INAZAWA -- The first thing Eric Sutton's Japanese hosts asked him to do when he arrived in Kounomiya 18 months ago was to take off his clothes.
Though the request might make a newcomer blush, it makes perfect sense considering the city's most ancient and infamous tradition, the Hadaka Matsuri, or Naked Festival.
For more than 1,200 years, the event has drawn thousands of fundoshi- (loin cloth) clad males and gawking Japanese and foreign onlookers.
"The first day I was in town, everybody asked me if I was going to participate in the festival," says Sutton, a native of Lexington, Ky., and an assistant English teacher (AET) at area high schools. "At every gathering, people kept mentioning it and trying to persuade me to do it. I figured it was something I should do to round off my experience here." Sutton plans to leave Japan in July.
The festival is rooted in what some may call superstition. Huge groups of men wind through the streets toward Kounomiya shrine, where they try to transfer the town's ills to the shin-otoko, or god-man, by touching him. The struggle to get a hand on the god-man is dynamic and, at times, escalates into a writhing melee of flesh. Bucketsful of ice-cold water, thrown on the masculine masses as they lunge toward the icon, compound the free-for-all atmosphere. Though many participants remain relatively safe on the periphery, others grab and grope with gusto, as if the town�s wellbeing was really riding on their shoulders. The festival culminates when the shin-otoko, replete with the town�s evils, is hoisted up by the horde and enthusiastically drummed out of town.
This year's shin-otoko was Kazumasa Niwa, 30, a native of Inazawa. Keeping with tradition, Niwa was sanctified in Kounomiya shrine for the three days prior to the festival, left to await the onslaught amid the serenity of its surroundings. However, he knew the peace wouldn't last long: He�d be jostled, bruised, tussled and thrown out on his ear.
A press release reports that no one has ever been killed during the festival, which does often become violent as the men, some hanging from trees and many fueled by copious amounts of alcohol, scramble to touch the god-man. This year, at least one stretcher was taken into the shrine grounds during the initial hours of the festival, but there were no reports of serious injuries.
The lnazawa police department estimated the day's crowd at 180,000 and put the number of chilly god-chasers at 6,700, both the lowest totals since 1995. Officials added that the temperature hovered around 6 degrees Celcius throughout the day.
By 1:30 p.m., the sake, an integral part of the festival, was flowing freely and the crowds were gearing up for the first run through the streets to Kounomiya shrine. A few staggering, profoundly inebriated men were taken away by the police, who constantly surveyed the crowd for over-enthusiastic evictors. As the procession wound through the streets, passersby and spectators offered spoken encouragement and swigs of sake from cartons, cups and shot glasses.
Sutton, wearing his fundoshi and a nervous smile, was squarely in the midst of the excitement. His was the first group to set off for its encounter with the shin-otoko.
"It was a bit crazy being surrounded by so many people," he says. "You're definitely the center of attention."
During his group's run through the water gauntlet, Sutton joined in shouting "wasshoi," a traditional matsuri chant, and helped raise an elaborate ceremonial pole made of woven reed.
He says the cold was not so bad and offered advice to future revelers: "Drink. Drink lots of sake and you'll keep warm. Once you're out there and moving around, it's not so bad. I definitely recommend the experience to all those who have the motivation and are willing to forget modesty and warmth for a day."
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