Hospitality that puts you at ease,
beauty that lets you unwind
-Part Two-

The entrance to the omoteya evokes the period when the house was built, some 120 years ago. Passing through, you find yourself in the peaceful Wind Garden (Kaze no Niwa), a space that embodies the concept of teioku-ichinyo (unity of house and garden). Because the hotel’s kappo restaurant, Izumi, also looks out onto the garden, the issue was how to ensure that it worked well from two different viewpoints.

The basic framework of the design consists of three large boulders of blue-green schist from the Kishu region (Kishu aoishi) arranged in a pattern known as sanzon-seki (“three Buddha stones”), often seen in Japanese gardens. The main tree is a Japanese white pine, sourced from a grower in Tochigi Prefecture.

Koji told us, “Pine trees symbolize eternity and are a key element of Japanese garden design. They balance the imposing presence of rocks, but the garden would feel heavy if they were the only trees. The maples and other trees make for a good contrast, and when their leaves flutter, you sense the breeze. The moss is pretty, too, like a soft carpet don’t you think? I’m delighted to see how well this garden has matured.” Not considering the garden complete when it’s laid out, but taking account of how it matures over time shows just how much the designer took the needs of the hotel’s owner and guests into consideration.

Moving further into the hotel, down the hashiriniwa passage, you come to the Light Garden (Hikari no Niwa). Planted with bamboo, it has a strikingly vertical structure and, as the name implies, makes a feature of the light that shines into it from above. The buildings surrounding the garden on all four sides emphasize the vertical dimension and make it feel very open for its size.

The density of the bamboo planting varies across the garden, which creates visual interest but also means that the way light falls into the space changes subtly according to the weather and time of day. In the morning, the garden is filled with a soft light; at night, when it is floodlit, the bamboo casts shadows on the walls of the kura storehouse.

The changing light creates a visual rhythm, yet also gives an impression of peace and tranquillity. This approach – treating a garden not just as something to be viewed, but as an extension of the indoor space, and using light itself as a structural element – is a fundamental part of the sukiya-zukuri philosophy that Nakamura Sotoji Komuten has always treasured.

The great tea master Sen Rikyu (1522-1591) taught that designing a stepping stone path in a tea garden is “six parts practicality (how easy it is to walk on), four parts appearance”. This principle can be seen in the stepping stones in the hashiriniwa and outside the hotel’s elevator, which serve a practical purpose as zoning markers to guide guests towards their destination, but also provide visual accents that balance the gardens.

Clusters of three small stones embedded in the floor cause visitors to unconsciously adjust the rhythm of their steps. Being a hotel, The Hiramatsu Kyoto has a high volume of foot traffic, but the principles of tea garden design can be seen at work in this modern context. Koji pointed out another example of his father Yoshiaki’s attention to detail near the elevator: “This shoji screen has been papered using a technique that embodies sukiya, and which you often see in tea rooms.”

The guest rooms on the upper floors give a comfortable sense of privacy. “They’re all laid out so that you don’t see the bedroom as soon as you open the door. This spatial depth is one example of the Japanese aesthetic,” Koji explained. Some rooms have a tiny box garden (hako niwa), and the understated greenery and natural light this introduces gives a wonderful sense of calm – it’s like being on the ground floor.

The rooms are generously sized, with subtle changes of level and lattice screens that add visual interest and create a relaxing space. The television set, wiring and other trappings of modern life are all cleverly hidden. The choice of materials is elegant without being ostentatious, creating an atmosphere that blends refinement and calm. Lead-covered and drag-textured earth feature walls, shoji screens, fittings and decorations embody refinement and warm, human-scale hospitality in every detail. Memories of wind and light from the gardens carry over into the rooms, inviting quiet relaxation, and this sense of continuity is perhaps the greatest luxury The Hiramatsu Kyoto has to offer.

Revisiting the hotel in this way, we gained a new awareness of the building’s long history as machiya, in this case the home and shop of a draper and kimono merchant. As you walk along the corridors, you catch glimpses of tiled roofs and garden greenery. Even indoors, there’s a sense that the outdoors is never very far away, creating a peaceful ambiance that embodies Kyoto.

Around the hotel are unique furnishings and artworks from different periods and cultures, including a Qing dynasty chest of drawers and a free-standing byobu screen painted with a view of Kyoto, not overstated, but blending harmoniously into the décor. The kura storehouse, where the kimono merchant once kept his wares, is still an imposing presence, but today houses a lounge and private function room, lending variety to the guests’ experience. The buildings, gardens and artworks blend harmoniously. Surrounded by traces of the hotel’s past life, it feels as if you could almost reach out and touch the memories it holds of those times.

Kappo restaurant Izumi’s chef Shohei Masaki was in awe: “It’s amazing how much care and attention has gone into enhancing the guests’ experience. The craftsmen really know how to make the most of the beauty of the different materials, and combine them harmoniously. I’ve learned a lot today.” He had a question: why is the counter in a restaurant often made from a single plank of wood? Koji explained: “Restaurants are all about the food and the customer. The counter is like a stage in a theatre. It doesn’t look good if there’s a visible join in it, and you especially don’t want a join to come between two customers who are eating together.”

Today, the dish served across the counter, made in this case from a single plank of Japanese zelkova, was “Amadai tilefish with flowering rapeseed”

“It’s a simple dish, stripped down to its bare essentials,” said Chef Masaki as he presented it. Echoing the way in which sukiya-zukuri architecture draws on kacho-fugetsu (the beauty of nature) and emphasises the aesthetic of subtraction, where less is more — for instance using empty space as a design element — it was served in a nichigetsu-wan (sun-and-moon lacquer bowl) decorated with a pine tree motif, whose design expresses the Buddhist concept of shinra-bansho (the harmony of the whole of creation). Elegant in its simplicity, the dish itself evoked the arrival of spring and centred on grilled amadai tilefish caught of Hamada in Shimane Prefecture. Savouring its delicate flavours and aromas, Koji said, with a smile, “You see – when you have confidence in what you’re doing, you can strip away all unnecessary decoration. You can sense how much careful thought and rigorous training went into this dish.”