Saturday, July 30, 2016

Gion Matsuri



Gion Matsuri (Gion Festival) continues to elude me.  That is not to say I have missed it.  I have seen it.  I have read about it.  I have talked with Japanese friends about it.  But I feel I still have not got to the heart of it.

Gion Matsuri had its beginnings in the Kyoto plague of 869.  This was blamed on the god of pestilence, Gozu Tenno.  Praying for deliverance from the epidemic and an end to the curse the people paraded 66 hoko (spears) and the mikoshi (a wheelless vehicle for transporting a deity) from Yasaka Shrine through the streets of Kyoto.  This seemed to work, so they repeated the ritual the next year, and the year after that, and have been doing so for more than 1,100 years.  So every July the mikoshi of Yasaka Shrine get a little vacation.

By the Edo Period (1603 - 1868) the hoko had evolved into something altogether different than a simple spear.  The wealthy and powerful merchant class began building elaborate wooden structures, what we might call a float in the US, with and without wheels to parade through the streets.

This parade on the 17th of July, called the Yama Hoko Junko, is the main draw of Gion Matsuri.  The tallest hoko reach a height of more than 8 meters (26 feet) and must be accessed via a temporary bridge built from second story windows of adjacent buildings.  Assembled using beautifully complex rope knots (no nails or screws!) and decorated with exquisite textiles these are a truly impressive sight and totally unique to Kyoto.  The strength and bravado of the battalion of men that pull the hoko (weighing up to 12 tons) through the streets is also an awesome spectacle.



Sweat, brawn and pride is a big part of Gion Matsuri.  It seems tailor-made for men both young and old wishing to display their swagger.  Yocho is the name for the men involved in the lifting, pushing and pulling of heavy, sometimes dangerous things during the festival.  Dressed in their distinctive white cotton happi jackets emblazoned with a blue festival mon (crest) and often only a fundoshi (loincloth) underneath they are easy to spot.  For motivation and coordination of their tasks they have a variety of chants that would not be out of place in a football ground.

The women and children who participate in Gion Matsuri are a sharp contrast to the yocho.  If they aren't decked out in colorful period costumes with faces painted white, they are wearing simple, elegant yukata (lightweight summer kimono), parasols and uchiwa (flat fan) in hand.  They add a bit of that quintessential Japanese grace and kawaii (cute) to the festival.



As a gaijin I may never fully grasp the significance and the myriad religious and historical references of Gion Matsuri.  But maybe that's not important.  Many of the Japanese people I spoke to don't either.  It is the spectacle - the sights, sounds and smells of the ancient capital.  That is why thousands of people descend on Kyoto in July.  

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

アイスティー aisu tii



There are some things the Japanese do so well.  It is of course a country famous for its tea.  There is an elaborate, centuries old ceremony surrounding this beverage.  That is hot tea.  

As the temperatures rise and the sweaty Kyoto summer begins its assault hot tea becomes less appealing.  I turn to aisu tii (iced tea) during this season.

In the States iced tea often comes from the same dispenser as Coke or any other soft-drink.  It is a sad, syrupy bastardization of this noble drink.  If you are lucky, you will get a Lipton brew poured from a glass pitcher and served with a slice of lemon.

In Kyoto, in places like Malebranche cafe, iced tea is something altogether different.  It comes in a cast-iron kettle, the same way it would if you were drinking it hot.  It comes with a tall glass half full of ice.  It comes with a bowl of ice and ice tongs.  It comes with a little plate of perfectly sliced lemon.  It comes with one of their famous Chanoka (Langues de chat) matcha flavored cookies.  It comes with a metal stirrer, a straw and instructions in Japanese and English how to pour the perfect iced tea.  All this is brought to you on a lovely wooden tray.

With bottled tea from various beverage giants becoming more and more popular in Japan, especially among young people, fewer people take the time to brew tea in a pot.  Something so wonderfully simple, serenely pleasant and culturally important has, even in Japan, been reduced to a vending machine experience.

Friday, July 1, 2016

雨 ame


My first June in Japan, the summer of 2015, was not particularly wet.  June is the "rainy season" and like all the seasons here, was highly anticipated and much talked about.  I expected 20+ days of rain.  Like a snowless winter in the mountains, it was a dud.  I was disappointed.

This June there has been rain, a lot of rain, almost everyday.  It is not a heavy rain; it is not an all-day deluge.  It is mostly soft and pleasant.  The asphalt of the streets, continuously stained by rain, is a richer black.  The leaves of the trees and the moss of the earth have a phosphorescent green glow.  The cedar of the minka (traditional houses) is most fragrant when rain dampened.  The whole city smells somehow green, fresh, alive.

Based on last years rainfall I have misjudged the gray skies on several occasions and have been caught in an afternoon shower without an umbrella.  This was not altogether disagreeable and I was not inclined to curse my gambling spirit or Mother Nature's humor.  A quiet tribute to Gene Kelly seemed more apropos.

My flea market umbrella has begun to rust at the hinges from overuse.  I seem to always be drying out socks and shoes.  No sooner do I water the plants on my terrace than the rain begins to fall.

I grew up in southern California where rain is a somewhat rare event.  My Japanese friends have no great love for this season.  For me, it is a joy.

"I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the rain..."