*WARNING: this post may not be appropriate for younger readers.
back on January 11th, i decided that i should treat myself to lunch at one of my favorite places, Yoshinoya. in the states they are called Yoshinoya Beef Bowl or something, and that's just what they serve, a bunch of beef on a bowl of rice. thing is, it's a lot better in Japan, despite being cheap and kind of common. in any case, i had to ride there pretty hard to make the most of my lunchbreak, and i chose to ride through the neighborhoods to avoid the many traffic lights on the way. i'm not really familiar with those areas, and the streets are like rabbit warrens, but i knew the general direction and knew i'd get there.
but on the way i passed a drab fifties-ish woman sitting on a low wall at the confluence of several tiny streets, who called out "irrasshai..." to me, which means welcome. i only slowed a little, thinking she was talking to somebody else, but i soon noticed i was the only other person around. she began jabbering in fast Japanese as soon as i paused, but i told her i didn't understand a word she was saying--"wakarimasen"--and i turned to leave. then the wily old devil tried a new tack, repeating one word in "English" over and over again until i understood: "sekusu, sekusu."
one of the many soaplands in our area, which look decidedly less Vegas-like during the day than they do at night.
the Yakuza, or Japanese Mafia, are said to control much of our local area, and one of their alleged cover businesses is the "soapland", or Turkish bath. of course, bathing is only half the story, and on this day i came face to face with the existence of the other half. there are plenty of soaplands in our area, but i had never been propositioned for one before, nor thankfully have been ever since. it was a little confusing to me, as i hightailed it out of there, that they would have a chain smoking old hag out drumming up business for a clip joint; you'd think they'd want to keep her hidden until the very last minute, and send one of the inside girls out. having only a couple of minutes more before i was tucking into my tasty yakiniku don beef bowl, i didn't have much time to ponder my disturbing experience. there must be a reason why it's done this way, but i am content to stay confused and let you, mature reader, figure it out for yourself.
back on January 11th, i decided that i should treat myself to lunch at one of my favorite places, Yoshinoya. in the states they are called Yoshinoya Beef Bowl or something, and that's just what they serve, a bunch of beef on a bowl of rice. thing is, it's a lot better in Japan, despite being cheap and kind of common. in any case, i had to ride there pretty hard to make the most of my lunchbreak, and i chose to ride through the neighborhoods to avoid the many traffic lights on the way. i'm not really familiar with those areas, and the streets are like rabbit warrens, but i knew the general direction and knew i'd get there.
but on the way i passed a drab fifties-ish woman sitting on a low wall at the confluence of several tiny streets, who called out "irrasshai..." to me, which means welcome. i only slowed a little, thinking she was talking to somebody else, but i soon noticed i was the only other person around. she began jabbering in fast Japanese as soon as i paused, but i told her i didn't understand a word she was saying--"wakarimasen"--and i turned to leave. then the wily old devil tried a new tack, repeating one word in "English" over and over again until i understood: "sekusu, sekusu."
one of the many soaplands in our area, which look decidedly less Vegas-like during the day than they do at night.
the Yakuza, or Japanese Mafia, are said to control much of our local area, and one of their alleged cover businesses is the "soapland", or Turkish bath. of course, bathing is only half the story, and on this day i came face to face with the existence of the other half. there are plenty of soaplands in our area, but i had never been propositioned for one before, nor thankfully have been ever since. it was a little confusing to me, as i hightailed it out of there, that they would have a chain smoking old hag out drumming up business for a clip joint; you'd think they'd want to keep her hidden until the very last minute, and send one of the inside girls out. having only a couple of minutes more before i was tucking into my tasty yakiniku don beef bowl, i didn't have much time to ponder my disturbing experience. there must be a reason why it's done this way, but i am content to stay confused and let you, mature reader, figure it out for yourself.
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