Granny Geishas Give Great Advice

The evening started a bit slow, over a silent-but-delicious meal of grilled lamb. I was out with two of the employees at the hostel, Mark and Kohei, and we were planning on drinks and mischief to whatever degree those were available in sleepy seaside Atami on a Wednesday night. We didn’t have much luck with the mischief, but I ended up receiving the best advice of my life from an 80 year old former geisha.

Atami is chockablock full of little restaurants and bars. Every alley and street corner hosts an eatery, usually with no more than a dozen seats each. During my weeks here, as I’ve drifted around town at various times of day, I’ve been amazed at the volume of eating and drinking establishments in this quiet little burg.

Because don’t get me wrong, Atami is the definition of a sleepy seaside town. Even though it’s a tourist destination and this is the high season (all the hotels are full), nobody seems to go outside… Well, the beach is full every day, but I rarely see anyone exploring the streets after maybe six pm.

So, we were looking for mischief in the eerily empty bar district.

“Things are mostly closed on Wednesdays,” Mark decided to inform me.

“Why?” I managed to ask while keeping a straight face.

“The fishermen don’t sell today, so the fish restaurants close, so nobody comes downtown, so everybody else decided to close too.”

“Huh.”

We walked past more rolled-down storefronts and a lot of “Close”, not “Closed”, signs, which was really more accurate anyway. Close, but not this time buddy. My guide’s first three picks were all shuttered, and I could begin to see the frustration creeping through his stoic mien. Part of the problem is that most Japanese restaurants don’t have windows in front, just a little sliding door. I find it hard to tell if places are even open, let alone whether or not they’re ripe for shenanigans.

“I hear voices in this one.”

We leaned in, tentatively. A hoarse laugh came through, barely audible.

Kohei slid the door open and excited voices greeted him. There was a quick exchange of rapid-fire Japanese, and he slid the door open further. I could tell from his body language that he was a little reluctant, but he was also far too polite to decline an enthusiastic welcome from inside.

He turned and looked at us, shrugged, then walked into the joint. I looked at Mark and shrugged as well.

“Guess this is it!”

Mark entered next and I followed last, ducking under the low door frame. An ancient woman with precisely four cigarette-stained teeth was excitedly welcoming the other guys, shaking hands and patting shoulders amiably. When I walked in, she looked up and a huge grin spread across her wizened face. More excited Japanese burst out of her and she pushed between the guys to wrap her arms around my hips in a hug. She couldn’t have been more than 4′ 8”

I laughed and hugged her delicate shoulders, and she looked up again, grinning ridiculously.

Waving her hands and exclaiming a “Sit! Sit!” that needed no translation, the woman directed us to one of the only two tables in the tiny shop. We side-stepped our way through the available space and took off our shoes at a low ledge. The only other patron was an equally ancient woman in a full white chef’s kit, drinking a pint of beer that was the size of her head and chain smoking thin cigarettes. She smiled at us politely, then went back to her beer.

Kohei and Mark arranged drinks, sochu & water for them and a pint bottle of Sapporo for me. The woman (she told us to call her ‘Aa-chan’, familiar and cute) entirely disregarded our no-food instructions, bringing over a big plate of what Kohei described as local food.

“Like we eat at home,” he said. “Restaurants usually don’t make this. Delicious and nostalgic!”

I had a lump of red meat in my belly and wasn’t particularly hungry, but I tried everything.  I liked some of it and could have passed on others, but I had to take that chance to try the local, non-commercial cuisine.

When the silver-haired chef left, Aa-chan came to sit with us, bringing a big whisky highball along for herself. She chatted with the guys in Japanese, only a portion of which could be translated before she moved onto her next story. She clearly got a kick out of teasing Mark, who, as mentioned, is somewhat stoic and quiet – I’m pretty sure she made him blush at least once as she told us about her adventures.

Aa-chan had been a nurse for a few years during her marriage, but when it ended at 26 (“Don’t marry a pretty face, marry a good heart.” – good advice, but not the best of the evening) she became a geisha. She pointed around the restaurant at various old paraphernalia – posters for Kabuki theater shows, a mask, her shamisen, and a faded photograph of Aa-chan in her kimono from when she was 30.

Kohei finished most of the food, excitedly telling me about various pieces as we moved around the platter. Aa-chan brought over more drinks when we emptied our glasses, not bothering to ask if we wanted more. She would occasionally pose a question in Japanese that the guys would translate – How tall are you? (“191? Holy shit, you’re huge!” – no translation necessary); So sorry, again where are you from? Have you been married? Why not?! She moved over to my side of the table and hooked her arm through mine, happily resting her head on my shoulder. I think she was even more of a flirt than I am.

After three beers, a bottle of soju, and every last ounce of food she had prepared that day, we finally asked for the bill. The tally omitted most of our fare. She asked if we were driving. We said no. Then she burst out in an exchange that clearly embarrassed Mark and made Kohei roar with laughter. I chuckled at her comfortable sass.

“What did she say?”

“She says, roughly, when you drink, you shouldn’t get in a car, you should get in a woman.”

The charming old geisha beamed a huge smile at me and patted my hand before shooing us out into the night.