The sound of Cicada chirps envelope the small city of Isahaya with a deafening ring every summer morning. To some, it’s complete torture. During the early days of September, however, these excruciating (not to mention extremely irritating) noises are replaced with a much different sound - the clacking of a thousand tiny plates to the tune of a shrilled male voice and the striking of huge taiko drums, all coming together in beautiful unison.
This singular harmony is played during what is known as the Nonnoko dance, the highlight of the local festival that bears the same name. Just as the sun begins to turn its head away from the city, a thousand dancers line up the streets, all clad in colorful hues of dyed summer yukata and happi; bursts of bright yellow and immaculate white mix with mellow blues and hardy reds.
The song comes unexpectedly blasting out from the speakers, loud enough to unhinge doors and break glass. In swift and forceful movement, the dancers sway their arms in the air, two small plates carefully tucked into each of their hands. All at once, an echoing sound fills the air as the dancers clack their plates together. It is a gorgeous mess of rhythm and movement.
A sea of music stretches from the main business center leading to Megane Bashi, a bridge famed for being in the shape of spectacles. Before you even realize it, night falls, and the city is alive with the smells of yakitori grilling, curry being brought to a boil, sweet vanilla-scented ice cream dripping from its cone, all while the drums continue in a seemingly flawless beat that matches the sights and sounds of the matsuri. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, can ever beat the energy of a summer matsuri.
As I clumsily dance (very terribly) along, I realize two things: One - that in Japan, a matsuri becomes the heart of the city. And two - to actually become immersed in it, basking in all of its tiny details, is all that any happy traveler (or human) can ever ask for.
