Rolling into Kyoto Central at precisely 14.26 and with 42 minutes to kill before changing trains onwards to Hiroshima, I munch on a chicken katsu sandwich (oddly delicious) and pick up some souvenirs in the form of boxed biscuits, which appears to be the done thing here judging by the numerous aircraft hangar-sized biscuit outlets, and distinct lack of any other kind of souvenir shops. It turns out to be a good move, as attested by Tom & Sayaka, who both seem very pleased with their pressie as we catch up over green tea and break open the biscuits in their apartment. The first port of call is Sayaka’s parents’ Okonomi-yaki restaurant, tucked down a usually quiet back street near Hiroshima’s Mazda stadium. Today, however, is game day, and a steady torrent of baseball fans (over thirty-thousand I’m told) file past on their way to see the Hiroshima Carps lose badly to the Chumichi Dragons. The tiny restaurant is literally heaving with hungry Carp supporters, but Sayaka’s dad immediately clears us a spot in front of the teppan grill, where we down a couple of cold Kirin drafts and devour the enormous piles of Okonomi-yaki – a sort of omelette with beansprouts and pork that was invented in this part of Japan. It’s so massive that I start to panic I’ll be too full for the pre-wedding family dinner that’s been organised later that evening, but it’s so good I soldier on and polish off the lot anyway.
I needn’t have worried it turns out: Tosho restaurant serves only tofu, and not very much of it at that. A series of beautifully constructed miniature courses – soy-soaked, fried, in salad, flavoured, boiled in milk skin or silken – are gracefully placed before us, none of which are exactly filling. It becomes increasingly difficult to know what bits are the food and what bits are the garnish, so I concentrate instead on filling everyone else’s glass with beer and sake in the hope that the favour will be reciprocated (Kei & Samu had already warned me that it’s a massive faux-pas to fill up your own glass in formal situations).
The morning of the wedding, despite meticulous instructions from Tom, I end up hopelessly lost in a taxi, driven by a man who I can tell does not like me one bit. Ever since I got in and closed my door he’s been scowling at me, and I later find out that another massive Japanese faux pas is closing your own taxi door (there is a ridiculously over engineered hydraulic arm closing system in all taxis to avoid having to touch any part of the door GOD FORBID). I put the driver on speakerphone to Sayaka and eventually we pitch up at the shrine to find the official photo session in full swing. A small army of stylists, consultants, photographers and advisors buzz around the couple frantically making miniscule adjustments to their robes. Tom looks like a Samurai minus the sword (“I did ask for one” he laments), and Sayaka has on a full wataboushi white kimono complete with ceremonial ‘moon’ hat. Since this is my first Shinto wedding I get pretty excited and go a bit overboard with the camera – so much so that I almost miss the temple procession I’m meant to be in.
The ceremony itself is out of this world. On one side, Sayaka’s family sitting neatly in the cramped entrance, while we the UK contingent on the other side do our best not to fall off the tiniest stools in history or elbow each other in the ribs every time we’re asked to stand up/sit down (which turns out to be a lot). Eerie music floats around from unidentifiable instruments until we’re almost in a trance kind of state, transfixed on Tom and Sayaka kneeling at the front as the Kannushi (priest) and Mikos (shrine maiden) go about their rituals. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before, and I make a mental note to attend more Shinto ceremonies in future. Formalities completed we move to the adjoining hotel restaurant for the reception dinner, again a procession of exquisitely presented Japanese delicacies, but this time thankfully involving other stuff as well as tofu. My particular favourite is the ‘auspicious foods course’, consisting of white snow crab and butter soft wagyu beef. The big day is brought to a close among the trendy backstreets of the city, where we take over the upstairs level of a hipster café serving craft beers and pork yakiniku until the wee hours.
