After three days of exploration and fun I checked out of my fancy pants hotel in Shizuoka, and headed for the nearby train station. I was going to catch another bullet train; this time to Kyoto, about three hours away to the west.
Just outside the main entrance were two young American lads in black pants, white shirts and narrow ties, getting onto their mountain bikes. I lived in Southern Utah for fifteen years and knew that uniform quite well.
I was like, “Mormons!”
And sure enough I was right. They were doing their two year Mission in Shizuoka and were loving life. They spoke fluent Japanese and seemed totally at home in such a foreign land. They agreed with me that the Japanese are the sweetest people on earth.
And I thought to myself, “Just really nice, caring people like the Utah Mormons.”
And as we said our goodbyes and I walked away, I wondered to myself whether it would be harder for them to go from living in Utah and moving to Japan, or living in Japan and then moving back to Utah?
It’s a small world indeed.
When I got to Kyoto it was raining and the station was a sprawling madhouse. But here’s the thing: I was on vacation and didn’t have to be anywhere at some appointed hour, so I just took my time, checked out the maddening scene, and followed the Google map directions to the bus stop where I caught the City Center bus that leaves every eight minutes. And Google even told me when to get off the bus. I paid my 230¥ ($2), and walked a block to the Kyoto Inn Gion, a cute little ryokan (traditional Japanese inn) boutique hotel on a side street in the heart of old Kyoto where most of the grand shrines and temples are located.
A sweet young lady and man dressed in colorful kimonos and traditional wooden geta sandals greeted me with much bowing and acted like I was their long lost uncle Steve, before graciously leading me to my snazzy ground floor room.
I drank a few cold Asahis on the patio in front of the hotel as the sun burst in and out of the low-hanging clouds, just watching the locals going about their business, coming home from work, laughing school kids walking hand-in-hand, old ladies walking their little dogs, and mothers transporting their babies on sturdy bikes. The end of yet another day in the neighborhood. And there was a sense of peace and orderliness that settled over my new hood like a security blanket — or maybe it was just the radiant fog.
Later on, I grabbed a bite to eat in a traditional Japanese Sushi house where the fresh fish was incredible and amazingly cheap. After dinner, I strolled around the Gion Section of town, on the east bank of the Kamo River, home to the sprawling Geisha District (Red Light) and some of the city’s most spectacular sites, sounds, and smells. Just give me that old time sex and religion.
The Geisha thing is really weird. Technically, prostitution is illegal in Japan — just like drugs are illegal in Amsterdam. Because, what the hell is a geisha, other than a tricked out whore in white face and kimono who can play a musical instrument? In fact, the musical instrument part of the package was added by the madams a century ago to separate the geisha from the average woman of the night. It’s all a matter of skill and manners.
Most of the “houses” had exterior lights in the shape of glowing round balls and sexual delights — from red hearts to pink dildos. And the beast took many shapes: fashion health massage parlors, image club and pink salon brothels, sumata crotch dance clubs, geisha houses, love hotels, and hostess bars. Some actually had billboards showing the whole staff of young ladies on call, sort of like a sorority photo gone horribly wrong. And many of the taller buildings in the area had some sort of erotic establishment on every floor, like sex malls.
The high-end houses were totally bizarre. One night I sat in the open window of an Irish pub right across the street from one such heavy roller establishment and watched the comings and goings. Talk about amusing. Picture a really hot Japanese young lady dressed like a total chic slut — skintight red dress stopping provocatively at the knees and matching red stiletto high heels — standing like a statue in front of the entrance doors, staring straight ahead into space, acknowledging no one. Grouped around her are three or four nasty boys in shiny sharkskin suits who provide cover, shew away the human flies, and greet the rich businessmen who pull up in their luxury vehicles every few minutes or so.
Sex in Japan — like so many things — is there and not there. And the Japanese are pretty screwed up in many regards when it comes to women, starting with the whole little girl thing. The sexual culture is like a cross between the Arabs — where women must hide behind veils, hoods, and masks while serving at the pleasure of their male masters — and Las Vegas at it’s worst. Japan used to be home to a pornography business predicated on ultra-violent sex, glorifying the mutilation and extreme torture of women. They sold graphic comics in most convenience stores, depicting unimaginable acts of depravity. Rape was like an art form. And to this day, Japan is infamous for women being forcefully groped in crowded trains and buses. In fact, some of the trains have “Women Only” cars just for that reason.
The word that comes to mind when trying to understand the way men look at women in Japan is repressed. Men intimidate women — subtly and overtly in daily life — but it’s when the clothes come off and sex becomes the main event, that Japanese men turn into perverted geeks. And in the end, as always, pussy rules the night. But in Japan it can get pretty goddamn weird and ugly.
I tried to take a picture of one of the front door models one evening and her guards, who I assumed were lower echelon Yakuza gangsters, made it instantly clear that snapping photos of the ladies was not allowed. It was the only time in Japan that I felt threatened.
Kyoto is packed with marvels galore, many of which I have already written about in previous blogs. It’s the “City of Shrines” and the Emperor’s Imperial Palace is breathtaking. There are wonderful museums and it’s home to one of Japan’s most prestigious universities. You can’t swing a cat without hitting a first class restaurant and the gardens are magnificent. There are riverside bike trails and shopping districts that run the gamut from Pierre Cardin to hole-in-the wall arcades. Kyoto is the whole package and then some.
The overall vibe is a mixed bag of ancient, hip, sophisticated pleasure. It’s the kind of place where you immediately feel at home. I stayed there for three days on my own and then five more days with Inna and we both agreed we could live there quite easily. The climate is warm but not hot, the people are friendly and welcoming, the food is out of this world, and it is endlessly entertaining.
So, do yourself a favor and book a room near the train station, rent a bike for your stay so you can easily get around the sprawling city, and then settle into the rhythm of endless possibilities.
