Grey gravel paths crunch underfoot as I follow their curves through a garden carpeted in moss. I walk past spongy mounds, stone walls and pagodas encrusted with green growth, huddled bushes and grand trees. Little wooden bridges with handrails of bamboo cross over a pond studded with rocks. Fed by a stream diverted from a nearby river, it's brought alive by pockets of gold and dappled koi gifted from monks who reside in the nearby hills.
It's between seasons, so while birdsong fills the air, the trees are largely bereft of leaves. Still, the garden is a work of beauty, serene and carefully planned as if to appear nonchalant, with pockets of loveliness hiding around corners.
ANCIENT TRADITIONS
I'm on the north-eastern outskirts of
