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This Might Be the Most Dangerous Festival in the World

Welcome to the Yanshui Beehive Fireworks Festival.

When I woke up on the 15th day of the Chinese Lunar New Year in the district of Yanshui in southern Taiwan, I didn’t know later that evening I would be standing in a mosh pit, shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of revelers, as a never-ending barrage of fireworks exploded on my back. But I’m told that’s because I was lucky. If I had known earlier what to expect, you might not be reading this story.

Yanshui is a district in the sprawling city of Tainan, a port city that was colonized by the Dutch in the 1600s and just celebrated its 400th anniversary. Yanshui itself was once an important harbor town, but it’s now much more famous for hosting the most dangerous festival in the world: the Yanshui Beehive Fireworks Festival.

The legend goes that in or around the year 1875, a cholera epidemic was ravaging Yanshui. Running out of ideas, the people decided to pray to the Chinese god of war, Guan Yu, to help them rid the town of the plague. During the lantern festival, which is an annual celebration that takes place on the 15th day of the Chinese Lunar New Year, the people of Yanshui built palanquins (or sedan chairs as they call them locally) with the idol of Guan Yu on top and paraded the god through the streets of Yanshui while setting off fireworks and firecrackers throughout the night. Locals believed that the excess amounts of sulfur and smoke in the air helped wipe out the plague as the prevalence of illness subsided once the festival was over. Whether that’s scientifically sound or not is another story, but the people of Yanshui have been throwing the festival every year since to commemorate the miracle.

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Paul Feinstein

I arrived at the festival at dusk and traversed through the near mile-long corridor of the Yanshui Night Market, lined with dozens of street food vendors serving everything from stinky tofu and beef noodle soups to gua bao (Taiwanese hamburgers) and Da Jipai (fried chicken filets). The market also had stalls selling protective gear, which I’ll explain in a moment. All of this led to the main Yanshui Wu Temple, where a three-story high idol of Guan Yu stared menacingly at the thousands of festival goers looking to be battered with fireworks.

Now, why is it called the beehive festival? At first, I thought it had something to do with the outfits you wore during the rocket onslaught–akin to a beekeeper suit that covers every inch of your body to avoid being stung. And maybe part of that is true. But the real reason was that along the parade route, about every 50 feet, there were towers in the middle of the route, filled to the brim with tens of thousands of bottle rockets. These towers were built by local groups who donated money to participate in the festival. It’s considered both a sign of charity and a form of luck that’s bestowed upon the givers. The towers varied in size, but they all served the same purpose–to shoot and hit Guan Yu as many times as possible. The firing of the rockets is tantamount to upsetting a beehive, with thousands of bees storming out to protect their queen at all costs. Only these stings explode and can be quite punishing if you’re not careful. The parade itself begins around 6 p.m. at night and travels through the entire town of Yanshui until 6 a.m. And if you’re “lucky” you get to stand between the beehives and Guan Yu and get hit by the fireworks, as this is considered a blessing.

Indeed.

After I filled up on street food, it was time to protect myself from blowing up. The gear included a motorcycle helmet (with a visor), a cotton face mask, a wet towel around my neck, a heavy non-flammable jacket, thick pants (jeans at a minimum), gloves, heavy socks, and good solid shoes. Many of the festivalgoers had makeshift covers that hung from their helmets in both the front and back to prevent any rockets from making their way inside and ruining their hearing for life. The key here was to have zero openings anywhere on your body that a stray rocket might find its way inside of. I wore my socks over my pants, I taped my sleeves to my gloves, and I had people douse my clothes in water. Oh, and by the way, it was swelteringly hot outside.

Paul Feinstein

With my gear fully intact, I made my way to the procession and was “lucky” enough to get into the first row, face-to-face with thousands of firecrackers that were trying to kill me (and the god of war). You could see, hear, and smell the procession as it inched closer and closer to us. Firecrackers seemed to be shooting off in all directions and white smoke filled the air. I could see one of the palanquins approaching the beehive tower before me and I followed the cues of everyone around me by putting on my mask and my helmet and girding my nerves for the upcoming onslaught.

The palanquin finally arrived, and we positioned ourselves between it and the bottle rockets. A pile of fake money was lit on fire and a steady drumbeat began to rumble all around me. The crowd, now shoulder to shoulder, waited eagerly for the whistling of rockets to begin pelting us by the thousands. Suddenly, without warning, the rocket fire began, like a machine gun firing into a crowd, red shooting lights, white smoke, and the sounds of explosions engulfed us. Everyone jumped up and down the whole time, a deterrent that’s meant to keep any rockets from sticking to your clothes and lighting you on fire (yes, that’s right).

With each rocket explosion, white smoke blinded my eyes and filled my lungs, the claustrophobia, the heat, the jumping, all causing ripples of sweat to soak through every article of protective clothing. The rockets seemed to fire forever as the crowd jumped in unison. I felt explosions on my back, on my legs, and on my feet as I jumped to avoid any catastrophes.

In what felt like an hour (but was really only 3-5 minutes) the rocket procession finally ended. Turning around, I looked back up at the beehive tower, which then fired dozens of large-scale fireworks into the air. The crowd cheered, checked themselves for any permanent damage, and then watched the palanquin move to the next station to begin a new onslaught on Guan Yu and provide more blessings to the people hoping to be blasted in the back as well.

I tore off my helmet and looked over my clothes. Blast marks dotted every part of my body. The noise, the pandemonium, the smells, and the sheer adrenaline are like nothing I’ve ever experienced as a travel writer. It was one of the most exhilarating experiences I’ve ever encountered and couldn’t recommend it more to anyone traveling to Taiwan at that time of year. But I also can’t stress this enough–I saw people’s legs and hands with second and third-degree burns–come prepared as this truly is one of the most dangerous festivals in the world–and you’ll be blessed if you’re bombarded unscathed.