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WITH BLUSHING faces resembling the Japanese flag, red discs of embarrassment on white cheeks, my wife and I check in. We have no baggage. All that has to be decided is our costumes.

'The Tarzan special is on offer, this is popular, we supply a tree,' says the receptionist, speaking from behind a screen. She cannot see us, nor can we see her. This is meant to guarantee our privacy.

'A tree?' I ask.

'It's made of plastic with a trunk beside the bed and a big branch to swing from. We've got more than one.'

This so-called fantasy is turning into an embarrassing farce. Japan's love hotels cater for couples seeking some precious private time together, from a few hours to an entire night. Room rates vary throughout the day. A couple of hours in the early morning will cost about 2,000 to 3,000 yen (HK$126 to $190). A night's stay can set you back about 10,000 yen. The hotels can look normal or utterly garish, and in some cases both.

This hotel seems to have been designed by a schizophrenic architect.

One side resembles a business hotel, while on the other turrets reach up to the sky. The double facade is to provide cover for the clients. Couples can enter or exit on the normal side with a degree of deniability in case they are spotted. It is sandwiched between a car dealership and a noodle store in one of Tokyo's busy commercial districts.

Most love hotels are 'straight', offering young lovers the essential necessities for a few private hours. Expect a bed, a drinks cabinet and a TV set and condoms placed beside the ashtray on a small table, lots of mirrors and luxuriant bathing facilities.

But the harsh winds of economic reality are forcing some to offer perks, such as uniforms.

I have persuaded my wife, Niamh, to accompany me and see just what these love hotels are about. I call it delving into an aspect of Japanese culture. Niamh calls it voyeurism. 'How about Darth Vader,' the receptionist inquires.

'Ah,' Niamh says sarcastically, 'Star Wars, much more down to earth than swinging from a tree.'

'You could have the schoolgirl uniform or maybe the police officer,' the receptionist says, trying to end my indecision.

'Tom,' says Niamh, her patience stretched, 'just pick anything.'

'How about this one?' the woman at reception asks and she points to a catalogue. 'Doctor and nurse.'

'OK,' I meekly reply, wishing that I'd never thought of coming here.

We are provided with a little map and make our way up a small flight of stairs and down a corridor with signs outside doors saying 'Back seat of car', 'Jail cell', 'Star Wars', 'Skyview', 'Pilot and cabin attendant'. Our cubicle comes complete with a mock-up hospital bed and a stethoscope dangling from the door. A white coat and nurses uniform are folded on the bed. ER it isn't, but the sheets are pristine and the bathroom enormous.

My wife picks up the starched white uniform even though she has no intention of putting it on. Twenty years ago she might have been able to wiggle into it.

'Not your size,' I say, trying to be diplomatic.

I struggle to put the coat on and, after much huffing and puffing, resemble a gorilla with arms askew as the cuffs come above my elbows.

'Ahhhhhhh ahhhh ahhhhhhh, ahhhhhhh.'

Niamh and I jump.

'Ahhhhhhh ahhhhh, ahhhh ahhhhhhhh.'

Then we realise that Tarzan and Jane are somewhere in the vicinity - and it sounds like they are running up and down the corridor.

'That's it,' Niamh says and neatly folds the uniform back on the bed.

She is out the door before I manage to get my jacket off.

I dash down the corridor and hand back the key. As I walk out the door I hope the crowd will swallow me up and grant me anonymity. Niamh is already across the street.

Some people are probably smiling as if they know where I have just come from. Impossible, I think, as I console myself that I am just part of a throng on the busiest street in one of the world's busiest cities. Nobody could know.

Niamh is waiting.

'Tom.'

'What?' I'm expecting an ear-bashing for spending thousands of yen trying to find out the secrets of a love hotel.

'You might want to return the stethoscope.'



Tarzan, Jane and the indecisive doctor