Fierce warriors of light chase away evil spirits in Japan's far north [Travel ON]

In Aomori, Japan, fierce-faced heroes lead the way at a festival of light.

Figures built on frames of bamboo and wire, layered with paper and brought to life with ink lines and red and blue pigment — what began as lanterns lit to drive away the drowsy lethargy of the farming season and ward off bad luck has grown, over hundreds of years, into a festival of light that shakes an entire city. Today, the city draws on that festival to affirm its own identity and summon the energy it needs to endure the long, brutal winters of the far north.

Every year in early August, Aomori's summer nights ignite with the energy of nebuta. The word derives from "nemutai," a local dialect term meaning "sleepy," and refers both to the giant paper-doll lanterns once lit to ward off the drowsiness and misfortune that threatened farm work, and to the festival itself.

During the festival, dozens of enormous nebuta floats fill the streets, and the chant "Rassera, rassera" mingles with the sound of drums, flutes and gongs. What began as a prayer for a good harvest, for the banishment of summer heat and idleness, and for the health and longevity of the village has blossomed into a vast cultural festival that defines the city's summer.

Designated an important intangible folk cultural property of Japan in 1980, the nebuta floats that are the festival's centerpiece are built on three-dimensional frames of wood and wire, covered in washi paper and painted in ink and pigment with images of warlords from Japan's Sengoku period, heroes from the classic Chinese novel "Romance of the Three Kingdoms," and scenes from kabuki theater.

Because the festival ranks among the most celebrated in Japan, the crowds that descend during the event make it difficult for outsiders to enjoy it fully. That gap can be filled at Tsugaru-han Neputa-mura, a cultural complex beside Hirosaki Park in western Aomori where visitors can encounter the original form of nebuta and traditional crafts year-round. Housed in a rice warehouse that served Hirosaki Domain 300 years ago, the space greets visitors with a towering nebuta float — more than nine meters tall — looming beneath a dim ceiling.

The figures painted across the fan-shaped surface flash ferocious eyes, as if about to burst through the darkness. Bold brushstrokes on the paper surface give them a dynamic energy, as though they might leap out at any moment. Walking around to the back, a woman in traditional dress offers a gentle smile that stands in sharp contrast to the fierce warrior on the front, adding a pleasing twist to the viewing experience.

The fate of these striking sculptures is, surprisingly, destruction. The nebuta floats that adorn the festival streets each year are dismantled when the festival ends, and the paper is ritually burned. Every year, the process returns to a blank slate in preparation for the next festival. Nebuta is, in that sense, a one-time art — one that exists only for that single year.

When asked whether it seems a waste to destroy them, a local guide said: "Because the nebuta festival carries the meaning of loading the year's bad luck, drowsiness and illness onto the floats and sending them far away, the dismantling and dispersal is itself the completion of nebuta."

Visitors can also feel the pulse of the nebuta festival throughout the year. At Aomoriya by Hoshino Resorts, the entire property stirs with the spirit of the festival as night deepens. At 9 p.m., the dedicated performance hall Michinoku Matsuriya opens with a quiet shadow play before a nebuta float advances to center stage to the thundering beat of a taiko drum — a moment when the concentrated vitality of people who have endured a brutal winter pours directly into the audience.

Near Tsugaru-han Neputa-mura, Hirosaki Park spreads wide at the heart of the city. At its center stands the keep of Hirosaki Castle, a structure that embodies the city's origins as a place built on the spirit of sword-bearing warriors. Across all of Japan, only 12 castle keeps have survived the Meiji Restoration and the destruction of World War II with their original wooden structures intact, and Hirosaki Castle is the northernmost of them.

When the castle was built in 1611, it stood five stories tall, but after being destroyed by a lightning strike it was rebuilt in 1810 as a three-story structure. The roof was finished with copper sheeting laid over thin wooden planks. Centuries of weathering have left a soft blue-green patina that adds to its quiet charm — an architectural response, particular to the far north, to the weight of snowfall that can reach two to three meters in winter.

Today, the keep of Hirosaki Castle stands not atop its grand stone ramparts but on level ground. The stone walls that once supported it had buckled and tilted over the years from repeated freeze-thaw cycles, bringing them to the brink of collapse. To preserve the castle's original form, the city of Hirosaki carried out a project in the fall of 2015 to move the entire structure without dismantling it — lifting the 400-ton, three-story wooden keep on dozens of hydraulic jacks, placing it on rails and sliding it roughly 70 meters toward the plaza. Work to repair the damaged stone walls, reinforce the earthquake-resistant foundation and return the keep to its original position is expected to be completed this year.

Sitting alone on flat ground, stripped of its imposing stone base, the castle looks strikingly out of place — unlike anything seen elsewhere. Without the tall foundation, what appears is not majesty but the unadorned face of a modest wooden structure. It is a paradoxical reminder of how much the massive stone ramparts had contributed to the grandeur of castle architecture.

Leaving the castle, visitors find themselves drawn to the quiet, contemplative space of Fujita Memorial Garden. The estate — a grand residence and garden — was begun in 1919 and completed in 1921 by Fujita Kenichi, a Hirosaki-born businessman who served as the first chairman of the Japan Chamber of Commerce and Industry. Covering a total area of about 21,800 square meters, it is hard to believe the property was ever privately owned. A blend of modern Western-style and traditional Japanese architecture, borrowed scenery and a stroll garden combine to create a tranquil atmosphere. The garden has been open to the public since July 1991, when the city of Hirosaki took it over as a public garden.

Beside the garden entrance stands a two-story Western-style building. On its ground floor, the Taisho Roman Cafe welcomes travelers while preserving the romance of a century ago.

An antique fireplace, stained-glass windows in various colors and a sunroom terrace overlooking the green garden all carry the distinctive atmosphere of the Taisho era. The cafe serves apple curry — a slow-simmered dish made with the juice and generous chunks of Hirosaki's prized local apples — alongside freshly baked apple pie. Cultural events are also held here, amid teacups that carry the weight of a hundred years.