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It's been a busy weekend.
It rained yesterday, with a fury matched only by the way it rained on Wednesday, when I taught one class of students the expression, "it's raining cats and dogs." I spent most of it in my apartment, but come afternoon the rain had slacked somewhat, and I grabbed my umbrella and my courage and headed for Momoyama.
花がさまつり (since I only know one of the required kanji . . .)
I was early for once, but the meeting place was a Media down the hill from the huge vermillion tori, and they were playing the ad for Advent Children over and over, so I didn't much mind. Once we were all assembled, we headed over under still-grey skies to the apartment complex that had invited us. The lobby was decorated with a small gold-and laquered shrine crowned with a phoenix; the hall beyond it was full of brightly-colored umbrellas made of consecutive rings of plastic flowers. The apartment complex itself surrounded a small open courtyard, shielded from the inclement weather by a huge tarp. We were herded to an underground room to don happi coats and headbands, then we waited around for events to unfold. Waiting was fascilitated by beer, and by watching the hordes of small children in miniature happi running back and forth. Most of the women and children, and some of the men, were wearing happi; others were wearing black trousers with red and purple sashes around their waists, over white wrapping-- to stabilize their backs? They also had large black cushions strapped over their shoulders.
At a certain point wooden boxes of sake were handed out, and a man with a bullhorn shouted out the kannpai and other anouncements before everyone began to flow out into the street. I nabbed a purple umbrella decorated with maple leaves and bells on my way out. Somehow we all ended up in the covered shopping arcade that was nearby, where all the men in black trousers assembled around a huge wooden box crowned with three massive red-and-gold layers of flower-umbrella.
At some sort of signal that I completely missed, the men hoisted the shrine into the air and onto their shoulders. And then they proceeded to parade the thing through the streets, led by others who were carrying the other huge flower-umbellas and the horde of women and children in blue happi. Every once and a while they would halt, and then to a very basic drum-and-chant-- "fi-to! fi-to! fi-to!" and "oi-oi-oi-yo!"-- would perform a bizarre dance that involved everyone holding the shrine hopping back and forth from one leg to the other. At either end of the shrine were long ropes held by women whose job was to stabilize the shrine and keep it from going forward/backward/left/right, which it was constantly in danger of doing. Once in a while they even hoisted it all the way up into the air on outstretched arms and shook it up and down.
Progress was slow but steady, all the way down the length of the shopping arcade, across the train tracks, and up the hill through the torii to the main gate to the shrine. I was glad of my umbrella before I was finished, since it kept me mostly dry through the whole experience, at least until the rain had stopped towards the end. I hopped up and down and chanted as enthusiastically as the next person-- well, possibly more enthusiastically then my fellow AETs, because I was absolutely ready to get carried away by the intoxicating rush of the whole thing. I even took my turn at hauling on the shrine ropes, trying to keep the thing upright and steady.
Eventually we got the shrine back to the apartment complex, a complicated endeavor due to narrow streets and low-strung power cables. Once it was back there were further dances from the umbrella-bearers, and the shrine was lifted once again for a last hearty dance before everyone tropped back into the courtyard . . .
. . . for food! And there was quite a spread, too, soups and curry and rice, maki and croquettes and fishcake and dumplings and tiny sandwiches and yakisoba and all of those foods that I don't know the names of but are becoming increasingly familiar to me. And more beer, of course, and sake, and everyone from the apartment complex laughing and talking. All the children were running around, chasing each other and behaving the way kids do no matter where in the world you might be. All the adults were enjoying themselves, some of them with increasing levels of intoxication . . . every once and a while someone would come by and try out their English (a surprising number), or somehow through a hodgepodge of Japanese and English we'd somehow manage to communicate. One AET, especially tall, ended up arm-wrestling a succession of Japanese guys, with both victories and defeats on both sides met with cheers and applause. When the party began to subside, all of us foreigners were rounded up and herded into a nearby apartment to socialize for a while with our hosts before we headed back to our respective abodes.
It rained yesterday, with a fury matched only by the way it rained on Wednesday, when I taught one class of students the expression, "it's raining cats and dogs." I spent most of it in my apartment, but come afternoon the rain had slacked somewhat, and I grabbed my umbrella and my courage and headed for Momoyama.
花がさまつり (since I only know one of the required kanji . . .)
I was early for once, but the meeting place was a Media down the hill from the huge vermillion tori, and they were playing the ad for Advent Children over and over, so I didn't much mind. Once we were all assembled, we headed over under still-grey skies to the apartment complex that had invited us. The lobby was decorated with a small gold-and laquered shrine crowned with a phoenix; the hall beyond it was full of brightly-colored umbrellas made of consecutive rings of plastic flowers. The apartment complex itself surrounded a small open courtyard, shielded from the inclement weather by a huge tarp. We were herded to an underground room to don happi coats and headbands, then we waited around for events to unfold. Waiting was fascilitated by beer, and by watching the hordes of small children in miniature happi running back and forth. Most of the women and children, and some of the men, were wearing happi; others were wearing black trousers with red and purple sashes around their waists, over white wrapping-- to stabilize their backs? They also had large black cushions strapped over their shoulders.
At a certain point wooden boxes of sake were handed out, and a man with a bullhorn shouted out the kannpai and other anouncements before everyone began to flow out into the street. I nabbed a purple umbrella decorated with maple leaves and bells on my way out. Somehow we all ended up in the covered shopping arcade that was nearby, where all the men in black trousers assembled around a huge wooden box crowned with three massive red-and-gold layers of flower-umbrella.
At some sort of signal that I completely missed, the men hoisted the shrine into the air and onto their shoulders. And then they proceeded to parade the thing through the streets, led by others who were carrying the other huge flower-umbellas and the horde of women and children in blue happi. Every once and a while they would halt, and then to a very basic drum-and-chant-- "fi-to! fi-to! fi-to!" and "oi-oi-oi-yo!"-- would perform a bizarre dance that involved everyone holding the shrine hopping back and forth from one leg to the other. At either end of the shrine were long ropes held by women whose job was to stabilize the shrine and keep it from going forward/backward/left/right, which it was constantly in danger of doing. Once in a while they even hoisted it all the way up into the air on outstretched arms and shook it up and down.
Progress was slow but steady, all the way down the length of the shopping arcade, across the train tracks, and up the hill through the torii to the main gate to the shrine. I was glad of my umbrella before I was finished, since it kept me mostly dry through the whole experience, at least until the rain had stopped towards the end. I hopped up and down and chanted as enthusiastically as the next person-- well, possibly more enthusiastically then my fellow AETs, because I was absolutely ready to get carried away by the intoxicating rush of the whole thing. I even took my turn at hauling on the shrine ropes, trying to keep the thing upright and steady.
Eventually we got the shrine back to the apartment complex, a complicated endeavor due to narrow streets and low-strung power cables. Once it was back there were further dances from the umbrella-bearers, and the shrine was lifted once again for a last hearty dance before everyone tropped back into the courtyard . . .
. . . for food! And there was quite a spread, too, soups and curry and rice, maki and croquettes and fishcake and dumplings and tiny sandwiches and yakisoba and all of those foods that I don't know the names of but are becoming increasingly familiar to me. And more beer, of course, and sake, and everyone from the apartment complex laughing and talking. All the children were running around, chasing each other and behaving the way kids do no matter where in the world you might be. All the adults were enjoying themselves, some of them with increasing levels of intoxication . . . every once and a while someone would come by and try out their English (a surprising number), or somehow through a hodgepodge of Japanese and English we'd somehow manage to communicate. One AET, especially tall, ended up arm-wrestling a succession of Japanese guys, with both victories and defeats on both sides met with cheers and applause. When the party began to subside, all of us foreigners were rounded up and herded into a nearby apartment to socialize for a while with our hosts before we headed back to our respective abodes.
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