Sumo tournament

November 18 Thursday
Both Mary and I experienced the tops of our feet itching after the mud bath last night. She washed her hair before going to bed and some of the mud particles also may have got into her eyes, stinging them with irritation like chlorine water does. I woke in the night and finally at 5am with toothache and with itching over much of my body. Tiny angry red spots (pitchae roseata?) over almost all of my chest and belly, around my waist and back, down the insides of my legs making a red battlefield of allergy. Raised welts on the back of my neck.
Mary and I packed up, had a final coffee and Croque Monsieur at Gratie, amidst the Jazzy Christmas music of our favorite Asian bakery. We did photos outside our Khaosan Fukuoka hostel against the poster wall, various combinations of Mary, me, and the Japanese man working there who had helped us with information about Fukuoka and helped us search for future hostel reservations .With thanks and farewell, we headed off with our luggage to Hakata station to park our luggage in the big 500 yen ($6) lockers,
Mary had been anticipating getting to the "100" yen store, which is like a dollar store in North America. Strangely, it was almost hidden away on the 4th floor of the bus terminal, spread out like a department store, all items 105 yen unless otherwise marked (just as "dollar" stores in Canada apparently now charge $1.25 for most items). Mary bought some kids' glasses with mirrors to experiment using as rear view mirrors for a bicycle (they looked truly futuristic on her face), terry-covered toilet seat covers and various other fun items. I found some sunglasses with untinted lenses, set of tiny magnifiers like Barb Hines carries for inspecting tiny flowers and fungus. Mary and I would set a time to meet; 2 or 3 times we met up and then would set a new time, making additional rounds of the store finding more treasures that we hadn't noticed before.
I was seriously fading when we finally escaped and got ourselves to the 8th floor of the bus terminal where all the restaurants were. Too tired and hungry to deliberate, we went for the chicken cutlet that had caught my eye displayed in plastic outside in the window. In that restaurant, we were, at first, the only ones sitting in the Japanese tatami mat section where my legs, aching from so long standing in the store, were grateful to be tucked up under me as I sat on the floor . Approaching being too hungry to function, I felt nothing could be so delicous as the chicken cutlet, especially with the miso soup, sticky rice and various condiments.
All too soon it was time to hurry to the Kokusai where from 3pm the higher ranking sumo wrestlers would be contending. The taxi dropped us into a scene of excitement; a traditionally dressed massive sumo athlete crossing the busy thoroughfare in front of the stadium, together with us, when traffic lights allowed us to do so. Colored flags flapped above the stadium, groups of businessmen arrived enthusiastically eager for entry. Inside the building the carnival of food and souvenir vendors surrounded the auditorium, inside which corridors like spokes led to the central ring, aisles radiating out from the raised circular stage which is apparently built of rice hemp embedded in clay. We learned to place our shoes, jackets and bags in the storage area under the trap door above which was a square of carpet. We sat cross-legged on cushions placed on the carpet. We watched a procession of competitors parade in, each wearing an embroidered apron of rich silk and ornate decoration, each with his hair in the style that imitates a gingko leaf and also helps to protect the competitor's head in the case of a fall. Each bout was preceded by a proclaimer in traditional costume who announced in a voice chanting or singing in a style that reminded me of No theatre. Then a more elaborately gowned MC announced with dramatic gestures of his fan... and the two huge sumo athletes would mount the stage. They bowed to the black-clad elders (sitting on cushions on the ground in front of each side of the stage - north, south, east and west), and to the official MC. They then faced each other and lowered their huge bodies into squats, then would spring into standing on one leg, the other leg high in the air, demonstrating their athleticism, despite their huge size. After that, they would face each other, squat and stare with such intensity until one would turn away and stride with dignity to his corner, and accept, from a minion, a face cloth to wipe the sweat away or a dipper of water to drink. Each would scoop up a handful of salt and throw it in a ritual purification of the ring, then they would resume facing and string. Suddenly the giants would spring at each other, grappling until one stepped or fell out of the ring, or let any part of his body touch the ground. Both would bow to each other, then the loser would leave and the victor receive an official envelope laid on the black fan of the MC who would offer it to the victor.
Once again, a fast taxi trip to the station, where we bought beer and bento boxes on the platform as we waited for the Hikari, the bullet train, whose long white nose is streamlined to allow speeds of 300 kilometers per hour. Its speed was evident from how quickly it carried us from the southern island of Kyushu half way up the main island of Honshu to the central city of Kyoto.
Here, we are staying in a new Khaosan hostel, 5 floors with our tiny twin room filled mostly with the bunk beds, but with a luxurious lounge and kitchen where young people from all over the world cook, eat and talk. A young German is traveling with her two Japanese women friends, all from Keio University in Tokyo. An Australian traveling alone talks with Mary; she has a bad cold and I give her my night-time cold medicine which I've been fortunate not to need.

Hakata, Japan