Kawagoe Matsuri
October 15, 2005
Kawagoe is a town outside Tokyo that advertises itself as a “Little Edo” because of a few small cluster of surviving 19th century merchant houses. In the real Edo (since renamed to Tokyo), most such houses were destroyed by an earthquake in 1923, by firebombing in World War II, and by the post-war construction boom. On the third weekend of October, Kawagoe holds its annual shrine festival, the matsuri.
Stepping
out of the train station meant stepping into the matsuri. The streets were
free of cars and instead filled with people and stalls selling delicious junk
food: Yakitori, yakisoba, crepes, sweet potatoes, and even a Japanized version
of that Turkish dish invented in Germany, döner
kebab.
In the center
of the crowd, the first float. Most matsuri feature mikoshi, portable shrines
in which the gods are carried through the streets by enthusiastic and often
inebriated folks and given a nice shaking. Kawagoe goes one step further:
Its neighborhoods have built huge and elaborately decorated floats.
On
each float are several musicians, playing drums and flute, as well as a mythical
figure performing strange dances. This first float remains stationary, but
as I walk through the main street, I encounter a few others that get pulled
through the street. When one float meets another, they get turned towards
each other as a greeting, and apparently the goal is for the musicians
of each float to make the ones of the other get off beat.
A bit further on, I find one group of the old merchant houses. The massive
mortar walls and tiled roofs were intended to make the buildings fire proof.
One of the buildings has been opened as a museum, so I can see the store buildings
in the backyard and the upstairs living quarters. On a little side street,
the old bell tower, whose bell is still there, but functionally replaced by
speakers.
As it gets dark, the floats get decorated with lamps in preparation for the great parade in the evening. Unfortunately, it also starts to rain, so eventually most of the floats end up in their garages, from where they entertain the dwindling masses. Only a few intrepids, protected by large plastic sheets, hold out in the streets. I retire with a portion of okonomiyaki to the train station.