Parcly Taxel: I got up early today to warm, golden sunlight. Except in Okinawa, the four seasons are present across Japan and have enormous cultural significance. Some festivals celebrate the start or end of a season, some deal with things that only grow within one and some are designed just to get ponies in a mood. Canterlot, because of unicorn magic, is shielded from the major effects of seasons, so it was refreshing to feel raw nature around me.
 
Spindle: Heating in any room for the winter is often situational. When I breezed into the bathroom, it was solid cold on the floor and walls, while toothbrush bristles had stiffened into pencil leads and running water evoked the glaciers near my species’s usual homes. Among other reasons, this is why room slippers are a regular find in Japanese houses.
 
Parcly: After I put cereal in my stomach, we walked out into a typical weekday scene in Kyoto: not many ponies, public buses and cars plying their routes, shops yet to open. On this last point, traditional Japanese restaurants operate on a lunch and dinner shift, closing in between, but don’t serve breakfast at all. Also along the way was this ward’s general office.
 
Spindle: The nearest subway station was Imadegawa (今出川). The entrance we used was a winding tunnel where any outside winds weakened the deeper they penetrated, like a windigo fading away into conifers, until calmness reigned near the ticket gates, where I tucked into Parcly’s body safe and sound.
 
Parcly: In Kinosaki and Hiroshima, and to reach Kyoto, I used an all-access JR rail pass. That had now expired, as had a one-day subway ticket meant for familiarising myself with the city. So I bought a two-day ticket that also covered bus services, more organised and understandable than the private rail operators.
 
The wheels rolled towards Kiyomizu (清水寺), a temple forming one of seventeen components of a World Heritage Site (Historic Monuments of Ancient Kyoto). I still had a ten-minute uphill climb to the main gate, where tourists armed with selfie sticks were duelling for aesthetic space. For me a distant panorama on modern architecture was picturesque enough.
 
Spindle: Kiyomizu is most noted for its wooden balcony in the main hall, thirteen metres up, constructed from and supported by pure woodwork. In the winter it whitens from the snow, continuing as a surreal landscape into its surroundings. Summer leaves rustle and filter sunlight below, cooking up a feast for the eyes.
 
Neither of these scenes greeted us. Most of the main hall was closed for renovation, funnelling any visitors through a narrow corridor defined by the balcony and some prayer spots. Escaping the compression, we continued on a loop around the outer gardens and began our descent.
 
Parcly: In the past, passageways leading to places of worship were often lined with shops selling local specialties for the pilgrim – here, food and pottery. This has been preserved for tourism, thus augmented with product listings in multiple languages. We ate tempura and egg don for lunch in one such shop.
 
From here downwards I could not tell whether I was hallucinating or not. Mares in pretty kimonos everywhere, clopping in dainty steps wearing hairbands. Markets too long to see all the way through, clanging with ponies from all walks of life. Alleys, main streets, museums, the Kamogawa (鴨川) with a rainbow in the distance… my head was spinning from Stendhal syndrome. Had I been hypnotised?
 
Princess Luna: It is all real, genie, just that this part of Japan has been overrun by stereotypes to please the naive visitor, which you aren’t.
 
Parcly: I did find a way back to the subway and thence to my accommodation, where I sobered up. Another outward ride had me tuned to idiosyncratic sounds (e.g. doors opening or closing indicated by cuckoos) en route to a restaurant selling beef katsu.
 
Spindle: And only beef katsu. A recipe for success – chunky beef and vivid sauces filling her on physical and mental fronts alike! I jotted down the restaurant’s name (Kyoto Katsugyu, 京都勝牛) as we took a stroll under the moonless night, with only street lamps and residual light from ponies’ establishments breaking the darkness.