To understand Kyoto, you have to understand its geometry. The south is the entrance—the bustling gateway of Kyoto Station and the industrial sprawl. The east (Higashiyama) is the theater—the grand stage of Kiyomizu-dera and Gion, where tourists and history collide in a vibrant, chaotic dance. The west (Arashiyama) is the noble’s playground, famous for its river cruises and bamboo groves.
But the north—Rakuhoku—is different. For centuries, the northern mountains of Kyoto were considered a spiritual barrier. They were the realm of tengu (mountain goblins), ascetic monks, and retired emperors seeking distance from the politics of the court. The air here is cooler. The trees are taller, predominantly ancient Kitayama cedars that grow straight as arrows. And most importantly, the silence is heavier.
While the rest of the world jostles for a photo of the Golden Pavilion, a different kind of traveler heads north. They are looking for the “Deep Kyoto.” They are looking for Hidden Temples in Northern Kyoto—places where the moss is so thick it swallows the sound of footsteps, and where a garden is not just a pretty view, but a philosophical argument framed in wood and leaves. This guide is your map to the temples that time, and the tour buses, forgot.
The Philosophy of the North: Why Go?
Visiting these northern sanctuaries requires effort. There are no subway lines here. You must rely on buses, charming local trains, or your own two feet. But this isolation is the point. The temples of Rakuhoku were built as retreats. They are “Hermit Temples” (In). Unlike the grand cathedral-style temples of the city center meant to impress the masses, these were private villas turned into religious sites. They are intimate. You don’t stand in a giant hall looking up at a gold Buddha; you sit on a tatami mat, looking out at a garden that was designed to be viewed from exactly that height, in that specific posture. To explore the Hidden Temples in Northern Kyoto is to engage in a conversation with the environment. It is about Shakkei (borrowed scenery), where a distant mountain is tricked into becoming part of a small garden. It is about Wabi-Sabi, finding beauty in the weathering of a stone lantern or the fading red of a maple leaf.
Genko-an: The Windows of the Soul
Located in the Takagamine district, Genko-an offers one of the most profound visual lessons in Zen Buddhism. It is a small temple, originally a hermitage for a scholar, and it holds two secrets—one architectural, one gruesome.
The Windows of Confusion and Enlightenment
In the main hall, there are two windows cut into the wall, looking out onto the same garden.
- The Window of Confusion (Mayoi-no-Mado): This window is square. In Zen symbology, the square represents the artificial constraints of human life—the four corners of birth, old age, sickness, and death. It represents our prejudices, our obsession with “right” and “wrong,” and our rigid thinking.
- The Window of Enlightenment (Satori-no-Mado): This window is round. It represents the universe, the cycle of nature, and the state of mind where all boundaries disappear. It is absolute freedom.
The Experience: You are meant to sit before the square window first, contemplating your struggles. Then, you move to the round window, observing the same garden—the same reality—but through a lens of acceptance. It is a powerful psychological exercise that requires no words.
The Blood Ceiling
Look up. The ceiling boards of Genko-an are stained with dark, handprint-shaped splotches. These are the “Blood Ceilings” (Chitenjo). They were originally the floorboards of Fushimi Castle. In 1600, a group of samurai loyal to Tokugawa Ieyasu committed mass ritual suicide (seppuku) on these floors while under siege. To honor their spirits, the blood-soaked wood was not discarded but installed in the ceilings of temples so that monks could pray for their souls eternally. Seeing a muddy boot print or a handprint in blood above your head changes the atmosphere of the room instantly.
Shisen-do: The Sound of Silence
Further east, tucked into the hills of the Ichijoji area, lies Shisen-do (The Hall of Great Poets). This was the retirement villa of Ishikawa Jozan, a samurai who became a scholar and landscape architect in 1641.
The First “Shishi-odoshi”
Shisen-do is famous for introducing a specific sound to the Japanese garden: the Shishi-odoshi (Deer Scarer). It is a bamboo tube on a pivot. Water trickles into it. When it fills, the weight tips the bamboo forward, dumping the water. As it swings back, the empty bamboo hits a stone with a sharp, hollow CLACK. Originally meant to startle deer eating the garden plants, in Shisen-do, it serves a different purpose. The CLACK breaks the silence, only to make the returning silence feel deeper. It is a metronome for meditation.
The Garden of Layers
The garden here is built on a slope. You view it from the veranda. It consists of raked white sand (representing the ocean) leading to rounded azalea bushes (representing islands or clouds), backed by the wild forest of the mountain. It is a masterpiece of perspective.
- Traveler’s Note: Visit in late May. The azaleas bloom in vibrant pinks and purples, creating a surreal contrast with the white sand.
Renge-ji: The Deepest Green
If you want to know what “Hidden Temples in Northern Kyoto” truly means, go to Renge-ji. Located near the base of Mount Hiei, it is easily missed. The entrance is a humble wooden gate covered in maple branches.
The Monochrome World
Renge-ji is a world of green. The garden is centered around a pond shaped like the character for “heart” (Kokoro). But the dominant feature is the moss. It covers everything—the ground, the stone lanterns, the base of the trees. When it rains, Renge-ji transforms. The moss drinks the water and glows in neon green. The stone lanterns, darkened by age and moisture, look like ancient sentinels.
The Viewing Platform
Unlike grand temples where you walk through the garden, here, you are restricted to the temple hall. You sit on the red felt carpets with a cup of tea (often provided), and you look out. The pillars of the hall frame the garden like a widescreen cinema. It is arguably the most photogenic framing in all of Kyoto, yet you will often be the only person there.
Entsu-ji: The Masterpiece of “Shakkei”
Entsu-ji is legally protected. Not just the buildings, but the view.
The Borrowed Mountain
The garden of Entsu-ji is relatively simple: a bed of moss, some carefully placed stones, and a hedge of camellias. But look over the hedge. Rising majestically in the background is Mount Hiei. The garden was designed solely to frame this mountain. The vertical trunks of the cedar trees in the foreground cut the view into vertical strips, mirroring the vertical thrust of the mountain. This view is so essential to the temple’s identity that the city of Kyoto has passed special zoning laws preventing high-rise buildings from being constructed in the sightline between the temple and the mountain.
The Atmosphere: This was an imperial villa. The layout is rigid, formal, and noble. It lacks the wildness of Renge-ji but replaces it with a tense, perfect balance.
Hosen-in: The Frame of the Valley
Travel further north to the village of Ohara. While most tourists flock to the famous Sanzen-in, the true gem is Hosen-in, located just a few minutes away.
The 700-Year-Old Pine
The main attraction is the “Goyomatsu”—a massive, 700-year-old white pine tree shaped to look like Mount Fuji. But the real magic is how you see it. The temple hall is open on three sides. The pillars and the low eaves create a picture frame. The ceiling is another “Blood Ceiling” (from the same siege as Genko-an), adding a heavy, somber note to the experience.
Matcha and Contemplation
Your entry ticket includes a bowl of matcha and a sweet. You sit on the red carpet, the bitter tea in your hand, the bloody history above your head, and the ancient pine tree filling your vision. It is a sensory overload of history and nature. In the garden, buried in the ground, is a Suikinkutsu—a buried earthen jar. When water drips into it, it creates a metallic, bell-like echo. Bamboo tubes are provided for you to put to your ear and listen to the earth’s music.
Practical Tips for the Northern Explorer
Navigating the north requires strategy, but modern transport makes it easier than in the past.
The Transport Strategy
- Know Your Lines: Trains do not reach Takagamine or Ohara, but they are great for the east.
- For Shisen-do & Renge-ji: Use the Eizan Electric Railway (Eiden). It’s a charming local train that avoids traffic and drops you close to the temples.
- For Ohara & Takagamine: You will rely on the Kyoto City Bus and the Kyoto Bus.
- The “Subway & Bus 1-Day Pass”: This is your best option. The current pass (approx. 1,100 yen) covers almost all northern areas, including Ohara (via Kyoto Bus). It is the most cost-effective way to explore Rakuhoku.
- Timing: Buses to Ohara or Takagamine can run only once every 20 minutes. Use Google Maps and arrive early.
The Season of Silence
- Autumn (Nov): These temples are famous for maples (“Momiji”). They will be crowded, even the hidden ones.
- Green Maple (May–June): This is the Beyond Nippon recommendation. The “Aomomiji” (green maple) season is stunning. The moss is at its peak due to the rainy season, the crowds are non-existent, and the greens are vibrant enough to hurt your eyes.
- Winter (Jan–Feb): If it snows, go immediately to Ohara. The temples in snow are hauntingly beautiful.
Food: Feast or Famine
Dining options vary wildly depending on the district.
- Takagamine & Ohara: Dining options are limited. Ohara has some lovely pickle shops and soba restaurants near the bus terminal, but they close early. Takagamine is very residential.
- Ichijoji (Shisen-do): This area is famous as Kyoto’s “Ramen Battleground” (Ramen Koji). The main street is lined with famous ramen shops and trendy cafes. You will have plenty of delicious options for lunch after visiting Shisen-do.
Footwear
You will be taking your shoes off constantly.
- Tip: Wear slip-on shoes. Wear nice socks (no holes!). In winter, the wooden floors of these temples are freezing cold—bring a pair of thick, fluffy socks specifically for the temple interiors.
Conclusion: Finding Your Own Window
Kyoto is a city that rewards curiosity. It is easy to stay in the center, to see the gold, the vermilion gates, and the geisha. But the soul of the city—the part that has survived fires, wars, and modernization—lives in the mountains. The Hidden Temples in Northern Kyoto offer something the city center cannot: space. Space to think, space to breathe, and space to listen. When you sit before the round window of Genko-an, or listen to the bamboo CLACK at Shisen-do, you aren’t just sightseeing. You are participating in a tradition of retreat that is older than most countries. You are finding the “Real Japan” not in a guidebook, but in the quiet gap between the leaves. So, take the train or the bus. Go to the end of the line. Walk up the hill. The silence is waiting for you.