o-bon
We wandered the lantern'd ground before going to eat; it was unclear whether the event had already taken place or was yet to occur. The chocolate coating was already sliding off the erect bananas, the multi-coloured sprinkles dropping like candle wax on the table. A few boxes of yakisoba, glistening in oil and MSG, were lined up on the table, perkily held together with tight elastic bands. Small children were huddled on their hindquarters around a blue tank of small goldfish, poking them with chubby fingers. Their thin cotton robes were already disheveled; it was past their bedtime but the insistent humidity meant they'd never sleep anyway. Having no appetite for either takoyaki or shaved ice dripping in luminous syrup, we hopped across the road to nibble on some asparagus and sashimi instead.
Upon exiting the restaurant, we were greeted with the familiar caterwauling of traditional Japanese music. I grabbed my companion's hand and shot across the road with a characteristic gaijin disregard for traffic. The bobbing lanterns beckoned us in. The melting bananas and squatting children and bent-backed elderly had been joined by the rest of the neighbourhood. A slowly moving ring of people circled the taiko drum in the centre, which was being energetically beaten by young women with sweat rivulets dripping between their shoulder blades. We joined the circle, breathlessly looking around to take a cue. But no one seemed to know the dance at all. It was like watching the English football team trying to remember the British national anthem, mumbling and miming and looking from right to left for help. A few of the older participants managed to keep moving, deftly flapping their hands like butterflies. But when we tried to fall in behind one of them, he shook his head and moved away, muttering, "Hazukashii kara.." too shy or embarrassed to act as an example.
After a few rounds, my companion hissed, "You do know you're the only white girl here, don't you?"; "Of course,"; I replied. "But you forget that I spent six months in a rural area learning Japanese dance; I'm used to being the outsider even though I am probably more aware of these moves than most people here." Although that was true, I did feel a certain awkwardness, as if I was an albino crashing a gospel choir. This back street party was as private as a public event could get. And these two gaijin-san with only a quarter Japanese blood between them had audaciously wandered in off the street. I kept expecting someone- even one of the small children zooming around trying to flog disintegrating bananas- to yell "imposter!!" But no-one did. They were all concentrating too hard on whether you turn clockwise or anti-clockwise before you clap.
Upon exiting the restaurant, we were greeted with the familiar caterwauling of traditional Japanese music. I grabbed my companion's hand and shot across the road with a characteristic gaijin disregard for traffic. The bobbing lanterns beckoned us in. The melting bananas and squatting children and bent-backed elderly had been joined by the rest of the neighbourhood. A slowly moving ring of people circled the taiko drum in the centre, which was being energetically beaten by young women with sweat rivulets dripping between their shoulder blades. We joined the circle, breathlessly looking around to take a cue. But no one seemed to know the dance at all. It was like watching the English football team trying to remember the British national anthem, mumbling and miming and looking from right to left for help. A few of the older participants managed to keep moving, deftly flapping their hands like butterflies. But when we tried to fall in behind one of them, he shook his head and moved away, muttering, "Hazukashii kara.." too shy or embarrassed to act as an example.
After a few rounds, my companion hissed, "You do know you're the only white girl here, don't you?"; "Of course,"; I replied. "But you forget that I spent six months in a rural area learning Japanese dance; I'm used to being the outsider even though I am probably more aware of these moves than most people here." Although that was true, I did feel a certain awkwardness, as if I was an albino crashing a gospel choir. This back street party was as private as a public event could get. And these two gaijin-san with only a quarter Japanese blood between them had audaciously wandered in off the street. I kept expecting someone- even one of the small children zooming around trying to flog disintegrating bananas- to yell "imposter!!" But no-one did. They were all concentrating too hard on whether you turn clockwise or anti-clockwise before you clap.