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National Association of Japan - America Societies (NAJAS)

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Issues #227

between a rock and a soft place - the culture of love hotels

It’s Sunday morning, 10:43am, and you don’t have any particular plan for the day.
So here is tj’s tip of the month:

Get yourself a folding chair, place yourself comfortably across from the entrance of one of Japan’s 30,000 love hotels, and just watch. Apart from a few surprises, your private program should include the following: an old man accompanied by a 15-year-old girl in school uniform rushing into the hotel to make use of the reasonable 2-hour ‘rest’ rate; a middle-aged couple from outside Tokyo parking their car in the parking lot, then running the five meters to the entrance, hiding their faces like criminals; a teenage couple entering the place as if it were a McDonald’s; and, as an encore, a newly-arrived foreign woman in her 40s with her luggage walks happily in, only to come out confused and ashamed three minutes later. So just by sitting around you have a perfect overview of Japanese culture right at its most interesting point.

In English-speaking countries, couples checking into a hotel for a clandestine purpose once gave false names at the front desk — Mr. and Mrs. Smith, for example. In Japan, however, it is the hotels themselves that apparently use aliases. We can no longer call them ‘love hotels.’ Hotel owners nowadays prefer to avoid the decades-old accumulation of sleazy association that such a term evokes. Instead the smart businessman with his money invested in the pay-as-you-bang hospitality business would prefer us to use such gleaming new terms as ‘leisure hotel,’ ‘boutique hotel,’ ‘couples’ hotel,’ ‘fashion hotel,’ ‘theme hotel,’ etc.
But, to avoid any confusion in these articles, we will constantly resort to the old established term and hope no one gets offended.

	This struggle with words wasn’t an issue back when the hotel for purposes other than just staying overnight was established in this country. The history of the love hotel has its roots in the late Edo era, when people talked about ‘otebiki-jaya’ or ‘deai-jaya,’ which was changed to ‘tsurekomi yado’ after WW2.
Those places — and this might give His Holiness Wojtyla some additional shivers — were mostly set up around temples and shrines, to offer pilgrims meditating on the transience of life some respite from their religious duties. Death and sex have, in this way, always walked hand-in-hand. Further study would also reveal the Japanese kami as a rather horny bunch of gods just like the Olympians of Greek legend. It was this point of view that produced such a natural attitude to sexuality in Japan (before westerners started importing some rather odd ideas), and which even today makes it so easy to interview a young lady (see below) about what she expects from a love hotel.
The ‘tsurekomi yado’ (or ‘tsurekomi ryokan’) was not a love hotel in its modern sense, but a place that just provided the space for professional ladies to earn a crust, a whorehouse if you want. The interior was sparse — tatami rooms with futons. The walls were thin, and the customers would only get their shoes back after handing the room fare to the owner. These houses were mostly run by families, which had some vacant rooms and saw this as a chance to make ends meet.
In 1958 such practical arrangements fell foul of a new law which prohibited prostitution, thus putting the squeeze on the owners. Some of the more adaptable came up with the idea of renting the vacant space to ordinary people — couples who were looking for the chance to spend a hot night away from prying parents, drying laundry, and frying soba. In a country where traditionally several generations of a family live together under one roof, and a host usually greets guests using formulas such as “please excuse our small and dirty hovel,” this became a runaway success, and soon the shrine visitor could — or had to — bring his own partner for the ‘after-prayer meeting.’ The surroundings of the sacred places quickly turned into private amusement zones. This explains also why you will hardly ever find a love hotel in the city standing all by itself, but instead all concentrated around one lively area, such as Kabukicho or Shibuya’s Maruyamacho. The first center of the booming love hotel culture, however, was Osaka, whose people enjoy the reputation of being especially open-minded. In contrast to the usual 2- or 3-hourly rates in the rest of Japan, Kansai area love hotels also provide a 1-hour bargain fares for day use . . .
Inspired by the motorization of Japan in the ‘60s, another prototype of the love hotel were the simple and functional motels that sprang up near highway interchanges. Then came the time when more and more people started to visit exotic, foreign countries, and soon a simple, cockroach-ridden tatami room in a ‘love hotel’ with a dasai (corny) Japanese name were not satisfying anymore. Especially the female half of Japan demanded to relive their honeymoon at such venues as the “Hotel Paris,” with its romantic, French interior, just like the cute little place near Versailles that left such an impression on their connubial memories. These were actually the avant-garde of western-style hotels in Japan, and such hotels as the “Hotel Chanel” even gave fashion labels some much-needed free advertisement.
How the love hotel developed during the ‘70s and ‘80s, with gimmicks such as rotating beds, transparent bath tubs, or mirrors on the ceiling, is easy to imagine, so let’s skip the ins-and-outs of the process and have a look at a typical modern love hotel room. While a clean place where one could get down to some serious lovemaking was enough to attract couples before, nowadays it has to have a little more. A giant, flat TV screen with DVD, an indoor laser show, and a selection of video games, is more likely to hit the mark. And as these demands escalate, so does the cut-throat contest, which lets only the best survive.

Running a love hotel is no longer a family affair and is anything but a small-scale business. To build a perfectly equipped hotel today costs the owner a crippling ¥500,000,000 (minimum). A 1985 law, which prohibits normal hotels from providing condoms, accorded different status to love hotels, making it harder to get bank loans. This, combined with contractual problems over the continued use of the same site, mean that most traditional city center love hotels have to fight to earn their monthly survival target of ¥500,000 (minimum) per room. In view of this there is now a trend towards fewer and bigger ‘amusement center’-style hotels built outside towns.

The main attractions here are the total atmosphere, the comfort, the space, and the latest technology installed to entertain not only inside the rooms. If you are one of those who have queued up for hours to purchase a model of PlayStation 2, just to be told it’s sold out, why not go to the next love hotel and try it out. An up-to-date place will surely have it in every room. The fun starts when you check in with the robot staff. These droids don’t take your shoes, and there’s no need to hide your face like 10 years ago. Instead, after inserting your member’s card, the computerized concierge greets you with a friendly “hi, long time no see, what’s new?” reminding you to ‘come’ more often. As you leave — senses on overload from the multi-media phenomenon you’ve just experienced — you might well ask yourself, with the same degree of metaphysical yearning as the early temple visitors, ‘What did I come here for? What is it all about?’

To find some answers to these and other questions, tj decided to track the beast to its lair by meeting a guide and user of love hotels and a designer. We hope that Takako Imafuku’s insights and Yuji Nishioka’s inspirations cast some light on a shady world where even hotels prefer to go by another name.

	Takako Imafuku Working for Elf K.K., a company specializing in production and editing of guidebooks and maps (Pia Map, etc.) since 1994, she has just published her first book “Tokyo ii Mise, ii LoveHo,” a guidebook recommending ‘date spots’ for couples. The guide includes basic information on restaurants, bars, coffee shops, love hotels, etc. with descriptions, categorization (“first date spot,” “advanced date spot,” “quiet place,” etc.) and maps to each place. The book is a good information source, and the personal anecdotes and comments written from a female point of view make it especially attractive for females looking for nice, romantic places. After a wide selection of wining and dining venues, the second half of the book introduces 46 love hotels (here referred to as “boutique hotels”) in the Tokyo area. Two pioneering women-only sex shops are also featured. Leaving judgement of the bars and restaurants to its readers, tj took on the more onerous task of selecting the best love hotels in town as featured on these pages. “Tokyo ii Mise, ii LoveHo” is available in every fine book shop, for a reasonable ¥750.
tj: Are the facts in the book, especially those about the hotels, all based on your personal on-the-spot studies?
imafuku: No, not all of them. I’m not such an extensive love hotel goer. I got a lot of info through the internet, where I found some pages made by young love hotel fans and couples who organize tours together with other couples. But, of course I had my own experiences to throw in as well.
tj: How are love hotels and their clientele changing. What are the latest trends?
ti: The average age of people using love hotels is getting younger, bringing with it the trend for more entertainment. The latest fashion seems to be providing party rooms for a bigger number of people.
tj: How about the bedrooms in those party rooms?
ti: There are some with one big bedroom, but also others with two or three separate bedrooms. I haven’t experienced such a party, so I can only guess what kind of things they get up to in these kind of party rooms. Most of these parties are certainly not different from your normal house party. The hotel just provides a location more comfortable than your average living room.
tj: How do you think the love hotel business will change in the future. What do you think the next step will be?
ti: Many hotels now include restaurants, bars, or clubs in the basement. However, now we are also seeing the rise of ‘total amusement centers’ where you can spend hours just exploring the interior or watching robots. Personally I think separate trends will develop: on the one hand towards bigger and better, while on the other hand the trend will swing back to more basic hotels where you only go for one purpose. The style of hotels also depends on the area. In Shibuya, the average age of the kids on the street is around 15 so you find the theme park kind of hotels, while in other, quieter areas the hotels are simpler, to attract the over 40s.
tj: It seems that most hotels are mainly trying to attract females.
ti: Yes, I think the philosophy is to attract girls, because the guys will follow anyway. Besides this, I would feel strange if a guy took me to a place because it was ‘kirei’! Girls also seem to be easier to get to visit a place they like many times, and it’s these repeaters that count double.
tj: Where did the idea to make a book like this arise from?
ti: The company I’m working for mainly does maps, so we had the idea to make a guidebook based on maps. The company that published the book used to make a well-known ladies’ magazine, and they came up with the idea to focus on love hotels and dating spots for women. For foreigners a guidebook like this might look strange, but I think that the fact that most Japanese love guide books justifies this step.
tj: Did you start your love hotel expedition after that, or was it you who said “I have experience, let me do this”?
ti: It was in fact me who volunteered for the job, since besides me there are only men over 40 in my company. Most of the research started then, but I also got some information and inspiration from my adventures during the time when my boyfriend and I used to go out to Kabukicho almost every night. At that time it usually happened 3 or 4 times a week that we missed our last train, and the best and cheapest way to get a bed for the night was one of the hotels around. Other information I got from various magazines that all deal with dating issues.
tj: Is there a difference between the so-called “love hotels,” “leisure hotels,” “boutique hotels,” city hotels,” or however you want to call them?
ti: When it came to giving the book a title, many places complained about the word we used. In general, there is a cheap, dirty feeling about the name “love hotel,” so most places don’t use it today, but prefer something like “leisure hotel” or “boutique hotel” (which already sounds a bit old.) But, in the end, they’re all the same, just different variations.
tj: What were the criteria you used to pick the places?
ti: There weren’t really strong criteria I stuck to, but most women seem to be concerned about standards like the size and atmosphere of the rooms, a clean bathroom, or provided amenity goods, so places that matched these were my first choice. After this there are points such as unique features and services, and, to tell the truth, the cooperation of the hotels themselves. In the book there are a variety of places, comfortable but not so interesting as well as lots of really good ones. Personally I prefer places that have that pinkish, forbidden smell, are not too modern, and don’t pretend to be anything else but a love hotel.
tj: Were the hotels mostly cooperative after you approached them and told them you wanted to include them in your guide?
ti: The places in the book were, of course, but there were others who wouldn’t even give me their phone number. There are many places that totally exclude the media, usually the yakuza kind of places. As a matter of fact, you find prostitution in these places, so there wouldn’t be any point putting them into the book anyway.
tj: As a Japanese yourself you probably don’t know, but have you ever heard of places that refuse to serve foreigners, for whatever reason?
ti: I haven’t encountered this of course, but I can imagine that there are certainly some older places that don’t want to deal with foreigners, because they fear problems of communication or trouble with foreigners who don’t know the rules of behavior in love hotels. Different from regular hotels, love hotels expect their guests to take off their shoes before entering the rooms. Some love hotel owners also complain of foreigners who didn’t understand the time system, and tried to pay in advance. But as far as I know, the hotels in my book have no problems with foreign guests, and I’ve never seen signs like “No foreigners!” or something. At most modern places the guests aren’t seen anyway, since check-in and check-out is done using cards and machines. In cases where there are people sitting at the front desk, they often can’t see the guests’ faces, but can only communicate through a little hole at the level to pass you the keys and receive payment. The latest trend, however, blurs the line between regular hotels and love hotels, and the front desk is not much different from a big city hotel.
tj: How is the love hotel business doing in general recently?
ti: Generally speaking, the number of love hotels is decreasing. For every new, big place that is built, two old ones disappear. This is partly due to the limited contracts commonly used in this business, which don’t allow love hotels to be passed onto the next generation. On the other hand, huge, spectacular hotels on the outskirts of big cities seem to be increasing, since here you have the space, and ground prices are reasonable. Just like Disneyland or Fujikyu Highlands, people don’t mind traveling there by car. However, it’s a tough business, where you always have to be up-to-date with the latest trends, and have a complete renewal at least every 3 years.

	To experience one of the country’s state-of-the-art love hotels requires a little journey, since it’s located in Takasaki, about 100km north of Tokyo. But The Rock, the latest and most impressive example of the recent boom in theme park-style hotels, is well worth the trip, since it offers enough attractions to keep one entertained for not only an overnight stay. The theme, as well as the name are — as film fans will be able to guess — inspired by the Sean Connery blockbuster, and even those not so interested in Hollywood movies will know what to expect.
When the guests finally figure out that the door only opens after hand-scanning and enter the beat-up-looking building with mud brown walls and rusty iron doors, they are served by a variety of mobile devices, including a mechanical “warden” who comes down from the second floor to lead you in.
The way from the front desk to the rooms is an adventure in itself, including dark and cold corridors with haunted-house-like effects at every second corner, and an elevator with a glass roof from which black-light paintings inside the elevator shaft are visible, to name but a few. But once the guests enter one of the 20 rooms the horror mood changes. At first sight the rooms look simple, and — according to owner Atsushi Matsui — in fact most of the guests are somewhat disappointed when they discover that the ‘prison cell’ has more comfort than expected. But in the end it’s exactly this point that gives perfect relaxation and makes most of them come back. Besides enjoying the tasteful, modern interior design, attractions inside the rooms include the latest technology and various entertainment devices. Fridge and microwave ovens, TV games, karaoke, 32-inch high-vision TV screens and big jacuzzi baths are the standard features, and above this there are rooms with a 42-inch plasma display screen, a black-light virtual bath, dry/steam sauna, as well as various sound and light features.

	Rates at The Rock range from ¥4,600~ for a 2-hour rest to a reasonable ¥7,600~ for an overnight stay. Various discount fares and special offers are available after 3am and at daytime on weekends. The Rock is located on National Route 17, near JR Takasaki Station, Joetsu Line (local or Shinkansen) 1095-3 Kami-Sanomachi, Takasaki, Gunma Prefecture 027-325-6969 The management of The Rock is handled by Total Well Co., Ltd. www1.biz.biglobe.ne.jp/~totalwel/
With a hotel like this, owner Matsui (Total Well) and designer Yuji Nishioka fulfill the growing need for total entertainment spaces instead of simple love hotels which don’t feature much more than a bed and a bathroom. Both Matsui and Nishioka pooled their inspiration for the hotel, with specialist designer Nishioka’s experience making The Rock a solid success. They decided to call their creation a “couples’ hotel” or “amusement theme hotel,” and in fact there is actually no reason why single guests, groups of more than two people, males-only or females-only, or even young families shouldn’t come and enjoy a stay here. The only problem might be that The Rock maintains the old love hotel tradition of refusing to hold reservations, so it’s recommended to avoid the rush periods on evenings and weekends.
Yuji Nishioka, whose own company is based in Osaka, left his first traces as an interior designer in shops, restaurants, discotheques and clubs. It was this experience creating entertaining and thrilling interiors that soon earned him work to design love hotels. Nishioka has designed about 100 such hotels nationwide to date, and with The Rock in February 1999, he delivered his masterpiece. Located in an area with virtually no rivals, the hotel is well received by young and old — according to owner Matsui the oldest guest so far was in his ‘70s and came in a wheelchair — from Takasaki and the surrounding area, but people from Tokyo and other cities also frequent The Rock.
As a newly built hotel of the “leisure hotel” category, The Rock stands out from Nishioka’s bread-and-butter work of hotel renovation (see photos on the left). As a result of the fast progress of technology, combined with the fickleness of a clientele who quickly loose interest in familiar things, hotel owners are forced to update and change the images of their hotels once every two or three years to stay in the game. In this race it’s obviously a clever move to increase the number of day guests rather than just securing overnight stays. Compared with the average 2.2 bookings per day per room at an old-style city love hotel, a theme park such as The Rock registers up to 4 bookings, which means an average of up to 3 visits during day time, mostly for 4-6 hours. But even with such a successful hotel, Matsui knows that the writing is on the wall for The Rock, and is already working on his next exciting concept. tj

TOP TEN LOVE HOTELS

SHIBUYA
1 P&A Plaza Hotel
Sun tanning and fitness equipment. Cave-like bathroom for 5-8 people in room 902. 2 hours ¥4,700-¥13,000, overnight ¥9,100-¥25,000.
In the Shibuya love hotel area, near Bunkamura.
3780-5211
2 Dixy Inn
American antique-style hotel, with US oldies to choose from the music box. Jacuzzi in all rooms, room 101 is good for parties. 3 hours ¥5,600-¥9,900, overnight ¥8,800-¥14,900.
Behind On Air West, near Shinsen Station.
3461-3033

1 P&A Plaza Hotel

SHINJUKU
3 Hotel Chez Moi
Fluorescent wall paintings appear when turning off the light, making you feel like you’re walking on the sea floor (room 201) or floating in space (room 203). Also “Body-sonic” installed in the beds for musical accompaniment and rhythmical help. 3 hours ¥4,200-5,200, overnight ¥6,800-¥10,000.
Behind Kabukicho, near Shin-Okubo. 3209-2414

2 Dixy Inn

IKEBUKURO
4 Hotel J-Girl
Fascinating view of the illuminated Sunshine/ Amlux buildings from room 1003. Varying themes (log house, chalk walls, etc.) from room to room. All rooms have jacuzzi, karaoke, video, etc. 3 hours from ¥4,900, overnight from ¥8,000.
North-west of Ikebukuro Station, right next to the Yamanote tracks. 5951-6833
5 Hotel En
Quiet, hidden-away hotel, which gives birthday presents in the form of panty-stockings to female guests. 3 hours ¥4,500-6,200,
overnight ¥7,500-9,500.
Off Gekijo Dori, west of Ikebukuro Station.
3988-3988
6 Hotel Lala 33
Rooms designed using bricks, wood, and other natural material, giving you the illusion of being in a mountain lodge. Satellite TV and video with large screens, karaoke, body-sonic, etc. in all rooms.
3 hours ¥4,200-6,000, overnight ¥7,200-10,000.
North-west of Ikebukuro Station, right next to the Yamanote tracks. 3590-6933

3 Hotel Chez Moi

AKASAKA
7 Hotel New Akasaka
Luxurious Japanese-style rooms, with large mirrors hidden behind the fusuma creating a Yoshiwara-like atmosphere. Recommended for tourists. 2 hours ¥7000-12,000, overnight ¥11,000-20,000.
South-west of Chiyoda Line Akasaka Station.
3583-0753

MEGURO
8 Hotel Charme Meguro
Log-house style, European style, Japanese style, and other themes varying from room to room. The disco-interior of room 401 is recommended for karaoke lovers. 2 hours ¥6,000-¥10,000, overnight ¥8,000-¥15,000.
North-west of JR Meguro Station, near the Yamanote tracks. 3491-4810

4 Hotel J-Girl

UGUISUDANI
9 Hotel Sekishu
The relaxed atmosphere takes you to a remote onsen resort while being in the middle of Tokyo. Rock bath in all (Japanese style) rooms, with snack service for overnight guests. 3 hours ¥5,000-¥5,900, overnight ¥6,900-¥8,100.
In front of Uguisudani Station North Exit. 3874-8826

OTSUKA
10 Cinema In Cast
Guess what is the theme of this one. With posters of film scenes and portraits on the walls, and a wide selection of videos. Two-floor room 802 offers a selection of over 300 movies to watch on a 100inch screen. 2 hours ¥5,000-¥7,000, overnight ¥9,000-¥26,000.
In front of Otsuka Station North Exit. 3940-9911

10 Cinema In Cast

Issues #219

japan on ¥425 a day - see the country in style

From Tokyo Journal August 1999 (part 1 of a 2-part story)

by David Duckett

I'm back. I return to Japan for a mission, one which will not only allow me to see the entire country, but I will be paid for it. I have no backers, no grants, not even a stipend from this magazine. I am a one-man team with the dream scheme the Mobile English Teacher. Rather than be bound to a school with regulations and the minions that enforce them, I will be a full-fledged freelancer, teaching those lonely souls tooling along Japan's expressways.

The idea bloomed from prior experiences and observations between 1991 and 1993. Two days after arriving in Japan I hitchhiked to Kyoto to explore employment opportunities. I waited a total of ten minutes, was fed twice, bestowed two packs of cigarettes, and handed ¥2000 for cab fare at the highway exit. My final driver apologized profusely for not dropping me at the door of my ryokan. The money meant nothing to him.

Yen then seemed of no consequence to Japanese. Street sellers financed their Asian travels by hawking cheap prints and motorized pandas for exorbitant fees. For the September 1991 Tokyo Journal cover story I had discarded 10 wallets - each with ¥1000 and half were immediately sent back with cash intact. As an eigo no sensei I was persistently given presentos, meals, and nights on the town, all for the same reason Mallory climbed Everest. Because I was there.

Every prosperous business in Japan has four basic requirements: an office, a business card, advertising and a manga logo. I employ the skills of Bill, a former roommate and current media designer. We brainstorm at his home in Myokokogen, Niigata-ken in late May and create a state-of-the-art, bilingual, laminated sign. One side states, "Mobile English Teacher," and the other informs, "Your Car is My School." Advertising and office space are quite simple. The manga logo is carefully constructed as the proper maniacal caricature is key element for success here. My face hurts after a grueling modeling session.

The business card is a more complex matter. Actually, it's more of a payment card which explains my revolutionary career move. It informs prospective clients that I'm a professional English teacher from Tokyo and decided to go freelance, taking my talent to all prefectures. It delicately states that I'm not really going anywhere in particular and expect to be paid whatever the client thinks the lesson is worth. We also process 150 stickers of my manga logo, for students also deserve a physical reminder of their well-spent yen on an otherwise meaningless trip along the expressway.

Surely, all this preparation will result in huge financial rewards. If Japanese drivers are willing to feed me and pay for my taxi when I'm merely hitchhiking, imagine the reimbursement for providing a professional service. I depart the spa resort of Myokokogen with audacious confidence.

It takes three minutes to attract my first customers. Kenji and Tanaka are heading up Route 18 for a barbecue on the Sea of Japan. The 21-year-olds carefully read the payment card, chuckle, and invite me into their car/my office. I diligently scribe the mobile lesson's nuances on my mobile whiteboard (a memo pad with detachable pages) and they thoroughly enjoy the lesson.

The lesson ends at the Hokuriku Expressway interchange in Joetsu where I hand them the notes from the mobile whiteboard along with my personal manga sticker. Hoping for an ichi-man note, I am instead presented a can of coffee and two bulbous onigiri balls. I'm invited to the beach barbecue but decline the offer. This would be like calling in sick the first day at a new job and I need to procure a nest egg before going on sporadic jaunts with clients.

A man with severe physical deformities approaches me on foot in front of the expressway tollbooths. His forehead is the size of your average circus giant while his chin and jawbone would fit perfectly on a Girl Scout's skull."What are you doing?" he asks in manageable English. "I'm a Mobile English Teacher," I proclaim, flipping my sign around. We plow through the usual question-and-answer survey popularized by every English program in Asia. I correct Yamahashi's mistakes and amend his pronunciation.

Yamahashi is also working this Sunday. He supplies box lunches to tour buses and waits for them here. The bus he awaits is late so he places a call on his mobile phone. After a stream of cars pass I turn back towards Yamahashi and a ¥1000 note replaces the phone in his mangled right hand. My first payment! I'm not even in his car. Hell, the parking area is my school. Anything's my damn school as long as I talk to you.

My next two students, a salaryman and young unemployed man, drive me southwest along the Sea of Japan. I have never seen it and barely get a glimpse as the expressway is more tunnels than open road. Like my first customers, both men peruse the payment card but fail to grant me any yen. I wonder if I should hand my students an empty envelope with the payment card. I am, however, awarded a meal, two coffees and a pack of Caster.

I had set off in late afternoon, so I resolve to call it a day at a rest area near Toyama. I string up my Mexican hammock under an octagonal roof and use the wooden benches to store my provisions. Twilight fades to darkness as I fret over such an unproductive debut. I am, however, bolstered by Yamahashi's lesson. Plus, my belly is full, I'm ¥1000 richer, and my clothes aren't even that dirty. I extinguish a Caster, roll on to my side, and slumber off as drizzle splatters on the roof above me.

My view of the world is obscured by close-knit webbing on my face. I slowly realize I am in Japan, the sun is high, and I have overslept like a drugged koala. I presumed I would have woken at the crack of dawn and pocketed a cool ¥5000 by mid-day. But I find myself shaving at noon, cursing the checkerboard-patterned apparition in the restroom mirror.

While shaving, storm clouds gather, foreshadowing a horrific day. Soichi, a salaryman in a white sedan, receives an ace lesson on his way to Kanazawa. The hour is worth a ¥500 piece, coffee, and the remainder of his Seven Stars. Drizzle transforms to a downpour the moment I'm dropped off at the Tonami rest area.

After two hours the rain subsides so I take my spot at the highway entrance. Instantly, two highway maintenance men accost me and explain that I can't be on the highway. I tell them how well I know that, and I am indeed on the entrance ramp. Regardless, they call the local authorities and buy me a can of coffee. As we wait for the flatfoots, a Japanese hitchhiker emerges from the highway. "There's your man!" I say, pointing at the fugitive. Embarrassed by their obvious mistake, the maintenance men offer another coffee but I change the order to ice cream. It really hit the spot.

The Toyama police show up after an hour. They apologize for their tardiness and make amends by scoring me a can of coffee. I'll drink an entire Colombian mountain range before this trip is over. The cops and maintenance boys converse and it's obvious the Japanese hitchhiker was the one on the highway. I'm free to go but it's teeming again.

As I wait out the storm in the restaurant, a gregarious 65-year-old truck driver offers a lift to Kyoto. I accept Tanabe's offer without employing the payment card. My first full day of work is a wash, figuratively and literally. However, he could be my greatest payday of all time. Other than supplying me with coffee, cigarettes, and a meal, he promises half of his earnings from the lottery tickets he buys.

Rather than string up the hammock at midnight, I crash on the welcome mat in front of a second floor restaurant in a rest area north of Kyoto. It's warm, dry, and the cafe opens the following morning at 7:00 am. I'm assured an early rise.

The panorama of Lake Biwa from the Otsu rest area is somewhat ethereal at dawn. Puffy storm clouds separate allowing vivid rays to dance among the shores and surrounding hills. There is nothing manmade within my sights but there's an odor, a foul odor, a familiar funk. It's me.

I bathe in the rest area bathroom and from the waist up I'm immaculate. It's 5:30 am, the clouds have dispersed, and I resolve to get this gig underway correctly. A full day of fine weather ahead, I'll knock em' dead and collect my warranted fees.

My first three rides take me past Osaka, through Kobe, and over several bridges to Shikoku. My students, a bakery deliveryman, a surfer and a single woman named Yuki, have two things in common; they failed to dish out yen but feed me meals with the customary coffees. Bloated and now immune to caffeine, I fall asleep in Yuki's red compact. She wakes me at her destination of Naruto, the eastern point of Shikoku, and we're no longer on the expressway.

Stumbling around trying to discern just where I'm headed, a white Subaru strewn with stuffed animals pulls aside. The young woman behind the wheel looks great, seems excited by my presence, and I don't care where she's headed. By asking for her name (Saori) at the tollbooth I have officially taught English in Shikoku. We drive back to Honshu.

Again I crash-out during the lesson, the BIG taboo in English teaching. Saori wakes me delicately at a rest area west of Kobe and invites me to her home to listen to a Jewel album. I'm not sure why I declined (temporary insanity?) but my day's wages are merely cigarettes, six coffees, and enough food to satiate Akebono.

I'm rationalizing my poor start on bad weather, too much food, and a sudden propensity for sleeping when a white van pulls over. It's occupied by three house painters who are the least bit interested in English. I accept the ride merely to get out of an afternoon drizzle. I don't even bother with the payment card, as this troika is keen for post-work beers and to laugh at the strange Gaijin in their van. As I crawl out of the van the boys shock me by lifting their wallets. Each slips me ¥1000.

From agony to ecstasy, back to agony, I enter Taizi's four-door red sedan. The maroon-tinted windows match his hair. He glances at the payment card and immediately shucks the expressway to pick up two mates who resemble KISS groupies. Close to You by The Carpenters emits from a compilation tape and the trio knows all the words. The car has no shock absorbers and, like most Japanese drivers, Taizi uses a pungent air freshener and never opens the windows. A splitting headache ensues as we bounce around the southern rim of Honshu on Route 2. After two hours we miraculously discover an expressway entrance in Ako. Again, my rewards are cigarettes and coffee.

All I want now is a rest area, paycheck or not. Hiro, a well-groomed university student, rekindles my spirits with a lift to the opulent Okayama rest area and ¥1000 payment. I sling my hammock adjacent to a well-groomed rock garden and review my roller-coaster day.

I'm earning a pittance and I ponder whether I should be more demonstrative of my aims before accepting a ride. However, my largest bounty came from those who were never shown the payment card. I'm confused. I'm gaining weight, losing face and certainly not losing any sleep over my quandaries.

I curse myself for being let off at the Hiroshima interchange. During morning rush hour it's a swirling mess of congested ramps with very little room for a car to pull over safely. Yoshi, a dapper salesman in a black Honda, was a fine student, beginning my day with a lift to Hiroshima along with a ¥1000 payment. He, however, has a problem with listening comprehension, ignoring my requests to be dropped off at a rest area.

A 44-year-old housewife in a Mercedes rescues me. I don't flash the payment card as I truly need to leave this horrible spot. Kyoko is a wonderful English speaker who adores anything with an international flavor, including me.

Meeting me is her highlight of the decade, which of course means I can't refuse to spend the entire day with her on nearby Miyajima Island, where she spends ¥20,000 as my five-star tour guide. The bonus of the day is all natural juices I order with meals. I avoid coffee.

Kyoko is in tears as we depart at the Miyajima rest area at 5:00 pm. She utterly dropped whatever else she was planning to do today. Moved by her blind kindness, I'm numb standing at the entrance ramp at dusk. Those who never eyed the payment card have been the most generous. I conclude never to employ it again, and rather than shoot for the mother lode, I'll enjoy myself.

A semi-truck is the first vehicle to approach and the squeaky sound of its air brakes signals the quickest of rides. Shigeru is pulling an all-nighter to Kagoshima and offers his in-cab bed to me. I sleep for ninety percent of the 700 kilometer journey. The other ten percent Shigeru lavishly apologizes for not speaking English.

I'm jostled at dawn in southern Kyushu. Shigeru is offering breakfast in bed a smidgen north of Kagoshima. It's obvious we had parked hours ago by the makeshift bed across the front seats. While departing at the Kagoshima Ferry Terminal, Shigeru hands me four hand-painted postcards, landscape watercolors he had carefully brushed. My guilt is as thick as the grime covering my flesh.

Seems I'm not the only cretin bathing in public restrooms across Japan. The ferry terminal's bathroom is very competitive around the hot water taps and it's no surprise the homeless call this ostentatious depot home. I had never noticed street people in Japan during the early 90's. Perhaps the wilted economy is the demise of my fortune.

I can't hitch the ferry to Sakurajima so I fork out ¥120 for my first transportation fee. Sakurajima is a stunning live volcano where I spend the morning checking out the sites. In the lava fields a New Zealand tourist asks me where I'm staying. "I think I'll stay at Cape Sata tonight," I tell him vaguely. "I didn't know there was a hotel down there. Did you make a reservation?" "I have no idea if there's a hotel," I explain. "I'll find some shelter and sleep in my hammock." The Kiwi actually backed up as I spoke. I'm sure he thought I was a criminal on the run.

I hitch the coast road down to the Cape Sata, the southernmost point in mainland Japan. The mountainous and densely-wooded landscape is stunning. Sata town is so quiet I can hear my cigarette burn. I walk into a store to purchase some dry goods for a possible camping foray but there is no clerk. I say, then eventually scream, "Sumimasen!" No one appears. I could have cleaned-out the joint, but then the Kiwi would have been right.

After four short rides I arrive at Cape Sata with a liter of water, three bags of mixed peanuts, and several packs of cigarettes, none of which I purchased. Although my original motive of amassing wads of yen is failing, reaching an extremity exudes a certain euphoria. I revel in it.

After an hour of misty solitude, rain convinces me to begin my return voyage. The thin roads and small towns of the area produce several bizarre rides as I make my way to Miyazaki on the east coast. The Kitamura family - dad, mom, and one year-old - provide the most surreal trip. We immediately get lost. An hour of winding roads, air freshener and extreme guilt have me nauseous. Suddenly, a mammoth lighthouse appears and we have reached Cape Toi! It's pretty much in the opposite direction of Miyazaki. Mr. Kitamura is the world's friendliest person with the worst sense of direction.

I take control of the navigational duties and steer us to the closest crossroad that leads them home. I apologize to mom but she appears confused, as if they do this all the time and it's a barrel of monkeys. The baby never cries and apparently relishes the trip. Dad tops it off by leaving me with a bag stocked with pastries, a canned coffee, and two packs of Mild Seven.

I set up my hammock on a small peninsular in Nango, a picturesque fishing village in Kaigan Coastal National Park south of Miyazaki. The moon almost full, I break into the chocolate chip breadsticks for a nightcap. Another day, not another dollar. Striking infant islands protruding from the sea are the first effects to bless my eyes this morning. Pity the sleeping sento manager who has me as his first sight at 5:00 am. Completely clean and refreshed I reach the Miyazaki Expressway by 7:00 am.

About 80 percent of all cars in Kyushu are white. At one rest area, 33 of 34 cars were bleached. No one seems to know why but they contrast the greenery brilliantly. Aesthetically, Kyushu is my favorite area in Japan. To describe its beauty is simple. It's exactly not like Tokyo.

Four white automobiles keep me dry while their owners feed me through Kyushu. I receive no cash today but Jun, an off-duty cop, hands me an expensive fishing lure for his lesson. The fifth white car delivers me from Fukuoka to Hiroshima. It's driven by Jen, a 46-year-old district supervisor for some enigmatic semiconductor company.

"Where are you staying?" Jen asks as we entered Hiroshima. "With a friend who teaches English here," I lie. I don't know anyone here. I truly want to sleep in Peace Park, my hammock knotted on zero-ground. But one white lie just leads to others. "Okay, where does he live. I can take you there." "I think he's working until nine. He lives near Peace Park. You can drop me off there. You've already gone to enough trouble." "Perhaps we can eat first and you can call him on my mobile phone." "Okay," I utter, forced to continue the charade. We swill beers and premium saki at his favorite ramen shop. He makes me eat cow's tail, cow's tongue, and other nasty things. I'm slightly drunk at the bewitching hour of nine. "You should call your friend now. What's his name?" "Daniel," I say instinctively. Daniel is a former roommate who lives in Tokyo now and carries a mobile phone. I call him. "Daniel! David here. I'm in Hiroshima a little early. Are you finished work yet?" "What are you up to man!?" Daniel says with a conspiratorial tone. Jen can only hear my side of the conversation. "You're where . . . Shikoku? You're not here! I thought you had to work on Fridays." I say with a feigned look of shock. "I don't know what you're doing but I'm with an Irish chick here. Wanna talk to her?" "Oh, really. So you're not coming back here tonight?" It didn't matter what Daniel or the Irish chick had to say. I talked myself homeless in front of Jen. Jen listens intently and figures that Daniel was in Shikoku and his Hiroshima apartment was locked. "Where will you sleep?" Jen asks after I hang up. "Anywhere! Perhaps Peace Park." Jen and the noodle shop owner just laugh in my face, pour me more beer, and tease me about the dangers of bike gangs. Eventually, Jen invites me to his home.

Wealthy and lonely, I immediately feel like his rent-a-buddy. I rise the next day at noon with a nasty hangover and am immediately introduced to Mark, a virtual clone of Jen. For breakfast, it's more unknown disgusting food and beer, which is just a primer for a day of agony, visiting every site in Hiroshima except the one I wanted to see Peace Park and its museum. Jen doesn't like the concept.

"We should forget about the atom bomb. Peace Park is bad."

After 24 hours with Jen I manage to escape, my price is being dropped off at the dreaded Hiroshima interchange under a full moon. I pray for a drunken supermodel with a gold card. I'll take an obachan with an eye patch, anything but another middle-aged man in a white sedan. After 90 minutes I'll take a serial killer.

Finally, a lawyer in a white sedan stops. He's going to Osaka but I depart at the rest area in Okayama. I need sleep. Jen and the Hiroshima interchange have sapped all my energy.

I wake up chilled as my hammock is soaked with dew at 3:00 am. As confused as I am about my mission, two short-term goals become clear; shave and get my ragged ass to Daniel's apartment in Tokyo.

Towards sunset in Nagoya, a short man with a dog approaches me on foot. His bastard seems to enjoy sniffing my backpack.

"You are an English teacher?" the short, fat man blurts.

"Yes." I keep my answer simple.

"What are you doing?" the short, fat, nosey man asks with an accusing tone. The dog snarls when I try to pet him.

"I'm teaching all over Japan. Will your dog bite me?"

"Maybe. You can't hitchhike in Japan. No one will pick you up. Where are you from? What will you do if no one gives you a ride? Where do you sleep?"

"Could you get your dog away from my bag?" I politely ask the short, fat, nosey-ass bastard. "I think he's going to piss on it."

"No," he replies and reiterates his previous questions. I simply want to tell him to fuck off but he's got a beast with an attitude. I respond politely but he persists.

"No one will pick you up. You can't hitchhike in Japan. Where will you sleep tonight? The police will arrest you." The dog urinates about 10 centimeters from my bag.

"Actually, the police have bought me coffee and ice cream. It's perfectly legal."

"But no one will pick you up."

"Not with you and your dog here." I finally snap. "Look, someone will pick me up. I was in Okayama this morning. It was nice meeting you." I could hear both of them growl as they returned to his car. He shook his finger "no" as he drove past me.

My final ride is courtesy of a yakuza thug whose mumbling prevents me from getting his name. I ask if he has any children. I can't understand so he flashes two and a quarter fingers. He obviously had made some boo-boos on the job but still manages to support three children. Drunk, his driving is atrocious in the usual Sunday evening traffic on the Chuo expressway. We almost crash twice and he mouths-off to several motorists during stoppages. Kawasaki train station never looked so inviting.

I rail to Daniel's apartment, I count my funds and discover I have cleared ¥96 after eight days' work. I wonder how long it will last on my way to Cape Soya, Japan's northernmost point.

Will David reach Cape Soya to be return with a bag of beans? Will David return a rich man? Find out about it in the September TJ.

Issue #221

can of worms - how silk makes the man

From Tokyo Journal October 1999

by Bella Katz photography by Christopher Kaltenbach

On a rainy July afternoon we are gathered on a small hillside. About ten of us huddled under too few umbrellas, as Robert Whitehead, master craftsman in the making, hands us each a pair of secateurs and points us in the direction of the fast disappearing patch of mulberry bushes.

Back at his Japanese-style home, high in the mountains of the quiet art community of Fujino, 13,000 hungry silkworms are waking from their cycle of three days nonstop feeding (they will eat up to 60 kg of mulberry leaf per day). In one month they have grown from pinhead size to as much as 9 cm. The last day of the cycle is fast approaching - a cycle timed so well that at approximately 4pm of that final day, the fully grown worms will simultaneously turn clear, become long and thin, and start spitting out silk. Then for five days they will spin a cocoon, and turn into moths after ten. These valuable cocoons are the reason that a handful of community volunteers, ages 6 to 74, are gathered on the hillside, helping the foreigner who wants to preserve an ancient Japanese tradition on the verge of extinction.

In November of Showa 25 (1950), 5 million households throughout Japan were making their living from silk production. Of that number, only 5,000 now remain (almost all in Gunma and Nagano prefectures), and the silk culture is in fast decline. Only five years ago, Fujino was still a silk-raising town, but as demand and prices plummeted (within 10 years the price of silk has dropped from ¥6,665/kg to ¥714/kg) it became increasingly difficult to make a livelihood from this time consuming and painstaking process. Not surprisingly, this once culture-defining tradition has become strictly a labor of love. "No one wants to do it anymore," Whitehead says as we towel dry the leaves and throw them into the silkworm trays. "It's messy, it's disgusting. When the worms are spinning they pee everywhere, or they turn black and die in the heat. Then to initially raise them it's this exacting process of refrigerating them, and keeping them in prime condition so as to synchronize their cycles." It's a constant race against time as the numbers of elders, who were such an important part of the silk culture, diminish and the old silk traditions are lost. In Fujino, old houses are being burned down to make room for new ones. The old silk equipment is being thrown out - valuable looms and silk-weaving tools which Whitehead now collects.

"I developed this reputation here; every old person was talking about the gaijin who was carrying mulberry bushes around. Then by knocking on doors and asking the people if they had any equipment, I got to know the old people of Fujino. I loved talking to them and hearing their stories."

Born just outside Vancouver, Whitehead arrived in Japan over 10 years ago. Having first traveled around India for six months, and finding himself unable to adjust back to life in Canada, he moved to Japan to study Japanese painting. It was only when he started to sell his work that he gained confidence in the idea of making a "partial living" from his art. (He credits Yanagi Soetsu's "The Unknown Craftsman" with inspiring him to live the life of a shokunin, or master craftsman.) For over nine years he has called Fujino, two stops from Takao on the Chuo Line, home. "Fujino has always had this great community atmosphere that you can't find in a city like Tokyo," says Whitehead. "There are always festivals - whether art or music - everyone is producing something. I just wanted to do something for Fujino. I want to live my life as more than just a consumer."

Issue #209: October 1998



	Finance Daneeta Saft reveals the juice on risk
	Buzz Blow your hand, climb the highest mountains and enjoy safe sex
	Recommendations Know where to go and what to see this month Technology Tony L. kills the Tamagotchi for good Living in Style Regional New Around Asia Education Special Cutting class and still getting a hat


A Lesson in History Free Gifts People Chris Fox meets the Man in Motion, then puts him into za picture Organic Advice Always eat with caution Travel 1) Za Bummer of za Summer: Japan's Tyrol 2) Taming Za Beast: Arriving in Bangkok without getting arrested Style Timewarp with za Who's Who in town Pleasure Bound Find OUT what za Domina has in store for U Area Spotlight Shinjuku The biggest draw in town. Follow TJ on a tour



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