Walk… Not bloody likely!

I can still remember that line from George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmailion ringing out loud and clear.

And ever since, I’ve been in tune with Eliza Doolittle regarding walking.

So how I came to walk more than ten miles today is a bloody mystery.

Yesterday sightseeing was limited due to the torrential rain, so we didn’t get to do anything outside of any consequence. However, my lovely guide sat me down over a cup of green tea and marked up a map of temples or shrines to visit.

None of them were particularly near public transport and I didn’t fancy a day dashing around in taxis when I saw that the sun had dawned bright and warm this morning So I decided walking was in order. Yes I’m sorry Eliza Doolittle. I was going to bloody walk.

My invaluable Sat Nav told me that the first temple I wanted to visit was 1.4 miles away and would take me 37 minutes. There was no mention of uphill.

It was, however, gorgeous to walk through the Japanese suburbs of Kyoto on such a beautiful Saturday morning. I think somewhere in Japan, there must be a farm for breeding policeman. In the mornings virtually every junction has at least two of them with little flags and if there are roadworks in progress then there are littler policeman with a littler flags at each end. I think I must’ve passed somewhere in the region of 18 to 20 policeman on a 50 minute walk.

I wasn’t the only person who’d had the idea of visiting the first shrine, the Kiyomize-dera temple, and as I turned onto the hill that led up to it, it was thronging with people. Lots of Japanese school children in full uniform and little crocodiles. An awful lot of American voices and quite a lot of French ones too. For some bizarre reason. Perhaps someone has read my previous travel blogs and realised the two nations I have most problems with when I’m on holiday. Even now somebody will be booking a baby into the seat behind me on the plane home.

But busy though it was, there was a majesty and a calmness about

the shrine. The whole building was built without a single nail and resided high in the treetops. I didn’t quite realise how high I had climbed. It was certainly worth the walk and a magnificent start to the day. I felt good.

This walking lark could have its benefits. There were two other sites that my guidance suggested and I entered the first into the phone.Fushimi Inari Tanisha. And in spite of the fact that I thought it was something I’d ordered in the restaurant last night, the Sat Nav told me that it was about two and a half miles away and that was going to take me around about 50 minutes.

No problem. Got the Nikes on. Got the shorts. Got the little backpack. Got the sign warning about wild monkeys. Hang on. Nobody pointed that out on the way up. Mercifully I managed to make my way right down the back of the mountain without encountering a set of monkey teeth. Then the walk took me across the bottom of the city, zigzagging through various suburbs and coming across occasional little temples and shrines.

In every shrine that I’ve visited, I’ve lit a candle. Particularly in the ones for Shintoism Shintoism doesn’t have a God. It just relishes the beauty of nature. Mount Fuji, for example, is something worshipped in Shintoism as are waterfalls.

As I approach the second site, I found a little coffee shop for an iced oat milk latte and a lemon and raspberry muffin. Sat by a little stream, I get my strength up. I didn’t realise quite what I was getting my strength up for.

The main feature of Fushimi Inari Tanisha is a big corridor of red torli gates. To walk underneath them is quite stunning. What I didn’t

realise, was that this corridor of red gates, ascend the whole of Mt Inari right to the top and back down. The first I knew of it, having been taken aback by the beauty of the red corridor, was a little sign saying “Top of mountain - 40 minutes“.

That’s forty minutes of uphill walking.

Fuck me Eliza. It turned out that forty minutes in Japan is considerably longer than the forty minutes we know and love.

I set off and was determined to do it. I’ve had my own personal mountains to conquer in the last 18 months. I haven’t always managed it. I came to Japan because I wanted to prove to myself that I could travel to the other side of the world and explore without anybody’s help. In the days building up to my departure last Sunday, I became increasingly nervous. The safety of travelling with somebody. Having somebody to fall back on. If I fall back on this mountain right now, nobody might ever know.

I cannot tell you of the calm and stillness in the shrine at the top of the mountain. I threw a coin into the offertory and rang the bell. Bowed twice. Clapped twice. My Tokyo guide told me of the Shinto procedure. Just two claps. I think some of my matinee audiences have been followers of Shintoism. Then two further bows as you make your prayer.

I stood on the mountain top and had to share that moment, so I did send a personal video message to someone. Someone who has helped me climb my own mountain. As indeed have so many of my very good friends who will be reading this.

I walked back down and followed the map through the town to get me to the nearest subway station - a further walk of about forty minutes (!). I was very happy to get on the train to get back into the centre of Kyoto.

I went into the food hall ofwhat is obviously the equivalent of Harvey Nichols and paid a fortune for a small sandwich and a cup of English tea. It was nectar.

On my way back I was particularly taken by a pair of Nike trainers and I had to own up to the fact that the several purchases I have already made ascertained the need for additional luggage. This is normally something that happens when visiting New York after a visit to the outlet villages, but here in Kyoto, several of the streets are outlet villages in themselves, with fantastic menswear shops. Nothing is what I would call cheap, but there are some fabulous Japanese designers, and I could quite happily fill two suitcases in less than an hour.

A quick rest at the hotel. Actually, I just lay on the bed and was comatose for an hour. I decided a treat was in order. Walking over ten miles deserves a reward. So I went to a restaurant which did table barbecues of Kobe beef. It wasn’t cheap. By God it wasn’t cheap, but it was the best meat I have ever eaten in my life. Two glasses of chilled non-alcoholic beer, a tomato salad, which may have been dressed with the Japanese equivalent of Heinz salad cream and everything seemed worth it.

I’ve got an early start tomorrow morning to get the bullet train to Hiroshima. But I have loved Kyoto. From the moment I stepped off the train on Thursday lunchtime. I have loved it. Just in the same way that I love Manchester in a different way to London. Tokyo is Tokyo. It’s not Japan. Kyoto is more of the real Japan and I have a feeling that tomorrow night, having taken the ferry across to the island of Miyajima, I’ll be seeking even more of the Japanese reality.

I have a feeling I’ll be getting it.

The hotel is only two star!