When searching for a geisha, you find a valuable lesson
How bad it is to travel with very high expectations. I am becoming more and more aware of it. That is why now I try to arrive at the destination as unspoiled as possible in terms of hopes to fulfill. I know, it is a curious paradox given the name of this strange online logbook you are reading. Until recently, however, I would soak up information before leaving, devour guides with enormous gluttony, look for the best advice, and that made my drawer of dreams overflow with experiences to live. The result? Infinite disappointment when those travel longings are not fulfilled, when the imposing silhouette of Mount Fuji never appears on the horizon or when my inexperienced scouting pupils are unable to find a lion in the brushwood. And that illusion, never turned into a memory, clouded the day and left a bitter aftertaste that, I admit, did not allow me to fully savor the rest of the experiences that could be just as or even more exciting than the others.
She had to appear for me to realize my mistake, to decide to strip myself of that blessed list of desirables that constrained the route and travel more freely, ready to let myself be surprised along the way. Because she appeared when I was no longer looking for her, after having given up on a goal that I now identify as almost childish. Who doesn’t want to see geishas on their trip to Japan? I did, I wanted to, I had it etched in my mind, I went through Tokyo, Nikko, Hakone, Nara, Koyasan, Miyajima, and Hiroshima thinking about reaching Kyoto to do the walking tour of the Gion district recommended by Japonismo.
And there I was at last, stepping on the Japanese asphalt of the streets of this traditional Kyoto neighborhood where they say it is easy to see geishas and maikos leaving or returning from work. I had arrived at dusk with my hope under my arm. I wandered for a long time through its wooden alleys, among traditional tea houses, paper lanterns that cast a weary light on the ground, and fabric crests whose meaning I was unable to decipher.
And while the deep night silenced the strange silent bustle of Gion, my hope dissolved with every step on that already dark ground until it completely blurred. I don’t know exactly where it was lost, but I do remember that disappointment took the arm of discouragement and together they convinced me to return to the hotel. I still refused to put away the camera, but I reluctantly forced myself to give up. I looked for a way out of that small, already empty wooden labyrinth where no soul, neither Japanese nor tourist, dared to get lost at those hours. Once again, a travel hope unfulfilled.
Not a trace of any geisha. And it was right in the middle of that nocturnal loneliness when it happened. I hear a door. When I turn around, a maiko crosses before my surprised eyes. Instinctively, my nervous fingers search for the camera button to shoot (that verb is ironic at that moment) a blurry, clumsy photo.
With elegant haste, she disappears down the alley opposite. And I, fearful that the black alley will swallow her up and she will vanish as if she had simply been a chimera, dash after her. Only her wooden okobos can be heard clashing against the ground. A few seconds during which a childish smile accompanies me in the absurd pursuit. I don’t want to stop, I don’t want to lose her, I don’t quite know why but I can’t stop chasing her silhouette and I even dare to photograph her again in secret.
Just when taking that stolen photo, I decide why I am following her. I want to stop her, stop that rude pursuit in its tracks and ask her, please, to allow me to take a portrait. Good manners bear fruit. She is not frightened, nor is she uncomfortable, nor is she surprised. She simply looks at me calmly, nods slowly, and poses for my lens with a smile. Perhaps inside she was laughing at my excited face. Just one photo, I think that if I take more I will bother her, I feel the need to release her from my harassment. Just one. Enough. And there we both stand, alone, at night in the middle of an empty alley, holding each other’s gaze for a moment. I feel my eyes light up with absolute happiness and I blush. We both turn and head in opposite directions. An illusion turned into a memory, yes, an experience crossed off the list… Bitter aftertaste now, complete happiness in that moment.
Encouraged by the magic of that “unexpected” encounter, I decide that I will return again in daylight through those same streets. I do so a few hours later but I don’t like what I see. Yes, I find another maiko, but surrounded by tourists with mobile phones and cameras in hand. I feel like I’m in the middle of an urban safari in which the prey is a maiko who waits timidly, turns, and tries, unsuccessfully, to hide. I feel sorry for the situation, I am indignant at being part of that photographic hunt. However, I end up letting myself go. Here is the result…
But the show is not over yet; the final touch is missing. Then a geisha appears (yes, finally a geisha) inside a taxi that stops right there for just a moment so that the maiko can get in. The car starts, it leaves. End of the urban safari. Does everyone have their photos yet? Yes? Well, please, leave the small groups, disappear, there is nothing more to see here.
It was then that I decided to stop traveling with such high expectations. I realized that I preferred the magical moment of the previous night a thousand times more than the embarrassing spectacle I had just participated in. I felt bad for having forced a travel illusion to come true, for obsessing over seeing a geisha as if she were prey. Am I a crude experience hunter? No. I want to collect memories, yes, but memories that the journey gives me on its own, without having to provoke them in such an artificial way, without treating people like trophies. And you?
