Geisha, Yakuza, and a Monkey

Ice cream
Before writing this entry, I thought I might go and get some icecream (I am in a manga cafe, with free soft serve icecream). The machine appeared broken, but that wasn`t going to stop me! I ingeniously engineered a method of opening the ice-cream valve without using the proper lever. My coffee cup filled with ice-cream, and everything was going to plan...until I wanted to stop it. Stopping was more difficult than it seemed, and so now I have a ridiculously oversized cup of soft serve to keep me entertained while I write this story.

Geisha
The story begins with a handsome young man (me, in case you didnt guess) in Arashiyama, which is altogether a very nice area of Kyoto, surrounded by towering mountains and rivers and all that lovely nature. However, having blisters the size of pancakes, I had had quite enough of temple hopping for one day, and was ready to go home early. I waited at the bus stop...and waited...and waited...for 15 minutes did I wait.

Rickshaws are a very traditional form of transport in Japan, where a big tough guy basically plays the part of a horse, and drags you around town in your little carriage. They are an integral part of samurai-era Japan, and very culturally important. As I stand there waiting for the bus, a rickshaw drives past...carrying two Geisha!
Geisha are much rarer than most people think (there are only around 1000 left in all of Japan), and the Rickshaw driver seems very chuffed at the opoprtunity to take them. Geisha...on a Rickshaw...on a bridge over a river overlooking mountains in the cultural heart of Japan...could this be the best photo opportunity ever?

I abandon my post at the bus stop and chase after them, trying to get my camera out of my bag. After a few hundred metres however, I realize that the Rickshaw man is actually in quite good shape, and is perfectly capable of outrunning me even with his 100kg carriage. And just as I am on the point of returning to the bus stop, the Gods of Irony send down another ironic thunderbolt.

Of course the bus comes now. Of course it does.

Yakuza
Another saturday night means another night to go out and wander the streets. Me and Nick (the guy who works at the hostel...yes, his nickname is Nick, I`m not talking in 3rd person), an English teacher from Melbourne and a volunteer hospital worker from Britain decide to go out for dinner. Then of course, to a bar. Nick ends up in a long, deep, involved conversation with one of the men at the bar, a man dressed in a suit with a gold necklace, carrying a briefcase. No alarm bells ring in my head just yet though.

Some hours later, I have a conversation with this man about his sons, who are overseas in Australia at the moment, and also about the philosophical connotations of `Emptiness` in Japanese language...the second topic required skilled use of the subtle art of head nodding. Then he gets out his mobile phone and shows us some pictures of him when he was younger - covered, from head-to-toe, in a set of intricate red tattoos. Amazingly, still no alarm bells go off in my head. In the end, Nick explains to me in English that this man is Yakuza, and a very high-ranking one at that. The next set of photos he shows us serve to clarify that - Here is a photo of his collection of sports cars, here is a photo of him, muscle bound and tattoo covered, sitting on a white yacht in Hawaii in the classic pose of those who have made a lot of money from underworldly activities. He gives his phone number to Nick, and it too reeks of status and power - a special number, something like 080000003. His presence allows us to stay in the bar until well after closing time, and predictably, as soon as he leaves they kick the rest of us out.

A Monkey
The pub may be finished for the night, but we are certainly not. I want to prove to Robbie (the Australian) that there is more to Kyoto nightlife than his impression - monks sitting around in a club saying `cmon guys, lets meditate another hour...I don`t have work in the morning!`. We visit a nightclub first, but it is far too black for my tastes...I am not black, and neither are any of the people in here, but they don`t seem to understand that. The most interesting thing there was two girls dancing on top of the Bar, whom my friend assured me were Russian. To me they look just like any other girls, and I assume he was just having a wild guess, so I call his bluff and ask where they are from. `Moscow, Russia`, is the reply, in a thick accent. Damn him!

At the end of the night we end up in Nick`s favourite bar. So...warm! Nick knows everyone, everyone knows Nick, and I have never been in a more warm or friendly place. Only about 15 people, everyone singing songs together and sharing drinks around the table. Tonight is a special celebration, the bar has a new manager. His face is printed on the bottles we drink from, but he looks a fair bit different stumbling around the bar...a fair bit drunker to be precise.

The alcohol is both expensive and terrible, $40 for what is essentially Passion Pop, but what they are really selling is the atmosphere. I love the place, I love talking to everyone, its so warm and noisy and warm and warm. I end up talking to two Japanese girls, one of whom speaks English quite well. No matter how many times I tell them that I can speak Japanese, they insist on translating everything through her...I suppose it is something of a novelty when talking to foreigners, so I go along with it. Eventually I come to the conclusion that they perhaps are just forgetting that I can speak Japanese, as they seem quite drunk. To prove my point, I convince them that I am French, and can only speak French (`Parlez vous Fromage?`), not English or Japanese. Despite the fact that we have been talking for half an hour in English, and Japanese, they believe me, and try to communicate with me in English that they cannot speak french...I laugh and laugh.

The girl who speaks English turns to me at one point and says `I am a monkey!` with a very straight face.
`You are?`
`Ya! I am!`
Then she pulls the most hilarious face, and I am sad to say she did look awfully like a monkey. She seems to consider it a compliment rather than an insult, and pulls the same face at least 100 times that night, each time making me laugh at loud. Nick has work the next morning (at 7 30), so we decide to head home early at 3 30. I went to see him at work this morning, but he is not there...oh dear!