Oni Matsuri; Or, I am a Cookie Now

Have you ever wanted to know what it's like to be a cookie? Yes, obviously. Through this blog, if you've been watching closely, I've already showed you that Japan has taught me what it's like to be a poo:

Never give up.

But when I went to a nearby festival last Wednesday, I did not expect to end up looking like human cookie dough ready to be rolled out on a kitchen surface. But what would life be if you always got what you expected?

This festival was in Toyohashi, where the local mascot is apparently a grumpy sewer worker:

Or he's holding...exploding corn?

As far as I understand, the festival follows the story of an oni (demon), who invades the local shrine, gets up to some mischief, is defeated by Tengu (god of martial arts) and shows his contrition by throwing sweets and flour. If you get hit by the flour, you will have a healthy and happy year, so everyone does their best to ensure you get covered in flour. I'd sort of forgotten that part.

The festival began pretty normally. There was some waiting around, nibbling at street food, getting elbowed by old women and watching various rituals you have no idea of the meaning of. So far, so futsuu. There was a moment where a string of men brought down some boxes on a rope, which I thought might have oni hidden inside, but they were never opened so I guess not. Or at least, that's what they want you to think.

Classic distraction technique.

Suddenly, there was a wave of cries washing towards me, and the oni rushed forward. There was some confusion in the midst and my memories aren't quite clear, but at some point soon afterwards the oni, priests and various others were up on the pedestal above the crowd, throwing bags of sweets out. I didn't quite have the dexterity to catch one, but one did knock me on the head before being swept away by a greedy child. I'm hoping that means my head will stay healthy this year. 

After the oni did some mockful dancing and threw a couple of handfuls of pre-main-event flour, he pissed off for a bit and there was basically a lunch break. We wandered off for more street food and sat in a nearby car park watching children chase each other, fall straight onto gravel, and then get back up immediately as if the impact had only fuelled them further.

One small gripe I have with Japanese festivals is that there's often quite a bit of waiting around in between the fun bits. Call me a tourist (and I am) but my feet would feel much happier at the end of the day if they could just be condensed a little. We returned to the shrine and waited for an hour before the oni returned to continue his reign of terror. This time, he was met by long-nosed Tengu, who engaged him in a heavily-stylised fight (i.e. they don't actually touch at all) and was defeated. You think he'd have learned, having done this every year since 940 A.D.

To apologise for his sins, the oni throws more sweets and more flour. A lot more flour.

Most people got at least lightly coated at this point. The festival seemed to finish here and we all felt thoroughly satisfied and ready to walk back to the station. We did not know that the festival had not ended.

After leaving the shrine, the oni runs around the city centre, visiting all the local businesses that donated money to the shrine and gives them his blessing. He is not wordy by nature, so his blessing consists of running around waving a stick and shouting "aaaargh!". Moreover, everyone needs a little help sometimes, so he has a crew of assistants who crowd round him and help him throw flour and shout "aaaargh!".

Also, you know how before there was flour, and then a lot more flour? Well, then there was a lot lot more flour. All pretense of general dusting flies out the window; at this point the assistants will literally grab you and gleefully rub flour into your hair like an infuriating older brother. Immediately afterwards they will turn super-polite though, and actually hand you your own bag of flour, as if inviting you to get your own back. (I didn't though. I'm far too hampered by niceness. The little bags all ended up nesting in the bottom of my handbag, where no doubt they will be forgotten and get me arrested a few months down the line.)

Happily or unhappily, I actually came out relatively unfloured (though still the most floured I've ever been in my life. Ready to roll, cut and be baked at 180 degrees for 15-20 minutes). Some of my friends ended up looking like they'd walked out of some horrible accident at a Mr. Kipling factory. Pretty much everyone ended up with pure white hair (except maybe me, the owner of hair so thin and fine in texture even powder particles can't get stuck in it). As a mostly foreign group who were even whiter-looking than usual, we attracted a lot of attention on the way back from the station and a TV crew even interviewed us. Fortunately we were able to scrape off the excess before we got on the train and the station staff didn't seem to mind that we were flaking everywhere.

I can't recommend this festival highly enough. Combines culture with ridiculous, childlike fun. A+. Aaaaaarghhhhhh.