Nara, Japan

Across the gentle lawn slope and winding up towards the hill are hundreds of broad white candles, their flames sheltering in purpose-built containers. The volunteers in orange and white T-shirts are filtering through the maze of candles, relighting the last few which have been snuffed out by the gentle, late summer evening breeze. Crowds coil up the central footpath, strolling at an unusually relaxed pace.

It’s August, and it’s the Obon Festival, in Nara, Japan. The celebrations occur all over Japan in this Festival of the Dead. The Japanese believe that the lanterns and other lights guide the spirits of their ancestors home during the festivities. The confusion my late Australian ancestors might feel about finding their way to Japan is something that crosses my mind as I light my own candle, but I risk it anyway.

Nara, an ancient city in central Japan, was my home for two years while I worked as an English teacher. It wasn’t beautiful only at festival time, but in every season. Its center is Nara Park, a twenty-minute bicycle ride from my apartment. I would ride up the hill, perhaps leave my bike near the entrance, and amble past the landscaped lakes full of bright orange koi fish to the Todaiji temple. It was one of several buildings in Japan claiming to be the largest wooden structure in the world, but whether it was a record-holder or not was irrelevant to my endless appreciation of it. On empty-pocket days I would stand at the large central gates, peering through the railings down the central pathway, leading to the inner temple and the huge bronze Buddha. A couple of times a year I paid the entrance fee and joined the locals and tourists inspecting the Buddha up close. Through one large pillar inside the temple was a tunnel-like hole; it is said to be the same size as the giant Buddha’s nostril, and if you clamber through this hole, you will gain eternal enlightenment. I was tempted to try, but after seeing small twelve or thirteen-year-olds struggling to make it through, I left my potential enlightenment up to other means.

Before heading home, I would sit somewhere in the park and watch the deer. Sacred animals here, I once met a member of the so-called Deer Council, who told me they were part-way through the annual deer count, and had reached five hundred and thirty. I always felt I’d been plunged into a Bambi film, and laughed to watch the deer gathering around a shika-senbe – deer biscuit – stall, providing instant advertising for the vendor. If an uncooperative deer ever tried to steal the cookies direct from the shop, the old Japanese woman behind the counter would grab a stick or broom, left handy for exactly this situation, and shoo the offender away.

In the eighth century, Nara was briefly the capital city of Japan. It’s now more a slightly rural suburb of massive, sprawling Osaka, and like many of the locals, I chose to live in greener Nara and commute to Osaka on the speedy, reliable trains. Most tourists overlook Nara in favour of the nearby, better-promoted Kyoto, and to be honest, I’d prefer it stayed that way. And while I haven’t joined the ranks of the dead yet, I already feel a strong tug to get back to Nara, finding my way there by following the light of all those candles.

Amanda K

Submitted: Tuesday 24th February 2004, 3:03 PM

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