I spend far too much trying to capture the perfect shot of a monk. It’s silly, I suppose, but really they are very visually striking elements of life here (and in Laos and Cambodia), at first because of their robes, but then beyond that because of their ubiquity and so, by definition, they way they are part of the weave of society here: strolling the streets, talking on cell phones, cramming into red buses and tuk tuks.
These two young novice monks were walking along the banks of the Ping River today.
There is a large Buddhist University in Chiangmai, and something like 100 wats, and the other day it seemed as if classes must have let out at the same time because there were monks everywhere.
This monk was on the grounds of the Buddhist University which is next to one of the city’s most famous Wats, Chedi Luang. Here’s the entrance to the prayer hall, which is being restored; the dragon isn’t a dragon, it’s a serpent known as a Pyanark, a protector of Buddhism:
And here’s a wax (I hope) figure of the supreme mentor of Forest monks, Acharn Mun Buridatto, in a chapel on the bustling Wat Chedi Luang grounds. Keleakai and I found it rather spooky.
One of the cool things about being in a place where monks are everywhere, and where many of them are young — the novices — is that one after a while gets to encounter them less as something “different,” as oddities, but rather as three-demensional flesh and blood. I wonder sometimes if the demeanor of their religion has to do with this, recalling how, before their temple moved away, the saffron robed monks on Santa Rosa’s Sebastopol Road (a predominantly Latino neighborhood, for those not familiar) were able to blend so easily with the everyday scene.
In any event, here in Chiangmai the Buddhist University and several other Wats have something called “Monk Chat,” where people are encouraged to sit and chat with monks about everything from Buddhism to Thailand to life in general. We didn’t join in today but I overhead a middle-aged American woman telling two monks, “Well, I meditate two or three times a week.” And in Laos, young monks loved to practice their English with us when we wandered into their Wats.
Today I approached two teenage monks with a question about the Chedi Luang, and — in their featuers, their expressions, their body language — it was as if they were teenagers in Santa Rosa. They didn’t speak English, and looked at me as if I were from another planet, one they weren’t to excited about interacting with. It was hysterical, and reminded me of approaching kids, especially teenagers, at home in school or on the streets and trying to get them to talk about something.
And then when I was taking this picture (below) I could swear the novice by the soktaew’s door was flipping me a get lost sign. Check it our for yourself: It’s either ”Rock On, Camera Toting Tourist,” or something less polite, right!
These young novices at the entrance to Wat Phrasingh – one of the city’s most important temples because it houses a revered Buddha image — were clustered around a guy at a little sentry stand, or something of the sort.
First there were a few, then more arrived, one greeted another by mimicking a knee to the ribs, one talked on his cell phone; I think a class was getting out. They all knew the non-monk guy around whom they gathered, but I couldn’t figure out the relationship or what they were doing: Perhaps he arranges a car pool kind of ride for them, I don’t know, but the atmosphere was similar to when kids hang around an adult whom they like, enjoy and respect, but who is not necessarily an authority figure.
(See the affectionate arm around the shoulder on the far right).
This young novice was fascinated by this artis on the grounds of the Wat Chedi Luang, who was engraving a buffalo hide with a intricate elephant illustration. The boy reminded me of how Langston will intently watch a craftsperson or artist at work.
Finally for tonight, this young monk was atop Mt. Phousi, in Luang Prabang, as dusk closed in on the Mekong Valley city.
