A cultural entree with a side of uncertain death

* Long entry warning. If you want to skip to the illustrated version, go to http://www.bunker89.com/japan/matsuri; if you want to skip to one of the only two pictures I think is worth its salt go to http://www.bunker89.com/japan/matsuri/Untitled-39.jpg *

What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than finally to step foot on a Japanese train. No, wait. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to drink sake and beer for breakfast! Er, hang on a second. What better way to celebrate my one month anniversary in Japan than to be nearly trampled by a hundred drunk Japanese men lugging a 4-ton portable shrine (mikoshi). Yeah, that's the one, the portable shrine one.

Big O cautioned me early on that Sachiko and Nao, two of my students, would probably invite me to do something every other weekend. He was right, but while he didn't take to the warm welcome, I'm happy with my free cultural immersion. October 15 was the Autumn Festival in Houshi, Sachiko's town. The largest Autumn Festival in this area (in Nada, also on the 15th this year) brings in nearly 100,000 people, I'm told, and reserving a good seat/vantage point can cost around one million yen. The festival in Houshi maybe brought in a few thousand. They still like to claim theirs is bigger though.

There are various Autumn Festivals all throughout the Kansai area, starting in early October and ending a few weeks later. The festivals are most famous for their portable shrines. Basically, large groups of drunk men (I'm told 100, but it looked more like 50) run into each other carrying shrines weighing a few tons. It's like a cross between football and the "World's Strongest" competition on ESPN2 -- you know, the one with Magnus von Magnusson that's always on and somehow always entertaining -- except the spectators are all in the way. People sometimes get hurt, but it's a rare occasion when someone dies. I didn't.

Sachiko invited me and Nao to her mother's house for a traditional breakfast and I didn't hesitate to accept her invitation. Not heeding their warnings of the immensity of the meal, I expected a medium-large breakfast for the three of us that would take me a few extra minutes to polish off -- I do loves to eat. After a 15-minute walk from the train station, however, we entered her family's home to be greeted first by Sachiko's mother, whom we appropriately gifted, and then a gray head that poked around a corner in a meerkat sort of fashion that greeted me with a "Herro! Nice-oo to meet-oo you!" and I knew I was in for something different.

Arranged around a large table were about 13 men, all in similarly styled navy blue track suits. Sachiko's father has a reunion every year on the day of the Autumn Festival with friends and friends of friends from his school days. They alternate which house hosts, and this year fortune smiled on me as one of my students was able to invite me. Though they were dressed to play, I later learned that the only activity they'd be participating in would be drinking. All day. Many of the men had been there since about 7am. Some, however, were more able to hold their liquor than others. And of the men only the meerkat (aka Karate-san) knew more than ten words of English. He maybe knew 50.

Soon after I sat down and was offered drink, I was bestowed with my festival regalia: a rented happy-coat (that's what they called it, though I could easily have misheard) with a large character "North" written on the back to show our area, and a hachimaki that could be worn around the head as a headband or around the neck as a whatever. The latter I got to keep, so it's now up on my wall. I was thrilled that Sachiko's family had gone out of their way to include me, while it seemed that several of the men around the table would've been just as happy (maybe happier) had I and my students not been there at all.

"Andyyyyy!" Andrew was too hard for Drunk-san (he was the drunkest by several fathoms) to say. Truth be told, Andrew causes some of my students trouble as well, and often emerges as it's written in Japanese: An-do-ryu. But this particular sake-jockey was beyond phonetic futility. "Rokko oroshi! Preeeease sing!" The Hanshin Tigers is one of the major league Japanese baseball teams and he wanted me to perform their fight song. I didn't know it, so Drunk-san, halfway down the lengthy table, enlisted Sachiko who was sitting at my left (performing much like a geisha one of the men commented). She started up and eventually they were all singing, save for one, who likes a rival team so left the room until they were done.

Drunk-san was momentarily appeased, so I turned my attentions to Karate-san on my right. Like all drunk men, Karate-san wished to demonstrate his physical prowess, despite his diminutive size, or, perhaps, because of it. He had us feel his middle knuckle on his right hand. Or rather, he had us feel his total lack thereof. He's been using that fist to punch so much that the knuckle has completely worn away. The word for that, I believe, is "gross." Also, all of his top front teeth are false because they were punched out.

I've noticed a direct correlation between urban living and oral hygiene. Country-folk (we were just a stone's throw away from Hicksville) tend to be lacking in good dental care. Himeji isn't a big city -- 500,000 is about a step above village --, but they're definitely better here. Seated around the table, there was probably a visible half set of teeth missing, though I wouldn't be surprised if in actuality it was four times that. But whatever state their teeth were in, it didn't stop the group from breakfasting on sake, beer, fish, meat, and who knows what else I had.

Drunk-san got drunker and soon called me over to chat and drink. I couldn't understand a single word he said, so he called Nao (who gave a "who me?!" look) and eventually Sachiko. Sachiko's English is not very good and she was having trouble translating so Drunk-san gave her an audible smack on the top of the head. I don't know how rare this is, or what the correlation is between head-smacking and bumpkin-folk, but Sachiko did not take kindly and silently stormed out of the room where quiet tears were shed. Sachiko's mother entered and, curiously, said to me and Drunk-san "tempura" to which, being a good-mannered guest, I replied in Japanese: "oishii" [delicious].

Turns out, though Sachiko's mom can't speak a single sentence in English, she was trying both to placate Drunk-san by telling him tempura was on the way (it wasn't really) and to explain to me that Sachiko has a bit of a temper. I realized this about five seconds after I said "delicious" in response to "temper," and this was confirmed to me several hours later. Sadly. it was no surprise that instead of the incident that this would cause in the west, Sachiko's father didn't so much as blink. Japan's gender roles are still grossly misbalanced, but at least there are distinct signs of progress. Just not that day.

Soon the men left and Sachiko, Nao, and I were treated to yet more food from her mother (who prepared all of it, starting the previous day) and then we were off to the first part of the festivities. We arrived at what looked like any carnival with a few generic water games and a slew of different types of food from hot dogs to sweet bean paste. Sachiko's sister manned a candy vendor so slipped us a few things on the sly. We then walked to the temple to check out the portable shrines.

I expressed to several of my students the week before that I wanted to help carry a portable shrine, having no real concept, at the time, of what a portable shrine was. Aside from the danger, I was told that most shrine groups are very exclusive and you have to be a high-ranking member of the village or area to have a shot. I also told my students I wanted to wear mawashi, which are similar to what you see sumo wrestlers wear. Usually that elicits a pretty good laugh, but I would've liked to, just for a day. It's a comfort thing.

So I didn't get to play dueling shrines, but I did pop open a can of cool and refreshing Gaijin-Awesome (tm) and was invited into one of the shrines for a couple pictures. Nao and Sachiko were shocked, as it's apparently a rarity for a total stranger to be granted such privilege. I'm not sure women are even allowed to touch the shrines, so they immediately wanted to see a picture of the inside.

After a quick trip to the grocery store for a lesson in how-not-to-buy-coffee-flavored-milk-again (future blog), we returned to the temple for the shishi-mai (a ritual dance with a lion's mask). And we waited. And we waited some more. And then the procession began and we waited even longer because we were toward the end of the procession and the lions moved about five feet every five minutes (to say one foot a minute would be inaccurate -- every five minutes they moved about five feet). By the time the mawashi-wearing troupe reached us, all the men smelled like fermented ass-beans, and they looked tired as all get-out, having had to carry one another on and off for a very long time, inebriated, no less. But it was still beautiful and I can hear echoes of the eerie flute music with which each group accompanied their lion.

After the procession, we returned to Sachiko's house for yet more food and Sachiko's mother explained to me (through Nao) that Drunk-san is the only member of the group that isn't married. "Sabishii?" [lonely] I asked. Probably, and pretty persistent when he gets drunk. They told me I had been a good sport. Actually I told them I had been a good sport, because its what they intended to say so I doled out another free English lesson (these are always well-received -- I wouldn't bother if ever it were perceived to be offensive).

And then we walked back to the main event where the shrines progressed slowly into an area a few hundred feet by a few hundred feet. "What happens if they can't lift one?" I asked, because most of the men had been drinking all day. "Then they drag it in," I was told. Finally it began and with a large crack, two shrines collided. Our shrine broke and it took about 45 minutes to get a replacement beam installed. "Do they repair them every year?" "No." "Really?" "Oh, actually... yes, probably."

Though our shrine was temporarily out of commission, the other shrines didn't waste any time. Or rather, they wasted a ton of time, but they were really freakin' heavy so I don't blame them. The shrine groups would rock the shrine back and forth until it dipped enough on one side to hoist up the other side and then they'd all try to rise. Most of the time they couldn't, but when they finally lifted up and momentum took over, you moved or you got squashed. It was absolutely reckless and I loved it. In Nada it's a lot more active, maybe because it's more popular so the shrine bashers are more motivated (who knows, maybe they drink less too), but it's harder to find a place to watch and there's no room to maneuver away from an incoming shrine so you're at the mercy of the mass.

And that was it. The shrine-bashing went on for about 4 hours, and then they moved to a point right near the train station where they'd continue on into the night as a show of manliness. I was done after about the first hour, but after being treated as such an honored guest, the only complaint I'd utter was that I'm really hungry, which is always good for a laugh because I'm always really hungry.

If you want to read more about festivals, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matsuri