Ghost of a Geisha

For some reason, the photos aren't working, but I will try again another time. Sorry 'bout that.

When I came to Japan I had three goals of what I wanted to see / visit: islands, snow, and Kyoto. What I mainly wanted from Kyoto was temples (solid, predictable) and a geisha sighting (fat chance). "Geisha sighting" makes them sound like rare, wild animals. This is because they are. There are millions of people in Japan and less than 1,000 geishas in the whole country. Hoping to see one is like waiting for an endangered yellow bird to flash through the trees. If you're lucky enough to get a glimpse, you'll remember it for the rest of your life, and at some point you will probably try to write about it.

We just finished a luxurious Japanese dinner, complete with cold sake, and stepped out onto the chilly street of Pontocho. It's a narrow, winding alley packed with a variety of restaurants, adorned with lanterns and banners that many people believe were the world's first advertisements. We were laughing and immortalizing the food that had just passed our lips. The next thing I knew, my bottom jaw shot towards the ground. I feet melded to the cobblestones and I couldn't move. In slow motion I turned to my friends -- both of them had huge eyes and open mouths. We exchanged glances for a millisecond before we spun around and began walking in the opposite direction.

A geisha had appeard from nowhere, right in front of us. Despite the heavy wooden clogs on her feet, her movement was absolutely silent. She moved as smoothly and as quickly as a deer. Although we had immediately turned to follow her, we had to jog to keep pace.

Her kimono was made of thick silk and mostly white. Her inky hair was impossibly styled, a dash of red fabric visible through a slit in her bun. There was an unexpected, reddish-brown arch painted on the nape of her neck. Except for this, I saw no flesh that was not transformed to porcelain by thick, white makeup. Not even her hands remained flesh. Her lips were slicked with red. And she was moving so fast.

The three of us were silent. We were shocked into awe; her grace and presence was like nothing we had ever seen before. I wasn't even embarrassed that we were following her -- who cares if people talk about the silly gaijins? It was then I realized that everyone around us, even the Japanese, were reacting the same way. Japanese girls dropped their jaws and turned to stare, whispering to each other. Men began to follow her. In a few minutes, my friends and I were the caboose of a train led by 5 Japanese men in suits. All trying to keep up with this silent white deer. I was afraid that if I took my eyes off of her for a second, she'd vanish. Her speed and her all-white kimono made her like an apparition, not a flesh-and-blood woman like the rest of us, clicking our heels on the Pontocho cobblestones. We didn't even care how far she would walk or where she would take us -- we just wanted to follow.

At one point, the geisha looked over her shoulder, and I could see the tension around her eyes and mouth. She knew the men were following her, and it made her nervous. My friends and I were too far away. I felt a brief flash of sympathy, the kind of pity you'd feel if roses cried when they were plucked and stuck in vases. I considered backing off a little, but before I could make up my mind, she was gone. She disappeared so quickly I didn't realize it until after. There were no corners, no turns in the street -- but she threw aside an unlabled bamboo door, and was gone. The businessmen were equally surprised by her disappearance, and they gathered at the door awkwardly, like pigeons begging for crumbs. My friends and I continued walking at the same speed, looking straight ahead, disguising our intentions much better than the Japanese men. You'd think they'd be skilled at this by now. But this was one thing I learned: geisha appearances are just as rare for the Japanese as for foreigners.

When we could finally speak again, Natasha said, "Was that real? Was I dreaming?" Our thoughts spoken aloud. "Could there have been a more perfect ending to this night?" Kath asked.

She was just a lady, in a white robe, wearing white make-up. What's so special about that? Were we horrible Westerners for getting so excited about it? For exoticizing someone like that?

I don't think so.

Even Africans are afraid of lions. And even Japanese are astonished by the ghost of a geisha.