Taking place every July, the monthlong Gion Matsuri is not just Kyoto’s largest event, it’s also considered to be one of the biggest and most famous festivals in Japan. Dating back to 869 C.E., it all started when the former capital was suffering from a plague. Believed to be caused by malevolent spirits, the emperor arranged for 66 spears—representing the country’s number of provinces at the time—to be erected at the imperial garden of Shinsen-en and to transport Yasaka Shrine’s deities to the sacred grounds via portable shrines (mikoshi) in a purification ritual known as goryo-e. Just over a century later the practice was held at Yasaka Shrine, turned into an annual event, and would eventually evolve into a full-scale festival.
There are numerous events associated with Gion Matsuri, but the highlights are centered around the parades that take place July 17 and 24, with the former being the larger of the two. Leading up to each procession, ornate floats known as yamahoko are built in downtown Kyoto near the intersection of Shijo Street and Karasuma Street, the starting point of the parades. The term yamahoko references the two categories of floats. Barring a few exceptions, yama refers to a smaller float that’s carried on the shoulders while hoko are significantly bigger, have large wheels, are pulled by rope, and bear a sacred pole that alludes to the spears used in goryo-e.
Adhering to traditional methods, wood beams are secured by rope rather than nails and floats can take anywhere between two to five days to build, weighing up to 12 tons and measuring as high as 82 feet. The construction process is all done in public for curious onlookers to observe and is completed three days before the parades when Yoiyama kicks off. During these nights leading up to both processions, roads are pedestrianized, floats are illuminated by lanterns, and food stalls line the streets, creating an atmosphere akin to a massive block party for locals and visitors.
For the last few years, festivities were scaled back due to the pandemic, but this year marked the full return of Gion Matsuri—and the joyous energy was palpable. This past July 17, the thermostat may have read 88 degrees Fahrenheit at 9 a.m., but with humidity thick in the air, it felt like a swampy 97 degrees. Despite the sweltering heat, which would near triple digits by mid-afternoon, around 150,000 visitors were in the city according to the Kyoto Prefectural Police Headquarters. By this time, many had already secured their spots along the parade’s 1.7-mile, U-shaped route. But those in the know had been wandering around since early morning to watch the yamahoko emerge from the narrow alleys to the main road.
The grand procession, which featured 23 of the 34 yamahoko this year, always starts with Naginata-hoko. With origins dating back to goryo-e, it also carries the chigo, a “sacred” child meant to represent purity and serve as a vessel for the gods. The remaining order of floats is determined by lottery. One by one they make their way through downtown Kyoto, each elaborately decorated and representing a deity (typically from Shintoism or Buddhism), folktale, or prominent figure. And with centuries of history behind them—few having miraculously weathered disasters and war, the majority having been reconstructed to keep the tradition alive—this is an experience that could be likened to a mobile museum.
The parades are undoubtedly a spectacle for observers. Each of the grand floats is accompanied by dozens of volunteers, including an orchestra playing traditional festival music with drums, flutes, and gongs. At every junction, the yamahoko put on a show before making a turn. Smaller floats spin around three times while the larger ones require the help of bamboo slats, water, and the collective strength of the pullers, resulting in the crowd ooh-ing, ahh-ing, and clapping upon completion.
For the participants, the festival is an honor. Daisetz Sasaki, a board member for Gion Matsuri, was introduced to Araretenjin-yama by his music teacher two decades ago and explains that once you’ve agreed to work with a yamahoko, it’s typically a lifetime commitment to that particular float with meetings throughout the year. One of the rare exceptions is when a float becomes revitalized, like Taka-yama, which was rebuilt and made its return last year after being out of commission for 196 years following devastating damage caused by a storm. For Taka-yama’s rebirth, director Junji Yamada and co-vice chairmans Kichiemon Nishimura and Takayuki Komachi left their previous floats to spearhead the endeavor. The trio is also making some changes to old-fashioned customs, inviting a woman to work on Taka-yama for the first time.
Following the grand procession, which is meant to purify the streets for Yasaka Shrine’s deities, the Shinkosai ceremony takes place. Hundreds of men—all of whom are influential in the local community, explains Manabu Kusui, general manager of Hotel The Mitsui Kyoto, who was invited to join this year—gather at Yasaka Shrine to bring the mikoshi around town to ward off evil spirits before arriving to their temporary resting point, otabisho, where the portable shrines remain on display until they are returned after the second parade on July 24.
As an outsider looking in, the energy that surrounds Gion Matsuri is irrefutable. It’s not just about the enticing street food, beautiful floats, or rich history—although, of course, all of these elements are a great bonus—it’s the overwhelming sense of community that really makes this festival what it is. Sasaki drives this point home for me when he tells me that “these days, we don’t have the chance to get to know each other very much, but during the festival, we meet neighbors and create new bonds.” Beyond local relationships, Kusui adds that “Gion Matsuri has a strong power to unite all of us regardless [of if] they are visitors” by just feeling the passion that comes from the festival. And I think we can all agree that a sense of togetherness is needed now more than ever.
