On Friday Bob and I left the sleepy, grumpy teens behind and pedaled through town, across the Kamo river and under the torii gate to the Kamigamo Shrine. The Kamigamo Shrine is one of the oldest in Japan, predating the founding of the capital in 794.
This day's adventure was to partake of the Crow Dance and the Karasu Sumo. When we arrived, the festivities had already started. All around us was an impressively large crowd of people, a mix of Japanese well-wishers, parents and family of the young wrestlers and a liberal sprinkling of both tourists and foreign residents. Under the brilliant vermillion roofed shrine sat a young woman carefully outfitted in a traditional kimono, beautifully done hair and smooth, white makeup. On either side of her were younger girls, similarly dressed.
In the center of the clearing in front of the temple was a sumo ring--sand filled circle with a cylindrical straw barrier surrounding it. In 2 rows along the sides of the sumo ring, sitting with clear impatience and some discomfort, were the young sumo wrestlers. They ranged in ages from 7 to probably 10 or 11, and were all clad in the traditional white mawashi, or sumo wrestler's loin-cloth style garb.
At the top of the clearing, closest to the shrine, were two large mounds of dirt, which symbolized the sacred hill onto which the shrine's kami (god) first came down.
In front of each mound was a priest. They began by bowing. Then, carrying bows and arrows (which they had fired in a ritual just before we had arrived), they stood, each directly in front of a mound. They took turns cawing, sounding amazingly like real crows. Then they took turns doing very bird-like side hops, finally ending in front of the mounds again, against which they carefully leaned the bows and arrows. This process was repeated once more.
The story goes that the Kamo clan--which had established the Kamigamo Shrine--were descended from the Crow People. As far as I can research, a priest or shaman of these ancient Crow people had assisted an emperor in his travels. Thus, the crow performance, the mounds of earth and even the sumo all come together to both honor the kami (gods or spirits) of this place, as well as to commemorate the Crow people.
After the priests finished their Crow display, the lines of young sumo wrestlers stood up and, following a kimono-clad gyoji, or referee, each took turns bowing in the direction of the shrine. The boys were trying to stay still in their lines, but they were of course in constant motion, eager to start, endlessly shaking out arms and legs, adjusting their mawashi, and making silent faces at each other. Once the bowing was done, they returned to their previous spots, each sitting carefully upon a small folded cloth.
Then the fun began. Each boy started out being paired with a similarly sized and aged boy from the opposite line. The announcer would call out each competitor's name. Each boy would shout out "Hai!" and come forward. On the announcer's cue, each boy would bow to the other, then assume their wrestling stance, knees bent, eyeing their opponent. With a sharp word from the referee they would grab each other any way they could, twisting under arms and pulling on mawashi, trying to force the other out of the ring. Gradually smaller boys would be paired with larger boys. This produced a lot of excitement from the crowd and more than a few surprises when the seemingly smaller and weaker boy would twist and contort himself around the larger boy, ending with the larger boy losing balance and falling out of the ring. The crowd eagerly offered words of encouragement ("Gambatte!") and applauded at the end of each bout.
At the completion of each pairing, the competitors would bow once more and return to their own sides, receiving pats on the back or high fives. It was interesting to note that the boys clearly saw this as a performance, not a true competition, with plenty of smiles regardless of whether they won or lost their bout.
Once the sumo was completed, the boys lined up to bow towards the shrine once more, and then were arranged into rows with the priests, referee and costumed young women so that pictures could be taken. While this was going on, large tables at the sides of the crowd, manned by more shrine devotees, dispensed small dishes of sake, each serving of sake topped with a single floating yellow chrysathemum petal. Bob elected to join the long line of sake seekers, while I stood at the side next to an older couple who, from the sounds of their discussion, might have been from somewhere in the US midwest.
Woman "What's that in those little dishes?"
Man "Dunno. Let me check"
The man went over towards the lines and peered around at the table, at the dishes being filled with a clear liquid. He returned.
Man "I think they're giving out some sort of water with flowers on it".
Woman "Now isn't that odd?"
Not long after I overheard this discussion, Bob returned with his tiny dish, saying "Take a picture of me with my fancy sake".
Both the man's and the woman's heads spun around to face us. I said, more for their benefit than ours "Okay. Hold it down so I can see the chrysathemum petal floating in the sake".
Out of the corner of my eye I saw knowing nods being exchanged between the couple.
Indirect information dispensing: my good deed for the day.
The crowds began clearing out. Bob and I wandered around the shrine grounds, enjoying how the ancient trees shaded the older thatched-roofed outbuildings and crimson-painted main shrines. A tributary of the Kamo River ran directly through the shrine grounds, the rushing water overarched by a series of stone and wood bridges. We went higher up the hill. Bob spotted a sign warning of monkeys further up, and eagerly began hiking up the promised monkey path, passing under a series of smaller, red and black painted torii gates. Alas, no monkeys were spotted, much to Bob's disappointment.
We wound our way back down, and reclaimed our bicycles from the bike lot.
Later that evening, Bob was watching the evening news on Japanese TV.
"Christina! Come in here!"
I plodded from the kitchen to the living room where a news story was on TV, reporting about that very day's events at the Kamigamo Shrine.
And in the distant background of the camera shot was my miniscule head, my constantly waving fan a blur.
Clearly the kami were smiling upon me...giving me my 5 seconds of fame.
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