Shrines and Shoulders
The horror, the horror.
Today was the “portable shrine festival”. A few weeks ago at a drinking party, I agreed to participate in this years’ ebisu matsuri, in a barrage of nods and slurred Japanese. I had no idea of the day of pain and suffering that I was in for.
The day started with me fashioning a meagre lunchbox out of the pathetic scraps of food from my fridge, the more luxurious highlights of which included bread and rice. I arrived at the place where I was to procure my uniform for the day, with my usual ‘whatsgoingon’ face and ‘tellmewheretogo’ shuffle. We were to get dressed in semi-public conditions, in an open garage by a convenience store, on a main road. As I was beckoned to remove my jeans, I sheepishly mumbled “er- pantsu ga nai” (Im not wearing underwear) which was met with shrieks of laughter until they realised I wasn’t joking. I was ushered into a backalley.
The uniform of the day was some kind of traditional garment. Ninja-esque trousers and shoes were coupled with a kind of apron, topped off with a ‘happi’ - the quintessential festival jacket - and a bandana. Underneath all this, we wore a length of cotton that was wrapped round and round our stomach, to create a sort of corset. This was for lumbar support - something which I would be incredibly thankful for, later.
The bulk of the event is a parade in which groups of people carry extremely heavy shrines to the festival grounds. Regular stops were required as our knees gradually gave way with every meter. Naturally this being Japan, during this rest time we smoked cigarettes and drank beer. Along the parade, water was sprayed on us at various intervals, the reason for which is still unclear to me. A foaming-mouthed screaming man at the front kept us in rhythm with a guttural chant, eyes alight with an insane masochistic fire.
After about 45 minutes of staggering, gritting of teeth and stepping on the feet of the guy infront of me, we finally reached the end. My shoulders were glowing red, my feet were horribly sore and my face was dripping an acrid cocktail of water, sweat and beer. Luckily by that time, I was quite, quite drunk.
