Festival 3

Odawara 7/27/08


The day began with prayer, a big breakfast and a hike down to Oppama Station. From there I traveled to Kamakura, where I spent a couple of hours at its beach. Its water was clear and warm and filled with swimmers. The waves were small, but they broke far away from the shore and I could body surf short distances.

At about 1pm I headed to the train station, and traveled about 22 miles east to Odawara. When I arrived, I stepped outside to a view of the high-seated castle amidst distant cloudy and blue mountains. The castle was elevated above the city and had a moat, a cage of Japanese Macaques and gardens within its foregrounds. There were also many bizarre shaped and seemingly ancient trees within the castle park. As I approached the castle, I could hear drumming coming from the festival grounds and took flight towards the sounds. I arrived to a set of carnival booths, paper lantern decorations, a stage with medium to massive sized drums and a group of about 100 onlookers sitting on benches.

I went straight to the benches and sat down for an intense two-hour ride of radiant music. Over this time period, there were four sets of drummer teams with matching uniforms and between six to twenty members each. The first two performances included flute players and were paced by slow to moderate drumming. The music was sweet and the drummers were very serious. They were deeply focused on their timing and produced a seemingly flawless performance. The next two groups came with large drums and thunderous fast-paced drumming. They chanted and swung their wooden drumming sticks in all directions with beautiful synchronicity. The performances were well prepared and one could see the emotion and joy in the faces of the drummers as they pounded away. I nodded back and forth on the bench and took it in.

After the drumming, the mikoshi ceremony began. (Mikoshi are portable shrines, most shaped like minature shrine buildings, with pillars, a roof and a golden phoenix on top. They are believed to house local nature spirits and give good fortune to towns that carry them in festival parades. Odawara, which is a well populated city, had 25 in its festival.)
After a set of speeches, teams of 10-30 men and women started carrying the mikoshi out of the castle park, over the moat bridge and into the streets. Each team, which were dressed in matching uniforms and head towels, had a man that lead the chants and their movement and a set of flag and paper-lantern holders that marched in the front. Some ran the mikoshi at top speed for as long a fifty feet, before coming to an immediate stop, others tipped it over from side to side, but all marched it out, chanting loudly and popping it up and down on their shoulders.

After they all left the castle park, I followed them to the street. They were still popping up and down and chanting. The energy of all the motion and sound was intense and the setting sun turned the sky into a gorgeous collage of gold, grey and blue. I started pacing and jumping alongside a team that was popping up and down faster and chanting louder than the others. A man in the front waved at me to join the team and I accepted the offer.

Wow. I entered the eye of the hurricane. Sandwiched in a tight group of 30 men, I chanted and screamed “Washoi,” “Yokoi sorah,” and “Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi” and popped up and down with all my might. Exhilarating. I do not know what the others were yelling for, but I was yelling for Life, and for Youth and for The Creator who puts it all together. Exhilarating.

Eventually, we carried the mikoshi back into the castle park and joined the others. There the community leaders were singing beautiful folk melodies, to which we responded with more “Washoi,” “Yokoi Sorah,” and “Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi.” We bopped and screamed as loud as we could. When it ended, I thanked the men for letting me join and headed back to Odawara station. The next morning I awoke with a sore shoulder and a brilliant memory.

Festival 1

Asakusa, Tokyo 7/10/08

The rainy season ended and the summer has arrived. In Japan this means it is a time for festivals, gatherings with various means to celebrate the season. Most are a combination of carnival booths, special food, music and dancing and are usually held at a shrine or in paper lantern decorated streets.

My first festival trip was to Asakusa Sensoji in Tokyo on a Wednesday night. It began, as I took the train from class in Nokendai, and arrived to a gathering of thousands around the Sensoji shrine. There were hundreds of booths on all sides of the shrines, selling whistles, wind chimes (These were made out of small glass bowls. I was told that their chiming sounds make Japanese feel cool in the summer heat.), plants, noodles, fish on a stick, cotton candy and kinds of strange foods. Many woman and young girls dressed in yukata (a traditional summer gown), and many made incense or money offerings at the shrines.

The atmosphere was lively, with the air of a county fair or carnival in America. Vendors were yelling, children were eating candy and all were in high spirits.


A special element of this festival was the mass selling of a plant called houzukiichi, or ground cherry. The plant’s fruit is used to make a whistle. (First one peels off the shell, and carefully pricks off the seed in the center. Then one softly pushed at the seed and softens the insides. Finally one pulls out the insides of the seed and uses its shell as a whistle. The process takes at least an hour to do correctly, and is widely enjoyed by children.) I bought a set of three for the nice lady who told me about the festival and walked on.

One moment, I stop and watched a fish booth. There one could fish for gold fish and small black fish with puffy cheeks. Using a tool that appeared as a magnifying glass with a piece of thin material instead of glass, one would scoop as many fish into a small bowl as possible (until the material broke). Then he or she would take their prizes home in a small plastic bag. It reminded me of my youth and brought nostalgia of happy times.

Another moment I watched a cook fry up a multilayered pancake meal. He slapped about twenty circles of batter onto the fryer, added some noodles, an egg, a large variety of multicolored spices, a handful of very thinly sliced meat and folded it over. Then a young woman would quickly stick it in a plastic container, add soy sauce and mayonnaise and hand it to customers with a set of chopsticks.

It eventually grew late and I headed home. I hope to go to more festivals in the future.

Gentle Misfortune

7/14/08

On a Monday, near dusk, I was sitting at a traffic light, twenty feet from a major intersection. I noticed that the lights in the car had turned off, and thought the car needed to be restarted. This was a mistake, for the engine refused to start up again. (Note: If you have car trouble don’t take the key out of the ignition until you are safely home or off road.) There, I sat in a dead Matty’s mobile, a 14 year old white Suzuki Alto with Matty’s insignia and telephone number posted on the side doors and trunk. I did not have a phone or much knowledge of the Japanese language and there were cars backed far behind and zipping by on both sides.

Quickly, I moved. I put on the parking lights, got out, kindly motioned to the man behind me to pass and ran about fifty yards to a payphone. I called Mr. Kyokuta and he told me he would meet me in twenty minutes. In the mean time, I flagged down a kind Japanese gentleman and he turned the wheel, as I pushed the car to the side of the road.

Mr. Kyokuta arrived, restarted the battery and led me home. About forty feet in front of Oppama Station’s major intersection, the car died again. I got out of the car and motioned to Mr. Kyokuta. Without batting an eye, he jumped out of the car with his five foot and 77 year old body and thick white beard. He pulled out a ten foot metal chain, hooked his mini white SUV to the Matty’s mobile and began towing.

As he towed I sat in the driver’s seat with my hands on the wheel and my foot near the brake. Such was not easy because the cars needed to traverse thin roads a well trafficked highway and a 360 degree turn up the steep foot of Takatori Mountain. I needed intense concentration to keep from crashing into Mr. Kyokuta’s back or hitting something off road.

We safely arrived at the office and parked the car in the lot. I thanked Mr. Kyokuta and told him I would buy him a beer sometime. He laughed and we parted for the evening.

(The next day the newer and larger Suzuki Alto was again available for driving.)

Of Summer

7/13/08

A week after my first sailing experience, I went down the hill for another day of learning. I met Mr. Kyokuta at the bay at 8:45am in the morning sun. Before setting out, he taught me how to put up and down the main sail. Understanding how to do this quickly is very important, for if the winds grow strong the main sail must be brought down. Mr. Kyokuta told me that the previous day there were quick gusts of wind that were so powerful that the men cleaning the skyscraper windows had to come down. Upon finishing his detailed lesson, he told me that sailing is simple, but each step must be done correctly, for a small mistake can lead to big trouble.

After the lesson, we headed out to the body of the bay. There was much less traffic and less wind than the previous week, so we motored our way south. Mr. Kyokuta gave me control of the rudder, as we headed down to the eastern tip of the Miura peninsula. With little wind and no need to worry about the sails, I had much more success keeping the boat straight. As we turned around, I handed back the rudder with more skill and confidence. I still do not know how to sail with the wind, but I have more knowledge on how to keep the boat steady.

After the lesson from Mr. Kyokuta had ended, I set my eyes to the beauty of the scenery. The southeastern edge of the peninsula was less populated and filled with green hills and beaches. With a clear path ahead, I turned my attention to the water. What Grace, what Speech. The colors, shapes and movement of the surface absorbed me. The head traffic of earth living left, and peace came. Time left and the dance of creation entered.

Eventually, we cruised back to the port. We left the gentle breeze behind and were hit by overpowering heat. This made the anchoring, fender tying and general clean-up duties more difficult, but we made it back to land. Mr. Kyokuta bought me a soda, and we said goodbye at 3:00pm. I am very grateful for his teaching and the opportunity to sail.

I quickly made it back up the hill, showered, prayed and then headed back down to Oppama Station. In the streets across from the station, the annual festival was taking place in the streets.

The festival was attended by a variety of people. There were Japanese, tourists from the west and a large amount of Brazilians. (Note: There are currently around 250,000 Brazilians living in Japan. I have heard that in the last 150 years, the Brazilian government gave large lots of land to the Japanese and attracted many to migrate to the country. The Brazilians who live in Japan are descendents of those immigrants and have been accepted back as full citizens. There is a large community of Brazilians in Oppama, of which appear to be more of causation or Native American descent than Japanese.) Many women and young girls dressed in yukata, a cotton summer dress with bright colors that looks very similar to the silk komono. People were happy and the festive spirit was alive.

When I arrived, a group was playing taiko, large drums, in the street. They pounded very hard, creating a powerful beat with synchronized sounds, dress and hand motions. It was very entertaining and the crowd appreciated their efforts with a lengthy applause. Later a group of about 20-30 young men and women carried an omikoshi, a shrine (the size of piano on its back) that is believed to protect the town. This was an intense ritual, filled with chanting, shouting and much motion. After, there was a dance competition between 10-15 dance troupes. Each troupe had their own costume and routine, but all danced to the same flute song at the same time. Afterward was a show from the Brazilians. The show consisted of about 20 women dressed in Carnival costumes, who danced around a sports car and six drummers. The revealing dress and dancing style seemed very out of place, but the crowds seemed to enjoy it. This ended the festival, and I headed back up the hill to rest up for the week.

Sailing

Tokyo Bay 7/6/08

After prayer and breakfast, I ran about two miles down the hill to the water’s edge. There I met Mr. Kyokuta and the crewmates: Ta-ke-san, a man with glasses, beard and competitive sailing racing experience and Tak, a beginner sailor in high school, who just spent the last school year in Ohio. We sailed on Matty II, a boat of about 15 yards in length and powered by two large sails and an engine for take-off and landing. To speak of the boat’s strength and durability, Mr. Kyokuta told me that he bought it from a man who sailed it from France to Japan.

We set off in a cloudy morning with the smell of coming rain in the air. The waters were dark grey as we set up the sails and entered the torso of the bay. The offshore waters were filled with traffic: fishing, sailing and coast guard boats. Because of this I was taught that all sailors have to remain aware at all times to alert the skipper of coming traffic.

The clouds began to clear and I was given control of the rudder. I quickly learned of the complications of boat steering. The skipper must direct the boat through changes of the direction and speed of the wind, oncoming traffic and the waves that they produce. He must keep the boat going straight and go with the wind at all times. A little mistake will lose the momentum and cause the crew to rotate one of the two sails to the other side of the boat.

When I took control, I immediately pushed the rudder too far and then pulled it too far, causing the boat to make a 180 degree turn. I learned that to prevent this, a skipper must counter a strong move, and quickly push or pull the rudder half way in the opposite direction. I made it out of the traffic and past Sarushima (monkey island), an island off the coast of Yokosuka city that has no monkeys, and into the clear. I smiled in joy and handed the rudder back, having a slight understanding of how to use it, but still without much skill of using the wind. No matter how poor I did, Takesan and Mr. lifted doubt with encouraging comments.

I was then taught how to tack and jive, two methods of reversing the sails to the other side of the boat. The first 5-7 times I tacked, my performance was less than satisfactory to Mr. Kyokuta and we tacked and tacked until I got it 100% correct. This was quite tiring and nauseating. While the others ate lunch in high spirits, I sat quite uncomfortably thinking of how I would never sail again.

But the clouds had burned off and the sun had come out, and I fought the seasickness by staring at the sparkling waves. I did this for awhile and began to feel a lot better and appreciate the beauty of the bay and the green hills that cut into its waters. As we turned back to the north, the afternoon sun was making the waters glow silver. It appeared to me as Speech and am sorry to say that it could not be captured by a camera.

As we landed I felt much better about the whole experience. I patted Takesan on the back and shook his hand, making some of the first real physical human contact since I arrived in Japan. He invited me to go again next weekend, and I told him that we would surely go again. I then walked back up the hill, sunburned but stronger.

Adventure 3

Kamakura 6/22/08

I have read that the Saxons measured a day’s time in three waves: a morning-tide, a noon-tide and an evening-tide. This is a good framework to tell the story of this day, which brought distinct waves of moments in the morning and afternoon.

The day began at 6:00, as I prayed, cooked a big breakfast, caught a set of trains and arrived in Kamakura. As I arrived and headed north, I was absorbed into the morning tide: a time of gray skies, lone wandering and stillness. As I walked I was drawn into village shrines: small well kept buildings, with distinct gateways, surrounding gardens of well-trimmed vegetation and well-positioned stones. Entry brought a surge of awareness of bright colors and thoughts of the meaning of the place to the local people. I thought how over hundreds of years people with hope, people with devastation and people with glory have come to pray at this spot. I thought of how time absorbed their emotions into the atmosphere and the illumination that I experienced was a manifestation of this long string of Moments of Truth.

Then I headed up the mountain and followed the signs to a temple. The entrees to the inner gardens and buildings were closed, but the pathways that surrounded the gates were open. I walked in awe of the vegetation, placed so thoughtfully in and around the caves, at the gateways and surrounding paths. Next I found a cave, near a plot of maples and ajisai and entered to meditate. It was my first experience meditating in a cave and it brought a heightened sensitivity to the sounds of nature and body-shaking vibrations while chanting.

I then walked down the mountain and followed a wave of people to the most popular Zen temples. Soon I landed at Engaku-ji, a temple built in commemoration of Japan’s unification and defeat of the Mongols and in the solace of those lost. The temple’s grounds were filled with nearly 20 buildings, coy ponds and gongs. As I walked through, a monk was teaching a meditation class to a large group of sitting students.

As I hiked up the rain came. I wore my jacket like a cape, protecting my backpack from the rain, while enjoying the cool summer shower on my head. I wandered to a blocked off garden surrounded by large buildings with traditional architecture. There was a monk chanting loudly and I listened. I stood for awhile as a large crowd of Japanese joined. The chant was answered by a chest piercing gong and responding chants from the other monks. As I left the garden gateway, I stood and watched the coy in the rain and saw the gong radiate in the water.

Eventually, as all do who stand in the rain, I got wet and found shelter for lunch. I arose from lunch with the sedating noontide that came with an unrelenting rain that made me wetter and wetter, as I hiked south. (Although wet and uncomfortable, the air was warm and I knew the chances of sickness were slim.) Nearly everyone had an umbrella and I was constantly dodging, sometime unsuccessfully, their edges, which were swinging at my neck. With my head down, I quickly passed through multiple temples and shrines and headed back into town and found a place to warm up, read and forget about the wetness.

After I headed back to the Ajisai dera from the week before. The flowers had grown and spread: magnificent. The rain refused to slow and the mood was unstable, so I only stayed for a few minutes before taking flight westward. I had a crazy idea to make it to Hokokuji (bamboo temple) before 5pm, to complete my goals for the day. So I ran and walked about two miles through the pouring rain without a map. For nearly an hour, I zigzagged through side streets, (and often had to retrace my steps) before arriving at Hokokuji at 4:50. As I approached the steps, I read a sign that said it had closed at 4:00. I could not enter. A victory and a defeat. I walked back to Kamakura station drenched, overcome by the noon-tide and ready for some warm soup and a hot shower.

It was a day of ups and downs, but complete. Later that night I felt satisfied and ready for the week. I awoke the next morning with fire.