Sunday was the Mikoshi festival. I woke up at 5:30, trudged over to the train, and went to Yamada to meet Kitamura-sensei. We headed over to the parking lot of his apartment building where we met the other residents who I would be Mikoshiing with. Up to the shrine we went, to pick up our own personal God-carrying vehicle. As I was heading up the stairs a yell erupted behind me and, turning around, I saw a huge crowd of Japanese guys running directly at me, shrieking wildly. I ran up the last few stairs and managed to dodge out of the way, allowing them to pass, seconds before presumably being murdered. Looking at the picture here you may notice something a bit odd, namely that the guys (this is them post running) aren’t wearing any pants. Nobody seemed to think this was at all odd except me, and I kept it to myself. It turns out that these guys are the “pro” level Mikoshi dudes, whereas my group was one of the amateur clubs. The main differences appears to be that we get to saunter casually over to shrine, and we get to wear pants.

So we collected our Mikoshi and pulled it back to the apartment for a bit of practice. The pulling is pretty easy, but carrying is tricky as you have to maneuver it up on your shoulders without tipping it and crushing anybody. It is especially important as there are a number of small boys mounted on top of the thing, and they are quite fragile (although a second set is brought along just in case). The practice went well, and we proceeded out into the neighbourhood, bringing Mikoshi cheer to various areas.

There were a number of stops where we would ritually carry the Mikoshi in a circle, ritually put it down, the boys would be ritually carried out, we would ritually spin it wildly in a circle, then the boys would ritually be put back in. All a very strictly defined process in that fantastic Japanese manner. It is probably worth mentioning that I think the carrying of the Mikoshi in general may be the ideal Japanese task. In the carrying process no individual can make anything happen independently. The thing is simply too heavy and the momentum too great. The group must come to a consensus and act in a coordinated manner in order for something to happen, and a poorly coordinated group will simply fail.

Now, you may notice something odd about the folks carrying the Mikoshi: they’re all dudes. It seems that carrying this thing is considered very manly, and it has never crossed anybody’s mind that a woman might want to carry it. Now, women can participate in the event, but they are relegated, along with the children and more effeminate men, to the less-cool Mikoshi-like things which trail behind the main Mikoshi.

We were finally done our rounds, and we retired to a meeting room (no girls allowed) to eat too little food and drink too much drink. People were at first a little reserved, but as always it only takes half a beer to crack the facade, and everybody is best friends, even if they don’t have a clue what the other person is saying. In the photo here you can see me right about at the point where I was trying to explain that no, actually Celine Dion is terrible, I’ve never read “Anne of Green Gables” so I really can’t comment, and Bryan Adams is acceptable in small doses (why can’t they have seen Trailer Park Boys or something Canadian and interesting?).

At this point things went downhill a little bit. Friendly samurai dude brought out some “Scotch,” which is in quotes because I have never seen a colourless, odorless (except alcohol) Scotch, let alone a single malt which is labelled simply as “Islay” without any distillery mentioned. So, it was terrible but it was a kind gift and I drank it so as not to offend him. Then Kitamura-sensei and I crashed in his apartment for a bit, and I stumbled to his bathroom and may have made a bit of a mess, I’m really not sure. At one point I remember waking up and seeing his 13 year old daughter looking at me lying on the floor. I wonder what she was thinking (stupid Canadian guy doesn’t know how to drink). It was 5 in the afternoon when I was roused to consciousness. I made it home and slept forever. The next day I made it through “East of Eden” in about 15 hours. It was good, and sad.

Oh, and to the weird guy with poofy hair: apparently you have a wife and a kid, but based on the frequency and intensity with which you were hugging me you may want to take a few moments to self-analyze and see if you may be better suited to a different lifestyle.