The young lady sitting on the bench nearby straightens her wig and applies the finishing touches to her makeup — face porcelain-white, lips blood-red and heart-shaped. She is wearing multiple kimono, one on top of the other, and must be boiling. It's only 10.30 a.m., but already it feels like a stifling 30 degrees Celsius. It may just be my imagination, but her countenance seems to hint at some inner torment. What secret sorrow haunts this sad-eyed lady of the lowlands? The answer is as poignant as it is surprising.
To her right, a couple of men dressed as samurai warriors take off their helmets, sit down and tuck into multicolored bentō (boxed lunches). From time to time their horses whinny with impatience.
All around us, benches are laden with swords, quivers full of arrows, helmets, animal skins and rope sandals. Beyond the benches is a profusion of carts, carriages, large tansu (wooden chests), even a couple of oxen. I feel like we're on the set of some Cecil B. DeMille historical epic.