Fireworks Chief
We drive on and after stumbling through a couple of conversations, where able to swap our stories. I tell him about my trip and he turns out to be the local fireworks technician and he’s on his way to a job. A local junior high school is holding their campfire dance and he’s supplying the highlight moment of the night. We get stuck on a point and he phones his wife, who speaks English, and I get an invite to watch the show and then to be dropped off at where I need to be. Cool. We arrive at the venue and small groups of kids in blue school uniform tracksuits are mingling around a hotel. After I change into some dry clothes, he meets with the organisers, hands are shook and we drive to the spot where he plans to set up the fireworks. I’ve never actually seen how fireworks are set-up and watch the whole process intently. I help with some of the strapping and securing of the rig and help collect water which I assume is used to douse any unwanted flare-ups. The whole set-up is pretty straight forward and quick to arrange, and he enjoys a smoke while I enjoy a canned coffee and the fear of a fiery death.
About a hundred metres away, where the campfire fuel waits to be ignited, speakers crackle into life and music not too unlike Pink Floyd blares out. A procession of about 150 teenagers appears from the forest and march in double file around a pile of wood, which I assume is the campfire, until they create a huge circle. A man in white robes appears and the music stops. He says a bunch of stuff and the kids reply in unison at random intervals. A small flaming torch is presented to the man in robes and is put to one side while he talks some more, with the kids all chipping in at random parts. The music starts up again and then the flame is distributed to 5 or 6 kids in slightly different tracksuits and they move to the centre of the circle and set the pile of wood on fire. The whole process has a very pagan ritual vibe to it. I manage to ascertain from the fireworks guy that this is a fairly typical thing for junior high school students to do and that he does fireworks for a lot of them. There’s singing and dancing, with the music ranging from tradition Japanese music to German Polka. It’s all very structured and the fireworks guy seems to know the process quite well. We sit around and swap the little common language we know until we’re interrupted by the organiser on the walkie talkie saying we have 5 minutes to go.
The fireworks chief pulls out a small control case from the back of the van and connects it to a long lead coming from the fireworks. He opens it, performs a couple of tests and checks the direction of the wind with the smoke from his cigarette. He knows what he’s doing and looks cool doing it. He squats down in front of the case and after the group of kids count down in Japanese behind us, he fires off the fireworks and they light up the forest around us with amazing colours.
After we clean up the burnt remains of the fireworks and pack up the gear, we drive to where I’m getting out with the van smelling strongly of sulphur. I remark that it smells like onsen and he laughs and agrees. He drops me at the Inawashiro trainstaion, where my directions to my couchsurfing host’s house begin. I thank him for the lift and the night’s entertainment and he wishes me luck on my trip and drives off.
An amazing way to finish off a phenomenal day.
I meet my host for the next couple of days who name is also Dan, an American guy who’s in Japan teaching English. He’s a really chilled dude who loves and appreciates the serenity that country Japan has provided to his life. We chat about travel, impressions of Japan and basically just hang out like buddies, enjoying being able to relax into our native language for a little while. In the morning he goes to work and I set about fixing up my bike and trailer. I replace the tube in the trailer tyre and repair the punctured one. I then track down the town’s bike shop and the guy straightens my wheel for me for free. In the evening, Dan takes me to his favourite Japanese curry place and I we talk some more about his work and the adventures he’s had in Japan.
In the morning we say our goodbyes and I ride to the bakery where he recommends I try the Melon Pan, a kind of sweet bread with a slight taste of melon. I get more excited about the dark multi-grain bread on offer and buy two small loafs for the ride ahead. I get a little lost on the way out of town, but after about an hour I arrive in Aizu-Wakamatsu, a larger town famous for it’s large statue of the spirit of life and the Byakkotai, which were a group of 20 samurai who mistakenly committed sepuku (ritual suicide through disembowelment), when they thought the town’s castle Tsuruga-jo had fallen, which it hadn’t. The attraction for me was the large eagle topped monument Mussolini had donated to the Japanese people back when he was in style. I meet a couple of Japanese girls and they take me to a café where we enjoy an iced coffee. One of them had visited a friend in Melbourne and was saying that the iced coffees in Australia were better because they had ice cream in them.
After a couple of hours, they drop me off at my bike and I go in search of a place to camp. On the outskirts of town I spot a large orchid on the hill, but after chatting with the farmer, he’s not so keen for me to camp out on his land. I ask another local where the nearest camping ground is and they point in the direction of the river. As the sun disappears and the light begins to fail, I’m starting to worry about where I’ll be spending the night. Close to the river, I roll into a random driveway and ask one of the kids playing if they could get their mum or dad for me. A western face appears and the woman turns out to be an American who married a Japanese guy and moved here late last year with their two kids. After she gives me directions I fully understand, I head towards the river. On the way I pass a small truck with a wood oven in the back and traditional Japanese music playing from speakers mounted on the cab. A small group is gathered around him, purchasing small bags of what look like roasted sweet potato and I can’t resist. I buy one and it turns out to be a roasted yam, which has a fairly smoking sweet taste that isn’t like anything else. After speaking with one of the locals over one of these yams, he draws me a map of where I can find a place to camp near the river. It turns out to be a good lead and I pitch there for the night.
Wakamatsu sunset
I have ridden about 20kms from Wakamatsu and have found myself in Ashinomaki, a small town hanging from the side of a cliff. It appears that the main attraction of the town is Onsens and for 700 yen I have treated myself with a beautiful outdoor onsen at one of the many hotels here. Now I’m sitting in the hotel’s café with a beer and gorgeous view, having my back massaged by one of the chairs facing the ravine outside the window. I’ve got 10 days left of my trip, I know which way I’m going and what number roads to follow to get to Tokyo, but I have no idea what I’ll find along the way and I’m liking it.
