It’s a cold Monday morning, and though the horizon is clear and promises a nicer day, my window is beling pelted by sideways rain and hail courtesy of a driving wind from Izumo. It may be like this all day – the hint of sun, the pelting rain. Welcome to winter in Matsue.

I have four days off in a row. Sunday and Monday are my usual days off, and Tuesday is the Emperor’s Birthday, and I took Wednesday off in the hopes of going to Kyoto to see kabuki. Unfortunately the trip is off – I spent too much money on my trip to Hiroshima when I wrote the Japanese test, so I couldn’t afford it. Kabuki will have to wait until the New Year. My second trip to Kyoto will have to wait, as will my account of my first trip to Kyoto. Coming soon…

Meanwhile, one of the highlights of the autumn were the many events of October, culminating in the DoGyoRetsu (drum parade). I’ve been working on this letter for a while, so please enjoy!

The Drums of October

I didn’t intend to take part in the annual Dou-Gyou-Retsu drum festival this year. I watched it with delight last year, and wanted to take part, but I always assumed my schedule at AEON precluded it, since I had to work on most of the practice nights. So I thought very little about it, except for a wistful sigh the first time I heard distant drums pounding in one of the towns(neighbourhoods) this September.

But one Saturday at the beginning of October, about two weeks before the festival, I finished work and headed home. I had the beginning of a troublesome head cold, so I had decided not to go to aikido. I felt guilty about that, since I’ve been neglecting my aikido classes a lot recently. Unfortunately, the only aikido class I can get to easily starts immediately after work at the end of a long, exhausting week, and I can’t always muster the energy to go.

So I crossed the bridge as the last of the light drained from the sky, and my heart picked up speed as I heard the drums beating near the park. I skipped my shortcut and paused by the Douyukai drum shed, where practice was in progress. “Douyukai” (友) means “Drum Friends Party.” Most of the drum groups are named after the town within Matsue that they originate in, But Douyukai is different. It is also newer, being only seven years old. A drum group like this is a community effort, with many families involved. There were also a few young women, giggling with excitement and new to the drums, and some older men, old hands at playing. A couple of foreigners were there too; Angelo from South Africa, an Assistant Language Teacher (ALT) who was just transferred from Izumo to Matsue, and Paul, a likeable guy from ‘New Yawk.’ I met Gobara-san, a younger guy who spoke the best English of the Douyukai organizers. He made up for speaking English poorly by speaking it loudly. A pair of drumsticks was thrust into my hands, and I was guided over to the drums, and away we went!

Now last year, I practiced a little with a different drum group, and the basic pattern is the same, so I picked it up again pretty easily. There is a pattern that is repeated five times (I call it “arasa-sai!” because each repetition begins with this chant), Then, shouting “So-re!” (“Let’s!”), the pattern changes for one ‘verse’, then back to “Arasa-sai!” The older men, who had been drumming for twenty years (give or take), showed me how to hold the sticks properly, how to hold my arms (I tended to shrink back a little from the drums, with my arms bent; they encouraged me to extend my arms forward), and nuance – when to tap lightly, and when to swing and hit with all my might.

I was feeling pretty good about myself, when they changed to the next pattern. Whoah! This one was much, much harder. It seemed to change constantly, so finding the rhythm took a long time. One of the guys, whose name I never learned properly, helped, sort of, by pounding on my shoulder blades and calling out “Hidari! Migi! Hidari! Migi! Migi! Hidari!” (“Left! Right! Left! Right! Right! Left!”) I watched the old hands around me and imitated them, and started to get the hang of it – then back to “Arasa-sai!” again. Then it was almost nine o’clock, and the experienced players peeled us off the drums to play the final pattern and show us how it was done. My God, it was fast! And they just got faster and faster… Angelo, Paul and I, and some of the Japanese newcomers, were very impressed. I couldn’t imagine doing it!

At the end of practice, as we put the drums on planks to balance them and tucked them away again in the shed, Gobara-san communicated to me that there was a practice on Monday. I told him I’d be there.

The next day, despite the drizzly weather, Seiji, Martin, Yumi and I set off around 1 o’clock for a different drum festival in Okuizumo. (Martin and I talked politics the whole way; I tried to speak slower so Seiji could follow, because Seiji likes debates, but Martin was motoring on about single-run elections, and Seiji seemed to tune out.) Okuizumo is a small, remote farming community almost an hour away from Matsue. We arrived at the baseball field where the concert was set up, and made our way in. A large concert stage was set up in the outfield, and around the audience area were various stalls, most selling food and drinks. One stall was selling jeans, made in nearby Nita. I knew this company; my student Sachie (the obsessive piano player) had told me that her husband owned the factory. It explains why once or twice a year he can buy her Armani.

I did a big circle to check all the stalls, then, because I was a little hungry and the air was cool, Seiji and I stopped for oden. Oden is a hot, nourishing winter stew available in every convenience store (“conbini,” in Japanese English), but the homemade stuff is better. The clear amber broth is just dashi (seaweed and fish-flake broth, a staple of Japanese cooking) with either soy sauce or miso added. Typical ingredients include boiled eggs, abura-age (deep-fried tofu rectangles), konyakku (wow, I’m not even sure how to describe this one; it’s a solid but gelatinous rectangle of sweet potato starch. It doesn’t have a lot of taste of itself, but soaks up flavours pretty easily), daikon (a huge white radish; the kanji, 大根, literally mean “big root”), tender beef and potatoes. Everything is simmered together until it melts in your mouth. It’s so simple, but mouth-wateringly good, especially on a cold day. Usually you put minced green onion and the very hot Japanese mustard (hot like wasabi hot – be careful!) on it. The people at the stall were so nice. They gave us lots of oden, a free beer and some edamame to eat, and chatted with us, making some suggestions, of course, that we looked nice together. I smiled but said “tomodachi dake” (“Just friends”). Martin and Yumi opted for udon instead. Udon is thick, chewy white noodles, eaten hot or cold with various toppings.

The five-hour concert began with many children’s drum groups, plus a local folksinging duo (they sang some comic songs, one about the turtlebug, a little brown bug which lets off a horrible stench if you touch it – they warned everyone about them at the theatre festival last year -, and a funny homage to Okuizumo’s staple crop, rice) and a rock band from Hiroshima. We stood or crouched near the stage to watch, and occasionally took a wander around the stalls again. The hot food vendors were doing a brisk trade, but the ice cream man was pretty much out of luck. I had a couple of cups of coffee, and jumped around to the music to keep myself warm.

Yumi and Martin bailed around 5:30, and caught the shuttle to the train station. I felt bad about not giving them a drive home, but I really wanted to stay for the bigger acts. Seiji wanted to see the shamisen players perform, and they were very good, after an extremely long tuning session. The lead player, in his light-coloured kimono and hakama, stood out from the others, dressed similarly in the more traditional black kimono and striped hakama. His two sons, aged about six and eleven, accompanied them on the drum or sang minyo (folksongs) for the audience. The littlest was very cute. I’m pretty sure I could see his tonsils when he sang.

Then the Izumo drummers played, and they were amazing. There were ten of them, seven men and three women of various ages. I gathered they’ve been abroad to different festivals, and no wonder! I began to get excited when they rolled the BIG drum onto the stage, and five of the men lifted it into place on its stand. This taiko drum could have fit ten of me inside it. It was set so the two drumming surfaces at either end were vertical, and could be beaten from a standing position. (I made videos – they’re on Facebook, so you can check them out…) They played for about thirty or forty minutes, and for one extended number, one guy stripped to the waist and sweating freely despite the chill pounded on the drum nonstop for at least fifteen minutes. Their timing was incredible. I could feel the vibrations of the drums in my body.

After them, was a group from Miyoshi, and they were good, but simply not in the same category. They did some dance numbers with hand drums, though, that were fun to watch. And finally, the grand finale came, and Okuizumo put on one hell of a show. About twenty female dancers performed below the stage in flowing white tunics and scarlet pants, with kabuki-esque make-up on their faces. And the drummers onstage alternated from playing a do (the type of drum we play in Matsue’s Do-Gyo-Retsu, which is played sitting flat, with the three-foot wide surface played horizonally) and smaller, individual drums. It was great! It was completely dark by this point, and despite the rain a large crowd had gathered, so the atmosphere was fun. Seiji and I finally took off, before the end of the final number, so we could get the jump on the other cars.

I paid for my fun the next day with the sniffles and a sore throat, so I took it easy as much as I could, with the exception of the evening, where I stepped down the street for drum practice. When I got there the drums had been set up in the parking lot across from the drum shed, and a light powered by a small generator had been set up. Did I mention that during the festival young children in harness pull the drums, and the drummers play and walk at the same time? So we practiced playing while the drums were moving, and we learned the final pattern – the “showstopper,” as I call it. It’s a little difficult, but not as complicated as the second pattern. But it just gets faster and faster, until the drumsticks are just blurs over the head of the drum. It’s very exciting to be part of it, and unexpectedly easy to speed up once you know the pattern.

Pat joined us this night. He was busy with planning his and Ayako’s return to America, and trying to get visas sorted out (Do you know the American embassy in Japan charges $20 just for you to call them? I guess that weeds out the crank calls.  But Pat’s had to call them many times.), while working full-time and getting ready for the wedding. Ayako’s mom was doing most of the wedding work, though. Pat’s drumming was good – I figure as a music major in university, he has good rhythm. I was actually pretty good, too, which was personally quite surprising to me. I generally characterize myself as just a little clumsy and uncoordinated.

After the practice I went to Caprichoza to celebrate Ayako’s birthday. I had promised I would come, so despite my cold I went. Seiji, Martin, Nick (a new Amity teacher who arrived late this summer), Cody and Reiko were there. We ordered the set meal, and chose our pizzas and pastas. Cody had been quite keen on trying the squid ink pasta, but a few people at the table couldn’t stomach black pasta, especially since it also dyes your teeth black. After dinner, everyone headed up to Room 335, a karaoke place, but I couldn’t manage it (an indication of how sick I was – I couldn’t muster the energy to sing!), and said my farewells.

The next morning I went to work an hour and a half early so I could hand out flyers with Machiko at Shimadai. I don’t enjoy this when I’m sick, but on other days I’ve grown to like handing out flyers at the university. People-watching is very interesting there. So many different groups of people, but within their groups, everyone is almost the same. You can see Japanese style in a microcosm. There’s a band of very fashionable boys, with oh-so-carefully tousled hair (Martin told me about watching a young man in a restaurant intensely finger-styling his hair while his girlfriend went to the bathroom) and oh-so-carefully casual clothes. There is a popular guys’ hairstyle that looks much like a chicken died violently on someone’s head. In the summer I saw a brief fad among university boys for bobby pins, but that seems to have passed. And at the beginning of the term, my jaw dropped to see a girl in full princess style – hair dyed a light caramel and painstakingly curled into perfect long, boingy ringlets, a short pink baby-doll dress with a flouncy ruffled skirt, white knee-socks with buckled high-heel shoes, long false eyelashes and raccoon eyeshadow. The only thing she was missing was the tiara (which is actually worn in more fashionable places, like Tokyo). I was stunned. She must have taken hours to get ready. I saw one of the men from the drum group there, Ozaki-san; I learned later he’s a biology professor. Being at the university reminds me of my school days – except I’m not as stunned as I was then.

I coughed and hacked my way through my first private lesson, with Tsuyoshi. He’s an education professor at Shimadai, young, slight of build and usually slightly Gatsby-ish in style. I apologized to him at the end, and skipped out to get some cold medicine from the drugstore. It did the trick for my next five classes that day. (Tuesdays are my hardest days now, with six classes pretty much guaranteed – two private lessons, then four hours in a row of grammar and group lessons. I always think of it as a roller coaster ride – there’s no getting off till we’re done.)

By the weekend I was feeling better, and I got in another drum practice on Saturday night. I was starting to get the feel of it, and move and sway in time with the others while playing. It was hard to relax and let go. I had a hard time trying to remember everyone’s name, though. Gobara-san (his first name is Wataru, but it’s pretty customary to call people by their last names here), Emi (a girl who was joining for the first time; she had studied in America, and her English was great!), Ozaki-san the professor and Shinnosuke (a young man, hence the use of his first name, not his last) were the only names that really stuck. The oldest man among them was really friendly – he praised my playing and we chatted a bit. (I practiced my Japanese a lot in October!) He had the signs on his face of a lifetime of drinking sake. For business and pleasure, drinking sake is an everyday custom for many – and certainly for businessmen. I learned a new word in class from one of my students. Settai means ‘reception’ or ‘entertainment’; in Japan it’s a necessary method of forging relationships and doing business. It means you drink and eat out with your co-workers, bosses and clients frequently, even when you don’t want to. Visiting clients will be taken to snacks, where they will buy hair-raisingly overpriced drinks from drop-dead gorgeous hostesses before moving on to another bar. So many older men in Japan bear the marks of a lifetime of overindulgence. But they’re good conversationalists.

The following morning was a Sunday. I got in a jog (a slow one, I was still feeling a little under the weather) and studied a bit before shigin rehearsal. The shigin rehearsal was for the Women’s Chorus. My group was singing hakutei-jo, the first song I had learned, so I felt quite confident about it. Seiji didn’t come, so I was on my own for translation. I arrived at the hall, on the fourth floor of the community centre where we practiced last year. Some of the ladies I recognized said hello to me. Kanda-sensei greeted me and led me to the other women I would be singing with. The other members of my group couldn’t come to this practice, so I was left with about five lovely, smiling older women who couldn’t speak a word of English. I was the tallest. That always gives me a little vertigo – like something in the world is not quite right. We waited in a long line offstage in order – my group was fifth. We filed onstage with me in the middle, and I was feeling a little disorented. It was a practice, and my lungs were still phlegmy, so I took it easy on the song. I watched some more of the practice after, and everyone was taking it easy, it seemed, making mistakes and laughing at themselves. An older gentleman in his seventies who was sitting next to me in the audience pointed out the songs in the program and talked about them. Although most of what he said I couldn’t understand, I appreciated his help. I was also using my electronic dictionary to decipher the words, at a painfully slow pace. Finally it was 3:30 and I had plans, so I said good-bye to the older man and Kanda-sensei and headed out.

My destination was the university, and it was a lovely day, so I took my time, passing the canals and rivers as I crossed from the west side of town to the northeast. I left my bike at AEON and walked to the gated entrance. There was a university festival going on all weekend, and all along the walkways were stalls hosted by the many university clubs, hawking foods or selling old clothes to raise money. It was crowded, and some of the young vendors were loudly appealing to the crowd. The food smelled good, and I bought some yakitori, and ice cream from the aikido club. But my goal was a dance show that one of my students was participating in. Yuko started classes with me in the summer, because she and her friend Emi (also my student) were going to Toronto for a month to study English in September. Now they were back. Yuko is a hip-hop dancer and also coaches rhythmic gymnastics. She’s so vivacious and energetic, with flashing eyes, full of life. I like her a lot.

I had trouble finding the space and asked directions from a student who led me to a dingy, institutional school building up on the hill. Now I could hear the music. I climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, and entered a dark, hot multipurpose room crammed with people, all eyes centred on the illuminated part of the floor which had become a stage. There was a small stage in the room, with a curtain drawn across it, but it looked too small for this type of dance. The energy was electric; the crowd shared it too. Two years ago, when I first came to Japan, I saw another dance show like this, because another student, Yuki, was dancing in it. He left AEON the following April, but I saw him dancing here. In a year and a half, he had grown taller and filled out; I didn’t recognize him at first. He was dancing up a storm with a talented, athletic group of guys. They were clearly popular, and their dancing was great, but they also showed a lot of personality and humour, very comfortable in their skin among their peers. I saw about eight dance groups; Yuko’s was one of the last. I liked their opening. They enlisted some of the other dance groups to crisscross the stage like it was a busy street, until it thinned out to reveal four still figures in black hooded jackets with the hoods over their faces, and black and red pants. Then the streetwise hip-hop music kicked in and they started to move – sometimes together, sometimes featuring one or two dancers, but always bursting with energy. The hoods came down and their hair swirled around them. Two of girls, playing the parts of men, took off the jackets of the other two, revealing skimpy red tops and ramping up the sex appeal. And then boom, through the curtain came another girl, jumping from the stage and leading the others in a synchronized finale. I was impressed. Yuko was happy I came, and I thanked her for the shot of adrenaline.

The next day my cold persisted – I wonder why? – and I had to take a pass on plans to climb Mount Daisen. Martin, Pat and Nick went anyway, but Yumi was also still feeling a little sick and cancelled too. It was a gorgeous day, though, and staying inside seemed like such a waste. So Seiji, Yumi and I decided to go to Yomegashima.

Yomegashima, or “Bride’s Island”, is the tiny, picturesque island on the southeast shore of Matsue, close to the art museum. It is covered with the gnarled pine trees so common to this area, and clearly has a stone torii (shrine gate) on the side facing the land. Older people remember a winter when it was so cold the lake froze and you could walk out to the island, and I’ve heard that in summer there is a special event when some people walk/swim out to it. Lake Shinji in most places seems very shallow. Yomegashima got its name from a sad legend about a bride ill-treated by her new in-laws who tried to swim home to her family on the other side of the lake (I’m guessing there were no bridges then). The girl drowned but the gods, taking pity on her, raised an island in the lake in her memory.

You can’t usually go to Yomegashima, but for two weekends in October it was opened to the public. The three of us met up in front of the art museum in the early afternoon and joined the line of people waiting for the boat. We were in a festive mood, enjoying the warmth and the lovely sunlight. We looked into the water, where green and gold stripes of light rippled over the rocky bottom and schools of dark fish flitted back and forth. There were two boats ferrying people back and forth to the island. One was a modern-looking yacht and the other was an older, flat-topped pleasure boat. I was delighted to get the older boat; it looked much more fun! We took off our shoes in the little entryway and bent to enter the low-roofed cabin. The cabin was bright with reflected light from the water, and we sat on cushions at the low table. Seiji sat peering over the windowframe at the front of the boat, looking for all the world like a little boy. We were all a little silly and giddy.

As we approached the island and climbed up onto the grassy shore, we could hear music. A concert was playing in front of the torii; two young women, one with a guitar and one with an electric keyboard. Turns out they are a well-known pop group called Rokka, from this area. One of their songs, called Dan-Dan, has become the theme song of Shimane Prefecture. It’s a sweet, nostalgic homage to growing up in Shimane; dan-dan means “thank you” in izumo-ben, the thick local dialect. Close to their stage were some tents set up where a tea ceremony was taking place, and some benches covered with red felt where you could buy and drink green tea with sweets. A tiny little girl in a long-sleeved pink kimono was helping to serve the tea. I watched her very carefully carry a tray to one of the benches, then deliver sweets to each person with utmost concentration. Adorable.

Yomegashima is very small; it is quite possible from one end to the other in five minutes. So we wandered, among the other people, taking pictures of the old trees and the tea ceremony. Off the north end of the island, facing the long narrow lake, there were some rocks and fishing nets and long poles jutting from the water. On these, driven from the island by the onslaught of humans, were herons, white egrets and gulls, no doubt wondering what had brought us to their island and waiting for us to leave. The grass was green, the water reflected the shining blue of the sky, and the sun was warm on our backs. I tried to sneak a picture of a trio of women in their fifties, old friends from the look of them, who had dressed up in beautiful kimonos for the occasion. One was carrying a sun parasol. They were also excited about their outing, and asked Yumi to take their picture. We chatted a bit – about the weather, about the island. We went back to the tent and ordered green tea. Green tea is made from a bitter powder, whisked to a froth in hot water. It has a strong, earthy aroma and a fresh, almost grassy taste. The sweets were not really sugary, but they complemented the bitterness of the tea.

After that, we felt very relaxed. The music had ended; the musicians were packing up to go home. We lay in the grass by the concrete embankment, under the sun, almost dozing. I watched small fish and water bugs darting among the rocks. It was lovely. Finally, since the last of the boats were coming to take us home, we roused ourselves (with jokes of hiding and staying on the island overnight) and climbed back into the boat. The sun was growing lower on the horizon, but the day was stll bright. Not yet ready to end the day, we went to Port Below for coffee. The late afternoon sun was softened by the blinds and the caf smelled delicious. Reiko was there, smiling, happy to see us. We told her about our expedition while we ate panini and drank excellent coffee. O-chan, the owner’s little dog, came out from the boutique to say hello. She’s a small, timid, curly-haired gray poodle of some sort, and she adores Ryoko (the owner of Port Below), Reiko, Yumi and anyone with food – in that order. She doesn’t give a damn about me, but she politely licked my nose.

The week following that passed quickly. I stopped at the drum shed on Wednesday after work, when they were just finishing practice, and one of the women gave me my costume. The only thing I had to supply were white tabi, the split-toed cotton socks worn with Japanese traditional footwear, plus black leggings and a black shirt. I was given a brightly coloured happi (a thigh-length tunic, open at the front) in orange, bright blue, black, pink and green with the name of the drum group, Doyukai, written in vivid red kanji on the back, and a narrow golden obi (belt) to tie it on. Also, a pair of soft-soled zori (sandals) to wear on my feet. And a stiff braided red and gold headband, called a hachimaki. Red and gold are traditional celebratory colours in Japan. No festival or wedding is complete without them.

On Saturday, there was an opening celebration in the parking lot below the castle. It started at 7, so as soon as I finished work at 7:15, I raced toward the castle. The sun was below the horizon now, and the last bit of light was almost gone. As I passed through Tera-machi, over Shinji-ko Bridge and through Cha-machi, I could hear each town practicing, the drumbeats seeming to call out and answer each other in a kind of challenge. It took me a minute to find my drums in the crowd at the castle, among the other drum groups and a multitude of food stalls. It was also the end of Suitoro, the yearly festival where candle-lit lamps lined the banks of the moat and canals around the castle, and people could ride the Horikawa sightseeing boats at night, with the flickering lights dancing on the water, so many people had gathered to enjoy the pleasant evening.

I found our drums, and near them, a line of folding tables with snacks and drinks for the drummers. Some of the girls had set a picnic blanket on the ground and there they helped me into my costume. They were already dressed and giggling away. One of the guys pressed a beer into my hand. At the drums, an outgoing guy in his fifties with glasses and an easy smile (the one who taught me by pounding on my shoulderblades) was teaching some kids and onlookers how to play the simple pattern. One thing I like about this group is how they invite everyone to play and try it. I watched a little, and played and practiced, then watched the experienced drummers play all the patterns. They looked like one organism, swaying together as they played, and so joyful. Angelo had come too, and was watching with me. We stayed after to help pack everything away. Then it became clear that we were moving the drum cart. To where? I followed, pushing my bike, with a candle-lit red lantern in my hand. I was chatting with a fellow named Yoichi, in mixed English and Japanese, and the women and kids who were also following. The cart, led by a policeman with a glowing baton, was pushed down the street past the Prefectural Office, then the Prefectural Hall (where our shigin recitals are usually held) and through the back streets to Matsue Bridge, over the bridge (although the towering drum cart was surprisingly easy for the eight guys to handle, this took some effort) and on to the Drum Museum in Tera-machi, where it rested while we laid out a tarp in the drum shed and ate some snacks and drank beer, sake or tea. Angelo and I talked to some of the men; Angelo and I speak about the same amount of Japanese. He hasn’t studied it as much as I have, but he works in a junior high school and gets much more exposure to the language than I do. So we talked, and it was far too short a time before we were cleaning up again, lifting the tarp, and bringing the drum cart inside for the night.

The old man, who was quite drunk by this time, made a conspicuous secret of giving Angelo and I small wooden tablets, which appeared to be Shinto talismans. All the members of Doyukai have similar, but more intricately carved ones, with “Doyukai” on the front and their names on the back. The ones he gave us weren’t carved, but had kanji written on them in red and black ink. I have two.  One says “Doh-darazu” with the kanji for “drum” on both sides; apparently it means “fool for drums” in izumo-ben. The other has this on one side, and three kanji on the other that seem to say ‘age-virtue-god’ (probably the name of a god). When I got home I put them on a red cord, and the next day wore them under my shirt.

The day of the festival dawned bright and sunny – warm would come later. I put on as much of my costume as I could by myself and walked down to the drum shed. We were supposed to be there at 7am, but I was a little late. Pat was on time, though; he had joined the women, who were tucking little discs of mochi into small plastic bags and sealing them. Mochi is a rice cake made by pounding cooked rice into paste and shaping it into little patties. It is a treat associated with festivals, especially New Year’s. It is eaten by heating it on a stove until the inside turns gooey, like melted cheese, or it is added to stews and soups. The drum group met on Friday night, while I was at work, to make the mochi. Pat helped, and got his nice black work pants soiled with rice flour. He didn’t care too much, though. We were packing these mochi for the mochi-throwing, about which I knew almost nothing. So, puzzled but helpful, I joined in too.

All around us was a hive of activity. The drum cart had rematerialized here out on the sidewalk, and people were preparing it for its big show. There were two drums in the framework of the drum cart, and one drum tied behind it. I watched with fascination as a woman tapped the drumheads lightly with her ear cocked toward the sound and tightened the metal screws to tune the drums. The drum cart was decorated with kanji and images of Shinto symbolism, all presumably to encourage an auspicious day. Red lanterns circled the top and two large white lanterns hung at the front. The beams and poles were striped with red and white cloth, and a purple awning with the Doyukai crest hung from the roof. Garish? Yes. Festive? Definitely. A man was scrambling about on the little balcony on top of the cart, lashing fresh branches (I asked, but I forget the name of the plant; it looked a little like willow) to the four corners as a welcome to the gods.

We had a second cart, shaped like a boat, with a ‘sail’ made of white and red lanterns. Ogaki-san pointed out to me that the red lanterns spelled the kanji for treasure, and that this float represented the legendary treasure ship of the Seven Lucky Gods. Children would later dress up as the gods and ride this float. The boat also served the purpose of carrying food and drink for the drum group (every drum group has a ‘sake cart’), and I watched coolers full of tea, juice, sake and beer being loaded onto the back. (There are little half-sized ‘baby beers’ available in Japan – very cute!) Meanwhile, some of the guys were putting together the harness by which the cart would be pulled by an army of small children, and wrapping the ropes with white and red strips of cloth.

A group of the women finished packing the mochi and took the opportunity to go over to the Messe and change into costume. We were changing in a conference room (I was waiting to have my belt and headband put on) when one of the women noticed my ARC (Alien Registration Card, aka my “Gaijin Card” – I’m a legal alien) and immediately flicked to my age. She was astonished, as were the others. I was pelted with questions. “Are you married?” “Were you married?” “Do you want to get married?” being the main thrust of them. I was thrown a little off-balance by their curiosity. “No, I’m not married. Never was. Sure, I’d like to get married.” A kind-faced, attractive woman in her forties helped me with my obi, and we went back to have our bento lunches: rice, veggies and pickles and a choice of pork or fish. I sat on the tarp (shoes off and left at the edge, like everybody else) and drank tea with the others. Angelo had come by this point, soon followed by ‘New Yawk’ Paul. Martin was supposed to join us too, but he was late (I should point out that Martin is always late; I scrape my memory in vain to remember a time when he wasn’t). The guys took their turn to change. Whereas most of the women were wearing hachimaki on their heads, most of the men wore cotton bandannas. We joked that we looked like pirates.

At eleven o’clock we set out for the castle – and Martin arrived with his girlfriend Yuri. He didn’t have time to change there, but came along with his camera to take pictures. The group of us – about thirty people - pushed our drum cart and boat float along through the streets, past the big canal and the hospital. Matsue fortunately is a flat city; this drum parade might be impossible in a city of steep hills. We had to stop and wait near the Karakoro Art Studio for other floats to pass ahead of us and take their places in the queue. It was so exciting to listen to the growing sound of drums pounding and flutes whistling. It had begun to get hot, so many people took advantage of the break to grab a drink from the sake cart (at this point, I was sticking to cold tea). Then we were moving again, up past the prefectural hall to the broad avenue in view of the castle, which was crowded with drum carts (maybe there were about 12 in total) and people: drummers in their bright costumes and sightseers out to enjoy the spectacle. Foreigners in costume were immediately singled out for photo opportunities; I had my picture taken at least ten times in the first few minutes after our arrival. I was joking with Angelo that one gaijin was great, two or more gaijin in a photo was even better, and a gaijin with a cute kid guaranteed a barrage of pictures. I found Cleve playing for Tonomachi, I think; his team had the best costumes. A number of ALTs were playing for other drum groups – I saw Michelle, Helen and Lizzie, all girls I had met at ARGO in the summer. Michelle comes to Kaya a lot; she is learning to play the guitar, and Seiji is helping her.

It was hurry up and wait for about forty minutes – a chance to see people and chat, go to the bathroom, get some drinks and snacks and of course practice drumming. We practiced a while, then gave the kids who would pull the cart a shot at playing too. Martin changed into costume, but kept his sunglasses. He was delegated to carrying the lantern standard with the Doyukai crest at the front of our procession. He would go first, then a small group of children carrying the portable shrine, then the drum cart, then the treasure boat. The kids dressed as the gods were on board the boat now, looking extremely cute and enjoying poking people with their god implements.

The festival began at one o’clock with the mochi-throwing. I climbed to the top of the drum cart with four other Doyukai members and several boxes of the mochi. Our drum cart was pulled to a place just in front of the castle moat, where a huge crowd had gathered. From my high vantage point, I waved to my friends below. The fellow who had climbed up with us gave me some mochi to keep; I stuffed it into my tunic, having nowhere else to put it. I saw Yumi and Stephen, who had just arrived. Yumi had decided to wear a beautiful kimono for the occasion, and looked lovely. I also saw my student Kaya, who works for a television network, reporting on the drum parade. She waved to me too. Our top drummers took their places, and on cue as they started playing, we started to throw our mochi  - underhand, as instructed; mochi are pretty hard, and we didn’t want to injure anybody - to the out-stretched hands below. I was laughing the whole time with the madness of it all, as people shouted and leaped up for the little bags (Yumi told me later she was standing behind Yusuke, Cleve’s friend, and he was screaming my name in hopes I would throw mochi his way. I couldn’t hear a thing, nor recognize anyone). It probably lasted about three minutes. We were on the news that evening.

We returned to our place in the line of drums. From the top of our cart, I crouched and watched the buzz of activity as all the drum groups prepared to move. The excitement was high. Clambering down the ladder, I got my land legs again and grabbed a pair of drumsticks. And we started moving – a slow pace with many pauses, drumming the whole time. “Arasa-sai!” As people tired, they could step back and someone else would take their place; there were penty of players. I was glad of the Band-Aids on my thumbs;I had gotten blisters from practice the night before. “Arasa-sai!” The kids pulled the cart, cajoled and coaxedalong by Pat and the others. I imagine Pat’s a good teacher; he had such an easy way with the kids. “Arasasai!” As we went through to the castle parking lot, a subtle change took place; all inexperienced players were pulled off the drums and the best drummers took over. I soon saw why. There was a tent with what looked like judges watching the drumming, and we stopped in front of them and played. I moved with the musicians playing the cymbals and flutes and shouted “Arasa-sai!” with the loudest of them. Then on again, out of the parking lot and down the street, in the heat of the October sun. “So-re!” I was sweating a lot, and thoroughly enjoying myself. We did one big circuit, then headed along the canal towards Matsue Bridge.

The bridge was bright and sunny, though the sun was beginning to set, casting long golden beams over the scene as the drum carts rumbled across. This is the oldest, most picturesque bridge, with lovely lamps on each side. The sidewalks were crowded with people. The kids were beginning to tire; we all were, I think. On the other side we were plunged into shade as we entered the narrow streets of Tera-Machi, home to some of the oldest and most expensive shops in Matsue, including numerous tea and kimono shops and some modern boutiques. There’s also a worn, art deco-style bank building which is now a music studio and home to several indie bands. It reminds me a little of the Khyber in Halifax. We pulled to a stop in the centre of the little park in front of Tenjin Shrine, with the other carts circled around the park (I thought of pioneers and wagons drawn together in a circle during an Indian raid). Some of the girls and Ozaki-san climbed up the ladder (where did they get the ladder?) for the final mochi-throwing. I stood in the crowd for the madness. A volley of rice cakes showered down on the crowd and people shrieked and laughed and scrambled after the mochi on the ground. I much preferred being on the top.  

Finally it was all over – except for the long walk back to the drum shed pushing our drums, waving farewell to the other groups (the kids, having shed their costumes, ran back to say good-bye to Pat) , the pause to relax and drink sake and eat snacks, the cleaning up, and getting rid of the garbage. By the time we rolled back to the drum shed, the sky was turning black and the sun was long since vanished. Everything was carefully put away, and grab bags of the leftover food and drinks were given out. We finally finished just before 7, after an exhausting 12-hour day.

I barely had time to run home and change, staggering with fatigue, my muscles cramping a little, before the Doyukai celebration party. This was a tabehodai and nomihodai (all-you-can-eat/drink) at Kaba, an izakaya in Isemiya. We booked a room for forty people on the second floor. Shoes off and kneeling, we started with sashimi and beer, and the courses just kept coming. I sat with Gobara, Pat, Angelo and Nick. Nick’s a new teacher at Amity (Pat’s school), a young guy with an offbeat sense of humour and a knack for photography. He didn’t take part in the drum festival, but he had joined us to watch and take pictures in the afternoon, and stayed to help with the cleaning, which made him all right in everybody’s books. Gobara-san was trying to fix me up with Angelo, but there was a mutual lack of interest on both sides. Gobara is an otaku, or geek; he loves comics and sci-fi movies. Martin and Yuri came (late) and joined us. It was nice to see Martin; since he decided to leave his school, I hadn’t seen him a lot. It was interesting, switching back and forth from Japanese to English depending on who I was talking with. People were wandering from table to table to talk and pour drinks for others (a Japanese custom), and the atmosphere was relaxed and fun. Lovely people; I wish I could speak with them better. The language barrier was never more frustrating.

December 28 update – here you go. I’m on holiday now, so I’ll try to fill you in on some of my other doings of 2008…and my thoughts on 2009. Coming soon!