Saijo, Land of (Rice Wine) Opportunity

By Sammy Brooks, ALT, Hiroshima-ken, 2000-2002

It was October of 2000. I had spent the past three months teaching English in the Hiroshima countryside, proving that while not yet fluent in Japanese, I had clearly mastered the skills of asking for directions to the restroom – or a beer.

Being new to the country, I was feeling my oats, now being able to fulfill two, count ‘em, two biological functions with use of a foreign tongue. This was the time, with the air still warm and sultry, to test out my newfound language skills with the natives during one of their famous fall festivals – and definitely before my ego was rightly reduced to normal proportions.

And so I found myself hurtling on a train through the rice paddy-covered terrain, to a sleepy little town called Saijo. Within Hiroshima prefecture, Saijo is somewhat famous for two fascinating tidbits of info: first, it was home to Hiroshima University, giving it a small international flavor due to its population of exchange students. Train stations announcements were even in English.

More importantly however, Saijo was also home to eight sake manufacturers. A sake town, Saijo is, and deservedly so. In the beginning of autumn, the town elders would open the brewery gates and invite the local passersby to sample their wares. What possibly began as a “Hey, look what I made!” type of situation developed into the Saijo Sake Matsuri (Festival), an unadulterated celebration of the fermented rice grain, with performances and food stalls galore. In the center of town, a full city park is fenced off. For about 1500 yen admission, you receive fine literature explaining the joys of sake, and also a souvenir sake cup, from which you could discover the joy firsthand – and in much more of a hurry. With about 900 types of sake to choose from, this cup comes in handy indeed. At the beginning, patrons carefully decide which sake to sample: would a nice dry one or a sweet variety tickle their fancy? As the day wears on, however, cups are filled without rhyme or reason. But that was fine, too. After all, here was where the most improbable friendships could be made.

For a foreigner new to Japan, there are some subtle pitfalls. Some confuse the sake cup with the shot glass, and woe to he who makes this fundamental error! There’s the story of one compatriot, who found his way back to his station but promptly passed out in the ditch. Neighbors quietly carried him to his apartment, tucked him in, and said nothing. He awoke the next day in his bed, not quite remembering how he got there – until his students were kind enough to enlighten him during class the next day.

I’d highly recommend the Saijo Sake Matsuri to anyone; it never disappoints. And after all, it was just another wonderful cultural opportunity to put my deep bilingual skills to good use in my new home (including asking for directions to the restroom, and ordering another drink).


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