Kyoto: No memoir from the Gaysha

I was meandering down Shirakawa canal in Gion - a picturesque street lined with willows and spring blossom trees - when I saw a woman in a grey kimono scuttling hurriedly along. Her face was the porcelain-painted pale of a Geisha. Her hair in a doll-like hive. And she was petite in every way possible. Was she the real deal though? Hundreds of tourist Japanese dress up like Geisha or Maiko (apprentice Geisha) everyday in Kyoto's famous suburb, Gion. I assumed by the urgency of her walking pace and serious demeanour that she was indeed an authentic Geisha. I managed to snap a photo of her from behind. Tempting as it was to race down the street and ask the very question that I really wanted to ask (which was "do any of you girls get it on with each other - like 'Gaysha'?"), I'd read that it was frowned upon to interfere with a working Geisha. I didn't want to behave like a complete twat (which is quite rare really) so I thought I'd save the question for later with a Kyoto local.

At around 6:30 pm my ameless self entered into an Izakaya on Pontocho alleyway overlooking the river. Greetings were made. A stool at the bar offered. I parked my arse and promptly ordered an umeshu and a serving of yakitori. The grill was right in front of the bar, or rather the bar/grill area was open. It was obviously a family-run business with mamasan running the cashier, son cooking on the BBQ, daughter serving the drinks and papasan manning the bevvies. I struck up a conversation with the kind-wrinkled papasan whose English was quite impressive.

EXTRACT OF CONVERSATION WITH PAPASAN

A: So how long have you lived in Gion?
P: Since I was born. My ancestors are from Kyoto.
A: Groovy. Have you got have any Geisha in your family?
P: No.
A: Like, not ever? Maybe your great Grandmamasan was Geisha?
P: No, no no (chuckling).
A: Have you met one?
P: Sure. But it is only through invitation you know. I sometimes get invited by a friend who is an important client.
A: I see. An important client. I want to be an important client for the Gaysha. You know, a gay Geisha.
P: I'm sorry?
A: Gay Geisha. GAA-AY, sher. Or a Minge-eating Maiko. I'll take that.
P is silent.
A: Seriously Papasan some of those Geisha have got to be lesbian. I bet they entertain each other all the time. Rub lotion on each other. Hide special instruments under their Kimono. Although the foot fetish thing might be going a bit far...
P: You mean Geisha that like other Geisha romantically?
A: Yes Papasan. They are tongue-tied so to speak.
More silence. Then after a spill P suddenly lets out a ripper of a laugh. He is roaring. Can't contain himself. This continues long enough for me to polish off my two skewers of yakitori and glass of umeshu.
P: Now that I think about it, yes, I think most Geisha have lesbian experience.
A: Like Kanako Otsuji.
P: You know about her?
A: We are les-be-friends.
P: Really?
A: No. She wouldn't let me come on to her face...book. Anyway, Papasan, can you help me? Find the Gaysha?
P: Oh rezzie. You dream too big the lainbow.

EXTRACT ENDS



Needless to say I didn't meet any bonafide Geisha during my stint in Gion. I barely saw one on the street, let alone have time to finger out whether or not they have 'tendencies' [sidebar - the word tendencies always brings the image of tentacles to mind for some reason. Must be some perverted association I have with octopussy] Luckily Kyoto has more to offer than just Geisha. Dripping in charm, this capital of ye olde is also known for its temples and cuisine. But I'll get zen in the next entry. And sooner rather than later this time.

Why Hello Kitty: Tokyo's Golden Bit

The coolest thing about Tokyo is the pockets of respite you can find. In amongst the crazy. The busy. The neon. The crowds. You have pockets of greenery, or - in the case of Shinjuku's Golden Gai - pockets of retro. Delightful alleyways glistening with stories. Creaky, dodgy little bars full of soul. Totally my kind of thing. Throw in a ladyboy and I'm sooo ready for some good old fashioned tits and giggles.

Of course not every fat foreigner and their bum bag can enter the bars of the Golden Gai. In typical Japanese style, there is a loyalty program. Patrons have been frequenting their local for years on end. Often decades. And a typical bar fits six to eight people. So you can imagine that newcomers are not particularly welcome. Especially weirdos with twangy accents and the scent of ignoramous seeping from their pores. How on earth did I get in then? Yes, well, I better back up a bit.

It 'twas the night before Kana's birthday party and I'd returned dutifully from Kyoto to the big T for the weekend (next entry will be about Kyoto -- namely Gion and the search for the Gaysha). Daichan was out drinking already and Kana returned to the apartment not long after I had stumbled through the front door, laden with bottles of sake and umeshu. Rather tired (or Fatty-gay as the French say) and noting that the next night would be an exceedingly naughty one, we thought we'd have an easy Izakaya dinner, a poke around the golden bit and a lookie into the lesbo bars. Of course Shinjuku on a Friday night is anything but Fatty-gay and instead crammed with a very lively and very lubricated crowd of mostly young working professionals. As we exited the subway I was reminded of my young (well, adolescent really) adventures in Sydney on the eve of the new year. Every maniac and his drunken mate were out. The city was swimming with laughter, lights, loud conversation and red faced groups supporting each other up (arms over shoulders, like comrades in booze) as they walked to the next drinking den.

Anyway, it was all rather exciting. Mouth agape (well me at least, sure Kana wasn't particularly perturbed), we braved the tsunami of merrymakers into a large pedestrianized street of neon. Clubs, Izakayas and the odd sex shop lined the street. We decided on a rather modern but cheap (fare from Y199) Izakaya for dinner and a few drinks. By the way, Izakaya is literally a "place for drinking" that serves food too. They are popular because they are casual, friendly and relatively inexpensive. Typical food items are yakitori (grilled chicken skewers), tsukune (also a chicken kebab, but minced chicken and barbecued or pan-fried), grilled fish and various snack-like foods (edamame are a given -- all Izakaya bring a bowl of these to the table when you arrive). I really dug the whole Izakaya thing. We went to a more classic one in Roppongi (Tokyo's other famous nightlife suburb) whereas the one in Shinjuku was hip and contemporary. Each table had a touch screen computer console so you could self-order. I loved the experience of both. I also liked the fact that they each had at least six different types of umeshu to try. So yeah, we ate, we drank, we laughed. We were soon joined by Daichan who had been sinking bevvies since 6pm. Needless to say he was rather jovial when he arrived and we literally burst out laughing at the sight of each other. Man that boy makes me laugh. Can't explain why, he just gets me giggling. And I seem to have the same effect on him.

Speaking of laughter, we get to the subject of walking down to the Golden Gai. Daichan has a friend, Katsume, who owns a bar there. Previously in the apartment when Kana and I were discussing what to do on this fine Friday night, she mentioned said friend Katsume and the bar. So the low down is that Katsume is a she that was once a he. And when she originally became a she, she was very beautiful. But at this preliminary stage of the Katsume story (which began in apartment) Kana starts to laugh. A silent kind of tumultuous laughter that shakes her whole body. I was like, "What? Is she fat or something now?" More laughter. Bends over holding stomach as if it's going to drop out from beneath her. This goes on for about 5 minutes. And is totally unlike Kana who - I have to say this in case anyone gets the wrong idea - is the most accepting and lovely and polite person I know. After the laughter subsides, her only explanation for all this was a simple "No, no, we'll go there and maybe then you will understand why I am laughing. Sorry. I don't know why I can't stop". A further spasm of cackle escapes before she takes a deep breath and gets it together. And now in the Izakaya I can feel that same laughter brewing again at the mention of Katsume's name. Daichan says "Aso so so so" (an ongoing joke which I will explain in another entry) and we decide to head directly to the source of such amusement.

We walk out from the bright, broad pedestrianized streets and up a little green pathway. This then leads down a dimmer street of closed offices. Ahead is the Golden Gai. We enter and I am immediately smitten with it. It reeks of charm, nostalgia and a splash of urine. Groovy old signs for jazz bars. Reminds me of James Bond and Pussy Galore. I do adore that name. And I do love a PG-rating. We wander through a number of slight passageways, each flanked by tiny little bars. Eventually we get to one that is closed. Or rather, appears closed. A phone number is hanging on a sign on the front door. This is Katsume's bar. Instead of calling the number (which you would do normally to ascertain your relationship with the host) Daichan looks up and calls out to Katsume. A cute little face appears in the window above. Words are exchanged. The door is opened and we enter upon an extremely narrow staircase and walk upward.

The room that greets us is warm and bright. Albeit small, the hellos and welcomes make up for the paltry amount of space. I am immediately introduced and smiles abound; it seems I am already liked without barely speaking. I have to mention at this point that I am wearing my favourite t-shirt "Snatch" which was given to me by one of my best scouser friends (Lisa Barman of Bangkok). The shirt is actually a release from the movie with details about the film on the back. Meanwhile the front just says in rather bold writing SNATCH. Lisa in all her ingenuity decided to buy the shirt for me but then cut a diamond shaped hole above the Snatch lettering. When you pull the shirt down so that this hole opens directly over your cleavage the effect of the other meaning for Snatch becomes rather clear.



Katsume is a cheerful nimbus of energy. She is on the rotund site and looks more like a butch dyke than a ladyboy which is the reason for Kana's laughter before. Kana explained "I just couldn't really describe her as ladyboy anymore, she looks more like lesbian". Katsume has a wicked sense of humour. She loves the whole Snatch trick and loves my big baboobas. I say "boob" she says "oppai" and lifts her shirt up to show off her nipples. The room is a fanfare of laughter. Then she pulls out a photo album and Kana proceeds to show me images of the before and after Katsume. I have to admit I'm kind of taken aback about how open she is and just how joyous she is. It was kind of like, "yeah that was me before, and this is what I am now, so what, I'm happy". Well that was the impression I got. And it was a treat to be there. I was consumed by a general good feeling. Hopefully Katsume remembers me when I come back. She's a gem.

So we stayed for a couple of drinks and then proceeded to the "gayer" part of Shinjuku so I could check out a particular lesbian bar called Motel 203. Walking into the gay area was fun but you can pretty much say that about any city. We also bypassed a shop that sold special "herbal infusions" which are not actually herbacious but in fact chemical-based and remain under the illicit substance radar of the Japanese narcotics squad. I won't say much more than that with the exception that we got well-stocked up and had a rather ecstatic time the night after. Without even using ecstacy.
Motel 203 was a little difficult to find and like the name, was found up an elevator and had an entrance seemingly like a hotel. Very chic bohemian. Hostesses with the mostesses. But poor Daichan couldn't come in - I suggested dressing up as a girl but we couldn't finger out how to hide the goatie. So Kana and I slinked in and had a few drinks while I perved and bemoaned the fact that I was in fact a week early for a proper big girl party. Anyway, it was very cool. I'd recommend it to any roaming rugmuncher who finds herself in Tokyo. While all the guests were Japanese, the owner and bar hosts speak good English and are very welcoming. Besides LGBT is an easy enough language for us sapphic sisters to get our tongues around. Surely we only have to purr "hello kitty" in Japan of all places.

Nothin' fishy about sushi and the lesbos

It only seems natural to preempt any description of Tsukiji with a lesbian joke. So here's an oldie but a goldie.

What is the definition of confusion? A group of blind lesbians in a fish market.

Snatch to me, surrounded by sushi at 6am in Tokyo's famous Tsukiji fish market - a fish foodie paradise. Yes, the image (me surrounded by sushi) has been formed before but only in the metaphorical sense. This was literal.

Arose at 5am. And about 30 minutes later so did my erstwhile Tokyo-based friends (bless them - going out of their way to give the lesbo her feed of sushi). We drove in a semi-slumber to the bustling bazaar of all things fish. Upon entering, we were quickly woken by crazed motorized trolley drivers zipping in and around the market, transporting precious oceanic morsels to the morning traders.

Considering the fishiness of it all I was very surprised at the lack of bad smell. Sure, the scent of fish was in the air. But not rotting fish. Which - in my experience living in Southeast Asia - is usually the first thing you smell. In fact the odour can hit you within a kilometre radius. It is beyond pungent. Even the thought of Bangkok's Klong Toey wet market on a sizzling 40 degree day brings tears to my eyes and causes me to dry retch. So does the market in my current residence of Hoi An. It is pure olfactory foul.



So anyway, further encouraged by the deficiency of pongy seafood, we searched for our source of tasty pleasure. The name given was Yomato sushi. Or Yamoto. Anyway, it turned out to have an entirely different name which I can't remember. It's a narrow little sushi bar with three chefs behind the counter. Usually the queue outside this famous restaurant is long. You wait around an hour at least to get a seat. But this was one of the benefits of visiting Japan post-quake. One's tragedy can predict another's good fortune I suppose. This is me waxing philosophical. I feel awful of course for the people who suffered after the tsunami. But I also think that tourists who cancelled their trips because of the event are crap. All the more reason to go to Japan and contribute to their suffering economy I say (in between healthy mouthfuls of sushi).



Back to the menu ... The highlight is definitely Toro, or the raw belly of the Tuna. Ooh yeah. I gulped down 2 or 3 of these Toro slivers on the wasabi-filled sushi rice. Absolute unadulterated culinary bliss. Then I ate some regular Tuna. Some White Fish. Some Tuna roe. And some Tamago (the egg roll). The portions were sizeable and I had a little difficulty fitting them entirely into my mouth, but I attempted them all anyway and whatever didn't fit in, fell onto the counter or stuck to my boobs (or the cleavage catchment - where I store all my leftovers for later). The chef in front was obviously amused at my clumsy sushi eating habits. He pointed at the little soy sauce bowl, which was swimming with numerous uncooperative bits of rice. Obviously I'm not the sushi expert I imagined myself to be.



Thanks to the translation skills of Kana we got to asking aforementioned amused sushi chef about his line of work. He'd been cutting raw fish and smooshing it on rice for 25 years. Apparently this is nothing. Some dudes had been there for 50 years plus, he said. How long does it take to become a master? About 10 years, depending on your aptitude. Did I want to become a sushi chef? Yes, I said. But I am way too lazy. He laughed some more. We paid and went on our way.

Inside the actual market, every form of seafood imaginable can be found. Colourful crabs, octopi (which is the plural for octopus, instead of octopussies, which I learned from a highly entertaining episode of Little Britain where Lou at the aquarium discovers the correct spelling of octopi and says "oh I see, I always get my pussies and my pies mixed up"), tuna, mackerel, salmon, abalone, oysters, scallops (the size of my handbag - seriously huge), clams (bearded ones too) and so on. The traders are busy so they don't humour tourists. Buyers rushing from one stall to another will gruffly push you out of the way. You have to be rather nimble on your feet because if you get pushed into the ongoing trolley traffic you could seriously be injured. Anyway, I managed a few shots (albeit blurred) of the market and its fresh supplies. It was truly amazing but I was also happy after 30 minutes to get out of there. Too many perilous possibilities.

Fortunately for me, I got to go back to the flat and slumber again with a belly full of tuna. It was a wonderful dream-filled sleep, featuring me swimming through oceans of tuna. Poor Kana had to go to work. The things people do for their very fishy friends.

Warm bots. Hot springs. Japan could never be a bummer.

I just came back from a trip to Japan. I was a virgin before I flew in to Haneda airport on the 15th May. Not a virgin to Japanese cuisine or girls exactly. Or Nippon girl's cuisine. But to the actual country. And yes, do notice that I spelled country with the 'o'. This may be one of the few times.

So Japan... I can't but feel that there is so much that the world could benefit from Japan. Yeah OK so there is that whole debacle with the tsunami and radiation and blah blah. But that aside, this is a country that I have come to deeply appreciate ... and I wish to shout out my love from the very depth of my bowels.

And so it only seems fitting to start with the TOTO toilets. Oh my, TOTO, we're so not in homeland bogville anymore (by the way I reside in Vietnam but actual home country is Oz). Japanese toilets are the world's best. No bum guns here my friend. Oh no. This is some seriously anal bathroom pampering. Start with the warm seat. Don't forget it's an automatically deodorized/sterilized seat too - so no contracting bathroom nasties. Then add the music option to mask the sound of your expulsion. And a series of buttons aimed at squirting warm water into any one (or all) of your holes. Holy water! Blast to the arse! Words do not do justice.
All I know is the world would be a better place if every person had access to a Japanese toilet. I love you TOTO.

Moving my mind from the toilet - those unfamiliar with me in person should note now that toilet humour will feature prominently in my blog - let's get to the hot baths. I didn't make it to an onsen until the day before I left. This was the day that friends Kana and Daichan took the day off work and drove me to Mt Fuji (yes, they are fabulous friends, who have definitely entered the bestest-ever-friends-hall-of-Ame). Mt Fuji is an unbelievably good looking mountain I have to say. I was expecting it to be pretty, but it was more than that - it was gorgeous. The day before we arrived it snowed, so this SEA-based Australian was not only enamored by the glory of its size and shape (and yes, that is a boob reference - no phallic symbols allowed in my blog), but delighted by the magical wintery wonderland that greeted us as we mounted the big mount. I hadn't seen snow like that since maybe back in 1998 in Flagstaff USA.




So we ascended to the highest parking lot point. Enjoyed a hot bowl of udon (udon made in Fuji-san area - very wide and delicious) and played in the snow outside a shrine facing the mountain. Breathtaking views. Lots of alcoholic souvenirs were bought... and then as the day was fading, enjoyed the climax ... onsen facing Mt Fuji as the sun set. Let me start by informing you that I had never been in an onsen before. And I desperately wanted to but was so not sure about my muffta being out and about in the open. I know that the Japanese consider bathing as something simple and natural and completely disconnected from the sexual, but hey, it's kind of weird to let it all hang out. Or down (as the girls do mostly in my case). Give them another 5 years without a reduction and I'll be slinging them over my shoulders like those braless native Papua New Guinean females do when they run. But yes, I digress.



We entered the facility. Shoes off. Zen-like. Lots of older people. Reassuring to a degree methinks - my body can't be that bad compared with these withering elderly specimens. But then we get to the actual changing room. You're meant to just strip down, put your clothes in the locker and walk in the nude from the changing room into the baths. I can't with Kana there. Too weird. So I go outside, she onsens, I drink beer. Daichan comes back from the men's bath, laughs at my failed attempt to get my rocks off and have a soak, so I decide stubbornly that I will go in when Kana returns. She comes back, I enter with suppressed trepidation. No looking. Focused. Clothes off. Use tiny towel to cover (rather pathetically) a tiny portion of the girls combined and most of my map of Tasmania. I get to the shower cubicle, soap up, wash hair, rinse ... and then slowly amble over to the first inside bath. I look furtively around but nobody seems to give a rat's bum that there is an awkwardly white, pudgy and possibly red-faced Caucasian inside. I give way to the water. Oh. Oh my god. I emit some sort of groan. It is heaven. And it's not sexual. After about 5 minutes I am so relaxed that I don't even worry about the transition to the outside spring which overlooks the mountain in all its sunset pink-hued glory. The outside pools are ringed by volcanic rocks and the water is percolating up naturally from underground. It is about 44 degrees. I soak and fall into some kind of tantric spell of warm relaxation. Ah onsen. I will never forget you.

Next entry ... food glorious food ... and all things fishy in Tokyo ...