“It’s like two different worlds,” a young woman told her friend as they walked from the main arena towards the Japan section at Bhoirymbong's Cherry Blossom Festival. She wasn't wrong. While the main stage area was packed with people struggling to catch a glimpse of , the Japan Arena felt like stepping into an intimate matsuri (festival) where cultures danced together under November skies.
The contrast was striking from the moment anyone crossed the invisible boundary between the two spaces. Behind the main stage, production crews rushed about with walkie-talkies, coordinating the complex logistics of international acts. could be spotted in a corner, carefully tuning her electric cello, while ’s team meticulously arranged her elaborate costume changes.
The air thrummed with the nervous energy that precedes any major concert. But just a few hundred metres away, the Japan Arena moved to an entirely different rhythm. Steam rose from fresh , perfuming the crisp mountain air with promises of comfort, while the familiar scent of (yellow rice) created a perfect fusion of aromas.
Near the food stalls, teenagers in oversized anime hoodies huddled over bowls of pork miso, their chopsticks clicking as they shared bites of the meal and debated which performance to catch next. Their excited chatter mixed Japanese anime phrases with local expressions, creating their own festival dialect that somehow made perfect sense. As one wandered around, it became clear this was where things c.
