Here is the thing most pages about this place bury four screens down, so it goes first: Fushimi Inari Taisha is free. There is no ticket office, no gate that shuts, and no closing time. You can walk in at four in the afternoon with a tour group or at four in the morning entirely alone, and nobody will stop you either time.
That single fact changes what you should be shopping for. Nobody sells entry to Fushimi Inari, because entry cannot be sold. What the tours on this page sell is a day: the hour you arrive, the sights you reach afterwards, and somebody who can tell you what you are looking at.
And there is a great deal to be told. The shrine was founded in 711 by the Hata clan and moved to the foot of this mountain in 816. It is the head shrine of roughly thirty thousand Inari shrines across Japan — more than any other dedication in the country — and Inari is the deity of rice, and by extension of prosperity, and by extension again of business.
Which is why there are ten thousand gates. Every single torii on that mountain was paid for by somebody: a company, a family, a shopkeeper, in thanks for a wish granted or in hope of the next one. The black characters painted down the right-hand leg of each gate are the donor’s name and the date it was raised. A small one starts around four hundred thousand yen and the large ones near the bottom run past a million.
The dense double row immediately behind the main hall is Senbon Torii — literally “thousand torii”, and there are indeed more than a thousand in that stretch alone. It splits into two parallel tunnels and rejoins. Custom is to go up the right-hand one and come down the left. It is also, at eleven in the morning in November, one of the most crowded hundred metres in Japan.
Above it the mountain empties out fast. Yotsutsuji, a crossroads about halfway up, is thirty to forty-five minutes of stone steps from the entrance, and it is where the trees open and Kyoto appears below you. Most visitors turn around here, which is a perfectly sensible decision and the reason the upper loop is quiet.
Keep going and the full circuit of Mount Inari is about four kilometres and takes two to three hours. The summit is two hundred and thirty-three metres and, honestly, there is no view from it. What there is instead is silence, moss, small stone altars nobody photographs, and the occasional fox statue with a scroll or a jewel in its mouth, which is what the mountain feels like when the crowd is a kilometre below you.
The foxes are not decoration either. Kitsune are the messengers of Inari, and the objects they hold are a vocabulary: a key opens the rice granary, a jewel holds the spirit, a scroll carries the teaching, a sheaf of rice is the harvest itself. Once somebody points that out you stop walking past them.