Saijo Matsuri

Immediately after returning from the Iya Valley, I had the opportunity to go to the Saijo Matsuri festival. Saijo is a town about 50 km southeast of Imabari, known for its shipyards and temples. This Matsuri, held in the middle of October for four days, is one of the bigger ones around; this year there were 82 floats… The floats themselves are large…and very heavy, supposedly they can weigh, literally, a ton! They’re made of wood, gilt, cloth and many layers of paint. For all I know they have lead weights in them.




They are carried by six to ten men and women, and often have little children perched up in them, ten or twelve feet off the ground. The parade to the riverbed, which is wide, graveled, and flat, comes after everyone’s been up for four days drinking and carrying these things around the city…it’s a bit wild. I did not see any matsuri fall, but one or two came within a foot or so.






There was a camera crew from NHK (Japanese Television) there videotaping, and the matsuri had to be carried over the step of the covered cable…a number of crews didn’t really see the step or were too tired


to lift the float over them, and stumbled…we, of course, were standing right there, until one almost fell on my manager Mayu and myself…it was quite exciting.









This is one of the festival marshals, in what I thought was a rather natty outfit...for some reason, for me it recalls the way performance artist and activist Joseph Bueys might dress up for something like this...










When the floats get to the river, six cross the bridge to the west side and line up there. The others line up in two ranks on the east side. They display to each other, the bearers pumping the floats up and down vigorously…parading them around and generally causing a scene.



Eventually, after an hour or two of this, a parade of priests, notable guests and attendants crosses the bridge and make an agreement with the breakaway matsuri, and everything begins to settle down.



Meanwhile the food stalls are doing a brisk business as evening falls. That's Mayu and Chihiro on the right, with some green tea Pocky, I think.

Lanterns on the matsuri are lit.










The darkness seems to calm everyone down a bit...after a while everyone goes home, the gods are put back to sleep in their shrines, and that’s that for this year.

Chiiori

I had a few vacation days due me in October, so I resolved to visit the Iya Valley, and Chiiori. I had read about Chiiori, first in the Lonely Planet guide to Japan, and then in Alex Kerr’s ‘Lost Japan’, before coming here. Kerr’s description of this early Edo period (300 yr. old) farmhouse, perched in a small village on the side of a mountain, his exploits in buying and attempting to restore it seemed the stuff of legend. That there was a web page, www.chiiori.com, and I could go and stay there for a quite reasonable rate, made it a must see. With my still almost nonexistent Japanese abilities, it would be a challenge to get there.

I caught the train at Imabari Station, at nine am after losing my ticket (!) on the platform and missing the 8 am train I should have taken. Losing one’s ticket in Japan is a serious business, as it must be surrendered when exiting…so I just bought another one. The ticket agent that I tried to explain it to, (they’re starting to get to know me) just threw up her hands, and when I came back with my new ticket from the vending machine, had gone to the bathroom, probably to have a good laugh. Anyway I managed to catch a train, heading east. Off to a good start, I thought.



I had decided to take the local train east to Tadotsu, where I would have to switch and head south to Ikeda. I love riding the trains in Japan. They’re relatively cheap (cheaper than Canada, anyway), everyone rides them, they’re clean and quiet (mostly electric) and nearly always on time. And I’ve found JR staff to be friendly, helpful and understanding, unlike a few of my experiences with bus drivers. The ride east runs along the coastline, giving nice views north to the Seto Sea, and of farms and mountains and urban sprawl to the south.

In Tadotsu, I used some of my rudimentary Japanese to successfully change trains (I felt like a ten year old runaway). The local train I switched onto ran three stations and then stopped. Everyone got off, including me. It seemed I had to switch trains again, in order to get to Ikeda station. The train I had just left would turn east again just north of there and go to Tokushima. Unfortunately, the next train was not to arrive for some time. I was planning to take the city bus from Ikeda south to Oboke, and then east and into the Iya. Only two buses were running that I could catch however, and this train might make it impossible to take the 1:45, leaving me on the late bus, arriving at some mountain stop in the dark around 5:30…

I shot a photo of the peculiar roof ornamentation on the station itself. I had no idea what the character meant; later however, at New Years, I ended up back in Kotohira, for that’s where I was, and found that symbol to be the kanji for Kompira-san.

One of the other cool things about JR is that one can almost always change one’s ticket at any station. Seeing that there was a semi-express coming through in a half hour, which would go to Ikeda, and might allow me to take the early bus, I paid and upgraded my ticket. Yahoo! When I arrived in Ikeda, I walked down the street to the bus station…and found I’d missed the early bus by eight minutes. Oh well. I phoned Chiiori to tell them I would be on the late bus, and got some weird American guy who was quite excited and adament that I not try to walk in from the highway in the dark. I bought a ticket for the 4:30 bus and got a bento at the nearest supa, where I was also able to get a flashlight and stock up on cheap chocolate, and had lunch.

The bus ride south to Oboke and east was wonderful: the river turns into a gorge, the mountains become outrageously steep and the road outrageously narrow. I’ve seen some narrow roads in British Columbia, and this one matched, and then exceeded them. After an hour of winding curves with amazing views, anxiously counting tunnels and such, I found that my fare was matched on the electronic meter above the front window. Eureka! I pulled the cord and jumped off, thanking the driver.


I walked back over the bridge and stood at the corner. It was growing dark. Tim, an amiable Tazmanian volunteer, pulled up in a van. We drove up into the gathering dark to Chiiori.

James, the supervisor, and Laurie, a second volunteer were just starting dinner. We ate around the irori, or interior firepit, and then lounged about drinking homegrown tea, chatting and reading. I found it amazing that this was the only source of heat in this large space, in a place where the temperature is below zero for four months of the year! I come from near Ottawa, Canada, and the winters are cold there. But I can’t imagine wintering in a space with only this as the heat source. Must have been bloody cold.



This was the norm in the evenings. It suited me very well, and I found myself relaxing, though I definitely wanted more, perhaps a couple of weeks…

I had not spent any time in a space like this before; the ceiling is open and perhaps 25 feet from the floor at the apex, the shoji and fusumi create a modular space which is always changing, yet with simple boundaries. The floorboards are polished black with many years of soot and feet. And of course the windows open up into a spectacular, very steep drop four or five hundred feet to the valley bottom...the space opens up almost as if I were in a large, wooden cave...







This is the view out the front door.

One of my (many) bad habits is being overly helpful. Everyone tolerated this remarkably well, and even eventually gave me some small, not-potentially-damaging tasks to accomplish.



Otherwise I loafed about for three days, spending one afternoon down at the swimming hole, where I photographed some leaves, and saw, for the first time, an actual deer wallow! We heard these deer occasionally, and saw one. They have a strange screaming rutting call.

This photo shows a terrace, constructed who knows when, but replanted in cedar in the early seventies by local farmers on a federal program. The price of cedar has since plummeted due to overplanting, making these trees economically worthless to the farmers. One of the oddest sights, to me, is to be walking through forest, even if it's only forty years old, and see these freestone walls, which could be 3, 4 or 500 years old, scattered through the woods...it's very strange.


I found the leaves in the water beautiful and shot some.



I also explored the neighborhood a bit on foot. We saw a few abandoned farmhouses, something I encountered a few weeks later as well below Ishizuchi-san.










There is also a very nice shrine right across the road from the house, with some very large cedar trees, the largest of which, cut down, was five feet across at the base. I felt briefly like I was back in BC!




We spent one day being chauffered by Tim to the local museum, the vine bridges, which have been rebuilt in the same locations for 800 years, and eventually to Tsurugi-san, which we were able to climb.


On the day I left I opted to walk the two or three kilometers out to the highway, and it was a wonderful little mini-hike. I caught the bus back and made it home by 6:30 pm with about 500 en ($5) in my pocket. Not bad!



I found Chiori a stunning place, very special and well worth the trip, and I hope to go back sometime soon…