By Henry Hilton

Lifestyle Sep. 14, 2008 - 05:00AM JST ( 2 )

For a brief couple of days, the coastal towns revert to tradition. At summer’s end, the fishing boats remain in port, traffic on the only road is banned and mothers hurry to sew costumes for their daughters as each hamlet prepares to compete in the parade of the rival mikoshi.

Fears for the rural economy and the dreaded thought of months and months of political campaigning in the autumn are instantly forgotten. The half moon is up and the sake begins to flow. People who have been away over the summer nod for a brief second before the crowds converge behind each neighborhood’s portable shrine.

The noise comes from those carrying “our” shrine as they answer the megaphoned verses from their leader. The singing and the dance steps match to help reduce the weight on their shoulders, though not even the shouts of encouragement and the comfort of alcohol can totally eliminate the pain and tomorrow’s bruises. After two whole days of parades, it’s local pride that keeps the dancers going.

All the portable shrines are illuminated for the grand evening sessions and then returned to their home station - in the case of affluent sections of Tokyo this requires that certain mega-affluent condos are obliged to provide appropriate storage as the luxury blocks may sit on former shrine spots.

Down on the coast, the shrine festival is linked to thoroughly commercial exercises. No one finds this strange, though many folk also go through the ritual of washing their hands before throwing a coin, ringing the shrine bell and praying for good fortune. What is refreshing to outsiders though is the behavior of the crowds both in the dark, narrow streets and in the shrine grounds. No one shoves or pushes, everyone instinctively behaves and the singer at the stage show began my announcing that a wallet had just been handed in with a sizeable amount of cash inside.

It’s all good-natured and the celebrations leave the cops with little to worry about. Fishermen’s families and newcomers who commute daily to Tokyo meet here on common ground. The crowds know what to expect and what is expected of them.

The stalls are predictable with rifle ranges, lurid masks and just the occasional local touch with the upmarket Chinese restaurant - said to be patronised by the imperial family - deigning to sell sweet and sour chicken out of styrofoam containers for 600 hundred yen. As always, the most popular venue remains the opportunity for children in yukata to scoop up tiny goldfish and to proudly carry home their prizes in transparent plastic bags.

Yet perhaps this year’s special early autumn celebrations may mark the end of an era. Japan’s fishermen are under threat from both increased fuel charges and the global phenomenon of overfishing. Their long-term future—assuming they have one—will probably have to rest increasingly on “recreational” fishing where their boats are hired out for weekend anglers.

The only hope for the future of these villages on the coast is to accept that more and more townies will be arriving year by year. Those fortunate to have a spare bit of land with a partial view of Mount Fuji will do alright by holding out for a higher price for their plots but others are being squeezed. In time, the shrine festivals risk becoming almost a tourist attraction as communities divide and go their separate ways.