I No Naka No Kawazu Taikai O Shirazu

{Translation: A frog who stays in a well doesn't know about the great sea. Meaning: Get out and explore!}


Heath was off for his second and final presentation to the Daymon/Mondai team in Osaka, and once again, for the last time in Japan, Devi and I had the day to ourselves. We'd both slept poorly but the runny nose and wet cough had subsided enough that I thought a few hours in the mugginess of the day might do her sinuses some good. The hotel concierge had given me a map of Osaka with a highlighted route to see many small temples on the way to "the big temple." She warned that it was a 30-minute walk there, and advised that I took the shorter, less circuitous, less scenic route (10 minutes); but what adventure would there be without a circuitous route? Off we went, stroller, diaper bag, map, yen, iPhone.

This was a weird walk. It took about twenty minutes just to get to the right street with the temples, but these were interspersed with car and moped dealers, auto parts shops, and minimarts. So it was temple, Hondas, temple temple Mitsubishi, temple, auto repair shop, minimart, temple, and so on for about a mile. And I took pictures at each temple; every time I thought that this one couldn't be very different than the last ten or so I'd seen, there was just something surprising or beautiful past the gate, like a pomegranate tree, or a huge lantern hanging from the eaves of a small shrine, or a small buddha with an apron or bib on (maybe there was a festival we missed?). I rounded the corner, finally, that was to lead to The Big Temple, when I noticed an incredible, gold pagoda behind an enormous stone wall. I almost passed it--it was getting really hot and I just wanted to reach our destination and call it a day. But the thought of missing something cool got the best of me--and I thought it nothing more than a good place to change and feed Devi. At least I could rest my feet for a few minutes and then we'd be off.

So I was ecstatic, upon reaching the front gate, to find this: Wow. And these, the doors to the gate:

Upon entering, we found a couple of small, glass-walled houses with vending machines and small tables for picnickers, an information center, a huge koi fish pond, a welcoming haiku, and then the central temples. I washed my hands in the purification water, and doused Devi's blankie, cooled off her legs and arms and forehead, and, taking her out of the stroller, met an entourage of grandmas just foaming at the mouth to take her off my hands while I took off my shoes to enter the temple. So of course, I let them.

And then, in the temple, it hit me: this is not a tourist site. This is Temple. Like, We need to go to Temple today, I've got to pray for my neighbor with the goiter. I sat down on one in a row of tiny chairs at the back wall, where a number of women were waiting to be called up by the monks for their turn. I didn't want to overstep my tourist bounds, and I did ask before taking this video, but couldn't really understand what anyone was saying--so it looked something like this: And of course, one of the grandmas waiting her turn asked to hold Devi, so naturally...

I'd folded my hands at other temples, not in prayer to any deity, but to say silent thanks for getting my family to Japan in one piece and staving off disasters, and to say prayers for our family. After all, the prayers that count most in Judaism are silent and meditative, and really, it doesn't matter where one does them. But here, I felt uncomfortable praying; maybe because there was a prescribed way to do it. So I carried my gratitude and prayers around with me as I toted Devi over to the smoky incense, where there was another, smaller shrine where people congrated to give alms and pray. There were no other Westerners, no other babies, not much talking. It was a truly tranquil spot. I decided to take Ms. Devi over to the little refreshment hut to have her lunch, and here, the grandmas caught up with us.

And what happened next defies language, but I'm going to recount what happened, and hopefully the words will come.

Devi, content in her stroller, my one hand on the bottle in her tiny mouth and my other hand mixing her oatmeal and squash, three diminutive, elderly women perched at the next table. The woman who'd held Devi in the temple bowed her head to me, a sign of greeting, and I bowed my head back. She opened a small basket and doled out her lunch to the other two women seated, and they talked--I wish I knew about what. It was an animated discussion, and before I knew it, Grandma was coming toward me with a small, plastic cup of a gelatinous, greyish stuff with what looked like bean paste in the middle, and a small wooden knife atop it. I nodded again, smiling, trying to say 'no, it's alright, you don't have to do that,' as best I could. She nodded and nodded back, backing towards her chair and sitting, and so went back to her lunch. But before I had a moment to inspect the cup, there she was again, now cutting up the gelatin, and spearing a piece of it with the little knife, stuck a piece in my mouth. RIGHT IN MY MOUTH, people. I was pleasantly stunned. Mama! She said. Mama, mama! I think she was trying to tell me that mamas need to eat too, and honestly, I had planned on finding a nice noodle shop on our way home that afternoon, but this Grandma had decided it was Mama's lunchtime now, and she wasn't taking no for an answer. In went another piece, then another. Then she left me for a few minutes to eat her own lunch. Devi had a funny, bewildered sort of look on her face, like, Um, who's supposed to be feeding who here? Her bottle done, it was on to the oatmeal and squash.

Back Grandma came, this time, with a sweet bun/sweet bean paste, right into my mouth. Oh, thank you! I said, my mouth full, bowing my head emphatically. Grandma nodded and laughed, her friends laughed. Laughed, and then went right back to eating and talking, maybe about the weather or about their plans for the week, or their neighbors. Devi's lunch finished, it was time to find a place to change her, so with many more bows, I was off to find a shady spot. I went to the Grandma to tap her hand, but wound up hugging her instead. And she hugged me back.

But there was really nowhere to go--even the quiet, contemplative, shady spots were not private enough, and rather than defiling a spot I wasn't sure was sacred or not, asked the woman at the information desk where I might go to change the baby. I made the international signs for baby--cradling my arms--and pointed to Devi--and then put my fingers over my nose, stinks!. She nodded and got on the phone. Putting the receiver down, she smiled at me, and then got up, left her perch, and took the stroller from me. It's okay! I implored, I can push it! But she insisted, and strolled Devi all the way over to a private house that must have been where the monks live, because it was way off the beaten path. She opened the thick wooden door and pointed to a row of slippers; I took off my shoes again, put on a pair, and she led Devi and I over to a private contemplation room, maybe it was a chanting room--a sliding rice paper door, three paper walls around us, tatami mats on the floor and a single pillow. With a nod and a low bow, she slid the rice paper door closed, and there we were: just Dev and I, a quiet, cool room. Devi was more interested in eating the slippers than having her diaper changed, and really, laying down on the tatami was very inviting. But not wanting to overstay our welcome, we were all changed and ready to move on.

Back at the information station, I asked, restrooms? (Is there a proper international sign for this?) And the same information lady led us over to the public restroom--and then waved me inside while--no joke--she stayed with Devi in the stroller, making funny faces at each other. In love with humanity, we were off to the Big Temple.

Which, to be honest, was okay. At that point, nothing could have compared to our most recent experience. It was now midday, the heat of the day oppressive, Devi had fallen asleep in her stroller, and I thought it best to just walk through the temple grounds and follow the map back to the hotel.

I did find a great little noodle shop, for the record. Turns out that one has to get a little ticket before directly ordering, so you pay a machine rather than a person. But once I figured that out, I got my little bowl of soba and watched Devi snooze away, audibly snoring, clinging to her soggy blanket. We spent the rest of the afternoon, cooling off and resting and getting clean, ready to join Heath and Yagi-san for dinner, our last in Japan.