say, leaving this garden was difficult.

Afternoon in Daitoku-ji — Ōbai-in, Korin-in, Koto-in

After a quick lunch of soba noodle soup (perfect on a rainy day), we squeezed in three more temples within the Daitoku-ji complex: Ōbai-in, Korin-in, and Koto-in.

Korin-in’s karesansui garden represents an old Chinese paradise, with its raked sand patterns. Koto-in charmed me with its long entrance path strewn with glowing red maple leaves, a mossy carpet on either side, and the thatched roof of its gatehouse. Elegant simplicity at its best.

Ōbai-in, sadly, allowed no photographs. But its two gardens were unforgettable. One (Hato-tei) combined gravel, stone, and moss. The other (Jikichō-tei) spread out as a lush moss garden with a pond shaped like a gourd. Apparently, Toyotomi Hideyoshi adored that particular vegetable form, and you can still find it as a motif around Kyoto.

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A small arched bridge led across the pond, half-hidden by trees, toward a heavy-set stone known as Fudō-Sanzonseki. With two smaller stones beside it, the arrangement represents Fudō-myōō (the “Immovable Wisdom King”), protector and guide toward enlightenment. Beneath fiery maples and bright moss, the stone commanded attention with an almost spiritual gravity.

Closing Day One

A fantastic start to our Kyoto adventure — five gardens in one day! We were tired, yes, but glowing with impressions.

And of course, a steaming Kyoto hot pot (nabe) was waiting for us at dinner.

Two more days to come — stay tuned!

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