Sleepless In Kyoto

With a mother and young son on the seats opposite me, I desperately tried to get comfortable enough to close my eyes and doze off. Just as I was about to fall asleep, sprawled across two seats, a man tapped my knee and claimed I was laying in his seat. Now with nowhere to sprawl, and forced to sit upright (in case I leant on the man occupying the seat next to me), I was so uncomfortable. The train journey was hour after hour of nothing more than light dozing. The lights in the carriage remained on for the entire journey, and even when I moved across the aisle to four free seats, I failed to sleep. The stops in every station we went through were long, the carriage doors opened and closed incessantly and the station jingles were the things of nightmares which I couldn’t have.

6:55am, and the train rolled into Ogaki, not far north-west of Nagoya, where the single change would occur. I became part of a huge crowd rushing to board the train to Kyoto that left in five minutes. Such a vast quantity of people meant that I failed to get a seat on the Kyoto-bound train, resulting in having to sit on my rucksack. As the carriage thinned at each station, a couple of seats did become available - one for me and one for my bag. But the carriage swelled again, and I conceded my bag’s seat to a sniffling man doing maths.

I arrived in Kyoto desperately needing sleep. I felt terrible, and so grumpy, not wanting to do anything but find somewhere to rest. I headed to the roof garden in the giant Kyoto station where I had come with Chihiro’s dad a couple of weeks previously. I stood motionless on the escalators, thinking things through in my head. Reaching the sky garden, there was nowhere private to go. After five minutes, I descended and went to the information desk for help. Not knowing what could have possibly been offered as a response, I asked if there was a quiet place to lay my head. There wasn’t. I then asked about a train to Hiroshima tonight. It was foolish of me to consider another night on a train, and moreover, there were two changes in the lengthy journey. I said no, and left, walking out into the dull sunshine of Kyoto.

Gathering any remaining strength I had, I decided that I wouldn’t waste my day, and go and see sights that I hadn’t seen on my first visit. Rucksack on back, I got on a bus that would take me to the Golden Temple. Exiting the bus, the day already felt hotter than it had when I boarded, and I grew increasingly more sweaty. Walking to the temple entrance, I resented not having put my bag in a locker at the station.

The temple was stunning, absolutely stunning. A picture perfect creation, the Golden Temple sat glimmering on a small island in a small lake. I wish I had more life in me at the time to realise its true beauty, but alas, a quick walk around the area was all I could manage. Spying a bench in a fenced off shaded area, I thought I had found a place to rest. But it was near the ice cream and souvenir shops on the way out, and all the tourists gathered there. It was no good.

I caught a random bus that would take me to the city’s main river, quite unplanned. With wide marshy floodplains and lush greenery, it was the tranquil place I had been searching for. I lay on the green grass of the river bank, and began to close my eyes. But the heavens had other ideas, and it began to spit with rain. Just my luck. I moved to a bench, put the straps of my rucksack round my legs, and began to try and sleep again, hoping the rain would stop. It didn’t and I only slept for ten minutes, feeling far from refreshed on my wet awakening. There was still so much I hadn’t seen in the city, but I wasn’t sure where I was. Under a bridge, I scanned the map in my guidebook, and realised I wasn’t far from the Imperial gardens.

Reaching the gardens, I sat for a while on a bench, exhausted from the relatively short walk. They gardens didn’t look very garden-like. All I could see were wooded lawns and gravel driveways that were around large and fenced off wooden buildings. I walked down one driveway, into the what appeared to be the centre of the area. There was nothing to see. I drank a little from one of the water fountains that plied the route, and filled up my water bottle at the same time. Disheartened, I began the walk out back into the tarmac and concrete world. I came to a standstill on a bridge across a small pond.

Large amounts of carp and terrapins bubbled below, and ducks swam about on the surface. I sat on some boulders by the water’s edge, and marvelled at the scene. Quiet all around, except for the splashing of nature, it was so beautiful. The second picture perfect scene of the day, and this time I felt a little more awake to appreciate it. The curved bridge, the pink blossom, the ever-rippling water. Around one particular pillar on the bridge, there seemed to be a mass gathering of carp, and I wondered what was so special about it that made them all congregate there. Ducks and terrapins came up towards me, and I attempted to feed the latter my sunglasses. They were having none of it. I wished that I had some bread to feed them almost more than I wished I had something to eat myself.

I had another nap on a bench just outside of the pond area, before stumbling to the metro station, where I got the first train. I didn’t know if it was going in the right direction, and I didn’t really care. Luckily it was, and I found myself back at Kyoto station. With little deliberation, I got on a train to Osaka. Once I had arrived, I headed straight to the same capsule hotel that I had used before, showered, briefly talked to an American guy as my sunburn peeled, and then collapsed into my “room” for a well-earned sleep. It was six in the evening.

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