Roland, Alfie and the lovely boys from the flying squad

What does one do when one crashlands in a major Japanese city at peak holiday time, with a major music festival playing all weekend, and an unreserved hotel room as likely to be found as a piece of hay in a massive stackful of needles? Dash it all, one turns up at a love hotel, completely unannounced, of course!

And so it was that Sir S and I farewelled the metallic brethren and those cheerful chaps in publishing, and made our way to the neon heart of Namba and its plentiful love hotels. As mentioned previously, it is fun to contemplate the names bestowed upon many an erotic inn.* In Ol' Hirosh, there's the grocer's names of parsley and bananas, the astronomist's constellation of Hotel Stardust, Hotel Cosmos & c. In Osaka, it turned rather blokey. There was Hotel Roland (!), Hotel Alfie (!!) and Hotel Mickey Cookies (???), the latter evoking images of Disney nasties and, strangely, a distinct aftertaste of chocolate chip. We feared that other tourists had the same idea and that there would be no cookies for us at the inn, in which case we'd revert to Plan B - Media Cafe Popeye (internet, tatami cubicles, massage chairs, showers, all for 400-800 yen an hour).

But thankfully Hotel Roland had a room to spare! One must check for a room on the illuminated menu tucked away inside the foyer. Here many photos of the rooms, with prices, are displayed. If the piccie is lit up, it's available. One can either go through a complicated process of guessing kanji and pressing the right button for that room, or negotiate through the grill of the reception booth. This Sir S did, and conversed with the matronly lady who was secreted in the glass-covered-in-psychedelic-contact booth (amusingly, he had to bend down quite a bit to do this). As the negotiations were in progress, I gazed about the room and observed:

• gaudy ornaments, such as a chandelier hanging from a cleavage in the red velvet ceiling, and winking, clashing colours of fairylights hung about everywhere;
• a glass cabinet of curiosities, displaying infantile precious things such as Winnie the Pooh tea-sets, a child's ball, teddy bears, a Mickey Mouse doll and an inflatable swimming ring;
• a discreet waiting alcove - two tiny sofas set behind a screen where one could sit "without being seen" whilst one awaited an available room.

After paying 5900 yen (about $60 in the old currency), Sir S and I made ourselves comfortable in Hotel Roland's rooms of love. Rather spacious, it had a massive queen-sized bed that stood higher than my waist, probably equipped with peas in the lower levels. The bed was very, very pink. One wall was decorated with a facade of traditional screens, the other was all double-glazed windows and heavy curtains, for utmost discretion. An illuminated, pink glass cabinet, with many drawers, contained various naughties, such as French letters and ticklers for sale. There was also a menu of costumes available to rent: schoolgirls, nurses, playboy bunnies, librarians & c. In brief, it was tack-o-rama central, but with a very comfy bed.

Another option for emergency accommodation is the capsule hotel. Peruse this stranger's blog for a description and snaps. What with capsules, Rolands and 24-hour-full-service Internet cafes, there are plenty of ideas for taking a kip creatively in Nippon!


*When I was a teenager, I wondered who christened lipsticks and nail varnishes with their alliterative names of "Bubblegum Blues", "Smouldering Sun" & c. What an amusing job!