It’s summer in Japan, and that means it’s matsuri season. I guess everyone thought as long as we’re already sweating, we might as well carry enormous heavy things around.
My neighborhood, 浅草橋三丁目 (Asakusabashi san-chōme), which is shortened to 浅三 in the context of 鳥越祭り (Torigoe Matsuri) had their mikoshi on display leading up to the festival. The big one on the left there, I think weighs over a ton. Usually thirty people carry it. The middle and right ones are carried by children and are considerably lighter.
The neighborhoods surrounding Torigoe shrine all parade around with their own mikoshi leading into the evening.
The shrine, by the way, has their own mikoshi, which weighs a whopping 4 tons. Maybe 60 people carry it at once. Divided that many ways, it’s still heavy on each person. That happens on the second day of the festival.
The streets bordering the shrine are all lined with little pop-up shops called yatai for food and games for children. While they predominantly sell things like yakitori, nikumaki onigiri, kakigori, and yakisoba, there are also some newer things like choco-banana, grilled corn, and spiral-cut potato.
Nob is part of the group which organizes our neighborhood’s activities, so he wears a kimono. That’s Daikichi, his son, behind him, carrying the mikoshi. I like seeing Nob during this festival because it’s pretty different from how I normally see him. We go to lunch and get coffee together, work, and play games. But this weekend, he’s in Matsuri Mode.
Two years ago, I was lent a hanten from the family to wear during the festival, but I didn’t really have all the right clothes underneath. This year, The Nukuis gifted me some maturi clothes, including tabi shoes, which have the big toe split from the rest. An odd feeling for me, to be sure.
This is a little difficult for me to talk about, but in America, systems of long-term oppression have made a fairly divisive culture out of a diverse population. Over the course of my entire life, I have witnessed all these individual moments where white people wore makeup or clothes from a culture they didn’t belong to, to great shame. And so any time my Japanese friends have encouraged me to wear Japanese clothes, I have tiptoed around the idea, even when their encouragement resembled social pressure.
But what I’ve come to learn—or unlearn in the context of growing up in America—is that outside of the US, actually other cultures often really want others to participate in theirs, because it fosters an understanding otherwise more difficult to obtain. This situation plays almost entirely counter to how it might play in America. Here, I’m not scolded for wearing it. I’m scolded for not wearing it.
I had a bit of unease putting on all my matsuri clothes for the first time. I didn’t know how to wear an obi. I didn’t know how to fasten up my tabi shoes. I felt incredibly self-conscious. But I attached my pouch to my obi, went out the door, and walked to the cafe like I do every morning. Along the way, I saw Tom, who owns another cafe, carting a box of soba noodles that was almost late to arrive in time for the festival. He saw me and shouted,「いいじゃん！」(That’s nice!)
And then everyone I knew just echoed that same sentiment all day. Everyone was super supportive, very encouraging, just really genuinely happy to see me dressed this way.
But it’s not just that. When wearing these clothes, people around me assume a certain level of familiarity. It’s a signal to others about where I live and where I’m supposed to be.
Putting on these clothes, I feel as close as I can be with my friends and found family. Meeting them where they are. Not just being together, but looking like we’re together. For all the days where being a foreigner can feel isolating, this is somehow the exact opposite.
When I found Daikichi that afternoon, he was lined up in front of the mikoshi. Then Nob gently shoved me into the spot next to him. A couple of minutes later, we were carrying the mikoshi side-by-side. Nob reminded me that because I’m in front, I have to smile!
I’ve only done this once before, so I only kinda know what I’m doing. I’m alternating between holding it right and holding it wrong, stepping the right way and stepping the wrong way. Getting my face smushed. But Nob’s right there in front of me, walking backwards, keeping the mikoshi at the right pace, looking at me literally grinning and bearing it, taunting me like, “You can stop any time!” I stayed on for a few more minutes and then jumped out.
I walked back home feeling a bit tired and sweaty, thinking it’s time to turn in for the night. Nob’s uncle heard me say I’m going to bed, and he pointed to his watch, 「ルイ、８時！」(Louie, it’s only 8pm!) A 70-year-old dude is making sure I don’t quit too early in the night. I love it.
I took a shower, headed back downstairs, grabbed a chūhai, and waited for Nob to come back. He was so tired, and ate his well-deserved favorite yatai yakisoba.
This morning is like round two, for such interested parties. Festivities started at 7am, which I was merely awake for. I did not dress up, but I went out to walk along the route with my neighborhood.
That 4-ton mikoshi I mentioned earlier is paraded around by all the individual neighborhoods, through their respective neighborhoods, handing it off from one to the next. For this morning, everyone isn’t just wearing the normal somewhat-difficult-to-obtain hanten, but rather a special one-hour-only hanten they register for and loan for the chance to carry the big one. The route is all planned out, with start and stop points and times for each handoff.
Here’s everyone who signed up from my neighborhood in a staging area waiting for the mikoshi to arrive, when they’ll all rush into a formation around it while the previous neighborhood rushes out of the way.
Nob found me on the sidelines and handed me his glasses.
And here’s everyone carrying it! I was standing at the corner of a building, holding Nob’s glasses, capturing photos, when a police officer looked at normal-clothes Louie and said in Japanese, then in English, “Dangerous.” I moved forward a little and laughed, because it was that exact moment that I realized if I was merely wearing my matsuri clothes, he wouldn’t have said that to me.
Moto was right when he told me two years ago that without it, I’d look like a tourist.
If you’re having a hard time understanding the scale of this thing, I hope this next picture clears that up.
I think I only have enough energy for one day of an event like this, but I love seeing how many people are eager year-after-year for it. Like Nob here. Just look at him, carrying a 4-ton portable shrine, excitedly waving from across the street.
After 30 minutes, the 浅三 segment was over, and everyone rushed away to make room for the next neighborhood group. I found Nob so I could return his glasses, 「お疲れ様です！」(Thanks for your hard work!)
The mikoshi made its way through every neighborhood and by 8pm, it’s on its way back to the shrine. There are thousands of people lining the street, hoping to catch a glimpse. Last year, I ended up in the street (not complaining, it was awesome), but Daikichi and I arrived a little late this year, and we’re standing on our toes trying to see if we could find Nob.
Daikichi wrestled his way through and snapped an undeniable photo of his dad with his round glasses.
