Beauty In Stillness A compulsive jetsetter whose love of travel is extremely detrimental to her wallet. Watch this space for future adventures.

The air is quiet. The sound of tourist after tourist adjusting their cameras for the obligatory perfect holiday snapshot is gone, replaced by mist and rain. It isn’t fair to call it rain, really — by now it’s a full on downpour. We remain undeterred by the weather, armed with unfashionable rain ponchos and an endless supply of warm vending machine green tea.

Fushimi Inari-taisha; one of the various historical wonders of Kyoto. The mountain towers above us, thousands of torii marking the winding path to the summit. The red gates create kaleidoscopic tunnels, shadows dancing through the cracks in the wood. In the mist, it gives off an eerie quality. Our voices bounce as we chat excitedly, accompanied only by the quiet hum of the rain.

We leave the crowds behind at the market stalls. A four kilometre trail, the sign informs us.

"That’s all right," I remark to my companion, who shoots me a look of disbelief mingled with frustrated amusement.

Really? her expression seems to say. With my running nose and unintentional impersonation of a chain smoker, I don’t inspire much confidence. I’d woken up that morning in the full throes of the flu, while she quietly asked what our plans were for today. Her tone had clearly meant "if it’s anything involving the outdoors, it’s unwise".

And yet, here we are. There’s a saying in our circle of friends that, if we find ourselves in situations we don’t expect, it’s usually my fault.

At kilometre two, my breathing is heavy and half the tea supply diminished. But it’s worth it — by now it’s a mantra I repeat both to keep me going and to stave off the thought of the cold.

We stop at the shrines along the mountain path, noticing the fox shaped tokens and the priests conducting ceremonies even in the subzero temperatures. We smile as we pass them, and they smile back, nodding in solidarity.

By now I’m daydreaming of the small, cluttered ramen shops we passed at the market, warm sake and a bowl of hot noodles. My friend keeps her I told you so comments to herself.

And then we reach the summit.

Even mist laden, the view is undeniably beautiful. Kyoto is spread out below us, an almost pensively melancholy air to it, as if the city itself is tired of the winter storms. No one else is around; for now, we have the mountain to ourselves, captured in a moment of striking stillness. Better than any obligatory holiday snapshot.

I turn to my friend, a smile blooming despite the fact my face feels frozen.

“It was worth it.”