A Long Day in Kyoto by Grant

It was one of the busiest days of our trip. We woke up early and took a 40-minute train ride out to Uji, Kyoto’s matcha capital. The plan was to explore temples and satisfy Sam’s matcha craving. We spent hours wandering, eating (Sam trying matcha sweets and Grant trying a Duck burger), and admiring the historical sites that appeared around every corner.

Houses on the Uji River by Sam

Eventually, we came across the Byodo-in Temple grounds and decided to go in. We bought tickets at the gate, and the friendly woman working there let us know there were two areas to see—but they’d be closing in 15 minutes. “You must hurry,” she added with a kind smile. We nodded, slipped off our shoes (no shoes in temples, of course), and quickly explored the interior.

Then we raced outside to catch a glimpse of the temple’s towering pagoda. The timing was perfect—golden-hour light caught the structure just right, making it glow. We wandered up a quiet path and found another temple at the top of the hill surrounded by a glass like pond, with a bridge leading up to it. It stopped us in our tracks and we felt like we were staring at a scene from a painting. The air felt still, the lighting just dim enough to give it an otherworldly glow. We quickly pulled out our cameras, desperate to capture it before the light disappeared.

Stillness at Bentendo by Grant

Suddenly, a monk emerged from behind the structure and began rhythmically striking a massive gong.

*Dong… dong…*

We looked at each other like, “Did that just happen?” We packed up our gear and made our way down. By then, it was around 7 p.m., and we were starving.

Thing is, most restaurants in Kyoto don’t stay open too late. And after a month in Japan, we’d already tried a wide range of foods and knew exactly what we were craving: yakiniku—Japanese BBQ. There’s nothing quite like grilling thin cuts of meat at your own table after a long day. I’d bookmarked a place that offered all-you-can-eat yakiniku for a decent price, so we set our sights on that.

One issue: it was 45 minutes away. On the outskirts of town, with at least two buses needed to get there.

We set off walking down a hill and found the first bus stop just in time and hopped on. A few minutes in, I caught a whiff of something... unpleasant.

“Are you smelling that?” I asked Sam.

She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah... what is that?”

I leaned down and sniffed the strap of my backpack. A possible suspect. Then I moved in closer. Woah. It was the shoulder of my shirt. I quickly realized that it actually was the majority of my shirt. 

Apparently, the combination of sweat and the synthetic strap of my camera bag had formed some kind of biological weapon. The smell had seeped into the fabric.

“This is bad,” I whispered. “Like, really bad.”

I couldn’t go into a Japanese restaurant in this condition. We got off the bus and I had a plan. Convenience stores in Japan sell everything—including plain T-shirts. Sure enough, we found one, and 400 yen ($3) later, I stepped out as a new man. I stuffed the old shirt deep into my bag, hoping it wouldn't contaminate anything else.

Five minutes of walking later, we finally reached the restaurant.

We were seated shortly after arriving. A small tablet at the end of the table let us order anything—literally anything—off a menu that had page after page of meat, sushi, veggies, fried foods, desserts... it felt endless. 

We spent an hour grilling and devouring every cut of beef and pork imaginable. Midway through, a little robot rolled up to our table carrying a tray of food. I guess we were ordering too much for the staff to keep delivering.

Robot Waiter!

Of course, we made sure to hit the soft-serve machine for dessert before leaving.

As we headed out, we were pleasantly stuffed. We took one last bus ride home—tired, happy, and grateful that I no longer smelled like a chemical spill.

Thanks for reading! - S & G