The Sound Hits You First
You hear Sanja Matsuri before you see it. Somewhere past the Kaminarimon Gate, a deep rhythmic chanting — soiya, soiya — rolls through the backstreets of Asakusa like an approaching storm. Then you turn a corner and there it is: a gilded mikoshi hoisted on the shoulders of forty-odd bearers in matching happi coats, lurching down a lane barely wide enough for a delivery truck. People press against shopfronts. A grandmother leans out of a second-floor window, clapping.
This is Tokyo’s largest and most unpolished festival. Every third weekend of May, roughly two million people descend on the blocks surrounding Sensoji Temple and Asakusa Shrine for three days of portable shrine processions, taiko drumming, and a kind of raw communal energy that catches first-time visitors off guard. Sanja Matsuri isn’t refined. It isn’t choreographed. It’s a working-class celebration rooted in Asakusa’s shitamachi culture, and that roughness is precisely the point.
Friday Sets the Stage
The festival opens Friday afternoon with the Daigyoretsu grand procession — participants in Edo-period costumes parading through Asakusa alongside musicians and shrine priests performing ritual dances. Geisha from the local hanamachi appear in full regalia, though honestly you might miss them in the crowd if you’re not positioned well.
Friday evening is when the first neighborhood mikoshi come out. The 44 district associations surrounding the shrine each maintain their own portable shrine, and smaller processions start winding through Asakusa’s backstreets after dark. It’s a good preview of what’s coming, but the scale is still manageable.
Saturday Is When It Gets Serious
Saturday is chaos in the best possible way. Around 100 mikoshi from Asakusa’s neighborhood associations hit the streets simultaneously. Each one weighs several hundred kilograms and requires dozens of bearers.
The teams compete informally — everyone wants to show the most spirited carrying technique. Some groups practice furimawashi, deliberately rocking their mikoshi violently from side to side. The idea is that more vigorous shaking energizes the kami housed inside, bringing more blessings to the neighborhood. Whether that’s theologically accurate or just a good excuse to show off, I’m not entirely sure, but the crowd loves it.
By mid-afternoon, the area around Nakamise-dori is packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Navigation becomes more of a suggestion than a plan. The upside: you’re never more than ten meters from a yatai selling yakitori, takoyaki, or cold beer.
Dawn on Sunday
This is the one to set your alarm for. Around 6 AM on Sunday — still half-dark — the three main mikoshi of Asakusa Shrine emerge from the shrine grounds. These are the ichi-no-miya, ni-no-miya, and san-no-miya, larger and heavier than the neighborhood versions. The honor of carrying them rotates among Asakusa’s districts, and bearers who’ve waited all year treat this like the event of their lives.
The pre-dawn crowd is surprisingly large. People start gathering before 5:30. When the first mikoshi clears the gate, the chanting goes from murmur to roar in about three seconds. The bearers set off on a daylong route through every corner of Asakusa, returning to the shrine by evening in a homecoming procession lit by paper lanterns.
The last mikoshi often doesn’t make it back until well after sunset. It’s slow going — the bearers stop frequently, the crowds are dense, and nobody seems to be in a hurry to end it. That final return is one of the more emotionally charged things I’ve seen at a festival anywhere.
Three Fishermen and a Golden Statue
The backstory: in the year 628, two fisherman brothers — Hinokuma Hamanari and Hinokuma Takenari — supposedly pulled a golden Kannon statue from the Sumida River in their nets. Their village headman, Hajino Nakatomo, recognized it as sacred and devoted his life to Buddhism. The three men are now enshrined as kami in Asakusa Shrine, which sits right next to Sensoji.
The festival dates to the Edo period. Despite Asakusa becoming one of Tokyo’s biggest tourist draws, the local associations that organize and fund the mikoshi have maintained traditions passed down through generations. There’s real pride in this — it’s not a performance put on for visitors.
The Uncomfortable Parts
A few things the travel brochures skip over.
The crowds are genuinely intense. Saturday afternoon around Kaminarimon Gate is not ‘busy’ — it’s a wall of people. If you have issues with tight crowds or being jostled, Sunday morning (early) is a better bet. By noon Sunday, it’s just as packed.
Asakusa Station becomes a bottleneck. Both the Ginza Line and Asakusa Line exits funnel into narrow streets that are already overwhelmed. Allow an extra 20-30 minutes for station congestion on Saturday and Sunday. The Tsukuba Express exit is slightly less chaotic.
May weather is unpredictable. It’s typically 20-25°C but can swing humid and rainy without much warning. Bring a compact umbrella and sunscreen. You’ll be standing on concrete for hours.
Photography is harder than you’d expect. A telephoto lens helps for capturing bearers’ faces, but during peak Saturday hours, just moving your arms is a challenge. The best shooting window is Sunday morning before 8 AM, when the light is good and the crowds haven’t fully materialized.
Where to Stand, What to Eat
The intersection of Kaminarimon-dori and Umamichi-dori gives decent viewing as mikoshi pass through. But honestly, the side streets east of Sensoji are better — the processions squeeze through narrower lanes where you can get close enough to see the strain on individual bearers’ faces.
For food, the whole neighborhood turns into an outdoor market. The usual festival staples are everywhere, but look for Asakusa-specific things: ningyoyaki (small cakes shaped like temple figures) and age-manju (deep-fried sweet buns). Nakamise-dori’s permanent shops stay open throughout.
One practical note: if you’re flying into Tokyo for this, booking accommodation in Asakusa itself gets expensive and fills up fast during festival weekend. Staying a few stops away on the Ginza Line (Ueno is fine) saves money without adding much commute. Trip.com usually has decent last-minute rates for the area, though for festival weekend you’ll want to book at least a month out.
Getting There and Getting Around
Ginza Line or Asakusa Line to Asakusa Station. The Tobu Skytree Line works too. If you’re coming from further out, the Tsukuba Express drops you a short walk south of Sensoji.
For the festival itself, you’re on foot — there’s no other way to navigate the closed streets. Comfortable shoes are non-negotiable.
If you’re planning activities around the festival — maybe a Sumida River cruise or a trip to TeamLab — KLOOK tends to have bundled tickets that save a bit, though availability during festival weekend can be spotty. Worth checking in advance.
What Stays With You
Respect the mikoshi if they come your way — they’re sacred objects, and the crowd will part when one approaches. Move with it, don’t fight it.
The salary workers in happi coats become different people for this weekend. The chanting has a physical quality you can feel in your chest. And somewhere in the narrow backstreets, away from the main procession routes, you’ll find a tiny shrine decorated with paper lanterns where a handful of neighbors are sharing sake and watching their district’s mikoshi come home.
I took the Ginza Line back to my hotel around 9 PM on Sunday. The train was full of people in festival clothes, half of them asleep. My feet hurt and my phone was at 3%. Pretty good weekend.
