Vol. 10-1 — Why Kyoto: On Living Here
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On moving cities, and what we found when we stopped.
We have lived in three cities in six years.
Tokyo, where we met. Okinawa, where we went after the earthquake — to raise a child somewhere slower, somewhere with more sky. And then Kyoto, chosen half on instinct, half on a feeling that had been building for years without quite becoming a decision.
People ask when we will move again. We tell them: probably not soon. We found something here that we were not sure existed.
What We Expected
Kyoto has a reputation. Beautiful, yes. But also closed. Difficult for newcomers. A city that tolerates visitors while quietly belonging to itself.
Some of that is true. We heard the warnings before we arrived, and we still hear them now. But what we found was different from what we had been told.
Our daughter started school. We joined the neighbourhood association. We showed up to the local sports day, to Jizō-bon, to the small rituals that mark the turning of the year. The older residents — mostly elderly, a quiet street — seemed genuinely glad that a child had come. She was welcomed. So, gradually, were we.
That was not the Kyoto we had been warned about.
What the City Does to Time
There is something harder to explain, and more important.
In Tokyo, seasons are information. They arrive as headlines, as limited-edition packaging, as background noise. You know it is autumn because the marketing says so.
In Kyoto, seasons arrive in the body. The heat in July is not metaphorical — it presses down, specific and total. The cold in January comes up through the floor. The mountains that surround the city on three sides shift colour in ways you begin to track without meaning to. You develop a relationship with the year that is less like reading a calendar and more like living inside one.
Food is part of this. Kashiwa mochi in May. Minazuki in June. Ohagi at the equinox. Kyoyasai — the vegetables of this region — that make the season legible on the plate. These are not nostalgic gestures. They are how time is kept here. How the city reminds you what month it is, what is ending, what is coming.
The Kamo River is part of it too. Not as scenery — as infrastructure. A place that belongs to no one and therefore to everyone. You go there when you need to think, or when you need to stop thinking. It is always there. The city built itself around it and somehow left it alone.
We came to Kyoto not knowing exactly what we were looking for. We are still here. That is probably the answer.
SMOKE is located at 5-4 Shimogamo Nishimotomachi, Sakyō-ku, Kyoto. Open Wednesday through Sunday, 13:00–17:30. Ships worldwide from Kyoto, Japan.