Japan's 'maid cafes' not made for everybody

During my last trip to Japan, one consummate hotel professional saved me from fruitlessly wandering the sweltering city.

I was staying at the very elegant Ritz-Carlton Tokyo, situated atop the city's highest tower in Roppongi. My appointment was across town, so I decided to be safe and ask the concierge how to get there.

Good thing I did.

Makoto Kawai went to great lengths to get me where I was going, calling a colleague to ask the address and then searching online to find it. Coming up empty, this creative concierge rang someone who gave him a number that he called, only to end up looking more confused. Then, after poring over a detailed map, he circled a specific area and then swiftly scribbled a slew of Japanese characters on a hotel card meant to help non-Japanese speakers communicate with cab drivers.

"Have fun," he said with a twinkle in his eye as he handed me my directions.

"I will," I shot back, adding, "If you don't see me by nightfall, send help."

We both laughed, but I wasn't kidding. Sometimes finding a location can be difficult in Japan because addresses are not always specific. I looked at the Japanese directions and realized I had no idea where I was going.

Neither did my cab driver, even after reading what the concierge had written. He turned on his GPS system, scanning for about a minute before taking off. As we headed in the direction of Akihabara, he continued to search different maps on the electronic device.

Finally, we came upon some small alleys. Turning down one, my driver stopped to talk to a shopkeeper who responded with a blank expression. We drove a little further, this time pulling over.

Apparently, we were there.

Or so I thought.

Not spotting any sign that I had arrived at my chosen destination, I paid the cabbie and went into a deli for help. The proprietor looked at my instruction card, frowned, and showed it to the woman behind the cash register. She stood up and escorted me to the door. I thought that was as far as she was going to go when she gestured for us to move on. We walked a block, then turned left and came upon an industrial building.

My guide pointed upward.

Apparently, this was the place. Surprised but relieved, I thanked the kind stranger for going out of her way to be sure I found what I was looking for.

However, after walking up several flights of stairs, I was even more unsure. There, on the other side of a rickety door, was a scene out of a quirky B movie. Very young waitresses dressed like cute French maids were scurrying around against a backdrop of pink curtains, pink walls and pink upholstered furniture. Collectible toys and stuffed animals sat next to a rack of periodicals and videotapes. Weird!

Since none of my colleagues had arrived (they were probably lost!), I helped the help move small tables together to accommodate my group. When a man arrived, we all looked up. He didn't seem to notice, moving to a single table. Instead of relating to any of us, he pulled out a comic book and started devouring it in earnest.

When my cohorts finally came through the door, they looked as disconcerted as I felt. From there on in it was a blur of bad food and strange interaction with the costumed waitresses. We didn't talk shop during this surreal pit stop, too stunned to do business.

Finally, a British ex-pat in our midst did her best to explain this strange scene. She told us we were sitting in what is known as a "maid café," one of dozens that have recently sprouted up in Akihabara. She explained that the unusual venues were created so that the manga -- or cartoon culture followers -- would have a place to share their passion as well as their fantasies. This sounded feasible, although clearly it wasn't for me or anyone else who had joined me there.

So, as soon as possible without losing face, we left, heading straight back to the Ritz-Carlton. In the lovely lobby, I spotted my trusty concierge, who asked how I liked my Japanese subculture experience.

"It was different," I said, as we laughed in unison. With that, our whole lot headed for the hotel's fancy club floor. There, we indulged in canapés and champagne, making up for our very disappointing lunch that would leave very lasting impressions on all of us who had just experienced our first -- and, most likely our last -- maid café.