Day 4: Kyoto Ryokan and Onsen

A Day of Tranquility in Kyoto

The bullet train to Kyoto was a marvel of engineering—so smooth in its acceleration that I barely noticed the speed until the scenery outside began to blur past. The efficiency was almost poetic, a silent testament to Japan’s mastery of motion.  I was lucky enough to get a glimpse of Mt. Fuji on my way to Kyoto.

Kyoto greeted me with rain, the kind that turns the city into a watercolor painting. Lush green mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks shrouded in mist. Along the roads, open flood gates stood ready to channel the downpour, a quiet acknowledgment of nature’s rhythms.  

The Ryokan Experience: Tradition and Comfort

I had booked a stay in a ryokan, eager to immerse myself in Japanese hospitality. Upon arrival, I was handed a yukata, a lightweight robe meant to be worn throughout my stay. The room itself felt like stepping into a scene from Doraemon—wooden floors at the entrance where I slipped off my shoes, tatami mats underfoot, and a low table surrounded by floor cushions. A cupboard held tea ceremony utensils, a silent invitation to slow down.  

The washroom, however, was a delightful contrast—modern and luxurious, with a deep bathtub and a high-tech toilet boasting features I never knew I needed (a massager and deodorizer, really?).  

The Onsen: Naked and Unburdened 

The ryokan’s onsen was the crown jewel. There’s something profoundly freeing about soaking in steaming mineral water, completely unclothed, surrounded by other men in shared silence. The view of the rain-kissed mountains through the misted windows was hypnotic. A sign warned against bathing more than three times—apparently, the relaxation could be too effective, leading to dizziness. I believed it.  

A Feast for the Senses  

Dinner was served at the early hour of 6:30 PM, an 11-course kaiseki meal that felt like an edible meditation. Each dish was a miniature masterpiece: young apricot with a tart brightness, tender eel glazed in sweet sauce, squid prepared in a way I’d never tasted. The flavors were delicate yet profound, a reminder that Japanese cuisine is as much about artistry as sustenance.  

While I ate, the staff discreetly prepared my futon, transforming the room into a sleeping space with quiet efficiency. By the time the last dish was cleared, the combination of hot springs, good food, and the rhythmic patter of rain had lulled me into a state of deep contentment. I slipped under the covers, the day’s stresses dissolved, and let Kyoto’s quiet magic carry me into sleep.