A Midsummer Night’s Dream
On a warm summer evening, when the cicadas were diligently chirping away and the moon was slowly pushing itself onto the stage of the sky, a friend and I were on our way home from an exhibition when, not far off, we first heard music and shortly after cheerful laughter. Because we were curious and still had a bit of energy left, we decided to see what was going on there. So we picked our way through the neighborhood’s ever-narrowing streets and walked past streams, houses, and playgrounds until, a short time later, we stood at the edge of a small park where a neighborhood festival was underway. And it took less than a minute before friendly, perhaps slightly tipsy, people invited us to join the little festivity.
So we made ourselves comfortable on the blue tarp spread out in the middle of the park and looked around. In front of us a thrown-together band was playing familiar Japanese songs, and all around small stalls had been set up selling cool drinks and fried delicacies. Around us sat talkative families, and children chased dogs, cats, and each other, or danced acrobatically and interestingly to the guitar tones of the cheerful musical artists. We watched the summer spectacle unfolding before us with interest, and my companion confessed to me that she hadn’t known about this festival at all - despite the fact that she had already lived in this neighborhood for several years.
I personally was glad to be allowed to be part of this small gathering. After all, I don’t stumble into a little Japanese summer festival every day. And as much as I love darting over the crossing in Shibuya, admiring Sensoji in Asakusa, and indulging in the latest nerd trends in Akihabara, my heart truly opens only when I discover Japan from intimate sides that remain hidden to most outsiders. Because they aren’t made for them, because they aren’t advertised, because they happen off all the beaten paths. And so we stayed until the end, until the band had given its last turn onstage. And as people said their farewells, we too set off home, warmed by the sense of having experienced something small we will draw on for a long time.