Inside Taiwan's Yanshui Beehive Rocket Festival: A Thrilling First-Hand Encounter
It's just past midnight. In moments, chaos erupts.
Twenty feet ahead, amid hundreds of fellow festival-goers, looms a massive two-story-high crate spanning a city block. Known as a 'castle,' it's packed with bottle rockets arranged on horizontal slats, aimed in every direction. Soon, it will ignite, unleashing explosive projectiles everywhere.
The crowd stands in solemn anticipation. This is, after all, a religious festival.
Welcome to Yanshui's Beehive Rocket Festival in Taiwan, an annual event blending devotion and danger, ranked as the world's fifth most perilous festival.
The sky ablaze with fireworks at Taiwan's Beehive Rocket Festival. Photograph by Joshua Samuel Brown
This is a medium-sized castle. Larger ones explode throughout the town all night. As I await the fiery barrage from this one, I question how bigger versions could be safer. Smoke obscures my view outside, while fog clouds my full-face helmet. Essential gear—helmet, gloves, thick fire jacket (loaned by the Yanshui fire department), and a towel around my neck—offers vital protection, preventing stray rockets from entering the helmet and risking an eye injury.
A devotee faces the onslaught with minimal protection. Photograph by Joshua Samuel Brown
At the other extreme, devotees carrying god statues rely on loincloths, a towel over their eyes, and unwavering faith. My attempt to speak with one is met with silence—likely due to intoxication or a trance, both understandable in the intensity.
Dating to the Qing Dynasty, the festival began when Yanshui residents implored Guan Gong, deity of the Wu Temple, to end a devastating plague. Their unprecedented pyrotechnic tribute succeeded, and the event has continued annually.
The towering exploding castles are the highlight, but pre-dusk perils abound. Parades of god statues on stretchers traverse the streets, greeted by firecracker crates, Roman candle barrages from revelers, and military-grade sparklers draping intersections in sparkling curtains.
Helmeted festival-goers under rocket assault. Photograph by Joshua Samuel Brown
Back at our castle, noise and smoke make it hard to pinpoint ignition. I lift my visor to clear condensation just as flames erupt from the roof.
A shout of Lai Le!—'It's coming!'—rings out as rockets ignite chaotically. I seal my visor shut as they pelt my helmet, jacket, and hands, whizzing by in countless numbers.
Edging closer with my camera on video tripod, primal instinct urges retreat from the blasts. The crowd mirrors this, hopping in a collective, restrained dance.
A hopping dance amid rocket whines and blasts. Photograph by Joshua Samuel Brown
The response is stoic, not jubilant. The tattooed devotee winces over his god-carriage, back blistering. As explosions intensify, they blend into a deafening beehive buzz—revealing the festival's name origin.
The frenzy peaks for under a minute, then fades amid distant blasts. Half-deaf and singed, I weave past stalls of food, beer, and betel nut.
Spotting a larger castle emerging from an alley, I realize the night is young.
