Moments later I was shivering in a thin slip. Two trainee geisha – maiko – greeted me and, with little ceremony, peeled off my clothes.

An old woman bowed, wished me “Meri Kurisumasu” and waved me upstairs. I walked through the maze of Gion’s narrow streets, clutching an address a friend had given me, and arrived at a simple wooden building. I strolled reverently through the dry rock garden at Ryōan-ji, one of the finest examples of Zen landscaping, and then lost myself in Gion, the city’s historic geisha district. There, I stared in wonder at the Kinkaku-ji golden temple, its reflection shimmering gloriously on the frozen pond beside it. I decided to try something completely different.

I had spent hours enjoying the outlandish Japanese youth culture and fashion in Harajuku district, nibbled on potentially fatally poisonous fugu (pufferfish) and had sung, badly, in a stylish karaoke bar.īecause I was travelling alone, staying in Tokyo for a romantic Christmas wasn’t all that appealing.