Sagano bamboo forest

You know how there's a scene in every worthwhile martial arts film where the protagonist and an army of mooks (or just one persistent boss) have a duel to the death in a bamboo stand? The greenish trunks go up all around, and the floor is littered with their narrow leaves, dyed beige in death? Usually some of the bamboo trees will be heartlessly severed in twain by a wild stroke of an adamant sword, and the fight will move into the realm of fantasy and conclude in the upper canopy, with the contestants walking on air.

Well, if you've ever wanted to feel what that would actually be like, you gotta head to a bamboo forest. And fortunately, that's just what the quaint, archaic little community of Arashiyama (also known as Sagano) has tucked away in its western depths, near the River Hozu.

I could have gotten into a rickshaw at the foot of the Togetsukyo Bridge and had the driver take me to there, but (a) I didn't know what the word for "bamboo" was in Japanese, and (b) I felt far too sweaty to sit on those red velvet seats and muck 'em up. So I just hoofed it. It wasn't a long walk.

It wasn't a long walk through the forest, either: just a few hundred yards. But in that meager space is packed a lifetime of exotic and delightful imaginings: tigers leaping out of the underbrush, sweating swordsmen—perhaps even the venerable Miyamoto Musashi, who plays a central role in the next stage of my Japanese journey—yelling and swinging their swords between the trunks, white-clad kung fu masters leaping and kicking about in the canopy.

Uh-oh...should I be following this guy?

This is my favorite picture.

I strolled until I reached a T-junction and figured that was enough. It was hot and still in the bamboo stand and I was sick of being soaked. For the umpteenth time I cursed myself for not doing as the Japanese do and traveling everywhere with a hand towel at my collar to sop at my neck and forehead. I made my way out the same way I'd come, noting the proliferation of gravestones, a Buddhist temple and a host of other foreigners (no doubt here for the same reason I was).

Back out to the main street, and I was finished with my expedition to Arashiyama. I felt quite regretful as I bought myself a soft-serve soybean ice cream cone at a shop window and made my way east to the Keifuku tram station. Western Kyoto was the prettiest and most culturally rich thing that I'd done in Japan thus far, and I was loath to leave. Someday I'll go back and eat there, and drink tea, and buy a lot of crappy souvenirs that will sit on the shelves of my man-cave and collect dust, and then I'll feel like I've explored the place properly.

Some random temple off the main street. Sure wish I'd explored it.

Across town lay the next item on my to-to list: the Golden Pavilion of KINKAKU-JI. Before I tell you about it, though, I want to say a few words about THE KEIFUKU RANDEN TRAM. Trust me, it's worth your while. Tune in tomorrow...