Kyoto for The Night Owls: a Friday-to-Monday weekend

The bank below the bridge where couples sit at exactly equal distances, with a canned highball from the Lawson; the night's first drink costs two euros.

Pan-fried dumplings and cold beer at a counter of twelve, open past midnight, the gyoza thin-skinned and the garlic optional; the queue is part of the night.

A magician-bartender's two-floor den behind an unmarked door on Kiyamachi, absinthe fountains and cocktails set on fire; arrive before eleven or stand on the stairs.

Tsukemen in a machiya reached through a tiny courtyard, dipping noodles in a thick offal broth; the first meal of the day at half past twelve, as it should be.

The 1611 shipping canal, a metre wide, with the bars of Kiyamachi lighting up along it one by one; walk it from Nijō to Shijō as the signs come on.

The city's biggest club, two floors under Kiyamachi with touring DJs on Saturdays and a door that frisks; the line is worth it after one and the lights come up at five.

A ticket-number queue on Teramachi for a clear pork-and-chicken broth with a slice of pork that melts; take the number, walk the arcade, come back.

The teahouse street as the lanterns are lit and the maiko hurry to their first engagement; stand aside, no flash, and keep walking south to Kennin-ji.

A live house since 1973 in an old sake warehouse with the beams still black, where folk singers and blues bands play to sixty people on benches; check the chalkboard.

The gates open at six, which is the one hour the stage is yours; walk up through an empty Ninen-zaka and down again before the shutters go up.

The 1940 coffee house that opens at seven, the Kyoto breakfast of ham, egg and a soft roll with the Arabia Pearl blend, taken in the garden room.

Three hundred thousand volumes on the shelves of a 1929 primary school, readable on the lawn outside; the hangover cure the city planned without knowing it.