Essay / There is a geisha crying on the road

Kinkakuji Temple, Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, Yasaka Pagoda, Kiyomizu Stage, Senbon Torii... I once imagined that if these images that were reused by tourist posters enough to become another Kyoto universe were squeezed into a ball, people would still be able to identify it as Kyoto. It will be a ball with a Japanese hue, like Kaga Temari, a traditional craft of Kanazawa. And if there are people living in this ball called Kyoto, it should be monks and geishas.

Although I have visited Kyoto many times, I have passed by monks more than once, but I have never seen a geisha. After all, they are easily harassed and asked to take photos when they are dressed so prominently on the road, so they will not appear in front of tourists at will. Prefer to commute by taxi. In the alleys of Hanami Koji, you can always see people with expensive cameras standing by. These people know that the lens should not be aimed at the street, but the window of the taxi.

After studying in this ancient capital, I finally met a geisha/maiko, far more than one. At that time, due to the renovation of the Nanza Theater located on the east side of Shijo Bridge, the annual song and dance party "Tou を ど り" in Gion Kobe, one of Kyoto's five flower streets, was changed to the auditorium of our school, so geisha and maiko could often be seen shuttling through the school. Modern hall. One day I was sitting in the coffee shop in the lobby, and when I turned around, I saw two geishas next door, and I felt that I was the one who stood out in civilian clothes. Later, I participated in a school course with a geisha as a lecturer. The content was roughly It is the academic career and daily life of a geisha. I heard that they often cover their mouths with their hands because the teeth are more visible under their white faces. During the lecture, it was really hard for me not to pay attention to the teeth that were opened and closed in front of the microphone. They reminded me of the surrealism of the early 20th century. The facial features that were isolated in the movie.

In addition, the school also invited us international students to watch the geisha performances at the Yasei Hall in Gion, but as soon as I stepped into the venue, I realized that this place was only for tourists, and most of the Western faces were dressed casually on the stage. The impatient children running around in the venue formed a comical contrast to the geisha dancing sporadically on the stage. Rather than watching a geisha performance, I felt like I was watching a ukiyo-e that was imitated by a Western painter.

The above experience did not make me feel that I had actually met a geisha. After all, these are arranged occasions, which are inevitable in certain places, like drinking a cola in a fast food restaurant, or I opened the mailbox and saw the birthday cards and discount coupons sent by the shopping website. What I want more is to have a glimpse in the city of Kyoto, and see those people who have been gradually eliminated by the times, but they are still carrying history and blending into the ancient capital. It is a century-old dessert that was eaten inadvertently before visiting a shrine.

The first time I ran into a geisha without an arrangement was when I ate a bowl of lemon ramen at a restaurant near Yasaka Shrine on an autumn night, and took a walk back through Gion Shirakawa. The drizzle fell on the stone brick floor, blocking the sound of traffic on the adjacent road, making this old street with only two-story wooden buildings even more magical, so magical that even if you travel back in time and space, you may not immediately notice it. I walked across a stone-built bridge called Sunda Bridge with a cheap transparent umbrella, wondering if the bowl of ramen just now was delicious. A few steps later, through the dead branches of cherry blossoms, I saw Gion Tatsumi Shrine, which protects the cause of geisha, and the vermilion fence by the river. A maiko put away a purple umbrella and walked into a taxi. In just a few seconds, I felt that I had finally managed to meet a geisha/maiko, with mixed emotions of relief and emptiness.

Maiko's clothes in the rain remind me of the Gion Festival Yoyama in summer - the smell of sweat and beer is in the air, and people in colorful yukatas fan the wind down the streets to catch a glimpse of the gorgeous Yamahoko ( The roller coaster pulled by human power can be as high as more than 20 meters, and each has its own unique decoration and totem). Compared with the large mountain hoko that tourists are eager to photograph, such as the long sword or the moon hoko, hidden in the alleys with the lights of the izakaya and the sound of the band, the little-known mountain hoko is more impressive to me. Later, I learned that Kyoto has had this kind of "accidental aesthetics" since ancient times. It is said that some Yamahoko even try to hide the most beautiful parts, in order to make people who accidentally glimpse it even more amazing.

The following summer, when I was eating ochre-red raw horse meat and bean curd dishes on the Kamogawa Summer Bed (a summer-limited open-air dining area by the river), I also caught a glimpse of the maiko at the store next door; I once saw a geisha walking on Shangqixuan Old Street under the orange-red sunset (the scene was indeed like a Kyoto sightseeing poster). However, the memories of geisha that I can't forget are not from witnessing.

One night, I was standing at the entrance of Pontocho, waiting for a friend who was working at an izakaya to get off work (the first-generation owner of the izakaya happened to be a geisha). Pontocho is located in the middle of the Takase River and Kamo River, and the dark and narrow alleys are crowded with expensive Japanese food. I looked at the light of the lanterns in front of the store, looked at the people who came to get drunk in the street full of cooking words, and then saw a tired-looking friend walking slowly. "I saw a geisha crying on the road just now," she said.

Although I just heard it, it made the word geisha more three-dimensional in my heart, and I seemed to see the unknown side of the city. What was the geisha crying for? Is it because of personal feelings? Or feel wronged at work? My friend's understatement reminded me of their true skin color under their white faces, and it also helped me to clarify the emotions of the moment when I met a geisha -- this is a kind of understanding that these people "are not really that precious", but can only realize of preciousness.

The busy streets were suddenly silent, and the night was already the temperature of autumn, but I heard the music of 囃子, which is exclusively for the summer Gion Festival. I remembered the ball made from the image of Kyoto. I thought that the white face of the geisha would be squeezed into the goal sooner or later, but this face made the ball disintegrate in my heart. The Kinkaku-ji Temple, Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, Yasaka Pagoda, and Thousands of Torii Gates have all returned to their own positions. They are no longer objects on posters, but can be seen at the alleys of Taipei's hometown, and can no longer be more everyday breakfast restaurants.

Before stepping into the bus, I looked back at the Nanza Theater, which had been renovated under the moonlight and looked like a geisha's clothes. At this moment, I finally realize that I live in Kyoto, in this ancient city that is a little fake but alive.