Gion,AftertheRainchange?

The 09:12 out of Tokyo Station is a gleaming, dignified thing, and at precisely 09:12 it begins to move. Mount Fuji appears somewhere after Shin-Yokohama, its peak hidden in cloud that looks painted on. We eat ekiben from lacquered boxes and watch the rice fields pass.

Kyoto greets us with a fine, steady rain. Umbrellas open in synchrony at the station exit. By the time we reach Gion the air is the clean grey of washed slate, and the teahouse roofs drip in a slow unhurried rhythm.

A geiko crosses the street ahead of us, silk collar bright against the stone. She does not look up, and we do not follow.