Christmas Tree 2006

A funny Christmas it was.

Takachiho Gorge

Japan is a beautiful place, but its countryside is scarred with concrete. Flat land is built on, or farmed. Steep land is useless, so allowed to grow free. But even there, the cloud soaked hills bear the weight of large red and white pylons, rivers are strictly channelled, and bridges abound. There seems to be little concept of wilderness here, as all is tamed, directed, sanitised.

Bridges seem to come in threes, stacked above each other.

Fact: No river in Japan remains undammed.

The cause is well documented. The civil engineers make the decisions, not environmentalists. Politicians pump in money for public work schemes that reduce unemployment and shift benefits to the democratically-stronger countryside constituencies. Murkier dealings come to light from time to time; there is a lot of money to be made in construction, legally or not.

But there seems to be more going on in the underlying attitude to nature here. The Japanese have a strong sense that nature is out to get them, whether by Tsunami, Earthquake, Typhoon, Jellyfish [see entry for 10/21/06]. There is some truth in it, but the resulting paranoia is both restrictive and damaging.



I went to see the great gorge in Takachiho, central Kyushu; a wonderful place, with scuplted rock, corrugated cliffs, and cool green water.


The gorge is lined with concrete paths and fences. At least, it keeps the hordes of tourists in one place.



But the most beautiful part of the gorge has become a boating pond, for tourists to row around in. Or rather, for tourists to photograph each other rowing around in. While in fact going in circles. Is there a word to describe something that is at once comic and depressing?

As the gorge opens up at the end of the tourist trail, the path continues, but signs tell you not to carry on: “Dangerous! Stop!” Knowing by now the civil authority’s attitude to danger (ie paranoia), I carried on walking. As it turned out, by ‘danger’, it meant you would not have been able to get along it in a wheelchair. Probably not recommended for the infirm or very elderly. The path was wide and concrete, the river mellow, the single boulder easy to cross.





I should point out that these excessive warnings are not like those in the U.K. or America. Japan does not share our highly litigious culture. These signs are not the ‘Get out of Jail’ cards that our companies and organisations sprinkle so liberally to prevent damaging court cases. Rather, I think these are a sign of the very strong sense of public duty and culpability in Japanese society. If someone hurt themselves, that would be YOUR fault, as municipal worker.

As I walked, I grumbled to myself about all this paranoia and environmental damage. I clambered around on the rocks, and sat in the drizzle on a boulder, twisting around to try to find a direction that would allow me to avoid seeing any concrete. As I stepped from one stone to the next, it gave way beneath me, and I sprawled into the river, banging my knee and drenching my leg.



I limped back into town, tail between my legs. I think something heard me muttering about paranoia.

When in Rome...

I have a cold.

This is what Japanese people do when they have a cold.

It's kind of like a nose burqa.

It's not very fun.

Karatsu Kunchi

362 days a year, Karatsu is an unexceptional fishing town. It is next to a beautiful pine forest (with a big road through the middle of it), and a lovely beach (facing an industrial plant), and has a large C17th castle (built in 1966). But for the three days of the Karatsu Kunchi, the town shakes off the dust, swaps its work clothes for ceremonial garb, and holds its head up high.























Fourteen floats, each three stories high and several tonnes in weight, are dragged in grand style through the town by hundreds of people. The floats are between 150 and 200 years old, but remain immaculately decorated and in pristine condition.









Given that they are clearly such treasures, it is heartening to see two men perched atop every float, urging the straining crowds onto greater efforts. The two men on top throw a repetitive chant back and forth with each tug of the rope:

"Aye-yar aye-yar aye-yar aye! Aye-yar aye-yar aye-yar aye! Aye-yar aye-yar aye-yar aye!"

They keep that up for three days, waving sticks and lanterns above their heads, trying to keep up the energy of the group. Even at a standstill, they maintain the chant; a matter of pride to be seen to be having more fun than the other groups. For three days, the Sake flows, and the voices grow hoarse, but the shouting doesn't stop.


These are no mere museum exhibits; these are living parts of the town, at once both symbol and participant in the life of the place. Each float represents a different part of town, and is pulled only by people from that area.









Every group wears a distinct, vividly coloured outfit. They range in age from the toddlers placed in the float and kids who lead the procession, through the burly men who manhandle it around the corners, right up to the greying old geezers who follow behind, grumbling about turning circles.









It is essentially quite a simple festival (after all, they are only pushing carts around). But they make sure they squeeze every last drop of interest out of it; pulled at night, pulled during the day; pulled through sand; pulled as fast as possible.

















This is no tourist event; it's a festival with a future. All ages take part, and those kids will be in charge of the floats in decades to come. Its strength comes from the competitive pride it creates between people from different parts of the town, striving to better each other.



Just as with the correfoc and castellers of Barcelona, petty local rivalries are transformed into a positive creative force. No one could create a festival like this from scratch, top down; it needed to grow from its roots to become strong.