Day Twenty-Three: Buddha's Nose-Hole

You never realize how big of a difference there is between “can you” and “would you like to” until you have this conversation:

Them: “Can you have this?” *Gestures to squid.*

You: “Well, probably. I mean, I’m not allergic or anything…”

Them: “Okay! Here!” *Passes you squid.*

You: “Oh…thanks…”

(Admittedly, this hasn't actually happened to me with squid, but it has with other things I don’t particularly want).

As some of you may know, and others may not, Nara is the deer capital of Japan. Okay, I actually have no proof that that is actually what people call it, but it does have a lot of deer. Like a lot of deer. I cannot stress that enough. There are so many deer that there are vendors up and down the streets selling these little cookies you can feed to the deer, and there is no rule against petting them.

So as you may have already guessed, the first place we went to was the temple of Nara around which the multitudes of deer could be found. Mr. Suzuki bought some cookies for Mrs. Suzuki and I to feed to the deer. And let me tell you, the moment those deer realize you have food, they become very insistent that you share it with them.

Rule One: Do not hold cookies down within deer reach.

Rule Two: Do not allow a deer to get to close without either backing away or feeding it something. It will stab you with its nose.

Rule Three: If you are overwhelmed, hide the cookies and retreat to a safe distance. If you do not hide the cookies, a herd of deer will follow you and you will probably get trampled.

Suggestion One: Feed the fawns. They’re cuter and less insistent.

Suggestion Two: Feed cookies in pieces, otherwise you will run out quickly.

It’s okay to feed the deer with the cookie in your fingers. The deer have tiny mouths and do not appear to have much for teeth. If they do accidentally bite you, it won’t hurt.

After wading our way through the deer masses, we entered the temple. Within sat the world’s largest Buddha. Or at the very least, a very large Buddha indeed. I snapped a few pictures, moved over to take a picture of some sort of warrior, and encountered a problem. The button on my camera wasn't working. Figuring that it was just a malfunction, I tried to turn the camera off. When that didn't work either, I became kind of concerned. None of the other buttons worked either. At a loss, I just stuck my camera back in my bag and prayed for a quick, mysterious recovery.

Around then was when I encountered a large post with a rectangular hole in the base (which I obviously have no pictures of). People were trying to fit through it because it was believed to grant good luck to those who could fit. Little kids didn't appear to have any problems. It was the older kids that were fun to watch. There were two boys who had to turn on an angle and push each other through from the back. I would have tried, except the line was really long. According to Mr. Suzuki, the hole was supposedly about the size of Buddha’s nose-hole, which I guess means that any of those kids could have climbed through Buddha's nose-hole. Though why anyone would want to do that is beyond me.

As we were exiting the temple, I picked up my camera and found that it had turned itself off. Unsure as to whether I should be relieved or alarmed, I pressed the power button. The screen came on momentarily informing me that the battery had died. Relief won out.

A delicious homemade lunch later, we were back at the house and I took in a nap in the room I was being lent. It was an amazing room, because it was the tatami mat room, and my bed was on the floor, just like a traditional Japanese bed would be. It was very exciting.

Around dinner, Mr. Suzuki woke me up, and I found that his daughter and her family had dropped by for dinner. The oldest one, a three year-old girl, liked to sing, while the youngest, a boy of probably about one had difficulty with his motor skills involved in eating. I tried not to watch him eat- not because it was gross, but because he made it look so difficult it frustrated me. However, I knew that the kid had to learn somehow.

When it came into the conversation that I could play the violin, the Suzuki’s daughter’s husband lent me his violin to play a song for them. Feeling really freaked out and way under-prepared, I played the first song that I felt I had reliably memorized- Faded Love, a fiddle song I’d memorized a couple of years back.

To my relief, no one expected me to play passed that one song, and the owner of the violin soon took over with Mrs. Suzuki accompanying on the guitar.

Before turning in for the night, we went on a drive up what the Suzukis called a mountain (but what I call a large hill) overlooking the city of Osaka. I tried to stand on the short wooden fence, nearly killed myself, and had to be supported by Mrs. Suzuki so I didn't topple headfirst over the edge of said large hill.

They day came to a close with a very sleepy me typing out that last blog I wrote while trying not to drop off. So I guess what I’m saying is that if it didn't make a lot of sense, now you know why.