Meeting the geisha of Mukojima, Tokyo
In Japanese culture, there are few figures as iconic or alluring as the geisha, with their otherworldly elegance and the power to transport audiences to a world of beauty and refinement. Due to depictions in media and the way in which Japanese destinations are sometimes compartmentalized, one could almost be forgiven for thinking that Kyoto is the only city where visitors can encounter geisha and their unique brand of traditional entertainment, but in fact, hanamachi or "flower towns" where geisha continue to operate can be found in locations around the country.
On a recent trip to Tokyo, I had the rare and exciting chance to take part in an evening of geisha-themed activities and entertainment in Mukojima - the largest of six surviving hanamachi districts in the greater metropolitan area. In a project organized by Chikyu no Arukikata and led by the Sumida Tourism Association, the experience will shortly be made available to the public, allowing foreign visitors a glimpse into this dazzling and mysterious world.
My evening began in the popular sightseeing neighborhood of Asakusa, known for its nostalgic atmosphere and for the sprawling temple complex of Sensoji. Just a short walk from the striking red gate marking the approach to the temple precinct, I met up with the other members of my group at the office of Jidaiya, a local rikshaw operator.
After a few quick introductions and an outline of the program for the evening, it was time to board a line of the two-wheeled carts and set off into the buzz of city traffic, passing the junction of Edo-dori and Umamichi-dori and continuing alongside the Sumida River while my driver cheerfully pointed out a few spots of interest.
Beneath its touristy trappings, Asakusa is a culturally-rich neighborhood that has undergone many changes in its roughly 1,400 year history. According to legend, its story began with the discovery of a mysterious gold statue caught in the nets of two local fishermen. Recognised as the image of the goddess Kannon, the statue was later displayed in the house of a local headman, which would ultimately grow into Sensoji Temple.
The area began to truly flourish only centuries later, when the Edo Period (1603-1868) brought relative peace and a steady stream of visitors - Tokyo having become the new center of political power for the nation's elite samurai rulers - with local residents granted permission to peddle various wares on the approach to the temple in return for acts of service, giving rise to the Nakamise Shopping Street.
The Edo Period was a time when public entertainments, like class distinctions, were tightly controlled. Later in the 17th century, the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter - at the time, one of just three in the country - was relocated to Asakusa, along with the city's main Kabuki district, called Saruwaka Sanza. The area drew in ever greater numbers, gaining a reputation as the city's foremost entertainment district that would endure well into the 20th century, when it welcomed Japan's first ever movie theater as well as countless bars, restaurants and performance venues of all kinds.
Leaving Asakusa behind, we took a right turn across the Sumida River and continued northwest along its opposite shore before finally turning off the main road into a warren of narrow streets. Our destination and the venue for tonight's entertainment was the Futaba Ryotei - a discrete building tucked away on a little sidestreet, with only a hanging curtain and paper lantern hinting at the refined atmosphere awaiting inside.
A kind of high-end restaurant unique to Japan, ryotei are built around traditional design elements. Unlike most restaurants today, customers are typically placed with their party in private, tatami matted rooms, allowing for privacy and special entertainment such as geisha. Known for their discretion and personal touch, many ryotei traditionally accepted new customers only by referral, although few are quite so strict today.
Warmly met at the door by the owner together with two geisha in full makeup, we were immediately ushered inside and upstairs to a large and attractively furnished room, with places set for the whole group around a long, low table. As we took our seats, the first phase of our evening began with a toast, our geisha circulating amongst the group and pouring drinks while making light chit-chat. Light dishes were served and another, older geisha began to tune up a three-stringed instrument known as a shamisen.
There followed a series of dances while the older geisha sang and played the shamisen, performed by the same two women who had already been making the rounds, and a third who had just slipped into the room. Each of the performers' ages seemed to be reflected in their outfits - the youngest wearing the bright kimono and elaborate headdress of a hangyoku or geisha in training, the next a dazzling blue kimono and equally elaborate, though different hairstyle, and the oldest in pale blue with only light, natural-looking makeup.
As the performances began, the room seemed suddenly charged with a kind of electricity, and it seemed no-one could tear their eyes away from the front of the room, where a stage of sorts had been created with just a simple, gold-colored folding screen. While all three dances had a magnetic quality of their own, each seemed designed to express a different kind of beauty: the young hangyoku's big, bouncy steps conveying something like naivete, while her older counterparts danced with a grace and subtlety, charged with gravitas and experience.
After the dances, a short interlude followed with more chatting, drinks poured and beautifully presented small dishes served. This soon gave way to a few rounds of ozashiki asobi, or traditional drinking games, with the geisha themselves providing music and encouragement, adjudicating or joining in as necessary.
In the first game, called Tora Tora, two players take their places on either side of a screen and take one of three poses - kneeling on the floor (the tiger), standing with a bent back and cane (the old woman) or pointing at the floor (the samurai). After a little song with matching gestures, the players can each peak around the screen at their opponent and the winner is announced - the old woman beats the samurai, the tiger beats the old woman, and the samurai beats the tiger.
Up next was Konpira Funefune - another classic game, requiring just two players, a tabletop and a little bowl. With the shamisen strumming away to keep rhythm, the players take turns reaching out to touch the bowl, but can also choose to snatch it away. If the bowl isn't there, the idea is to instead touch the table with your knuckles, but this is often harder than it looks - especially as the rhythm gets faster and faster!
After these and a few other games, it was at last time to say our goodbyes. Our evening was far from over, however, as from here we set out for a pleasant nighttime stroll, the hangyoku and one of her older colleagues in tow.
Extending along the west bank of the Sumida River, across from and a little to the north of Asakusa, Mukojima has been known for its temples, shrines and cherry blossom viewing spots, indeed as a place of refined leisure ever since the 17th century, when wealthy merchants and high ranking samurai began buying up the land for second homes. Exclusive restaurants and teahouses soon sprang up along the banks of the river, and for those who had grown tired of the luxuries of Edo, crossing over into Mukojima became a special escape from everyday life. By the latter half of the Meiji Period (1868-1912), the area was a fully fledged and prosperous hanamachi.
In 1940, a merger of several geisha management companies, called kenban, turned Mukojima into by far the largest hanamachi district in the country, with as many as 1,300 geisha from 408 establishments, appearing at a network of 215 high class restaurants. Standing slightly apart from the rest of the city, the area gained a reputation for discretion, and attracted politicians, business leaders, cultural figures, and even sumo wrestlers. This golden age was not to last however, as changing social norms and the coming catastrophe of the Second World War ultimately reduced the industry to a shadow of its former self.
After making our way for a while along the river, enjoying the sparkle of city lights, illuminated bridges and the upper part of the nearby Tokyo Skytree, we took a brief pause outside a small, street level office decorated with paper lanterns. This, I discovered, was the district's current kenban, which today manages the appointments of around 100 practicing geisha at 11 local ryotei continuing the area's traditions - enough to make it the largest hanamachi in Tokyo, and a vital center of geisha culture.
Just a few steps away, we made the final stop of our evening at a cozy but stylish little bar. Although we said goodbye to the older of the two geisha here, to my delight the hangyoku was able to stay for a little longer. Here, we wiled away another hour or so chatting and singing karaoke while bar staff in their own beautiful kimono poured drinks - the perfect end to an unforgettable evening.
As a long term Japan resident with a fascination for traditional culture, geisha entertainment has always been something of a holy grail - something so special that I would just have to experience it at some point, even if part of me wondered exactly who it was for, whether it would really resonate with me and in particular whether the experience might feel somehow forced or inauthentic.
Reflecting on my evening later however, I realized that it was specific moments and the way they felt at the time that made the experience so special - a flash of color on the hangyoku's kimono as she danced, a peal of laughter in the middle of one of our games, or learning more about their way of life while chatting idly away. For visitors looking for something truly unforgettable, look no further.
This project is supported by a grant from the Tokyo Metropolitan Government and the Tokyo Convention & Visitors Bureau for the promotion of nighttime tourism.
