Nara: Todaiji Temple and Killer Deer

      I had been planning a trip to Nara the first week I arrived in Japan. And time after time, weekend after weekend something has always come up, whether it be  lack of funds, the weather, or change of plans it seemed like going to Nara was a distant deer filled fantasy. However, the opportunity came when I was invited to tag along with my friend over spring break!

     I'm from  Upstate New York, where seeing a deer out in the open alone is an excitement so being up close and personal with about over a hundred friendly deer was endlessly fun for me. We took a bus right from Nara station to Nara park, though it turned out it was only like a 10 minute walk away. The park is about medium sized, there's benches, vendors, and the two museums filled with Buddhist art and ancient artifacts. 

My friend and her minions




Oh and over a hundred hungry deer.

     I had been warned. My Japanese professor had told our class about the over zealousness of the deer, I've heard the stories of old obaachans getting knocked over or children getting bitten. But when I looked into those cute black eyes did I believe any of those horror stories?  Nope, not one bit. In my innocence I joyfully bought some crackers and fed the herd of deer that flocked around me, took numerous deer filled selfies, snapped up close pictures, and just when I thought I was safe....they attacked.

Yeah they definitely did bite.

My friend and I had sat down to eat some green tea flavored ice cream on the curb. Things where looking good, no deer seemed to be interested in us, the ice cream was delicious, weather not too hot or too cold. A group of young Japanese kids walked by all laughing at a small deer that followed them. They stopped for a moment in front of us petting the deer and trying to take pictures.  Much to our misfortune, the moment the deer found out they were cracker-less he turned his ravenously hungry eyes on us. And in the process somehow summoned about six of his friends. We were bum-rushed  and mugged by deer like an episode of when animals attack. And worst of all, they stole my ice cream. Jerks.

Do not be deceived this is the face of evil

After the theft of my ice cream I had spied a pleasant looking old lady selling baked yams. The sign had read 200 yen, or so I thought. As the lady grabbed and wrapped my yam she asked not for a reasonable 200 yen I had already waiting and ready, but for 800 yen. For all of you who don't know me personally, I'm extremely cheap when it comes to my own money. That's an 8 dollar yam right there. You know what I can get for 8 dollars? A whole set meal, two medium Starbucks coffees, a days worth of train fare, reasonable things. Not a side street baked yam in a brown paper bag. But if you also know me personally you know that I have a horrible habit of not wanting to complicate situations. And this often means I say Yes when I really mean Hell No. So I begrudgingly handed over 800 yen and took my yam.

Post deer mugging photo

But besides over priced yams and being bullied by a four legged animals, Nara was beautiful. We had gotten to most of the temples fairly later in the day so towards sun down it seemed like we were the only people in the area. Although the major sections of Todaiji Temple were closed, we were free to walk around and take pictures without the hundreds of  temple goers. 

Main Gate of Todaiji Temple

     All the temples and shrines I've visited in Japan have had their own ethereal qualities, but Todaiji at dusk was not only the most evocative but the most other worldly place I've been to thus far. There's something about the shear size of the grounds that magnifies your singularity. Something about the worn faces of the Buddha and other statues that makes you feel like a bleep on the radar but at the same moment makes you feel entirely connected.

     It's a hard feeling to put to words, but as I ran my fingers over the wooden railings, large stone pillars and listened to the soft rustling of the budding sakura trees around me I felt in every respect, full. Of greatness, of potential, of thanks, and of a vague but growing sense that this is where I should be at the moment. I was always a person who thought that I knew myself and yet I'm constantly discovering new parts of me.

There's a proverb I learned recently in Japanese, "いのなかのかわずたいかいをしらず" or The frog in the well knows not of the great ocean. I never want to be that frog, trapped stuck in a well never knowing of what lay outside of me. And as I looked out at the skyline of Nara I think of all the ups and downs I've had in Japan. The questionings of my own abilities, the funny and awkward stories I've collected, and the people I've met and I am nothing less than eager to experience more of it. There's moments when I think I'm getting greedy, overwhelmed by this ocean outside of my well.

Happy exploring everyone!

Climbing The Steps of Fushimi Inari

           A couple weeks ago I journeyed to Kyoto to visit the Fushimi Inari Shrine. If you've seen Memoirs of a Geisha than this shrine might be familiar to you. And if you haven't, then you probably have no idea what the heck I'm talking about. Let's remedy that!

This is the scene where a young Sayuri is running through the torii gates at Fushimi Inari 

    The Fushimi Inari Shrine is dedicated to Inari the goddess of prosperity, rice, and industry. She also happens to be the patron deity of merchants and farmers. You can say that she's rather popular, the Fushimi Inari Shrine alone has more than 32,000 sub-shrines throughout Japan.

Main Gate at Fushimi Inari

     When I visited it was a perfect day sunny and cool like the autumn weather back home. And I can say that from the moment we arrived to Fushimi Inari station it was like stepping back in time. Almost every temple I've visited thus far has had this aura of the past but in Fushimi Inari the air was different.

The 狐 (fox) messengers of Inari

     Maybe it was the size, the small stolen glances of  the Miko and priests between the shrine doors, a quick flash of a red hakama, or the distant echo of a Buddhist chant, or the snarling faces of a hundred foxes jaws lulling open. Or perhaps it was it's utter foreignness to me, not only in language but in customs, practices, and religion. Everything was tainted by my distance with an air of mystery.  

As we climbed the orange torii gates wound up the side of the mountain and the light seeping in from the gaps made it seem like I was walking in the fiery belly of an old and giant snake.  The whole way up an underlying tranquility pervaded everything and in its infectious and almost jarring nature I found myself stopping and attempting to cast out my senses. Running fingers over the cold stone of shrines, the shined and sometimes splintered wood of the gates, hearing the dull gong and high twinkle of temple bells, and breathing in deep the heady mixture of temple incense and mountain air. It seemed like we were all propelled forward, old and young, singular and in groups. Feet moving of their own accord, stair after stair in a destination-less procession up the mountain.

     Small individual shrines sat in clusters on the edge of the main trail, like villages for the tiny foxes that guarded them. At times when I was snapping pictures it almost felt like they were watching me, hungry with their open mouths and tiny snake silted eyes. Waiting to gobble up offerings and prayers and in return grant prosperity. 

And as I reached the top and saw the last shrine surrounded by a hundred mirrored miniatures, I felt a near chill. Like I had walked into to an abandoned city, undisturbed and uninvited. Still, I felt draw there, drawn to put a hundred yen coin in the mouth of the kitsune and grab for myself a piece of good fortune. Climbing the steps of Fushimi Inari one realizes what it takes to receive prosperity, repetition, motivation and an audacity to disturb something in yourself that you never have before.

Kyoto Excursion

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     I had the opportunity to go to Kyoto during orientation week, an opportunity that I eagerly accepted! We were divided into groups and accompanied by Japanese Kansai Gaidai students. Luckily, Kyoto is only about an hour train ride from Hirakata-Shi Station, and relatively cheap as well. I've always thought of Kyoto as the land of the geisha, a hub of old Japan. I was more interested in shopping than hiking up a billion and one stairs to an old Buddhist temple. But my group had decided on going to Kiyomizu-dera and I wasn't going to be the Debbie Downer. So somewhat reluctantly I agreed, and I don't regret it. Japan has pushed me into doing things that I might not have tried elsewhere (good things don't worry). Just like I've only had a glimpse of Kyoto, I've only had a glimpse of Japan. And I'm constantly finding new things that inspire, amaze and surprise me. 

Another part of the temple

 

The pagoda of Kiyomizu-Dera was under construction

The old and new living in harmony is something Japan does marvelously well. And so far I've found the best demonstration of this wonderful harmony in Kyoto. It's a place where one moment you're here and the next you're some place else, suspended, and ethereal, in some sort of  transient limbo of time. You get lost in the wafting earthy smell of temple incense, the small winding streets crowded with shops and food stalls, the the hum of visitor's voices, snapping of cameras and feet on concrete steps. All heading forward up the Otawa Mountain towards Kiyomizu-dera, an Heian period Buddhist temple.     

Inside you can make an offering, ring the bell and say a prayer

     When we reached the temple I felt like a bystander. I watched a mother teach her son how to bow, she fixed his socked feet tucking them under his tiny legs and bent his head down to the floor beneath the Buddha statue, visitors drank and washed hands in the Otawa Waterfall for health, luck and longevity. And there was me, fumbling my way through, not knowing when to bow, to take off my shoes, to make an offering, or to pray. But the thing was, I was okay with it of just observing. That was what I loved the most about Kyoto. To me it was like a story book read to me by someone else, elegantly distant and hauntingly present.

Do you like my artsy natural lens flare?