Cherry Blossoms

Hanami is one of the most important cultural events in the Japanese calandar. Juniors are reputably sent early in the morning, to save spaces for their more senior company members at famous cherry viewing locations, where competition is savage for a good pozzie.

I was excitably looking forward to this tradition, especially when a friend asked me to go to a mountain up the coast for hanami.

We went to Shiundeyama with a car load full of good things to eat. Along the way, we oohed and ahhed at the trees showing off their delicate new clothing on the roadsides and nestled into temple courtyards. Unfortunately, though the week before Spring had burst forward with clear skies and a warming sun, this Sunday chose to be cold and windy, the skies stained by yellow dust that had blown over from China.

We arrived at the bottom of the mountain and were met with a traffic jam up the mountainside, new cars only being allowed up as others decended, due to a shortage of parking space at the top. Luckily, some people seemed to be in a rush to cram as many blossoms as possible into their hanami experience and we didn't have to wait long as the dedicated zoomed off to other locations.

The previous evening had been stormy and seemed to have taken its toll on the flowers at the summit: those on the way up were much more impressive. Hungry, we pegged out a spot and laid out a veritable feast of snacks. Omae San had brought hot coffee, which was much more welcome to me as I had come poorly equipped in the clothing department: the previous week had lulled me into believing spring had arrived. I was huddling further and further into a cardigan I had thrown in the car as an afterthought.

We ate lunch, complimented each other on the food and completed the requisite promenade of the mountain top. Standing around shivering, I was told we were waiting for an event, though I've forgotten it's name. Sorry. Basically it consisted of a bunch of people on the stage – where previously old people had been crooning painful old-style karaoke – throwing mochi (pounded rice) into the crowd. The effect this produced resembled the water churning, thrashing effect of carp being fed. The older generations in the crowd were the most vicious, several times clusters of people crashed to the ground as they fought over these airborne offerings. One old man near me, with an armfull of stash, he must have been over 70, nearly ripped my fingers off as he gouged at a packet of chips I bent to retrieve; I exagerate not.

I never thought Japanese, so seemingly polite, were capable of such barbarism. However, no-one was seriously hurt and my little group scored some of the treasure.

I currently have a bigger version of the top image sitting on my desktop as wallpaper. If you ask nicely I can send a copy.