Fire Festival

It's unlike anything I've experienced in Japan before: absolute pandemonium.

The Nozawa Onsen Fire Festival is a drunken mess of raging people swarming the streets with flaming bundles of sticks, beating each other senseless.

Free sake fuels the fire. I'm the designated driver, but the Japanese don't take no for an answer, and force the rice wine upon me. Oddly, I'm thankful for this. My hands are frozen and I think the alcohol is helping them go numb in a good way. Snow pummels down, soaking and freezing everything. Drunken men sway through the street, waving flames back and forth, chanting and singing as they ceremoniously parade through the town.

We arrive at the center, and it seems the worst is over. The drunk are quieted down and ushered out of sight. Japanese drums are set up in front, and all the attention is directed to them. Lively bass rattles the organs. The liver, already under stress from all the sake, is probably going to quit. Shouts fill the air. The drums are carried away.

All hell breaks loose.

Throngs of Japanese young and old charge at the tower while an unfortunate few bear the brunt of the onslaught. I'm told by a fellow gaijin that 25 and 42 are bad years. The 25 year olds have to prevent the tower from catching fire, while the 42 year olds sit on top of the structure, hoping the young ones do their job.

It's a necessary ceremony for all, but beautiful for only a few. Drunken citizens swing their flaming bundles at the crowd. Embers burn jackets, smoke clogs the lungs. The snow that made me so wet and numb is now preventing me from catching fire. If this festival burns down half the town every few years, I wouldn't be surprised.

Boots pack the snow-covered ground, and it turns to ice. The only thing keeping me from slipping and falling is being so tightly packed I can't fit my hands at my sides. Just when it seems things can't get worse, the pushing stops.

The elders get down from their perch, and the tower is left open to quickly catch flame. The tranquility of a large group around an even bigger bonfire sets in. The flames whip upward. Orange cuts through the night. Gaijin and Japanese alike soak in the heat. It's a wonderful contrast to the swirling cold and snow. Like flames, the ceremony burns down slowly. Most need the help of others to stand. The mob disperses into the night.