Bittersweet Goodbyes and Bowing Deer: A Day in Wazuka and Nara

 Bittersweet Goodbyes and Bowing Deer: A Day in Wazuka and Nara

Unfortunately, today was the day I had to say goodbye to Wazuka Tea Town. Bittersweet doesn’t even begin to describe it. From the endless rows of lush tea bushes tucked into green hills, to the overwhelming kindness of my host family, every piece of this place left a mark on me. I woke up to one last traditional Japanese breakfast with them—miso soup, rice, pickled vegetables, and the soft silence of a morning we didn’t want to end. We took our final photos together, smiling despite the heaviness in our hearts, and made our way to the train station.

I thought the day would just be a quiet transition—but I was wrong. My host father, Kozu, surprised us all by tagging along for one more adventure: a visit to Nara and the famous Tōdaiji Temple. Turns out, Kozu wasn’t just a kind host. He’s also an expert deer whisperer and temple tour guide.

Nara is full of sacred deer that roam the park freely, bowing politely—but only when they know you have food. Don’t be fooled by their cuteness; if you’re empty-handed, they’re not afraid to give a gentle (but assertive) nibble at your pockets. Kozu taught us a secret technique—put both hands in the air and the deer will usually back off. Even better, he told us not to follow the crowd but to look for the kindest, gentlest deer just a little further out. He wasn’t wrong. I met a sweet one near a shaded path and shared a quiet, magical moment.

Inside Tōdaiji, I was hit with awe. The temple holds the Great Buddha (Daibutsu), a massive bronze statue that seems to radiate calm. Every corner of the space tells a story, from the towering wooden beams to the way light sneaks through the structure, catching on the gold and bronze. Tōdaiji was originally built in the 8th century during the Nara period, when Buddhism was deeply woven into Japanese government and culture. Its architecture reflects both power and peace. The original temple burned down multiple times, but each rebuild held true to its purpose—to be a place of reflection and healing.

Outside the temple, there’s a large statue said to bring physical relief. Everyone in our group, aching from days of walking and climbing hills, placed our hands on it. Whether magic or mindset, it felt like a small moment of connection—to the place, to history, to our own tired bodies.

Inside the temple is a scale model of the original structure, reminding visitors how massive and significant it once was. The reddish-brown coloring of the wood and the greenish bronze of the Buddha aren’t just decorative—they represent the elements: earth, nature, time. Standing there, I couldn’t help but think about how something so ancient can still feel so alive. What are the things I’m building now that I hope will last? What am I carrying forward with me?

As the day came to a close and we said our final goodbyes to Kozu, I realized something: even though this was a farewell, it didn’t feel like an end. Wazuka, Nara, the kindness of strangers, the stories carved in wood and stone—they’re all coming with me. In my memory, yes, but also in how I choose to move through the world now—with more patience, more reverence, and more gratitude.

Arigatou, Wazuka. You’ve given me more than tea and temples. You’ve given me a reason to return.

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