Photographs from a small group of islands
Unfortunately I’m not in a position to say for definite, as I can’t get a concrete reading for the kanji, but considering the age of the man in question, and the kind of tattoos he’s semi covering, it’s more than likely that he is, or at least was, a member of the yakuza.
Although in regards any possible particulars, such as past positions or prominence, I thought it prudent not to ask.
Even though I’ve probably been to more festivals that I can, let alone care to remember, they never get boring — not in the slightest; the atmosphere, and particularly the people, making each one unique. Plus, to a man whose mother country has to make do with morris dancing, they really can’t be anything other than utterly mesmerising.
But that said, whereas I was once fascinated with the mikoshi that was being carried, or the enormous float that was somehow being steered down a street, my interest now lies much more with those doing the carrying and contributing.
And this year’s Kawagoe Festival was no different, with, as always, a varied contingent that included those of all ages.
Colourfulness.
And indeed coolness.
Plus, along with a selection of sounds to sample,
there was also a myriad of emotions to marvel at. This time covering the meditative.
Mildly irritated.
And of course, merry.
With all its chain stores, massive shopping emporiums and incredible number of convenience stores, it’s arguably amazing to simply see small shops in Tokyo, let alone find some that are actually surviving. Yet survive they do, and in surprisingly healthy numbers, although how successfully many of them are soldiering on is something else altogether.
But either way, this fella, and quite possibly his father before him, has no doubt been making and selling tofu for more time than he’d care to remember. And fingers crossed he’ll be able to continue for many more years to come, but whether the business will be able to do so when he’s decided to call it a day, is considerably more debatable.
Whether low-key or nationally lauded, Japanese festivals are always a lot of fun — events where one can enjoy a variety of sights and sounds as well as fill up on a dazzling array of food and drink.
However, arguably more interesting are the actual people participating; a fascinating array of faces that suggest something, and yet at the same time nothing, about their owners.
All the time begging the question: Are these really the same suited and staid salaried workers that come Monday morning will be crammed into a carriage like millions of other commuters? Or alternatively, do they include the likes of Mr and Mrs Sato who run the little restaurant down the road, or maybe Baba-san the local builder?
But whatever work they do, or regardless of what kind of lives they lead, come festival time the whole lot is left behind.
And instead, amidst the din of the drums:
It’s time for geniality.
Joy.
Jubilation.
And sometimes just jolliness.
Plus, for those who have seen it so many times before, it’s a chance, for most of them at least,
to enjoy a much more leisurely experience.
One that involves noticeably more looking,
than lifting.
But, in no time at all, it’s over, with nothing left to do but savour the last of the sounds,
then walk back to wherever it is they come from, and whatever it is they do.
A time-honoured technique in a time-honoured temple.
Yesterday was blistering, a bona fide belter, but today, on a national holiday named Shubun no Hi (Autumnal Equinox Day), it’s suitably cooler and comfortingly less clammy.
Plus, regardless of how warm it will once again get, there are now some serious signs that fall isn’t all that far away.
