Vanishing arts of old Kyoto November 29 2002 The Age Geisha hold their ground elsewhere, but for how long? Christopher Richards reports. A collection of sandals neatly placed at one side of a wide doorway in Kyoto is the clue that geisha school is in. This is where the "maiko", or girl trainee, learns the traditional arts of the geisha, with support from the city authorities. The subtle allure of the geisha still intrigues Japanese businessmen, despite the inroads of foreign hostesses. Kyoto knows they are a good draw for domestic visitors, although westerners will not generally find, or be welcome at, the venues supporting the dwindling numbers of geisha. The women will next be seen today in the backstreets between 6pm and 7pm, when they set off to work at exclusive tea-houses and restaurants. But tourists can count themselves fortunate if they even catch a glimpse of passing kimono. Behind us is a parking lot once occupied by a tea-house, the geisha's traditional workplace. Over the road is a cleared space where yet another tea-house stood. The land is up for redevelopment. "Maybe in 10 years they will be gone," says a guide. It's not the only thing vanishing in the former Japanese imperial capital. A small cedar boarded building is the birthplace of one of the most pervasive modern childhood entertainments. The two-storey structure, now empty, was used by Fusajiro Yamauchi when he founded a playing-card company in 1889. His success with a special set of cards for a game called hanafunda - popular with Japanese children at New Year - forced employees to move to a new building next door in 1933. That's where the Nintendo Playing Card Company name is still displayed on a small plaque, on a building that has also been left behind by success and is now empty. When Mr Yamauchi retired in 1929, the company was the largest playing card firm in Japan, and no longer using the mulberry bark with which he had lovingly fashioned his first cards. Under his son-in-law and grandson, it moved into electronics, first in amusement arcades, and then in 1981 developed the video game, Donkey Kong. The rest, as Hajime Hirooka will tell you - with Mario, Super Mario, Game Boy and so on added to the range - is history. In fact, what you can learn from Hajime over four hours is living history, in a city that displays tradition on every street. (Kyoto and its palaces, backstreet businesses and 2000 temples or shrines escaped World War II devastation; many Japanese believe it was because the US Secretary of State at the time had visited as a young man and thought the city should be preserved). We are on one of the walking tours that Hajime, or Johnnie Hillwalker, runs in Kyoto. Good news for me: it is in English, which is his appeal in the tourism market. He prefers groups of 10 or 20, but once, four years ago, found himself facing 80 people - too many for comfort. Such small-group, neighbourhood theme tours are not common in Japan, and Johnnie - who took on the second name to advertise himself to English speakers - offers a chronicle of Kyoto's past, present and possible future. My group of 18 or so (seven were Australians) is so interested that we make him go an hour overtime, after setting off at 10.15am from a meeting place by Kyoto station. Born in Osaka in 1930, the small, dapper man with longish grey hair and a wry manner started working life running a small private lending library, studied English at university and by correspondence, and moved into the licensed tour guide business at the time of the 1964 Tokyo Olympics. Today, after collecting his fee (2000 yen or $28 for adults, 1000 yen for children, but it's value for money), he leads us off at a smart pace to the large Higashi-Honganji temple nearby, home of a number of national cultural treasures. "We Japanese are in our life Shintoists and we become Buddhists with our death. We call on Shintoism for help with money, business, improving our brain, our health. With Buddhism, Japanese call for the priest when they die - he will open the way to paradise." A practical lot, then. As he talks beside a huge hall of the temple, a procession of 40 people in best dress escorts the ashes of dead relatives inside for blessing. We move on to the pleasant Shosei-en garden, owned by the temple. It was established in 1643 then restored in the 1800s. Back into the twisting, narrow streets and a look at a paper-making shop, creating materials for fans and lanterns. But the old crafts are now mainly carried on by old people; the young have moved on. How long will Kyoto be able to preserve its traditions against modern lures? "The young people are living out of town in new areas and when an old person dies, young people don't take over." A pause by a schoolyard. School starts in April. "This April, this school welcomed only 25 new students from a wide area. There are no children because there are no young couples around." At a little sweets shop, a woman hands out generous quantities of confectionery, although green tea boiled lollies are not everyone's cup of Earl Grey. There is no pressure to buy. In fact, at a paper fan factory and shop, Hajime says that although we are free to have a quick tour, there will be no time to buy. Many of the workshops we see are in private homes along Kyoto's back alleys - Buddhist prayer beads, tofu, paper lanterns, rope decorations, pottery, green tea containers. At this last place, a genial young man - reversing the worrying local trend, he is the sixth generation in the craft - pops out to show us the fine copperwork. Geisha school is at Gojo rakuen, just near my inn. Hajime says that "Kyoto likes to keep geisha" and the city supports and preserves five geisha areas - not least "because most of the famous people's wives were ex-geisha," the guide reckons. Learning the visual and performing arts of the geisha repertoire attracts "ambitious girls who think that in this way they will meet important people, have dinner with important people, and maybe a chance to marry someone wealthy". At a pastry shop, Hajime pays for a vegetarian sushi for all; it's lunch on the run for us today. We head accross the Kamo River, which has served as a valuable fire break for the wooden dwellings on either side in time of conflagration. At last a seat and some exquisite confectionery in a shop, with a cup of green tea, all part of the tour price. A few streets further and painters decorate high-quality cups and bowls in deft strokes at a pottery. The last shrine we see, Toyokuni, on the eastern bank up past the Gion nightlife area, was last re-roofed in cypress bark by a team of roofers aged from 70 to 80. "So maybe one day we can't have that sort of roof" unless young workers emerge. Its 400-year-old gate is a national treasure; the temple that went with it disappeared in flames, despite the river. You can imagine ninja wariors in some of these streets, although the guide warns against movie depictions. While films tend to show the era of the shogun as one of violence, Hajime notes that it brought years of peace. Of later fighting, he shows where each house in Kyoto carries small metal plaques in the dark eaves just above their front door indicating which company provides which utility - electricity or TV signal, for instance. Some carry another small, vertical sign: it informs that a family member fell in the last war. Johnnie Hillwalker's tour takes in the not-so-ancient, too.