Kiyamachi fightooo
On Saturday Rhod and I escaped the claustrophobic, smoky darkness of ING and stumbled out on to Kiyamachi. A picturesque stream bubbles beneath the drooping branches of cherry trees, the old site of timber yards that hugged the Kamo. They would float their trade from the mountains to the chopping shops. Nowadays seedy bars and strip clubs line the stream, the roads either side bustling with crowds dining, drinking, or looking for something a little more racy. I call it Whore Alley and the less than lovely ladies hover about the road, approaching clients and chatting up the hundreds of bouncers and pimps that line the doorways to the neon-bathed buildings. Not a nice place, but frustratingly containing some of the best restaurants and bars in Kyoto. There is no real sense of menace, more of an overly tired bustle that lasts most of the night. I have never seen a fight or been close to one, although on the weekend we missed the tail end of one.A group of men were being carefully corralled down a side alley. Like a car crash, spectators had gathered on the sidelines to watch. There is something horrifyingly magnetic about spilled blood or the possibility of some. A man had started a brawl and disappeared in the time it took the police to arrive. Rather than breaking things up, they pushed the men down a side street, while they continued to pull and push at one another.
