I am waiting with a group of Japanese senior citizens to enter into the theater where I will view the geiko cherry blossom dance performance entitled “Miyako Odori”.  Westerners call them geisha, but they prefer to call themselves geiko. The theater is decorated with large purple and white banners and then red and white fabric adorns the inside lobby.  The crowd’s hum grows louder and louder with anticipation as the time grows nearer to the beginning of the performance.  I am predicting this to be part concert and part circus.

Most geiko live and work in a section of Kyoto called Gion.  The cobblestone streets are lined with small craft shops, red lanterns and fake cherry blossoms that arch over and sway in the breeze.

Just then a man sitting across from me spits on the lobby rug.  This act does little to prepare me for the beautiful performance that I am about to witness.  I know this man is not Japanese because it is not customary to (and I have never seen a Japanese person) spit in public.  Later I see the tag on his bag and it reads Beijing.

Today in a coffee shop Sarah spotted the first geiko walking quickly, by the café window.  Not knowing that Tuesdays are days of performances, we luck out!  By happenstance we collect photo after photo of the beautifully costumed geiko ladies.  Their kimonos are gorgeous, some of them retailing for as much as $80,000.  Most of the geikos seem tired.  Maybe they were out too late last night, or maybe it just never gets easier to walk in those wooden platform flip flops.