Navigating The Adventure
Bus 17
On our last full day in Kyoto, I had the whole day to myself. I wanted to go to Ohara, the town on the west side of Mt. Hiei, and had no other specific plans. Ever since arriving in Kyoto, I had caught glimpses here and there of real life and real people, but I still felt I hadn't had enough time to fully take it in. Ten days didn’t feel like much when you’re trying to understand and see Japan more deeply as you travel. I almost thought I wouldn't get a chance to go to Mt. Hiei or Ohara, but on that last morning, we decided to spend the day individually, and I chose to head there.
Ohara is at the last stop of Bus 17, tucked deep into the Mt. Hiei area. Some tourists go there for temples, along with the nearby town of Yase a few stops before, but overall it’s a quieter place. Since I didn’t rent a car, Ohara was the furthest I could go using public transportation. This region is known as a place where Japanese Buddhism found its meaning, or at least something close to that.
The bus ride was filled with locals, from elderly people to a young schoolgirl, and I found myself quietly taking in the peaceful old streets we passed through. Even now, I can't quite explain it, but it felt like I had come home—like I arrived at something I had been missing deep inside. After that sentimental ride, I got off. There was barely anything around but a small bus terminal, a narrow road, and just a few people. I slowly followed the path that led me along a stream and through trees toward two temples.
The first temple had a big open room overlooking a garden. I sat there with a bowl of matcha for—I don’t even know how long. I paused all the thoughts about life and reality and just received what was in front of me, fully and as it was. Then I walked to the next temple, where I was greeted by a large hall and a forest garden behind it. The quietly powerful presence of the Buddha statues blended with the greenery in a way that felt completely whole. I couldn’t think, I could only feel.
Some time later, I made my way back and stepped into a little soba shop. With a heartwarming bowl of soba noodles, I boarded the bus again. It must’ve been the same route, but this time I noticed the view on the right—Mt. Hiei in full sight.
It took a month from that day for me to begin discovering what it truly meant—after days and weeks of remembering that afternoon. (My original memo says, “Even now, it’s hard to put into words what that afternoon really was.”) It wasn’t just the mountain or the garden. It was a bus ride to a place where the clouds stepped aside to show me what I had been missing, and maybe what I had been searching for all along.
I had been a very goal-driven person for as long as I could remember. It often starts with a goal, but in the process of chasing it, the parts of you that made you who you are begin to fade. Who are you? Tasks, goals, achievements, and desire start to replace the way you define yourself. You either adapt to, accept, or fight against modern society, and end up reaching a point where you no longer recognize the purest version of yourself. What I had been missing wasn’t a sense of direction—it was the question itself: who am I? Maybe what I had been looking for wasn’t an answer, but a version of myself that reflects all the ups and downs, shaped by the journey I had taken.
And then, it’s all up to how you take it. Everyone’s visit to this area would be different. Was it the temples, the little roads, the trees? I think it was the bus ride. It was the state of mind I was in that allowed me to see it.
05/02/2025 (The Original Memo), 05/11/2025 (Final), Todd
iPhone 16 Pro, Sony RX100 VII
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