Day 66: Ambushed in Fujinomiya
My time off between hiking is almost always unstructured and unplanned. I enjoy exploring without a specific agenda or schedule, and seeing where the day takes me. Yesterday was a perfect example if why I enjoy this approach.
I set out with only a loose goal of finding a shrine or temple to get another Goshuin for my collection. While I cannot read my Goshuin, I like that they are an embodiment of my trail through Japan, and for those who can read it, a unique proof of my journey.
That said, I find locating a shrine or temple that has an attendant or monk to give one, and is open while I am passing by, can be challenging in the smaller cities and more rural towns.
Looking at Google maps would tell you that there are hundreds of shrines in any given city. However, many shrines are small and unmanned, a small plot of land with a spot to pray. Sometimes, just a tiny little building for an alter set into a nook.
After spending many previous days wandering blindly to nearby shrines and temples, I have learned how to increase my odds of finding one in the business of giving out stamps. This comes down to two methods, both involving doing recon on Google maps before I ever leave my bunk.
The first is to simple search for nearby shrine and temples, and look at the photos posted to see if there is an obvious sign of an office where you would go to get a stamp. This is easiest in Shinto shrines, as they are much more openly laid out and easy to understand. Buddhist temples tend to be far more complex, with gardens and decorations obscuring the layout, and offices hidden away in the temple or sometimes elsewhere on the grounds with little in the way of markings.
The second method is to simply look at the number of ratings a site has on Google maps. Not the average rating mind you, but the raw number of people who have bothered to leave a rating out of 5 stars. The little places with no staff tend to only have a few ratings, whereas the places of significance have hundreds or thousands of ratings, and finding one like that on the map is almost a sure bet.
This was the method that led me to hop on the train to Fujinomiya yesterday, as I found a shrine with 1300+ ratings, and the photos showed it was a large complex worth visiting on its beauty alone.
As I left the train station in Fujinomiya and checked my map, the best route was headed west down a main street. But while I stood there I heard distant sounds of drums and flutes coming from the east. It was early in the afternoon and I figured the shrine wasn't going anywhere, so I set out east, following my ears.
After a few blocks I found myself walking in the same direction as a growing number of people, the vast majority of whom where wearing a familiar looking style of outfit. They looked like the people I had seen in Osaka, all dressed in a uniform for their town and carrying the large shrines around. I was excited to see what these people were up to, and followed the flow of people northwards.
As I approached an intersection my progress was halted by a lengthy procession. Multiple lines of people stretches down the street, each a hundred or more people long, and each collectively holding large ropes used to pull a massive, ornate wooden cart. In the cart, the source of the sounds that drew me here, musicians playing flutes, drums and beating cymbals.
Expecting the procession to pass and the road to clear once again, I waited. But the crowds only grew thicker, and before I realized it I was surrounded by all manner of people in ceremonial dress and left with no option by to stay put and see what unfolded.
As these people passed, a man dressed in a green robe began yelling at the people on the street I stood on to move, and motioned us back to the very edge of the street. Moments later another massive cart rolled past me, close enough to reach out and touch.
Like the previous cart, this one contained musicians and their instruments. But unlike the previous cart, there wasn't a long precession of manpower and ropes to to pull the cart. Instead, a small groups of large men pushed the cart forwards.
The cart, clattering with percussion and flutes rolled passed me and stopped in the intersection, braced in place with large wooden levers to chock the cart in place.
The onlooking crowd, comprised mainly of costumed participants, as well as a few dressed in civilian clothes (and one extreme conspicuous white guy with a red beard, sticking out like a sore thumb) all clapped and cheered at the arrival of this new cart. It played it's rhythmic music for a time, then backed down the street a few meters in the direction it had emerged from.
I wasn't sure why it was retreating. I had expected it to continue down the road as the previous cart had done. But instead it came to rest, and all eyes turned to look down another street as a new cart approached. It too came to rest in the intersection to the adulation of the crowd, then found a resting spot behind it.
Finally a third cart came, repeating the ritual. Each cart unique in its design, decoration and in the outfits worn by its crew. But the instruments were the same for all three; drums, cymbals and flutes.
The music died down and from each of the three teams, men bearing paper lanterns on long bamboo poles came forward, followed by elders from each group. Each lined up where there street met the intersection, facing the center, and from the forth side, a man came to stand and speak to the representatives and the crowd.
Each of the groups took turns speaking, with the crowd smiling and applauding regularly, before a few women rushed around and handed each a dish with sake in it for a final toast.
Here I thought that the ceremony and festivities were now concluded, but this was infact the beginning and not the end. The man who lead initially spoke to the crowd now called out to each team, and in turn each team responded with the sorts of jubilant and furious cheers that come from those who are psyching themselves up.
When each team had been called upon, those standing at the intersection with robes and lanterns dispersed back into the crowd, and the teams scampered up into their respective cart to prepare for what came next: a cacophonous clash of music, mayhem and mirth.
The carts would each come together at the edge of the intersection, one by one, each with their musicians playing furiously. Drawing close to each others, players locked in a musical combat would play an assault on the others as their teams pushed their carts forward trying to claim every millimetre for themselves, while careful to never actually touch.
Eventually the carts would reverse and return to their starting positions, to the cheers of the crowd. Again, I figured this was now the end, as the carts were quickly being emptied of their musical combatants. But as quickly as the first crew excited each carts, a second crew took their place and strapped in. Where the first round had been all men, now the carts were crew by all women musicians, and the battle resumed.
The ritual repeated itself, with each cart vying for position and clashing their instruments, before once again returning to their resting positions and emptying the carts for a final time.
Convinced that this was the end, I looked for a way through the crowd to continue towards the shrine, only to be shocked to see that the carts were transforming, with figures rising from their roofs and the crowd breaking into a choreographed dance routine.
Having seen enough, and noticing that now the civilians who were watching were starting to file away, I pressed on, slowly working my way out of the tiny intersection and finally moving westward towards my original destination.
Walking a few blocks I approached the road that would lead me to the shrine I was seeking, and even from a distance I could tell that I was not walking away from the activities, but deeper into them.
Another procession was pulling a cart down the road I needed to follow, and in the distance I could see they were headed to another gathering of different carts, for what I assume would be a new battle.
I followed down the street with the procession, and arrived at the temple to find it in full festival mode, and overwhelmed with throngs of festival goers.
The booths that lined the paths filled the air with the smell of grilled meat, fried foods and all manner of confectionery. I took my time and slowly made my way down the path, arriving at the entrance to the shrine.
My aim now was to make a small prayer, as I have done at each shine I have visited, and then find my Goshuin.
As I entered the gateways I could see the line was long to make a prayer, so I took my place and waited.
As I waited in line I admired the grounds around me, open and well kept. The shrine itself an example of classic Japanese architecture, in the same style as the Sumiyoshi Taisha shrine in first visited in Osaka at the very start of my trip. But the architecture would not hold my attention for long as I noticed activity on the small stage to my right.
Once I spotted the man on the stage wielding a katana I found it very difficult to pay attention to the movement of the line, my attention was thoroughly captured.
When my turn came I made my prayer, stepped away from the line and circled the stage to find a place to watch, forgetting for a time about my goal to find a stamp.
Three men would take turns demonstrating their skill with their weapons. First moving through drills on the stage, combatting invisible enemies that only they could see. Eventually each swordsman would set up rolled tatami, and with it their enemies became visible before being swiftly cut down.
The demonstration concluded, and the men left the stage. With a wide grin, I gather my belongings and set off to finally get my Goshuin. The booths were only a short walk from the stage, and when I arrived they took my book and gave me a number so I could collect it later, as their was a long line of books to be stamped ahead of mine.
I took my number and wandered off to the side and around to a rear gate behind the stage. To my surprise the three swordsmen were still there, talking and packing up. One was gathering the sliced tatami pieces into trash bags to be disposed of, and when the pieces were to large he made use of the tools at hand to make them fit in the bags.
The oldest of the three swordsmen spotted me watching them and called me over, asking if this was the first time I had seen something like this. I answered that it very much was, and how amazing I found it all to be. We talked for a brief while about Japanese swords and he would smile broadly when shared my I deep admiration them, and of the skills they displayed.
His colleagues would soon signal it was time to go, and they collected their swords and headed for the exit. I thanked each of them as they passed and they returned thanks of and their own, with friendly waves as they departed.
With that I was left holding a small numbered token, and finally returned to the booth to collect my original goal:
From there it was a short walk out of the shrine's front gate and back into the crowd as I made my way to the train and home for the night.
I set out with only a loose goal of finding a shrine or temple to get another Goshuin for my collection. While I cannot read my Goshuin, I like that they are an embodiment of my trail through Japan, and for those who can read it, a unique proof of my journey.
That said, I find locating a shrine or temple that has an attendant or monk to give one, and is open while I am passing by, can be challenging in the smaller cities and more rural towns.
Looking at Google maps would tell you that there are hundreds of shrines in any given city. However, many shrines are small and unmanned, a small plot of land with a spot to pray. Sometimes, just a tiny little building for an alter set into a nook.
After spending many previous days wandering blindly to nearby shrines and temples, I have learned how to increase my odds of finding one in the business of giving out stamps. This comes down to two methods, both involving doing recon on Google maps before I ever leave my bunk.
The first is to simple search for nearby shrine and temples, and look at the photos posted to see if there is an obvious sign of an office where you would go to get a stamp. This is easiest in Shinto shrines, as they are much more openly laid out and easy to understand. Buddhist temples tend to be far more complex, with gardens and decorations obscuring the layout, and offices hidden away in the temple or sometimes elsewhere on the grounds with little in the way of markings.
The second method is to simply look at the number of ratings a site has on Google maps. Not the average rating mind you, but the raw number of people who have bothered to leave a rating out of 5 stars. The little places with no staff tend to only have a few ratings, whereas the places of significance have hundreds or thousands of ratings, and finding one like that on the map is almost a sure bet.
This was the method that led me to hop on the train to Fujinomiya yesterday, as I found a shrine with 1300+ ratings, and the photos showed it was a large complex worth visiting on its beauty alone.
As I left the train station in Fujinomiya and checked my map, the best route was headed west down a main street. But while I stood there I heard distant sounds of drums and flutes coming from the east. It was early in the afternoon and I figured the shrine wasn't going anywhere, so I set out east, following my ears.
After a few blocks I found myself walking in the same direction as a growing number of people, the vast majority of whom where wearing a familiar looking style of outfit. They looked like the people I had seen in Osaka, all dressed in a uniform for their town and carrying the large shrines around. I was excited to see what these people were up to, and followed the flow of people northwards.
As I approached an intersection my progress was halted by a lengthy procession. Multiple lines of people stretches down the street, each a hundred or more people long, and each collectively holding large ropes used to pull a massive, ornate wooden cart. In the cart, the source of the sounds that drew me here, musicians playing flutes, drums and beating cymbals.
Expecting the procession to pass and the road to clear once again, I waited. But the crowds only grew thicker, and before I realized it I was surrounded by all manner of people in ceremonial dress and left with no option by to stay put and see what unfolded.
Like the previous cart, this one contained musicians and their instruments. But unlike the previous cart, there wasn't a long precession of manpower and ropes to to pull the cart. Instead, a small groups of large men pushed the cart forwards.
The cart, clattering with percussion and flutes rolled passed me and stopped in the intersection, braced in place with large wooden levers to chock the cart in place.
The onlooking crowd, comprised mainly of costumed participants, as well as a few dressed in civilian clothes (and one extreme conspicuous white guy with a red beard, sticking out like a sore thumb) all clapped and cheered at the arrival of this new cart. It played it's rhythmic music for a time, then backed down the street a few meters in the direction it had emerged from.
I wasn't sure why it was retreating. I had expected it to continue down the road as the previous cart had done. But instead it came to rest, and all eyes turned to look down another street as a new cart approached. It too came to rest in the intersection to the adulation of the crowd, then found a resting spot behind it.
Finally a third cart came, repeating the ritual. Each cart unique in its design, decoration and in the outfits worn by its crew. But the instruments were the same for all three; drums, cymbals and flutes.
The music died down and from each of the three teams, men bearing paper lanterns on long bamboo poles came forward, followed by elders from each group. Each lined up where there street met the intersection, facing the center, and from the forth side, a man came to stand and speak to the representatives and the crowd.
Each of the groups took turns speaking, with the crowd smiling and applauding regularly, before a few women rushed around and handed each a dish with sake in it for a final toast.
Here I thought that the ceremony and festivities were now concluded, but this was infact the beginning and not the end. The man who lead initially spoke to the crowd now called out to each team, and in turn each team responded with the sorts of jubilant and furious cheers that come from those who are psyching themselves up.
When each team had been called upon, those standing at the intersection with robes and lanterns dispersed back into the crowd, and the teams scampered up into their respective cart to prepare for what came next: a cacophonous clash of music, mayhem and mirth.
Part 1
Part 2
The carts would each come together at the edge of the intersection, one by one, each with their musicians playing furiously. Drawing close to each others, players locked in a musical combat would play an assault on the others as their teams pushed their carts forward trying to claim every millimetre for themselves, while careful to never actually touch.
An intense duel
Eventually the carts would reverse and return to their starting positions, to the cheers of the crowd. Again, I figured this was now the end, as the carts were quickly being emptied of their musical combatants. But as quickly as the first crew excited each carts, a second crew took their place and strapped in. Where the first round had been all men, now the carts were crew by all women musicians, and the battle resumed.
The ritual repeated itself, with each cart vying for position and clashing their instruments, before once again returning to their resting positions and emptying the carts for a final time.
Convinced that this was the end, I looked for a way through the crowd to continue towards the shrine, only to be shocked to see that the carts were transforming, with figures rising from their roofs and the crowd breaking into a choreographed dance routine.
Having seen enough, and noticing that now the civilians who were watching were starting to file away, I pressed on, slowly working my way out of the tiny intersection and finally moving westward towards my original destination.
Walking a few blocks I approached the road that would lead me to the shrine I was seeking, and even from a distance I could tell that I was not walking away from the activities, but deeper into them.
Another procession was pulling a cart down the road I needed to follow, and in the distance I could see they were headed to another gathering of different carts, for what I assume would be a new battle.
I followed down the street with the procession, and arrived at the temple to find it in full festival mode, and overwhelmed with throngs of festival goers.
The booths that lined the paths filled the air with the smell of grilled meat, fried foods and all manner of confectionery. I took my time and slowly made my way down the path, arriving at the entrance to the shrine.
My aim now was to make a small prayer, as I have done at each shine I have visited, and then find my Goshuin.
As I entered the gateways I could see the line was long to make a prayer, so I took my place and waited.
As I waited in line I admired the grounds around me, open and well kept. The shrine itself an example of classic Japanese architecture, in the same style as the Sumiyoshi Taisha shrine in first visited in Osaka at the very start of my trip. But the architecture would not hold my attention for long as I noticed activity on the small stage to my right.
Once I spotted the man on the stage wielding a katana I found it very difficult to pay attention to the movement of the line, my attention was thoroughly captured.
When my turn came I made my prayer, stepped away from the line and circled the stage to find a place to watch, forgetting for a time about my goal to find a stamp.
Three men would take turns demonstrating their skill with their weapons. First moving through drills on the stage, combatting invisible enemies that only they could see. Eventually each swordsman would set up rolled tatami, and with it their enemies became visible before being swiftly cut down.
The demonstration concluded, and the men left the stage. With a wide grin, I gather my belongings and set off to finally get my Goshuin. The booths were only a short walk from the stage, and when I arrived they took my book and gave me a number so I could collect it later, as their was a long line of books to be stamped ahead of mine.
I took my number and wandered off to the side and around to a rear gate behind the stage. To my surprise the three swordsmen were still there, talking and packing up. One was gathering the sliced tatami pieces into trash bags to be disposed of, and when the pieces were to large he made use of the tools at hand to make them fit in the bags.
The oldest of the three swordsmen spotted me watching them and called me over, asking if this was the first time I had seen something like this. I answered that it very much was, and how amazing I found it all to be. We talked for a brief while about Japanese swords and he would smile broadly when shared my I deep admiration them, and of the skills they displayed.
His colleagues would soon signal it was time to go, and they collected their swords and headed for the exit. I thanked each of them as they passed and they returned thanks of and their own, with friendly waves as they departed.
With that I was left holding a small numbered token, and finally returned to the booth to collect my original goal:
From there it was a short walk out of the shrine's front gate and back into the crowd as I made my way to the train and home for the night.
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