The allure of the Japanese garden Camellia petals on a wet black bough, sunlight streaming through maple leaves, sculpted rocks in swirling gravel: the gardens of Japan have long held a singular allure. A few months ago I repaid a visit to the gardens of Kyoto after a hiatus of some 22 years. First time around, I was just getting interested in gardens and was mightily impressed, but would the Japanese tradition remain as appealing? My fears were allayed on the very first morning, when I visited Ryoan-ji, Kyoto's great rock-and-gravel Zen garden. The garden is generally considered to be among the top 10 in the world, the "visitor experience" here is well-handled, with a carefully orchestrated walk up through woodland to the site of the gravel garden itself, where shoes must be removed. It helped that I arrived before the 8am opening time, so no coach loads had appeared; in fact, there were just two of us there to contemplate the serene scene for the first half-hour of my visit. Then I was alone, with the privilege of 20 minutes" solo communion with this remarkable 25m x 10m (80ft x 30ft) space. In a garden that at first sight looks grey and constrained, the visitor soon picks out numerous colours in the rocks and gravel - pink, grey, green, crimson, white, black, blue - and can also discern complexities of scale in the arrangement of the five rocks, simply by slight shifts of position along the wide, wooden viewing platform. Anyone who believes that a "real" garden must contain flowers really ought visit this mesmerising, revelatory place. I spent the next three days in Kyoto, seeing as many gardens as I could. I eschewed most of the big tourist gardens and concentrated instead on smaller sites. My most intense experience was at Koto-in, where the approach to the temple and its garden is dramatically orchestrated, a straight stone path leading through gorgeously mossy woodland. The garden itself is low-key, but the experience of being in this quiet temple, where green tea is ceremonially served to guests, is deeply serene, as one sits on the tatami (reed) mats, gazing through the open doors at the green picture outside. I'm not one for meditation, but I spent a happy and refreshing half-hour here. In similar vein, though on a much more dramatic scale, is the important Buddhist temple of Chishaku-in, where the garden is made to resemble a mountain range. Other low-key Kyoto gardens include two poets" residences in the wooded hills on the eastern edge of the city. The entire house at Shisen-do acts as a viewing platform for this wholly absorbing garden, created in the 1640s, where the principal "picture" consists of fine raked gravel against a backdrop of tightly clipped azaleas. Little islands in the gravel are hostas, and there is a complex stream garden to one side, replete with tiny frogs among campanulas, ferns and hydrangeas. Nearby is Kompuku-ji, where the poet Basho resided in the 1670s, communing with nature in the small pavilion he built just above his own raked gravel garden. Perhaps the most rewarding Kyoto garden of all was Taizo-in. This is really two distinct gardens: the first, a raked gravel garden on two sides of the 15th-century temple; the second, a sequestered water garden which falls away down the hillside, reached via a gateway at the end of a straight stone path. It's quite small, but the most has been made of the gentle slope, while the maples and clipped shrubs bordering the stream and pool have been organised to create a balanced picture which can be appreciated from the sheltered viewing spots and pavilion. I don't think I have ever been in a garden which has felt so perfectly encapsulated.