Time Travel is Real in Kyoto's Gion at Dusk

by Amelia Heldt (Australia)

Making a local connection Japan

I heard her before I saw her. The hurried, delicate ‘clip clack’ of geta sandals against cobblestones broke through the silence of the side-alley I had wandered down. Hanamikoji Street was barely 50m ahead, yet it was worlds away. There, tourists shopped Gion’s main street, and stood in wait to capture a photo of the illusive Maiko and Geiko the district is known for. I wondered how the ladies stayed so calm, with professionalism painted on their faces even more precisely than their makeup. I’d seen these eager crowds invade their personal space, the impatient gathering of cargo shorts and sandals literally blocking traffic to take a photo. It was strange - if not entirely unexpected - because snapping a photo of a Maiko in a respectful way was actually pretty easy. The real trick was spotting them. Lady luck was kind to me the first time I ventured into Gion at dusk, with a Frenchman I’d met at a ramen joint that day (like some kind of foreign ‘meet cute’). We befriended a lovely Japanese photographer couple who told us where to stand, and that a Maiko would soon depart for an appointment. True to their word, the apprentice Geisha emerged shortly after, a vision in pink and navy. The next time, I simply looked up to see a full-fledged Geiko gliding along the street, before finally disappearing behind the noren linen curtain of a tea house. It was the third time that I adopted a photographer’s mindset, and waited for my moment. A cab had pulled up close to the entrance of a restaurant, with barely enough room to pass between. Someone important was in there, and being that I was in Geisha central, it could only be a Maiko or Geiko. After around ten minutes of standing in wait - ever the undocumented reality of photographer life - she appeared, behind a businessman of around 60 or so. Two women from the restaurant bowed deeply in unison as she slipped into the car. And as I watched this ancient Japanese tradition disappear into the night in a shiny modern black taxi, I was struck by how it described the country as a whole. Japan was the perfect juxtaposition of old and new. A place that sometimes felt like falling into history, before crashing back to the present. And it was this feeling of having time travelled that I was revelling in, down the side alley in Gion at dusk. I heard her before I saw her. She appeared as if by magic, clad in a cobalt blue kimono with cherry blossoms painted Kyo-yuzen style directly onto the silk. Her silver and cream patterned obi belt tied like a box at her back. The Geiko moved swiftly past me, small steps carrying her purposefully towards Hanamikoji Street, utterly prepared for the madness awaiting her. Because while the increasing accessibility of the world today can create problems like over-tourism, it can also make it a better place. Culture is meant, not to be exploited, but to be shared. Nowhere is that more apparent than in Kyoto, where people still dedicate themselves to being a master at their craft. And for the women who give up a ‘normal life’ - seeing friends and family, getting married (they can’t be wed until they’re retired) - for the honour of training in this ancient art; some traditions cannot help but endure. And perhaps, I think to myself, they take some pride in their effect on foreigners and locals alike. Because I could’ve sworn that she threw a coy smile in the direction of my stunned face as she passed.