KYOTO, Japan >> The procession of yama (small) and hoko (large) floats traveled beneath huge thunderclouds at the Gion Festival in Kyoto. In scorching heat, the decorative floats were pulled along Miyako-oji avenue to ohayashi (musical accompaniment) played with drums and gongs.
On July 12, the Niwatori Hoko, one of 23 floats, had been assembled in an area surrounded by buildings as the sound of cicadas reverberated through the neighborhood. It was five days before the float procession of the saki matsuri (Gion’s early festival). A procession was also to be held a week later for the ato matsuri (later festival).
(The name Niwatori Hoko, or chicken float, originates from a story about a chicken that lived inside a drum during the era of Yao, a legendary king of ancient China. The drum was played to urge rulers to govern well, but it eventually fell into disuse following a turbulent era, according to the legend.)
Applause erupted at 9 a.m. when the wheels were attached to the float.
“This year, we’ll be back from the parade without any accidents,” said Atsushi Sakamoto, 57, a representative of the float’s preservation group, as he touched the left rear wheel. “We’ll be able to do it.”
Last year, part of the left rear wheel broke during the procession, forcing the Niwatori Hoko to exit the parade.
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Secret base
Sakamoto is the fourth-generation owner of Manpuku, a restaurant located in the center of Kyoto. The area is home to the preservation group, and he grew up listening to the sound of ohayashi each year in the days leading up to the Gion Festival. From an early age, he aspired to become a musician for the festival.
Since his childhood, the Niwatori Hoko’s assembly has begun around July 10, and as a boy, he viewed the structure as a secret base.
“As the float grew taller day by day, I sneaked in and climbed it at night with neighborhood kids and ate snacks inside,” he said.
When he was a first-year elementary school student, Sakamoto joined a group of ohayashi musicians and was assigned to play the gong. It was the moment his dream came true. He recalled that when the sound of the gong penetrated his body, it made him part of the festival.
In those days, musicians brought thousands of chimaki (wrapped rice dumplings) aboard the float and tossed them to spectators. Tossing the dumplings symbolized turning any misfortune collected while touring the town into good fortune. Though musicians no longer practice that tradition for safety reasons, it hasn’t diminished Sakamoto’s pride in his hometown.
“Musicians can bring happiness to people when parading with the float,” he said.
Pulling through trouble
Sakamoto became the representative of the preservation group in 2020, when the COVID-19 pandemic resulted in a ban on building floats and a cancellation of the parade.
There was a sense of relief when the festival fully resumed in 2023, but last year the damaged wheel created an unprecedented situation at the Gion Festival: a float stopping during the parade. Sakamoto said he had never felt such heartbreak in his half-century with the festival.
But when discouraged group members returned to their base, they were greeted by a large crowd of cheering spectators. At the request of other ohayashi musicians, they paraded through the neighborhood, playing gongs and drums.
The Gion Festival is believed to have begun more than 1,000 years ago as an attempt to ward off plagues. In recent years, the festival’s float parade was added to the UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage list, and the festival is notable for the elegance of the floats, known as “moving museums.”
But there are now more regulations, and fewer local residents are involved in the event. Sakamoto said he feels frustrated, as the disconnect between the festival and the people seems to have grown.
Nevertheless, after the float’s mishap last year, Sakamoto said he’s been able to reevaluate the meaning of the festival. He has been overwhelmed at how much the treasured festival, passed down through generations, is cherished by people, and he believes those values must be passed on to future generations.
He was determined to make this year’s parade a success.
On July 17, the Niwatori Hoko began to move forward amid unusually heavy rain. Dressed in kamishimo (traditional formal attire), Sakamoto led the float, repeatedly slowing down to walk beside the wheels.
Just before returning to its starting point, the Niwatori Hoko crew faced the final challenge of the parade: tsujimawashi, a dynamic change of direction. The float was welcomed by the cheers of spectators, who were delighted to see it return.
“I can’t describe my feelings in words,” Sakamoto said, teary-eyed, while listening to the music signaling the end of the procession.
AloJapan.com