Tradition reigns at the annual Gion Matsuri parade, where watching the spectators is as much fun as watching the procession

Following a festival procession along a crowded street in Kyoto, my eyes zeroed in on a young woman who was sitting watching the parade. I was drawn to her shiny black hair, elaborately styled with a swooping headdress in the front and a wide bun in the back adorned with flowers, pins, and combs. Her face and neck were painted white, and her black kimono scooped down her neck at the back just enough to expose a semicircle of white. The red lining that peeked out matched her lips, and when my eyes dropped to her feet, I saw that they were perched atop six-inch-high wooden sandals.

I stood transfixed, admiring the maiko (apprentice geisha), until a rush of people with flashing cameras snapped me out of my daze. Even for Japanese people, spotting a maiko is a real treat, which explained the paparazzi-like commotion. It’s extremely unusual to encounter a geisha or a maiko in everyday life in Japan. The Gion district is considered a centre of the geisha tradition, but even in Gion you have to be lucky to see one. Maiko are far less common, as the apprentice period of a geisha’s career is relatively short.

I was at Gion Matsuri, arguably the most famous festival in Japan, and one of the best windows into traditional Japanese culture. Its origins can be traced back to AD 869, when Kyoto was struck by an epidemic and a priest from Yasaka Shrine paraded through the streets asking the gods for reprieve. Many events make up the monthlong festival, but the highlight is the July 17 procession of floats. As part of the tradition, a local boy selected as a divine messenger is paraded through the streets.

The festival is a prime opportunity to sport a yukata, or summer kimono. These light cotton garments are less formal than kimonos and the obi (waist tie) less intricate. But the colours! They’re as beautiful and bright as on any kimono and sing of summer with their blossom, tree, and butterfly prints.

Entire families—from three-foot-tall tykes to obaasan (grannies)—braved the hot, humid weather to watch the parade. I stood behind one old woman who was hunched over in a perpetual bow, cooling her face with a fan. The little girls beside her, dressed in pretty pink, yellow, and baby blue yukatas, were delighted by the action of the parade but hid their giggles shyly behind their hands.

Parade participants riding by on the 23 floats offered up more spectacle. From my clear sightline over the obaasan’s head, I watched one of the man-powered floats being towed past. Two lines of 20 men, each wearing a wide, conical hat, used long ropes to pull a huge boxy float capped with a pagodalike structure. Dressed in loose white shirts and shorts belted by a dark blue sash, they wore woven thong sandals with white tabi (traditional socks that separate the big toe from the other toes). The crowd cheered them on with what I can only guess was the Japanese for “Heave ho!”

The wheels of the float were bigger than the men, and the whole tapestry-decorated creation stood about eight metres tall. Two men with serious, warriorlike expressions stood on the front of the float, waving their fans in well-rehearsed unison, as if they were telling a story through their motions.

High atop the float, tucked into the pagoda, sat the chosen boy. His face was painted white, and he was wearing an elaborate orange costume. Behind him, a band trilled on their flutes and banged their drums, enlivening the crowd with their methodical and powerful rhythms. And sitting on the roof above the boy, four men grasped ropes that were attached to the spire—an impressive 10-metre-high needle topping an already awe-inspiring structure.

I followed the procession along, and as I walked up the street I noticed a group of exceptional spectators. Two maiko were perched on folding chairs between an older man and woman—their chaperones, or clients perhaps. I walked up behind them, and I could see that even the maiko seemed impressed by the parade.

As I stood a few feet behind the foursome, snapping photographs of the elegant young maiko, three men from one of the floats approached them. The two maiko and the middle-aged couple got up. The three men bowed to the group and were answered with a bow. The bowing continued for a while, until the men produced a wrapped gift. The woman in the couple bent at the waist and stretched out her arms to accept it, and there was another prolonged exchange of bows between the groups. Then the man in the couple offered a gift to the three men, which they accepted with a third frenzy of bows.

I wasn’t sure what had been exchanged or why, but I did know that I’d experienced something unique. I’d captured a little of the magic of the Gion geisha.

Access: The Yamaboko Junko float procession takes place every year on July 17. See the Japan National Tourist Organization Web site for more information.