Dazzling whites

I believe last year I skipped whites from my colour series. In the tropics, it is really easy to overlook, put it down as a conspicuous lack of colour, but sometimes in the strong and dazzling December sun, even the whites dance and shine.

The elaborate dragon motifs on the temple roof are Chiang Rai’s famed White Temple, and most of the flower photos were taken at the New Year flower festival on the same day, among the million reds, oranges, pinks and purples – still one of my favourite events in Thailand.

Bonus photo at the very end: my sister’s snow white deaf cat (one blue eye, one yellow eye, still hoping to take a good photo of him one of these days soon).

 

    

 

 

Photo overload

Just a pile of photos of the wonderful temples, temple yards, people, and village streets of Luang Prabang.

Black, gold, red

When I first went to Luang Prabang in 2003, I didn’t have a camera. There I was, surrounded by black, gold, red, glitter, the November full moon festivities, dragon boats, a million candles, and I couldn’t take a single picture. So I had to go back for years later. And then, I lost my photos, only to be recovered almost by accident, three years later. It was a long wait. Many full moons have come and gone, and I’ve travelled a lot since, but if I look back at the pictures now, the simple, humble wooden temples still shine.

I believe all of these photos are from the most famous one, Wat Xieng Thong, at the bank of the mighty Khong, where the naga king resides. I hope in a lucky moment it is still possible to have it all to yourself. Except for the resident monks, of course.

 

Temples in my back yard

Old and famous temples don’t necessarily mean big and spectacular. The structure might be only a few decades old, most of the traditional wooden architecture already long gone…. what makes them ancient is the date the foundation stones were laid and the place was first consecrated. May be a disappointment at first glance, and then you adjust, and the hundreds of little quiet sanctuaries in a bustling, crazy city become familiar landmarks and anchors to certain dates and occasions. The place where you go to listen to evening chanting, where you remember the cold moss under your feet on a full moon, candle-lit night… and many others.

I’m not really a Buddhist, but I always made an effort to learn, read and discuss, and it is definitely the religion closest to my heart. It is just shocking though how much deeper all those childhood memories can go, they form a very different part of my personality and identity.

Wat Chiang Man was my first “home temple” for several years, facing east, as all of them, the rays of sunset hit the statue at the back

Discarded, broken, old Chinese shrines deposited and slowly fading away at the foot of an ancient sacred tree – the proper way to dispose of them

Just across from my first home

Lotus bud, freshly prepared, ready for worship. The purity and perfection of this humble flower that grows in muddy ponds symbolises the way that the teachings of the Buddha can rise above the dirty reality of everyday life, and create something so simple and so beautiful out of a mere puddle.

Frangipani is a particularly inauspicious plant in Thailand, and mostly only found in temple yards, where the sanctity of the place is able to break the evil spell.

Chinese new year feast for the ancestors laid out at the outdoor shrine of the temple in Chinatown

Beautiful paintings inspired by ancient styles and techniques for sale at the Sunday walking street market

Monk at prayer in the ancient cave temple of Wat U Mong at the edge of the city, foot of the hill. Chedis like this often hide an old Buddha relic, the ashes of a famous monk, or sometimes royalty.

At the back of Wat Phra Singh (I think). Chiang Mai is a monastic education hub, with tens of thousands of teenage monks working for their high school diplomas and then many continuing on at the Buddhist University.

A very new reconstruction of old techniques and designs right next to my first kindergarten. The entire structure is built of wood, which is, sadly, very rare any more these days.

The oldest remaining wooden temple in the old city, flanked by a traditional new year sandcastle topped with dharma wheel Buddhist flags. Huge sandcastles go up every April, originally to compensate for erosion in the temple grounds. (I should find more sandcastle photos for my next entry!)

Feast for the monks laid out at a temple on a July full moon day, at the beginning of their three-month lent (phansa)

Flowers, candles and incense sticks (one for the Buddha, one for the teachings, and one for the monastic order – the triple gem). Devotees (and guests are always welcome!) walk around the temple and chedi three times chanting and praying on the three auspicious full moon evenings of the year (March, May and July), marking the most important days of the Buddha’s life as a teacher and spiritual leader.

And this concludes my temple tour in a nutshell for today.

 

Bagan my love

Just a last batch of Bagan photos, from this year, and last time four and a half years ago, because I like them.

The Ayeyarwaddy (should be spelled Ayawaddy, but the former is the standard spelling) is definitely the widest, most magnificent river I have seen. Which now includes the Ganges and the Mekong. And that’s not simple national pride, it’s the local beer brand 🙂

You can best see the structure of he brick pagodas at Pyathada, a rare one that’s nice and big and can also be climbed. It has no paintings, but the walls have not been whitewashed, and it also has the biggest viewing platform, if you wanna call it that way. Down a dirt road where my e-bike struggled in the ankle-deep sand, I had it all for myself for hours, except for a brief spell when a group of rich guys from Yangon came to snap a few photos. The header is also from this temple, and the view as well.

And to bid farewell, our trusty horse Rambo from 2010 (who was anything but!) A horsecart for 3 should still be cheaper now than 3 e-bikes. But of course the real perk is that the horse cart drivers will make your itinerary even if you have no idea, and they do know their stuff, they can build up the experience and make sense of the maze of thousands of temples. I was still following the itinerary that we got back then (I was taking notes and highlighting it all in my guidebook back then, which I still had with me), but as I was out all day without a lunch break (which was essential in April, but not now), I saw more temples, I pulled up at random places just to see what’s going on, and I managed to get further afield as well.

I hope I can go back one day again, I’m already missing it, I had no idea how much I was missing upcountry Burma until I got my shit together and went back…. and still so many places to go to that are barely on the maps. Living there almost killed it all for me. And now I’m grateful to the people who screwed up my luggage affairs…. because if I hadn’t had to go back, I might have stayed away forever and never got the chance to reclaim my old Burma.

At the moment, I’m back in Indonesia, and it feels like home, and it’s actually a place I was thinking so hard about for years, do I want to come here, could I live here, what are the chances I could manage. But actually after Yangon I can manage anything now. This would be considerably happier. And now I’m at peace, but any moment, it could be blown apart to tiny little pieces. I’m trying to keep my composure and wait to find out what’s behind the corner. In any way, I will get answers now and even in the worst case scenario, some kind of closure to what’s been two and half years of tremendous happiness and tremendous suffering.

Maybe sometime, one day, I will tell you about my life and what’s happening and where I am and why.

Now I wish I had taken photos in the past couple of days, but I just wanted to be there in the moment, with the blue seas to the left and the volcano to the right, the kids playing around in my hammock flapping in the wind, pretending it’s my life, that I belong there, in a way, even though I cannot. Never forget. Always in my heart.

 

More prayers

I got a bit carried away with the photos from Bagan, but what else is there to do with these images?? And it’s still only day two 🙂

In the header, and here and there elsewhere as well,  the cursed pagoda that still holds some mysteries inside, collapsed bits and statues that had to be closed in surrounded by rubble just to keep the structure upright. Gloomy, creepy, magnificent!

 

Small Ruby

It’s my favourite one, Sulamani temple. Had to be restored many times after earthquakes over the centuries, but still, lots of original brickwork and paintings from the 12th century. Bright afternoon lights. Lots of detail. Many temples, horribly whitewashed and any character obliterated once you go inside, not this one. You can see the structure and the beauty of the bricks. And if you wait five minutes for a group to leave (really? five minutes??), it’s all yours.

The name? The king chanced upon a ruby on this spot, and that’s how he knew what he had to do. Some say it’s “crowning jewel”. Some go for the ruby one.

There are better paintings in many other places, but photography is usually forbidden. These are the biggest paintings anyway, I think.

 

Burmese customs demand shoes and socks off even in the temple yards, and my feet are still sore, one week later, but they never stopped me from going round each and every one of them, inside and out as well.

Prayers into the skies

Bagan is simply one of the best places in the world.

It’s like having all of York or Köln cathedral all to yourself. A thousand times over.

It’s peeking into hidden corners with a flashlight to discover nine-hundred-year-old monsters, Buddhas, Boddhisattvas, demons.

It’s touching bricks and carvings that have witnessed so much.

It’s breathing in the power of a million souls who have been there before, spellbound, terrified, or simply spiritual.

It’s the echo of your prayer bouncing off the tall brick corridors.

It’s the sweeping views, the lazy bells, the glimmering sun.

It’s magic. It’s the stunning details. It’s the sum of all. It’s the past. It’s the present.

I know I could or should be more specific. And I can recall three dozen temples with the details, and I could make a perfect 3-day itinerary for you, building up the tension and the awe.

But nobody is reading this blog anyway, and nobody cares about the stories of feud, treason, captivity, regicide, bloodshed, chopped off limbs, curses that are still hanging around, the mysterious caved in corridors and covered up statues, or practical tips about the e-bikes and restaurants, or whatever.

So all that matters is that I was happy there, three bright, sunny days, just keeping going until I dropped.

And yes, I was missing you. But even you will never ever care about that, I know. And much less anyone else.

I’m just scared that even in the happiest moments of my life I will be broken, because I will never stop missing you and wishing you were there.

Nothing I can do. Pray more.

 

Think of the hti that fell and miraculously didn’t hurt anyone.

Or anyone else who walks around with much bigger pain.

But I’m still stubbornly refusing to accept that this is all I’m left with, the Bagans, the reefs, it’s my fate to hover and smile and take pictures and carry the burden of unbearable magnificence and beauty.

What’s the point?

 

Heart of the land

I was upcountry for a while, with no hope of properly working internet, and I have no idea anymore what I meant to write here, last week I spent a whole afternoon at Shwedagon, and loved it as always, not simply the sparkling gold, that would be too easy, but people-watching.

And then, there are the details, the monsters, the Buddha life story glazed tiles, and a zillion spires, and the sweeping views, and the changing clouds and lights.

And all I can do is look and miserably scratch the surface, nobody will ever understand what this nation has been going through, and how it has survived, and thank god we don’t have to, but somehow I take away these little morsels of feelings, echoes of olden times, quiet whispers, secret hopes, crushed dreams, smiles of today, hopes for tomorrow…. and Shwedagon knows it all, has seen it all, stands for it all.

….and for me, the circle is completed, I don’t hate Yangon anymore, I’m free to become connected again in a different way….  I can be a footnote again in an obscure appendix, I am free to leave, free to come back….

 

Noble truths

Not quite following the footsteps, skipping the place of enlightenment, I arrived at the place where the Buddha came afterwards to find his old friends and reveal to them the truths he had discovered in Bodhagaya. This ancient chedi marks the auspicious spot.

As the inscriptions around the temple show the sermon in all major Asian languages, but not English, I resorted to my smartphone to find the actual words, and had some quiet time to contemplate their meaning.

“This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of Suffering: Birth is suffering; decay is suffering; illness is suffering; death is suffering. Presence of objects we hate, is suffering; separation from objects we love, is suffering; not to obtain what we desire, is suffering. Briefly,… clinging to existence is suffering.

This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Cause of suffering Thirst, which leads to rebirth, accompanied by pleasure and lust, finding its delight here and there. This thirst is threefold, namely, thirst for pleasure, thirst for existence, thirst for prosperity.

This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Cessation of suffering: it ceases with the complete cessation of this thirst, — a cessation which consists in the absence of every passion with the abandoning of this thirst, with doing away with it, with the deliverance from it, with the destruction of desire.

This, O Bhikkhus, is the Noble Truth of the Path which leads to the cessation of suffering: that Holy Eightfold Path, that is to say, Right Belief, Right Aspiration, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Means of Livelihood, Right Endeavor, Right Memory, Right Meditation….”

Thus he set in motion the wheel. The wheel is a much older symbol, associated with Vishnu (whose incarnation Buddha is, according to Hindus). Cycle of birth and rebirth. And the power to cut through it all. It is a symbol used in the Indian flag as well as the yellow Thai Buddhist flag. So, this is where and how it all started.

Statue in the Thai temple in Sarnath. The different hand positions always have their own meanings. This one, of course, teaching.

 

Excavating even more monasteries and chedis. The sprawling complex was once home to hundreds of monks.

 

More intricate stone carvings from the chedi

Thousands of pilgrims flock to this new temple to listen to the first sermon being recited.

Tibetan temple. The hand position shows the victory over evil, who wanted to tempt Buddha while he was deep in meditation.

The four lions are the emblem of India. They go all the way back to King Ashoka, who spread Buddhism all around the subcontinent during his reign. The original statue, 2200 years old, is now in a museum.

(I know the header is not quite clear 😦  It’s from the Tibetan temple and I really liked it.
Also, I can’t see what I’m posting. Hope it looks ok… it will be fixed later if not. 😦 )