Living in Translation

So my folks have arrived for a couple of weeks touring and relaxing in the land of the rising sun, and I have psyched myself for a couple of weeks of tongue-biting (or attempted anyways) and tour guiding, hopefully with a few late-night solo jogs to reclaim my sanity.

Yesterday was the first day so far that has turned into a real test of my language ability (I am utterly aware, even more so after yesterday, of just how lacking it is in so many areas) as I guided the folks around to various places.

It started off nice and easy in an electronics shop where mom needed to purchase a new memory disc for her camera. Ok, all well and good. Escape without incident.

Then, in a moment of foolishness, I brought the parentals to Sousenji Temple in Yonago. My parents, specifically my mother, have come to be very fascinated with graveyards and burial customs and rites to honour the dead. And I recalled that outside that particular temple, there was a small mess of lonely gravestones that there was no one left to take care of, other than the local monk (? my religious terminology is definitely lacking, and not just in English) who will pray over them. Following interminable questions about things I don't know, understand, or can't read (the assumption on the part of my mother seems odd that I should have immersed myself in Buddhism merely by living in the country, especially when one considers how very apathetic I was about faith at home, but who am I to question the inner workings of a crazy Catholic mother's mind), we ventured up to the temple where I asked permission from a man who was doing some clean-up to enter building.

He gladly said yes, and we three entered and wandered around the main hall, the altar, and the memorials in the back, as he attempted, out of appreciation for my parents' interest to throw random explanations at me for translation. I did my best, but there was a variety of things that escaped me, or assumed I had a foundation of knowledge to base my explanations on.

Later, venturing back into the main hall, dad grew fascinated with a photo of the grounds hanging over the door. Currently, there is a new building under construction next to the temple, but in the photo, there was one already there. Out of dad's curiosity, I ventured forth a question about how old the photo was, and asked why it was being built. He replied that it was a twenty year old photo and got caught up in trying to remember it's origins.

It was then that the resident monk wandered out the door under the photo and our helpful quasi-guide quickly and eagerly explained that I lived in a neighboring town, I was with my parents who were visiting from Canada, and we were interested in various aspects of the temple, particularly the new building being constructed next door.

And that is how we ended up spending a few hours on a very personalized and in-depth tour of the temple grounds, the history of the buildings, buddhism in general and the monk's life in specific. He showed us around the grounds, lead us through the new construction, explained the significance of various monuments and memorials around the temple, and patiently answered all the questions of my mother, while only slightly scolding my father and I for being lapsed whatevers that we are. We shared his green tea and sweets with him, and generally had what will probably be the best experience of my parents' trip to Japan.

It ended with a Canadian pin being given, invitations to return, a photo being taken, a bell being rung, and being seen off from the steps of the temple. If the rest of their trip goes even half as well as yesterday afternoon, it will probably be the best trip my parents ever take.