鞍馬の火祭り

As I descended into the (normally sleepy) little hamlet called Kurama, I found that all of that calm, solitary atmosphere gave way to the excitement of preparing for a matsuri. The entire town seemed to be abuzz getting ready for the Kurama-no-hi Matsuri (the Kurama fire festival)--every citizen seemed to be somehow involved, while I walked around town photographing them.

firetruck no. 1

In addition to every citizen in the town, every fireman and policeman from the Kyoto forces had ascended the mountain to aid in the festivities. I stand by my initial belief that had anything horribly wrong happened down the mountain in Kyoto that night, there would have been no one in town to help out, because they were crowded into this little town.

大きいたいまつ

Why all the fuss over a festival? Well, it's one of the best in Japan. For the past 1600 years, this festival has invariably occurred, come rain or shine, on the evening of October 22nd in the streets of Kurama. The festival is a religious ceremony that guides the spirits of deities by torchlight between the spirit realm and the human world, AND doubles as a rite of passage for the people of the town during many different stages of their life.

たいまつを作る間に

The pine torches, or taimatsu, vary in size from the one-handed variety that a toddler might carry to giants that take 4 large men to support.

family bonfire

From a baby's first October 22nd, they carry a torch (held in the arms of their parents), and then as they grow, they wear beautiful kimono, nearly buckling under the weight of the clothing and the torch. Youthful men are the bearers of the two mikoshi (portable shrines) that are carried up the mountain at the climax of the festival. And the grown men are in charge of the largest taimatsu, while the women and elderly either accompany their families walking the torches around town or attend to the family bonfire outside their home.

貴重品

Families also display religious relics outside of their homes (the staff above), and a taiko drum if they have one (depicted below). The drum is then beaten throughout the ceremony as the town chants, "sai-rei sai-ryou," ("good festival, the best festival,") in rhythmic cacophony.

たいこ

Watching the bonfires and torches be made and put into place was a special treat, so I was happy that I had all day after lunch there. A bonfire started with a simple metal basket (like this one)...

火事の器

...and was constructed by whomever in the house was available at that particular moment. It always started with layer of kindling and dead pine needles, then a layer of pine firewood, followed by a layer of cedar firewood, then topped off with live branches.

おじさん

Assembled taimatsu would be displayed in front of the family home for passerbys to admire, and would sit there basking in the sun, waiting to be lit.

ご家族のたいまつ

This festival is also famous for being deemed among the "top three festivals for eccentrics" in Japan. Who deemed it so or what authority they have, I know not. But as a native of a town that has an Oyster Festival, an All-Species Parade, and a Kinetic Sculpture Race, I think I have the authority to agree with the statement nonetheless.

天狗

Not only do bare-bummed men (wearing the traditional fudoshi undergarment only) carrying 15-foot tall flaming torches make for a laughable sight, but there was also many a Japanese goblin in attendance. These "Tengu" goblins--remnants of Kurama's ancient folklore mythology-- came either in the crow-headed variety or the red-skinned Pinocchio variety, as shown above, and some people's costumes were pretty convincing.

たいまつの木

As the sun started to tuck itself in behind the mountain, I met up with Ishani, who came to Kurama to see the festival with me. We walked around a little bit more before settling in a place to start watching the procession, only to be shooed away from sideline after sideline, until FINALLY somebody let us know that we would have to walk throughout the entire festival, and that's why the police kept ushering everybody away from anyplace they happened to be standing.

安全

Overall, with the Kurama firefighting club, the entire Kyoto police force and fire station crews, and water bins at every house to douse out any unexpected fires, I think they had a town Smokey would be proud of. But that didn't mean it was the safest place ever. I had the misfortune of watching person after person fall down into a hole at the side of the street that was filled with river water (it was a drainage area of some sort) when the sun had gone down and they could no longer see well. Even after a Japanese man got exceeding irked at a police officer who refused to stand watch over that area, I was disappointed in the unenthusiastic solution of putting a traffic cone next to it. But it turned out the traffic cone didn't do any good either. I watched about 6 people fall in, and any one of those times, someone could've easily broken a bone. Sometimes I really hate the tendency in America to sue for every little thing, but it made me upset that nobody seemed willing or able to prevent accidents like that from happening.

kindling

But that was the only bad thing that happened all day, and all of those people were alright, if soaked. Other than those mishaps, from the time the sun went down to the time we left (before the matsuri had ended because we had to get back home before school the following morning) was pure magic.

fire hamlet

Watching the town slowly light up with fire and seeing the citizens walk all over their territory, carrying fire and chanting all the way--it was truly an exceptional Japanese experience. And then I came to a different kind of peaceful solitude from what I had experienced that afternoon on my hike.

”さいれいさいりょう”

ふんどし

たいまつの子供

While it was the first time since coming to Japan that I could see stars above my head (I live in light-pollution waste-land), the fires were more mesmerizing, and the fire of my love for Japan burned even brighter still.

火