One of my favourite memories from our Kyoto trip was completely unplanned: an impromptu Kyoto ring-making workshop that we almost walked past.
It was a freezing evening in Kyoto — 0°C —, and we were on our way to a tonkatsu place I had been seeing branches of since we arrived in Kyoto, after I had made two completely wrong turns because I refused to use Google Maps and insisted on relying on my intuition and memory instead.
That’s when we passed a small storefront with three little workshop tables inside.
“I think it’s a jewellery store… maybe we can make our own ring,” I told Fafa. I had seen these Kyoto ring-making workshop popping up on travel websites recently.
To my complete surprise, he said, “Let’s check it out.”
This is very much not his kind of activity. What surprised me even more was that he didn’t back down even though there were already two couples queuing in front of us.
While we waited, we witnessed a teenage tourist having a full meltdown at the Japanese staff—yelling loudly in English as if raising her voice would somehow overcome the language barrier. It was uncomfortable to watch, and also a clear reminder of why Kyoto locals are not always the biggest fans of tourists.
Eventually, she stormed off, and it was our turn. Phew.
Choosing and Designing Our Matching Rings
The first step was choosing the ring style.
We had to select the shape (round, square, or hexagon), the width, and the metal.
Fafa immediately chose a square silver band. I initially wanted something more elaborate — maybe a hexagon shape or a textured circle in rose gold — but quickly decided to follow his style.
After all, what’s the point of making matching rings if they’re not actually matching?
The price ended up being around ¥6,000 per person. This included the workshop guidance, the tools, and a short engraving inside the band.
Gold or rose gold would have been lovely, but the price definitely wasn’t. Depending on the metal weight, those options start from ¥30,000. And as Amma’s daughter, I simply couldn’t justify spending that much on an 18 karat gold.
So silver it was.
Ironically, choosing the design actually took the longest.
The ring-making process itself was surprisingly simple and quite fun. The jeweller shaped and hammered the rings before polishing them.
Choosing the Engraving
The engraving part was easier.
I wanted something that commemorated that moment in Japan. I suggested things like Kyoto 2026 or Japan 2026, but Fafa vetoed both.
He did agree with the concept, though, so I opened ChatGPT and asked for Japanese words or sayings about magical moments. (I happened to be on my free trial of ChatGPT Premium at the time.)
Among the suggestions, one phrase stood out immediately:
Ichigo Ichie (一期一会).
The phrase means “one time, one meeting.” It reflects the idea that every encounter in life is unique and will never happen in exactly the same way again.
It’s a philosophy that feels especially fitting when travelling.
That cold Kyoto evening, the wrong turns we took, the tiny workshop we almost walked past — none of it was planned. Two wrong turns. One tiny shop. One spontaneous decision.
“Ichigo Ichie“, we told the shop owner our engraving choice. She looked genuinely delighted and got on to engraving it.
And just like that, a random stop on a cold Kyoto evening turned into one of the most meaningful souvenirs we immediately wore.
glänta Kyoto Ninenzaka address: Japan, 〒605-0826 Kyoto, Higashiyama Ward, Masuyacho, 351-3.
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