Meaf's Adventures Abroad

Hanami, or ohanami literally means `flower watching.` It is a traditional Japanese custom/pastime done throughout the year, but now generally refers specifically to the venerated cherry blossom (sakura.) Neither the pictures I had seen nor the blooming of ume (plum) flowers did little to prepare me for extrodinary sight of Tokyo`s sudden eruption into various shades of pink and white. Bare-branched trees, which one would pass by without a second thought, transformed overnight into the locus of Japanese culture. To illustrate how important these tiny blossoms are, it is not uncommon to see elderly men and women with their cameras taking close up pictures of the sakura despite having probably having 100 such photos already. Lovers stroll under the tree-lined walkways, children laugh, play and have their pictures taken. And perhaps the best part of the whole deal is the modern manifestation of hanami. While once it was the contemplative tradition of observing and appreciating the beauty and essence of the sakura (which I think is totally cool and something that sets Japanese culture apart from ours,) it is now largely a picnic/party. There is a saying that goes something like `it is better to have a full stomach than to watch flowers.` So these days parks and groves fill with partygoers. Gathered in little clusters on tarps with friends, family or colleagues, people enjoy camaraderie, food and the beverage of choice, which is no longer sake, but beer.
I had the fortune of attending two such gatherings last Sunday. One in the massive Showa Memorial Park (formerly an American Military Base) and the other in Kichijoji. Both were stunningly beautiful places and equally crowded. The cherry groves were old and large enough to form a canopy of sakura overhead which creates a sort of mystical, fantasy world as petals slowly fall like tiny dancers. Combined with the fact that and I was among friends including the girl I`m sweet on, Tomoko, at the second party, it turned out to be the most amazing experience. Naturally, since I was so absorbed in going to the Shinto fertility rite and two hanami parties, I largely forgot to eat. So the end to the day was me pretty trashed. What a fine conclusion to a day which was most certainly a highlight of my time here in Japan.

It could be argued that the following account and the accompanying pictures should come with an explicit content warning. However, the Kanamura festival is an ancient Shinto fertility rite, not b-rate porn. I should also clarify *no homo!* because the following will no doubt come across as homosexual no matter what I write. I heard of the festival a few days before I went. And really, if you heard there was a penis-fest happening in your area, wouldn`t you go too? How could I miss such an event? So after getting a late start (I was supposed to meet up with some other foreigners) and some aimless wandering around the wrong train station taking photos of the sakura (cherry blossoms,) I made it to Kawasakidaisho where the festival takes place annually. I followed the crowd to a magnificient temple complex which was strangely devoid of phalli. I say strangely because I was expecting to see them everywhere. I did notice a few women enjoying 6-inch candy delights in the shape of the male anatomy, but that was about it. Where were all the dicks? Somewhat disappointed by the lack of carnivalesque revelry I had anticipated, I snapped a bunch of photos and bought myself some candy-cocks and vaginas to give as gifts to my friends with a sense of humour. However, as I made my way back to the station I could hear some chanting. So I followed the sound to crowd-filled street. There were people dressed in Edo-period costumes (pre-industrial Japan) and costumed figures everywhere. And lo and behold! A giant penis being paraded down the street on the backs of maybe 20 sweaty men and women, who not only marched, but danced their way down the avenue. The shrine looked very heavy given that they constantly needed steering by men not bearing the load and how often the convey changed its members. All the way they chanted, what I believe means `penis, penis, penis` and the crowd was encouraging them inbetween snapping photographes and gulping down lager. Trailing behind the penis, was the little penis. Little penis you say? That was their representation of the vagina/clitoris. A small penis placed in front of what appeared to be a tree trunk. Do your own research. It too was carried by a mixed-gendered troop but due to its smaller size and seemingly relatively light-weight, the bearers stopped several times to perform a crazy teeter-totter trick where the shrine was balanced on shoulders of the centre-men and the people in the outer positions took turns leaping into the air, rocking the shrine with tremendous ferocity. What purpose this served other than to entertain, I do not know. The last shrine, if it can be called that, was carried by the transgender/transvestite group. It took the form of a massive pink schlong, without the encasement that the previous two shrines had. It was certainly a crowd-pleaser, both for its shock-value (both the shrine and the transgenders who carried it) and as a great photographic opportunity.