A Calm, Quiet Ending—the End of the Year in Japan

On the first New Year's Eve I lived in Tokyo, I thought I'd have a great time. Not knowing the customs too well, I headed to Ginza to find a lively bar and a late meal. I pictured myself downing champagne, dancing, and hugging strangers at midnight. Fireworks!

However, in Ginza, an ordinarily vibrant part of Tokyo, I walked desolate streets to find only one restaurant open. I went in for a quiet, lonely meal, having learned that New Year's in Japan and America couldn't be more different.

Over the years, though, I've come to appreciate Japan's quieter approach. Nowadays, stores, restaurants, ATMs, and even party-style bars often remain open over the New Year holidays. Still, for the most part, the few days before and after December 31st are given over to calm, gentle, and beautiful activities. 

Tokyo does get a little wild during bonenkai, or "forget-the-year" season, from December 1st to just after Christmas. For that month, reservations at restaurants are limited to two hours (to shoehorn more customers in), while old friends, workmates, classmates, and lovers jam the streets—the city's noise level doubles. 

But once that winds down, the last few days of the year, workplaces close up, people head home, and Tokyo's usual buzz and rush become quietude and reflection. I'm never sure if that year-end calm is the true nature of Japan, or whether the bustle and hustle of the rest of the year is.

By December 28th or so, people in my neighborhood start affixing kadomatsu, traditional pine-and-bamboo decorations, to their doors or front gates. While most people put them up out of habit, pine branches symbolize longevity, and bamboo cuts symbolize hopes for prosperity. The understated green and light brown decorations offer a pause for reflection as people enter and exit homes and buildings, a kind of spiritual doorway leading into the following year.

Japan has plenty of other simple, elegant rituals, too. Osoji, or year-end “big cleaning,” is at the top of the list and might be the year's last burst of commotion. This isn't your average vacuum, wipe, and dust. My neighborhood echoes with the soft sounds of futons being beaten, living rooms vacuumed, and cars washed, rinsed, and wiped dry. When my neighbors and my cleaning paths cross, we call out, "Are you cleaning?" even though it's obvious, before offering a gentle pre-New Year greeting. 

The only day of the year when trains run all night is December 31^st. It's not so people can go to all-night parties or bar hop. The trains run so people can visit temples for Hatsumode, the first visit to a temple in the new year. The idea is to arrive at the shrine or temple exactly at midnight to offer the first prayer of the year. That's easier said than done.

The first time I tried, I stood in line in the cold for hours at Harajuku's famous Meiji Jingu Shrine. And by "line," I mean twenty people across, forming a vast human carpet stretching from the outside torii to the inner shrine. Guards on pedestals held ropes to keep the crowd from turning into a crush, and green and red lights hung overhead to signal when to move forward or stand still. We got to the very front about two in the morning.

Fortunately, there were toilets along the way and small stands selling amazake, hot, thick, sweet sake. The crowd was calm, but excited to be among the first, if not the very first, to offer a silent prayer for the following year. The only sounds were the tinkle of coins tossed into collection boxes, the dull clank of a bell, and handclaps, before guards hurried us off toward the exit.

I avoid the crowds these days by waiting calmly until the second or third day of the year before venturing out. The nearby shrine, a short walk from my home, is too small to handle a crowd. It's not much more than a main shrine building, a few small wood shrines, and an open pit to burn last year's hamaya, or sacred arrow. After bringing the old arrow purchased the year before to toss into the fire, people buy a new one to carry home and display in a high place to ward off evil spirits and bad luck. 

Traditionally, toshikoshi soba is the real thing to be eaten on the final day of the year. Noodles are thought to symbolize long life. Buckwheat, essential to soba, is a tough plant that survives in any weather, adding another symbolic layer to the set of meanings accompanying the change of year. 

My favorite New Year's ritual, though, is the annual ringing of the Joya no Kane, or “midnight bells.” At temples all over the country, huge bells, some stretching two or three meters high and weighing several metric tons, are struck by wooden poles fashioned from tree trunks. The massive poles are suspended from overhead swing ropes and drawn back with long, thick pull ropes.

It can take several people, usually young monks, to grasp the ropes, swing the log back and forth, and then lean into one hard pull that whacks the bell at the exact right spot for maximum resonance. From the back stoop of my home, I can hear the nearest temple bell ring out precisely at midnight. Its dulcet tones rise over the trees and up the bluff in the chilly midnight air. The rest of the city is quiet, as if everyone is listening for the bells. 

The bells are rung 108 times, each dispelling one of the earthly desires that, according to Buddhist belief, cause human suffering. At some temples, the bells and hammer are so large that it can take a while to finish all 108 rings. But it's hard to tell since everything seems to slow down as the mystery of time itself pushes aside the usual divisions of calendars and clocks that define our lives. Our thoughts can linger over the bells. 

For those who don't live within earshot of a shrine or temple, the public TV station NHK offers a program that runs from 11:45 to 12:15. It's my favorite program of the year! Broadcast in high-definition live feeds from temples all over Japan, from the coldest climes of Hokkaido to the balmy breeze of Okinawa, it shows the bells and services from Japan's most famous temples. For 108 rings, Japan feels like an island nation united in a tolling, resonant harmony.