This past weekend, I was one of the bravely foolish (or is that foolishly brave) foreigners who decided the prospect of wrapping some cloth around my pelvis, slapping fabric wrapped cardboard on my feet and jostling with a bunch of sweaty men was my idea of a good time. Yes, I took part in Hadaka Matsuri/Naked Man/Saidaiji Eyo at Saidai Temple in Okayama City. There was a good 40 or so of us runners on the bus, representing 5 or 6 different prefectures. As far as I knew, there were only 4 JETs from Hyogo taking part, and I was hoping to uphold Tajima’s sterling reputation as the region which seems to have a bunch of pretty bad, but not life-threatening, injuries.
The bus ride to the temple was pretty uneventful. Folks are drinking, there is talk of cooperation in the event someone comes out with the main Shingi stick (rumored to be worth 500,000-1,000,000 yen), and a poll is taken of those who played “real sports” and what skills could be applied. As a guy of average height and build who played basketball, tennis, and volleyball growing up, my advice on a proper bounce pass went unheeded.
After we got to the temple and walked around a bit, I was sure of 2 things: it was cold, and I needed more beer. Okayama City is nowhere near as cold as the town I call home (Asago for those who are keeping track), but it still isn’t warm enough for a fundoshi and tabi outfit to keep the nipples from getting hard. Speaking of that fundoshi, paying someone 1,000 yen to shove the thing into your but and LIFT YOU UP by it (think ultra-wedgie) wasn’t my favorite thing in the world. It’s important that they make it tight, because the last thing you want is for it to fall/get pulled off, but man, that sucked. We taped up our tabi and got pumped up.
Few things are as noticeable as a group of foreign guys jumping around and yelling in a temple full of Japanese people. We took part in the chants of “washoi” as well as creating our own (“gaijin yuushou” was my favorite). You run around a temple with thousands of spectators, splash through cold water meant to purify you, and bound up and down stairs. I must have given 200 high-fives to people on the side of the pathway, mainly kids and young ladies of course. The other Japanese groups either welcomed us with open arms or gave us weird looks, particularly when we were chanting something outside the norm. I find it hard to believe we were the first group to come up with foreigner-specific chants, but who knows.
We managed to get up into the elevated temple area before most of the other groups. I had splashed around in the water 7 or 8 times, bounded up and down stone steps and was quite enjoying myself when we made it into the temple. This is where the madness began. Cramming a bunch of wet, semi-drunk men into a small area and telling them to wait is an interesting concept, one that really has to be experienced to be understood. I’ve stood on morning and evening rush hour trains, last trains out of Tokyo and Osaka, and been in many a mosh pit and I can’t remember ever feeling as helpless as I did at Naked Man. Initially there aren’t many people up on that platform, but as word gets out that it’s filling up, people race up there to try and secure a spot. The shingi sticks only get thrown out at midnight in this area, so if you’re not up there fighting over a stick by then, you might as well be a fully clothed spectator.
I was perhaps 3 feet back from the front wall from atop which priests regularly threw cold water down on us. I’m pretty sure I drank some on accident, not unlike what happens when you get caught under a wave at the beach. I also caught some in my eye and had to frantically adjust my contact lens. Arms were up for the entire time I was in this area, perhaps as long as 2 hours, so the shoulders definitely started to ache. The swell moved side to side, heels came down hard on toes (remember, you’re in tabi, so there’s no support), and there was a struggle to stay upright. People to the rear rested their arms against my head, shoulders, arms, whatever, and the only option is to rest mine on the guy in front of me. The push went on for what felt like forever, left and right. I caught an elbow in the ear and a skull in my eye, neither of which felt great.
There were regular announcements in Japanese about people getting kicked out, updates on the situation, whatever, but if you can understand Japanese over a loudspeaker when mean are yelling washoi in your ear, you’re a better person than I. There were arms everywhere, and I couldn’t see what was happening above me. Then the lights suddenly went out, and thus began a futile struggle for a 20 cm stick in the dark that everyone in the temple desperately wanted. I was hoping just to get my hands on one, to fight with someone over it, not even really caring if I got it.
The craziness of pushing and shoving mostly naked men in the dark was relatively short-lived, though, and soon the lights came on and people starting clearing out. There was a few small skirmishes near the entrance, since the sticks are officially up for grabs until they’re past a certain gate. Apparently the wise thing to do is hide it in your fundoshi, or have a bunch of friends carry you out. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and back into some dry shoes.
It turns out my buddy JJ came away with one of the smaller sticks. There’s apparently 2 main sticks, and a few smaller, less valuable, sticks tossed out as well. The large ones can fetch monetary prizes in excess of 50,000 yen (roughly $5,000US) and the small ones will maybe get 10,000 (about $100US).
It was a crazy event, from drinking in the cold, to getting naked in a tent with a bunch of dudes, to running around in water, to the wild fracas that was the actual goal of the night. At this point I’m against it, but I can see myself running again next year.
The bus ride to the temple was pretty uneventful. Folks are drinking, there is talk of cooperation in the event someone comes out with the main Shingi stick (rumored to be worth 500,000-1,000,000 yen), and a poll is taken of those who played “real sports” and what skills could be applied. As a guy of average height and build who played basketball, tennis, and volleyball growing up, my advice on a proper bounce pass went unheeded.
After we got to the temple and walked around a bit, I was sure of 2 things: it was cold, and I needed more beer. Okayama City is nowhere near as cold as the town I call home (Asago for those who are keeping track), but it still isn’t warm enough for a fundoshi and tabi outfit to keep the nipples from getting hard. Speaking of that fundoshi, paying someone 1,000 yen to shove the thing into your but and LIFT YOU UP by it (think ultra-wedgie) wasn’t my favorite thing in the world. It’s important that they make it tight, because the last thing you want is for it to fall/get pulled off, but man, that sucked. We taped up our tabi and got pumped up.
Few things are as noticeable as a group of foreign guys jumping around and yelling in a temple full of Japanese people. We took part in the chants of “washoi” as well as creating our own (“gaijin yuushou” was my favorite). You run around a temple with thousands of spectators, splash through cold water meant to purify you, and bound up and down stairs. I must have given 200 high-fives to people on the side of the pathway, mainly kids and young ladies of course. The other Japanese groups either welcomed us with open arms or gave us weird looks, particularly when we were chanting something outside the norm. I find it hard to believe we were the first group to come up with foreigner-specific chants, but who knows.
We managed to get up into the elevated temple area before most of the other groups. I had splashed around in the water 7 or 8 times, bounded up and down stone steps and was quite enjoying myself when we made it into the temple. This is where the madness began. Cramming a bunch of wet, semi-drunk men into a small area and telling them to wait is an interesting concept, one that really has to be experienced to be understood. I’ve stood on morning and evening rush hour trains, last trains out of Tokyo and Osaka, and been in many a mosh pit and I can’t remember ever feeling as helpless as I did at Naked Man. Initially there aren’t many people up on that platform, but as word gets out that it’s filling up, people race up there to try and secure a spot. The shingi sticks only get thrown out at midnight in this area, so if you’re not up there fighting over a stick by then, you might as well be a fully clothed spectator.
I was perhaps 3 feet back from the front wall from atop which priests regularly threw cold water down on us. I’m pretty sure I drank some on accident, not unlike what happens when you get caught under a wave at the beach. I also caught some in my eye and had to frantically adjust my contact lens. Arms were up for the entire time I was in this area, perhaps as long as 2 hours, so the shoulders definitely started to ache. The swell moved side to side, heels came down hard on toes (remember, you’re in tabi, so there’s no support), and there was a struggle to stay upright. People to the rear rested their arms against my head, shoulders, arms, whatever, and the only option is to rest mine on the guy in front of me. The push went on for what felt like forever, left and right. I caught an elbow in the ear and a skull in my eye, neither of which felt great.
There were regular announcements in Japanese about people getting kicked out, updates on the situation, whatever, but if you can understand Japanese over a loudspeaker when mean are yelling washoi in your ear, you’re a better person than I. There were arms everywhere, and I couldn’t see what was happening above me. Then the lights suddenly went out, and thus began a futile struggle for a 20 cm stick in the dark that everyone in the temple desperately wanted. I was hoping just to get my hands on one, to fight with someone over it, not even really caring if I got it.
The craziness of pushing and shoving mostly naked men in the dark was relatively short-lived, though, and soon the lights came on and people starting clearing out. There was a few small skirmishes near the entrance, since the sticks are officially up for grabs until they’re past a certain gate. Apparently the wise thing to do is hide it in your fundoshi, or have a bunch of friends carry you out. I just wanted to get the hell out of there and back into some dry shoes.
It turns out my buddy JJ came away with one of the smaller sticks. There’s apparently 2 main sticks, and a few smaller, less valuable, sticks tossed out as well. The large ones can fetch monetary prizes in excess of 50,000 yen (roughly $5,000US) and the small ones will maybe get 10,000 (about $100US).
It was a crazy event, from drinking in the cold, to getting naked in a tent with a bunch of dudes, to running around in water, to the wild fracas that was the actual goal of the night. At this point I’m against it, but I can see myself running again next year.
