15 Hidden Shopping Streets in Kyoto: Local Markets and Artisan Finds

These parallel covered shopping streets near the heart of Kyoto offer a fascinating juxtaposition of old and new. Teramachi (literally 'Temple Town') was established in the 1590s when Toyotomi Hideyoshi relocated many temples to this area. Today, it houses some of Kyoto's most venerable shops alongside quirky modern boutiques.

During my third visit to Kyoto last autumn, I spent a rainy afternoon exploring Teramachi's antiquarian bookshops, where centuries-old scrolls and woodblock prints are preserved with meticulous care. At Kiyomizu Washi, I watched in awe as seventh-generation artisans demonstrated traditional papermaking techniques that have remained unchanged since the Heian period.

In neighboring Shinkyogoku, contemporary shops sell everything from cutting-edge fashion to kawaii accessories. The ecological contrast wasn't lost on me—while some stores embodied fast consumption, others represented the kind of sustainable craftsmanship that my climate research suggests we need to return to globally.

I found myself particularly drawn to Chirimen-ya, a tiny shop specializing in chirimen (crepe silk) accessories. The owner explained how they use fabric scraps from kimono production that would otherwise be discarded, creating a circular economy that predates our modern sustainability terminology by centuries.

While hardly 'hidden' in the conventional sense, Nishiki Market reveals its true treasures only to those who know where to look. This narrow five-block shopping street has been feeding Kyoto for over 400 years, but beyond the obvious food stalls lie specialist shops that cater to Kyoto's discerning culinary heritage.

During my visit with my Mumbai colleague Priya (who was researching traditional food preservation methods), we discovered shops specializing in tools you won't find in any ordinary kitchen supply store. At Aritsugu, a 16th-century knife shop originally founded to craft samurai swords, I invested in a handcrafted Japanese vegetable knife that has transformed my cooking back home in Mumbai. The craftsman engraved my name in kanji characters, creating not just a tool but a family heirloom.

Further along, we found Ochanoko Saisai, where locally harvested teas are still processed using traditional methods that maintain both flavor and medicinal properties. I purchased a ceremonial grade matcha set that has become central to my morning ritual—a mindful practice that connects me to Kyoto's contemplative traditions even from halfway across the world.

What fascinated me most was how these market vendors embodied the indigenous concept of kaitiakitanga (guardianship) that I've observed in Māori communities—they see themselves not as owners of their craft, but as caretakers passing knowledge through generations.

Some of Kyoto's most authentic shopping experiences lie in areas that don't appear in standard guidebooks. Konjaku Nishimura, a narrow alleyway in the Nishijin textile district, exemplifies this hidden character. I discovered it purely by chance while tracking down sustainable textile practices for a climate adaptation project.

This cobblestone lane houses workshops where artisans practice crafts dating back centuries: indigo dyeing, bamboo basket weaving, and hand-carved wooden implements. What makes this area special is that these aren't shops designed for tourists—they're working studios where items are made for Kyoto's temples and traditional households.

At Hosoo, a textile studio operating since 1688, I watched master weavers creating nishijin-ori brocade on wooden looms that have remained essentially unchanged for centuries. The rhythmic clacking of the shuttles created a meditation-like atmosphere that reminded me of similar traditional weaving spaces I've documented in indigenous communities from Peru to Indonesia.

I was particularly drawn to a small workshop specializing in boro textiles—a tradition of mending and patching fabrics that embodies the essence of sustainable consumption. The elderly artisan showed me how to use a traditional sashiko needle set to create beautiful reinforcement stitching that transforms damaged textiles into works of art. This practice of honoring materials by extending their life resonated deeply with the climate scientist in me.

For couples interested in hands-on experiences, several workshops offer immersive lessons. I particularly recommend Uruwashi, where you can learn kintsugi—the art of repairing broken pottery with gold—using a beginner's kintsugi kit that makes this ancient practice accessible even to novices.

East of the Kamo River, in the atmospheric Higashiyama district, a network of narrow lanes winds between ancient temples and traditional wooden machiya houses. Here, I discovered some of Kyoto's most authentic pottery shops, where the connection between earth, fire, and human creativity is palpable.

Gojozaka, historically the center of Kyoto's pottery production, remains home to family-run kilns producing Kiyomizu-yaki ceramics. Unlike the tourist-oriented shops on the main approach to Kiyomizu Temple, these hidden workshops sell to local restaurants and tea masters.

During my exploration with my partner Rahul (who had joined me from Mumbai for this trip), we stumbled upon Unraku-gama, a 200-year-old kiln where the current master potter explained how they source clay locally and use traditional wood-firing techniques that create unique, unpredictable effects. The sustainable, low-impact production methods aligned perfectly with the indigenous knowledge systems I've documented in my climate work.

In a tiny shop called Hotaru-An, I found exquisite tea bowls made using the technique of 'kairagi,' where the clay is allowed to dry and crack slightly before firing, creating a texture reminiscent of turtle shells. The shopkeeper wrapped my purchase in a furoshiki cloth using intricate folds, explaining that this traditional wrapping method eliminates waste while honoring the gift-giving traditions central to Japanese culture.

For couples seeking unique souvenirs, I recommend looking for yunomi (everyday tea cups) that come in pairs with complementary but not identical designs—a beautiful metaphor for partnership that Rahul and I couldn't resist bringing home to Mumbai.

My background in energy healing drew me to Ichinenji-dori, a little-known street near Kurama Temple in northern Kyoto. This area has been associated with healing practices for centuries, dating back to when Kurama was a center for mountain asceticism and natural medicine.

The street is lined with shops specializing in tools for traditional healing practices: handcrafted incense, medicinal herbs, singing bowls, and implements for moxibustion therapy. What struck me immediately was the parallels with rongoā Māori (traditional Māori healing) practices I grew up with—both traditions recognize the inseparable connection between physical wellbeing, spiritual health, and environmental harmony.

At Seikado, a 300-year-old incense shop, I watched artisans hand-rolling incense sticks using techniques unchanged since the Edo period. The master explained how different natural ingredients—sandalwood, agarwood, cinnamon bark—are combined according to ancient formulas to create specific healing effects. I purchased a premium incense set that has become central to my meditation practice back in Mumbai.

Nearby at Yaku-en, a sixth-generation herbalist showed me how they prepare traditional kampo medicine blends. The careful categorization of plants according to their energetic properties reminded me of indigenous taxonomies I've documented in my climate adaptation work across Southeast Asia.

For couples interested in wellness traditions, I highly recommend visiting Rikyu, where you can find beautifully crafted hinoki wood bath accessories. These aromatic cypress wood items transform an ordinary bath into a sensory healing ritual—something my partner and I now incorporate into our weekly wellness routine.