“I may not be there yet, but I’m closer than I was yesterday.” ~ Author Unknown
Summer. The season of Festivals in Japan. From intimate local affairs to colorful large-scale events welcoming loved ancestors home, celebrating the stars, featuring fabulous street dancing, festival foods and all things in between. Day 2 of the Ishinomaki Kawabiraki was full of life. A different take on the beautifully reflective day before. The streets resplendent with genki, color, light and characters. In many ways just as moving to cover and be a small part of; to see change in hearts and minds as well as the physical surroundings. If only for a day, momentum moving the community forward. With soft creams on hand to help, cries of wasshoi resonating and real fireworks enough to speak volumes.
You could hear it before you could see it. We deposited our car and walked through gridlocked streets as the familiar sounds of a Japanese festival beckoned. The drums, the music, the aromas. We turned a corner and found the station, now clear and buzzing with activity. The local department store was kind of open and we popped inside for a shortcut. Out back we found main-street, now transformed by both locals and volunteers. Yukata-clad lanes were adorned with paper cranes, sparkly decorations and all those sunflowers. Stalls and stalls of food and beer and more food. Car parks now play centers, with activities for kids big and small and of course there was Anpanman. What is a festival without Anpanman?
So many smiles. Of course we’ve grown to love the smiles of Tohoku. We are naturally drawn to them. They seek us out. They always seem to feature in our work, of course with all manner of layered meaning, until now always with an undertone of grief. On this day they were healing smiles. Some ready to welcome back life and push aside the tears for a few hours. Others just living in the moment that a satisfying ice cream gives.
Children waited impatiently to create and chase giant bubbles down the road. There were more snacks, the ubiquitous Pikachu roaming around and more street food; choco bananas, okonomiyaki, big franks, yaki-soba, soy-bbq corn-on-the-cob… It was all there. Clouds of prettiness floated past; young girls in summer yukata, little ones all bright. Very kawaii. A sense of normalcy gone since March 11th settled over the city, with something on almost every corner in the town center. Later a parade would wind its way through the streets. The parade route quite literally called “the street of recovery”. The streets where the volunteers cleaned and the citizens reopened shops and restaurants. Totally apt. Months earlier they were mud-stained and impassable. Today laughter echoed, a celebration of sorts for all that had been done so far. Not there yet but certainly on the way, spirit and energy in supply to propel forward.
One of our favorite smiles of the day.
Kids were being kids again. Almost. They all seemed to bear some sort of adult burden that you shouldn’t see on such young faces. But always moving forward, with cheeky smiles and peace signs. Always peace signs.
We knew it was the festival for us when the strains of ABBA were heard in the distance and Lady Gaga was being played over the community speakers. Edge of Glory and all that. Further down the street we found the Peace Boat teams and many other volunteers dong such great work to energize and lift the spirits of the community. Signs declared it was Stand Up Week. Love that. There was something about Disney too, but we missed that in lieu of hanging out at the Pineapple stand, really, and retracing our steps on previous visits.
Couldn’t quite get over this. In our first visit just after March 11th, I remember being fascinated by all the manga characters in the streets. How sad and dramatic all at once. Some were broken. Others remained intact, an iconic oasis in the midst of waves. And I remember the dangerous course I had to pluck to take this same shot. Now the streets were full of color, cleared of boats, repaved, walkable again, without a hard-hat.
Police were now standing on corners directing traffic and aiding pedestrians where mangled boats once rested. And now with a little patch of green grass. And a tree. A real tree.
Same corner. In March.
And certainly while life and traditions are celebrated and a sense of normalcy desired we are still reminded always that this is a disaster zone. And people still live in the middle of it. Life and festivals just as fleeting. Stalls offering tasty treats rest in the shadow and shells of the past. Walking to the next attraction past vacant and not so vacant lots, on cleared but often still-broken streets. Moving forward and staying the same all at once.
With change and non-change we still found around each corner surprise, delight and question marks. Very much the Japan we know. Around here we saw Aegi, one of the Minato-sho boys, zoom past on his bike. He was the magician. Too fast to catch, he was gone before we realized it was him. Much like the tuk-tuk from Thailand that whizzed by about the same time. In Ishinomaki also to help. Randomly inspiring.
We started to scout for locations riverside for the anticipated firework show a little later on, but we turn back to the streets where the festivities are amping up and in full swing. Street dancing brightens up intersections. Taking the concept of street recovery to a new level, getting an infectious boost of heart. Dancing, pounding, moving – all doing almost as much for the spirit as hauling away mud and clearing debris. Japanese fans proudly an extension of each movement. Hot and sweaty and happy work is made of the parade with much support and encouragement from bystanders lining the broken streets.
The smiles and joy infectious.
And then we encountered the Recovery Mikoshi Parade. And this was simply inspiring and heartbreaking, again, all at once. And certainly a highlight. Over 50 men and women all wearing traditional mikoshi costumes joined the parade. Volunteers and the local citizens together carrying the incredible portable shrine as a way of symbolizing the recovery of the city. It was exuberant, infectious and so hopeful. Full of passion and heart. Hard, hard work, sweaty and very emotional. Everyone could feel the energy and hope, working as one. This Recovery Mikoshi was revived from tsunami stained debris. It was conceived from rope, anchors, fishing remnants, bicycle handles and anything else you can think of. All terribly, readily available. As the mikoshi and it’s carriers walked through central Ishinokai chanting wasshoi, the crowd swelled, locals joined in with many shouting “thank, you, thank you”. And some so moved to tears. They watched in disbelief at the energy and effort. It was poetic.
Details of the moving mikoshi. Bicycle handles, buoys and a walking stick.
And, of course it wouldn’t be a festival without a Japanese Elvis. On stilts. Next to the mikoshi.
Then it was finally really time to make our way riverside to find a location to watch the fireworks. Momentarily forgetting we are buying yakisoba and takoyaki from streets stalls set up in the middle of where homes stood proud just a few short months ago.
And now…
A yakitori stand attracts customers where once the white house below stood. It now faces ghostly foundations of homes from the past. Hilltop Hiyoriyama park is in the distance.
Looking down the road to where the lanterns were lit and set out on the river the night before.
We set-up riverside, opposite Nakaze Island, across the bridges and waited as dusk and twilight made way for night. We made friends with the locals. A sweet little toddler and her brother – curious, came past twice and left eventually with our Anpanman fan.
We passed the time talking to the police who were patrolling the area, keeping things safe and other local workers. They were so friendly and happy that we were there, and ended up spending almost the entire evening with us. Hearing in the distance the festival across the bridge loud in the night. Almost haunting. It was an eerie scene. Normal again and not. Waiting for the fireworks certainly a custom in Japan. Certainly not though to be doing it on the foundations of homes that had been washed away and/or later demolished. It was a respectful and delicate tone. Solemn and quiet. When the night finally lit up, the noise, the endless bursts and bangs said everything we couldn’t.
And between exclamations of delights, quiet tears and memories… this is how we saw it.
Two of our favorites as the light showers down on Ishinomaki. The broken Statue of Liberty in the bottom right corner. Standing tall, defiant, barely illuminated in the light.
My firework art. Just to lighten things up.
And then we stopped looking skyward for a second to look around us. Surreal in so many ways. Those oohs and ahhhs, again interspersed with real tears and sobs, sighs and prayers. Crushed boats and dilapidated buildings the backdrop. Perching ourselves on a rock amidst broken glass and twisted metal we realized where we were shooting. And we are reminded this is a graveyard. Mixed emotions in the strongest sense. A yin and yang – the beauty of the night sky illuminating the sadness below. The hope of the light from above healing the souls underneath. The ephemeral fireworks… how quickly life changes. Powerful, impressionable, passionate and gone.
Sitting in what was once a loving home locals take in the show…It’s certainly not the most technical image but it speaks to the heart.
And then the finale illuminated the entire town. Showering light and memories. The lady next to us just sobbing, through tears saying that she didn’t want it to end.
At the conclusion, particularly where we were, people quietly packed up and disappeared into the night. We caught up with a cameraman from Sendai, had a quick interview and then crossed the bridge back to town. It was a reflective and stirring experience.
Back in town, the city was still in high spirits afterwards, music, small izakayas open, festivities going into the night. More of a release, we guess, than anything. We bumped into the Peace Boat group again. Lovely to see some familiar faces from part of our initial group of 13 all the way back in March.
And then we called it a night. Ishinomaki slowing rising from the rubble. Hope forging ahead buoyed by determination and will. Perhaps not so for some of the other towns further north that we visited and documented in the following days. But our hearts are with you Ishinomaki. And all of you we have met, those who have shared stories, who have welcomed us and our cameras and in turn have forever changed our lives. Chiyo and Kiko, Mr Takahashi, Abe-San, the Minato Shelter kids, Kiyoko & Emiko, Chie, the Moriya Fruits family and just so many others. Your stories resonate in hearts and minds always. Your pleas ringing out over waves and time. To never forget. To always remember.
Read Part 1: Back on the Tohoku Road: Light + Lanterns
Read Part 2: Recovery road + that glittering sky
Read Part 3: Ghost towns, a miracle tree + the August view
Read previous Tohoku stories from March, April & May here…
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