The Invisible Woman.
Along with your visa, something you are provided with as a foreign female arriving at Narita airport is a cloak of invisibility (I did ask if I could swap for a bullet proof one but they were out). It is regulation to wear this cloak at all times in order to guard oneself against the possibility of foreign intervention. After years of ''Hi wha's your name where you from whasa matter why you don' wanna talk to me?'' anonimity is a breath of fresh air (I'm told it remains so for about six months after which you start to wonder if what your mother told you about not making faces in a changing wind was true).
Obviously, as with anything gender related, double standards exist. A mutation occurs on the journey over, the plane acting as chrysalis to it`s male cargo so that on arrival former mutants with questionable ethics emerge to find themselves Charles Atlas in a land where living with your mum in Rotherham at the age of 32 does not prejudice your changes of coping off. Blinking in the new dawn of their existence they proceed to exercise their newfound appeal in the time honoured manner of all rock stars. By turning into arseholes. Haven't worked out what the attraction is yet. Perhaps the Japanese girls think those nice G.Is have come back with that Green Card. The boys are back in town ladies and they have some candy for you.
On our first foray into the wilds of Shibuya (which engendered some interesting 'pub or knocking shop' dilemas) we met an some elderly Japanese businessmen who were courteous to a fault and not at all overbearing in the way that many can be to unaccompanied females. The only slightly suspect inquiry was 'are you Russian'. This being slang it seems for 'are you a prostitute'. Those Russian girls, they'll do owt for a couple of potatoes and some vodka.
Tokyo is a very safe place to be both in general and as a lady. Leave your wallet on the cafe table and you will most likely return to find it still there with contents intact. The streets are safe to walk at night. In fact there is only one type of theft prevalent enough for our captors, sorry employers to warn us about. It seems unnattended laundry of the female persuation walks the `G` (yes I mean you Gareth) string of risk. Well, those vending machines have got to be refilled from somewhere.
Until next time. Get your mits off my pants Mr Kobiashi.
Along with your visa, something you are provided with as a foreign female arriving at Narita airport is a cloak of invisibility (I did ask if I could swap for a bullet proof one but they were out). It is regulation to wear this cloak at all times in order to guard oneself against the possibility of foreign intervention. After years of ''Hi wha's your name where you from whasa matter why you don' wanna talk to me?'' anonimity is a breath of fresh air (I'm told it remains so for about six months after which you start to wonder if what your mother told you about not making faces in a changing wind was true).
Obviously, as with anything gender related, double standards exist. A mutation occurs on the journey over, the plane acting as chrysalis to it`s male cargo so that on arrival former mutants with questionable ethics emerge to find themselves Charles Atlas in a land where living with your mum in Rotherham at the age of 32 does not prejudice your changes of coping off. Blinking in the new dawn of their existence they proceed to exercise their newfound appeal in the time honoured manner of all rock stars. By turning into arseholes. Haven't worked out what the attraction is yet. Perhaps the Japanese girls think those nice G.Is have come back with that Green Card. The boys are back in town ladies and they have some candy for you.
On our first foray into the wilds of Shibuya (which engendered some interesting 'pub or knocking shop' dilemas) we met an some elderly Japanese businessmen who were courteous to a fault and not at all overbearing in the way that many can be to unaccompanied females. The only slightly suspect inquiry was 'are you Russian'. This being slang it seems for 'are you a prostitute'. Those Russian girls, they'll do owt for a couple of potatoes and some vodka.
Tokyo is a very safe place to be both in general and as a lady. Leave your wallet on the cafe table and you will most likely return to find it still there with contents intact. The streets are safe to walk at night. In fact there is only one type of theft prevalent enough for our captors, sorry employers to warn us about. It seems unnattended laundry of the female persuation walks the `G` (yes I mean you Gareth) string of risk. Well, those vending machines have got to be refilled from somewhere.
Until next time. Get your mits off my pants Mr Kobiashi.
posted by Kate at 1:30 AM
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