Early Mornings and Bowing Deer: A Day at Todaiji Temple

Our last day in Kyoto began not with the quiet reverence of our typical traditional Japanese morning but with the jarring beeps of an alarm clock that no one wanted to hear. Emily, our fearless leader and strategist, had decreed the night before that we would rise at dawn to beat the holiday crowds at Todaiji Temple in Nara. This decision was met with groggy protests and grumbles, but Emily remained resolute, armed with the foreknowledge that history waits for no one, not even those who long for five more minutes of sleep.

After a night of verbal dueling with our travel company, we decided to take destiny into our own hands. We were adventurers, rebels even, boldly forging our own path… or at the very least, tourists who had reached the end of their patience with customer service (after Emily’s conversation I’m sure they were rethinking their life choices too). With sleep still clinging to our eyes, we dragged ourselves out of the hotel and headed toward Nara.

An unplanned coffee stop just outside the park proved to be a divine intervention. With caffeine restoring our life force, we met Kevin, our guide. Kevin was no ordinary guide. He was like the Gandalf of Nara, the Professor Dumbledore of historical facts, the Doctor Who of temple tours (at least compared to our previous guides).

It felt like stepping into an enchanted forest, untouched by time. The air was thick with the promise of adventure. We found ourselves surrounded by thousands of deer. They moved without a care in the world. Unafraid of people, cars, fences, or strollers they pranced everywhere. 

Vendors sold enchanted wafers,okay, they were just deer crackers, but they held a mystical power over the deer. In exchange for these treats, the deer would bow, lowering their heads in a gesture of reverence. As if we were visiting royalty, they bowed before us, their eyes wide and pleading. It was charming, almost poetic, until Emily, both ironically and accidentally started commanding them to “sit” as they slowly overwhelmed her. 

The deer looked at her, clearly unimpressed. They were creatures of ancient ritual, masters of the bow, not trained circus animals. As Emily’s pleas grew more insistent, the deer grew more impatient. They swarmed us, their soft muzzles nudging our sides, their tiny teeth nipping at our ribs. It was like being ambushed by fluffy, hooved ninjas. Forgoing all pretense we hastily distributed our crackers and retreated. 

Kevin, ever the wise guide, led us to Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples scattered throughout the park. There, we offered coins and whispered wishes, the air thick with the scent of incense and echoes of ancient prayers. The shrines seemed to hum with energy, as if the spirits of the past were listening. We strolled along paths lined with massive stone lanterns, their moss-covered surfaces seeming to guide us on a journey of spiritually and adventure.

Finally, we stood before the gate to Todaiji Temple. It loomed above us, the largest buddhist wooden gate in the world, guarded by colossal wooden statues that glared down at us with expressions fierce enough to scare away even the bravest of spirits. Kevin explained that it was built without nails, its wooden beams locked together like an ancient puzzle. 

We passed through the gate, and there it was, the massive pavilion housing the Great Buddha, the largest Buddha statue in all of Japan, seated majestically within the vast hall of Todaiji Temple. The statue radiated a calm power, its face serene, its presence overwhelming. Around it stood equally impressive guardian statues.

Nearby, one of the wooden columns had a small hole at its base. Kevin told us that legend has it anyone who can squeeze through the hole would be blessed with a healthy life. As if the portal to another realm, children lined up to wriggle through, giggling as they emerged on the other side. It looked small, impossibly small. I was certain I’d get stuck halfway through and spend eternity as a cautionary tale for future tourists. But then we had an idea: we would pass our infant daughter, Joni, through the hole.

Emily gingerly handed Joni to me on the other side. For a split second, Joni looked confused, her tiny face scrunching up as if she had just traveled through a wormhole. But then she smiled, wide and bright, and the surrounding crowd burst into applause. For a brief moment, it felt like she had been blessed by the spirits of the temple. Or maybe she just thought it was a fun game. Either way, Joni was now officially blessed for life, and we were minor legends in the eyes of the gathered onlookers as the only ones to get an infant through the hole. 

After hours of walking through this magical world, we bid Kevin farewell and made our way to a Michelin-starred udon noodle place he recommended. The noodles were exquisite. Joni, meanwhile, remained the perfect baby, content in her mother’s arms.

Our bellies full and spirits high, we returned to Kyoto. Seeking to end our adventure on a high note, we indulged in luxury massages at our hotel, allowing the magic of the day to sink into our bones. We spent the evening quietly planning our next city, already nostalgic for the day’s enchantments.