Advertisement
Published: August 6th 2007
Edit Blog Post
Since my first voyage overseas to Europe, which included visits to various cathedrals scattered throughout Ireland and Paris, I have developed a fascination with old churches, their architecture and history. Throughout our travel, Gene has remained supportive of my constant efforts to seek out churches and other houses of worship held sacred by religions around the globe.
Celebrating Easter in Bangkok, Gene suggested that we attempt to locate a Catholic church for Sunday mass. We inquired with the concierge and were surprised to learn that there was a Catholic church less than two kilometers from our hotel. Traveling through Asia, renowned for Buddhist worship and elaborate temples, I did not expect the practice of Catholicism to be so prevalent amongst the Asians.
Not anticipating a full congregation, Gene and I allowed ourselves just 15 minutes to hail a taxi and head over to the church. As we turned down what appeared to be a long narrow road, the taxi cab driver let out a loud sigh as we came to a dead stop. Gathering that the driver could not speak a lick of English, Gene and I did not inquire any further and assumed that he was irritated by
the unexpected traffic jam. We sat patiently in the back seat, hoping to reach the church before mass started.
After minutes of inching forward, the taxi driver motioned us toward a group of people ambling down the sidewalk, suggesting that we get out and walk the remainder of the way. Guessing that we would arrive sooner by foot, we climbed out of the taxi and followed in the footsteps of those who we hoped were Catholic parishioners.
As we approached the back parking lot of the church, we were stunned to find vehicles filling every nook and cranny of the lot - blocking each other in. We passed an open market of tables filled with various Easter paraphernalia outside the back of the church and headed indoors. Unable to find a single empty seat, Gene and I exited through one of the four sets of double doors that occupied each side of the church. Noticing the stacks of colored, plastic chairs lining the outside of the cathedral, we quickly grew unnerved as we watched each seat fill.
We grabbed two chairs off a diminishing stack and arranged ourselves as close as we could to one of the
church’s side entrances. Given the formal dress requirements of Buddhist temples - no shoes, shorts or sleeveless shirts - I was shocked to see Catholic parishioners in jeans on Easter Sunday. Even I had put on my Sunday best for the special occasion.
Dressed in a short-sleeve sundress, my polka dots were stuck to my ass within minutes of being outside in the intense heat. Gene, who was wearing gray slacks and long sleeves, looked as though he was liquefying before my eyes. I gladly accepted his offer to run across the street to the 7-11 for a bottle of water.
Certainly, God won’t mind if we drink water during mass outside of the church - after all, we are here. Waiting on Gene and fighting off several Asians trying to take over his empty seat, I noticed the Thai priest and his alter boys lining themselves up at the back of the church as opening hymnals began. Knowing a good deal of the Sunday mass by heart, I had a feeling of inner peace that morning, even though it was difficult to understand the priest and follow along. A Thai woman in front of me noticed that
I did not have a song book and offered me hers with a smile, as she turned back to share her husband’s. She apparently noticed that I had not been singing as it seemed that Gene and I were the only two, inside and out, not tuning into songs of praise. Hearing the voices of a hearty congregation, I realized just how underwhelming the participation was at my childhood parish.
After communion, we apologized to God for our early departure and high-tailed it out of the parking lot to ensure that we were able to catch a cab. Once back at our hotel, we again underwent its customary safety procedures before passing through the front gates: One guard stopped our vehicle while a second circled the car with a mirror underside to check for bombs. While I thought this procedure strange, Gene reminded me that there was a coup attempt in Bangkok just last year.
Once through our security checkpoint, we proceeded back up to our room for a quick change of clothing and headed out to tour the Grand Palace.
The Grand Palace complex was established in 1782 after King Rama I’s ascension to the throne
and houses not only the royal residence and throne halls, but also a number of government offices as well as the renowned Temple of the Emerald Buddha. It covers an area of 218,000 square meters and is surrounded by four walls, 1900 meters in length.
As Gene and I entered through the grand gates, we were immediately blocked by guards who reiterated what we had prepared ourselves for - no shorts allowed. They motioned us toward a building where people exited wearing what appeared to be scrubs.
Luckily, while we prepared ourselves for a year long vacation back in Chicago, we paid a visit to R.E.I. - a store specializing in outdoor sports and travel - where I was first introduced to convertible pants/shorts. Convincing Gene that we would find them useful in sudden climate changes, we both purchased a pair. What we didn’t anticipate was that they would come in handy during our visits to Buddhist temples on hot and humid days or just how fortunate we would be not to have to borrow pants recycled in everybody else’s sweat.
“Gene, they’re all staring at us.”
As I looked around at the dozens of eyes
upon us, I realized that zipping on the legs of my pants was a foreign concept amongst the Asians. Finding the situation comical, I smiled at one of the guards pretending not to stare and received a chuckle in return.
Once, inside, I was amazed by the ornate details of the shrines and temples. I could only imagine how long it took to erect each portion, how much it cost to construct, and the amount of maintenance that is required to keep the ancient pieces in such immaculate shape.
Looking to pay our respects and snap a few photos, we were disappointed to see the “no cameras” sign posted outside of the Royal Monastery of the Emerald Buddha. Having traveled so far to view this legendary site, we felt gypped of our chance to capture the experience on camera.
We did learn from our brochure that the Emerald Buddha is enshrined on a golden traditional Thai-style throne made of gilded-carved wood and is always clad with one of three seasonal costumes - summer, rainy season and winter. The costumes are changed ritually three times a year in a ceremony presided over by His Majesty the King.
The figure itself is carved from a block of green jade and was first discovered in 1434 in a stupa in Chiang Rai. At that time the image was covered in plaster and was thought to be an ordinary Buddha image. Later, however, the abbot who had found the image noticed that the plaster on the nose had flaked off, revealing the green stone underneath. The abbot initially thought that the stone was emerald and thus the legend of the Emerald Buddha image began.
As we kneeled before the revered icon, we observed worshipers offer monetary gifts at the door and humbly bowing in prayer. Abiding by the customary practice of keeping my feet pointed away from Buddha to show my respect, I tried to sneak a single no flash photo of the modeled deity with the camera resting on my lap.
Viewing my digital photo once I had exited the temple, I was disgruntled to find a blurred photo of the temple’s ceiling.
Bad karma.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.267s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 13; qc: 86; dbt: 0.1254s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.3mb
Tort McCarter
non-member comment
You gave up pizza for lent?!
Well, as long as it wasn't sex, it shouldn't have been too bad! As for the pants--as far as we're concerned, who cares how dorky they look, they make travel possible!