Kyoto in Autumn

In Kyoto, autumn is not a time of year — it is a vocabulary. The Japanese word koyo refers specifically to the changing of the maple leaves; the moment of momiji-gari, the "maple hunt," is one of the oldest aesthetic practices in the country, recorded in the literature of the Heian court more than a thousand years ago. From late October into early December, the city becomes one extended public garden. Our itinerary is composed for the second half of this window — when the early crowds have dissipated and the colour at the temples of the eastern hills (Tofuku-ji, Eikando, Nanzen-ji) reaches its true depth.

We do not stay in hotels. The journey is anchored in a private machiya — a 19th-century townhouse in the quiet Kamigyō district, restored over two years by a Kyoto-based architect who trained under Kengo Kuma. The house holds two bedrooms, a tatami living room with a sunken hearth, a small private garden, and a bathing room of hinoki cypress. It is reserved exclusively for our journey, never shared. A resident attendant arrives before breakfast and prepares a quiet morning meal of grilled fish, miso, pickles, and rice — the simplest, most expensive thing in Japan.

The journey is built around a series of arrangements available only by long association. Pre-opening private access to Fushimi Inari, before 6 a.m., with a Shinto scholar who explains the architecture and meaning of the torii. A morning of private tea with a teacher whose family has practised the Urasenke school since 1740 — held in their machiya in the Nishijin district, not in a tourist tea house. A private boat at dawn on the Oi River at Arashiyama, and the bamboo grove before 7 a.m., before the first tour groups. Lunch at a 250-year-old riverside inn closed to the public. A kaiseki dinner with a chef who accepts only four guests per month, composed entirely from what arrived at Nishiki Market that morning.

A Japan-resident scholar of aesthetics — formerly of Kyoto University, now a curator at a private foundation — is in residence for the full week. He composes the morning briefings, accompanies most engagements, and is available for the answer to any question that requires more than a guidebook can offer. His subject, both academic and personal, is the negotiation between presence and emptiness in Japanese art — which is also, as you will discover, the underlying subject of the entire week.