The Dance of Fools

Travel Story by Samantha Stokell

Tokushima, Japan

"Erai Yatcha! Erai Yatcha! Yoi, yoi, yoi, yoi!"

I have no idea what I'm saying, but it doesn't really matter. Dancing in a mosh pit of sorts on the streets of okushima with a group composed of English teachers and other revellers; we're in town for teacher training, but its really an excuse to get us here for the Awa Odori Festival.

"You have to come!" Angela, my trainer, told me back in April. "Its the third biggest dance festival in the world, after Mardi Gras and Caribana."

After 4 months of anticipation, its living up to the hype. Tokushima, population 230,000, swells to over 1.3 million during the four day festival. GEOS, my company, was kind enough to put us up in their apartment building at head office, so we didn't have to deal with finding a hotel room, let alone affording one. The Awa Odori Festival is held every year from August 12-15 during the Buddhist observance of Obon, a time when the spirits of the dead return to their ancestral homes. In Tokushima, they are welcomed back with the Dance of the Fools. The festival has a 400 year history, going back to the completion of okushima castle (now in ruins). The overlord had a party to celebrate, and the guests became so drunk, they began to dance. The dance has been ritualized, becoming an artform, and less a drunken stagger, at least for the professional troupes.

After the professionals perform on 20-30 stages around the city, the streets become a free for all. "All you have to do is raise your arms and shuffle your feet. And a mouth full of sake doesn't hurt either!" shouts one of the teachers over the sound of the drums.

Every street corner has a mosh pit-like circle of dancers, complete with a band composed of taiko drums, cymbals and flutes. The same song resounds throughout the city. At this festival, everyone is a participant. I catch the eye of one of the fellows who is dancing in the circle, and smile. I speak only a little Japanese, so smiling is the easiest form of communication.

"You drink, and you dance" he says,grabbing my arm. Before I know it, I'm in the middle of the circle, surrounded by a number of Japanese males, all eager to let me drink some sake. Down the hatch, I think, as that burning wine is helpfully poured down my throat. As I glance around, I see the other girls in my group getting the same treatment. Before I can catch my breath, Masaki, my new friend, is teaching me how to do the Awa dance.

"Right foot, tap and over, left foot, tap and over. Twist the arms, twist the arms."

Judging by the look on Masaki's face, I have the hang of it. Or he has had too much of the sake himself. I'm not nearly as graceful as the professionals, but good enough for the madness on the streets.

"Erai yatcha! Erai Yatcha! Yoi, yoi, yoi, yoi!" All I can catch is the 'yoi, yois', but its great to be part of this festival, even in a small way. Everyone is dancing, and sweating. It's 10:30 at night, and the humidity and temperature is still high. So many people are dancing so close together that you can't tell whose sweat is on you. The air smells of the sweat, sake, beer and yaki-tori. Even though I only had a bit of the sake, everything becomes blurred. More than the alcohol, the repetitive drum beats are lulling me into a calm, the rhythmic dance steps which are echoed in the chant, and the lights from the lanterns that are twisting in the next dance over are blending together. This is the first time I have felt a part of Japan. I'm not an alien, a foreigner, a gaijin, just a participant in a festival with everyone else.

It's great to see the Japanese people so relaxed and having a good time. They party as hard as they work, and the next morning, the town is silent as everyone is in bed nursing a hangover. The night ended at eleven when the police and their paddy wagon arrived, rounding up the staggering drunks and unbarricading the streets, breaking the spell of unity we all felt. This is Japan, and unruliness is only tolerated for so long. Once again we are separated, us and them, as we walk the streets back to our apartments. The stares and double takes as we pass people remind us that we are still foreigners.

The drum beat and chants are still ringing in my head, and my feet are still anxious to keep the rhythm. "Erai Yatcha, Erai Yatcha..." What does it mean? We find out from a friend of Masaki:

"Those who dance are fools, those who watch are fools. Since both are fools, why not dance?"

Why not indeed...

Read more about the author of this story:
Samantha Stokell