伝説の祭りの復活
This is a story from nine years ago. I tried to research this festival to write this post, but I couldn't find anything.
I've already forgotten the exact location and the name of the village. The name of the festival included the word for horse, as I vaguely recall.
Back then, I was taking a butoh dance class, and one day, our instructor brought a flyer for a festival.
It was just a coarse photocopy with a grainy black and white photo printed on it.
According to the flyer, the festival hadn't been held for two decades and would be revived that year, 2016.
The instructor was excited, calling it the legendary festival, and invited us to attend.
Being the curious person I am, I decided to go with a friend and my son.
雪山の村での祭り
The festival would be held in a small village, deep in the rugged mountains on the border between Toyama and Niigata prefectures.
I was a novice driver then, so I didn't realize I should avoid driving in the mountains during such a snowy season.
I actually almost ended up dying and taking my passengers with me.
However, that's another story which I won't get into today.
Anyway, we barely made it to the village in one piece.
It was late March, I think, but the village was still covered with a thick blanket of pristine snow that appeared to be fresh.
There were only 40 or 50 people at the venue and no outsiders except us.
On the outside, it was devoid of all color, but inside, the venue was beautifully decorated with branches and handmade fruits of various colors.
祭りと伝統
The room was square and had a Japanese-style fireplace in the center.
During the festival, men jumped around in three corners of the room like horses, avoiding the corner near the exit.
They ran around the room tracing a triangle and jumped as high as they could.
Our butoh instructor was clearly enjoying the opportunity to showcase his jumping skills.
Afterward, we watched a documentary film about the way of life in the village in olden days.
Even today, it's quite tough to live in such a place.
The population is actually decreasing there, which is why the festival couldn't survive.
The film taught us the ethnographic value of the village and its festival.
How eagerly the villagers, who spent half the year isolated by snow, longed for spring.
祭りを通じた村の絆
The colorful decorations and energetic jumping were their expressions of longing for spring, in other words, life itself.
When the screening ended, a middle-aged man gave a speech.
From his speech, I gathered that he was from a prominent family in the village and had once been the owner of the venue.
But all of his family, including himself, had left the village and moved to town.
He burst into tears midway through the speech, saying he was extremely happy to see the festival again.
Japanese adult men rarely cry in public. I won't forget his trembling voice and tears.
As outsiders, we didn't attend the after-party and left the village.
It was probably the last time they held a festival.
I know it's inevitable that such festivals on villages are vanishing.
But it pains me to no end that the diversity of this country is being lost.
