After almost two months in Kyoto, I finally sat atop Daimonji yesterday with Mari. We shared water and a pastry filled with vanilla cream.
In the late afternoon, all the tourist shops closed for the evening, we met at Ginkakuji temple, which sits at the foot of the mountain. We started up the trail, and within five minutes, I started to worry. In the heat and humidity, what looked like an easy slope was exhausting me. I realized maybe I should roll up the legs of my heavy pants. I paid for that with three mosquito bites, but baring my calves made our ascent up the trails much easier for me.
Finally at the top, inside the giant dai (大) character, we would barely have been able to make out its shape if we hadn’t already seen its outline from the streets far below. We sat at the intersection of the strokes, using as benches the short rows of concrete that hold the wood for the okuribi fire each August.
Kyoto spread out flat and grey below, blanketed by light smog, and we could barely make out the hills on the other side of the city. We found Kyoto Tower, far to the left, and tried to estimate how long it would take to walk from there to our house in Ichijoji, far to the right.
The sun started to set and we headed back down the trails, listening to bird calls and trying to imitate them. By dark we were back on Shirakawa-dori looking for noodles.