 to the tea houses where they entertain businessmen in traditional Japanese arts. It was almost quarter to six and, in desperation, I headed for Gion's most famous tea house, Ichiriki Chaya, where crowds of tourists had gathered. A few minutes passed and then, at last, there she was. Walking purposefully down a side street towards us – the unmistakable porcelain-white face, blood-red lips and elaborate silk kimono. We clicked away on our cameras as she neared us, stoically staring into the distance and then closing her eyes as she whisked past into the welcoming embrace of the tea house. This magnificent encounter – like seeing th){kind=link}
This island country is top of many a travel wishlist this year – but there’s only one way to do it in true comfort and style
I had been determinedly pacing the narrow streets of Kyoto’s atmospheric Gion district for so long that I was starting to feel like a stalker. The maze of narrow alleyways – all traditional machiya merchant houses and strings of scarlet lanterns bobbing in the evening breeze – was evocative enough, but I paid scant attention as I peered through doorways and loitered at tea house entrances.
Crowds thronged the main thoroughfares – a mix of curious tourists and besuited businessmen – all of them on a mission identical to my own: to track down the mysterious geishas who live and work in the city.
Richly anticipated, but rarely spotted, these enigmatic entertainers represent a dying art. Their numbers dropped from as many as 80,000 before the Second World War to around 1,000 today, with Kyoto considered the best place for visitors to catch a fleeting flavour of this clandestine world.
Not surprisingly, outsiders are regarded as an unwelcome hindrance, reportedly chasing geishas along streets, trying to photograph or touch them, and even attempting to pose for selfies. Now, Kyoto’s authorities issue on-the-spot fines for harassment.