Imagine
this: 9,000 semi-naked men running through the streets, on a bitterly
cold February night, wearing nothing but a small Japanese style loin
cloth (A Fundoshi フンドシ)
and traditional socks (Tabi 足袋)
and your still not even close to the full madness. All these men are
then paraded around the streets chanting themselves into a frenzy
while people throw freezing cold water on them.
They
are then funnelled into a small alley where police stand firm and
female onlookers are whipping up a frenzy of their own, until you
reach the grounds of Saidaiji temple (西大寺).
Here they are 'cleansed' with a pool of freezing water, just over
waist high (Not forgetting your only wearing a loin cloth and a pair
of socks on a cold night, outside). The parade then takes you around
the temple its self where more onlookers cheer and high-five you.
You are blessed for good luck and then you enter 'the arena!' Here,
you must wait, patiently, naked, wet, in the cold, for... ...wait
for it.... ...sticks.
The
aim of the game is to complete with the 9,000 other naked men for one
of two stick filled with incense, trying not to be; beaten, full down
the steps to the temple, crushed, wrestled to the ground or trodden
on, in the process. If you are lucky enough to survive this gauntlet
with sticks in hand, you will achieve hero like status, as well as
being blessed for a year and a substantial cash price!
This
is what I did. Not the hero like status, blessed, cash rich part;
the attempting part to become the former. Loin clothed, wet and cold
in the streets of Japan, wrestling with others for a glimpse of
stick. It was nothing short of total insanity and carnage. I have
on occasion defend the 'Japanese people are crazy' stereotype, but
after this I don't have a leg to stand on.
There
were countdowns to the dropping of the sticks and once it reached a
minute before, the tension and atmosphere was electric. Just before
the sticks were dropped, the lights went out, something of which I
had no idea.
Managing
to survive the cold and I made my way up the steps to the temple,
where pushing serge which caused men to topple down the stairs
head-over-heals, one on top of another like human dominos. Having
made it to the top of the stairs I narrowly avoided such doom on more
than one occasion, hit the deck to prevent a slinky affect and
digging my feet in while grab hold of the nearest free Japanese mans
limb, seemed to fair me well. Once I squeezed my way in to the human
bait ball, the all new danger of being crushed to death became all
too realistic. With men more tightly compacted than a Tokyo commuter
train, it was hard to breath and I was even unable to move an arm it
was so densely packed. I couldn't and I'm not sure I would have even
wanted to make it close to the epicentre of the riot, where I presume
the sticks were, but I'm told warmth from the shared body heat is so
intense it is like the hottest sauna.
This
battle lasted for over an hour, with the sticks moved and fought over
in big huddles until they reached their final destination and the
event was over. Naked man roamed the streets and disappeared into
the night, as did I; confused, shocked, cold and tired. If someone
asks me “Are Japanese people really that crazy?” again, I
will refer them to the Hadaka Matsuri.
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