06-21-2013, 06:52 PM
Everywhere we go and everything we do gives me a sense of déjà vu. After all, I've been to China twice before, and we did all the major tourist stops. But Lama Temple is something I'm not certain about. Maybe DM can refresh my memory. Did we or didn't we? There comes a point when the temples with their Buddhas begin to blur.
Anyway, the bus takes us to Lama Temple. As we're approaching the gate, Malinda gives us fair warning. The vendors are more aggressive here. They won't take bu yao for an answer. They might even clutch at you. She tells us to be firm, and asks us to please not come to her for help. Because if she tries to drive them off, they'll gang up and follow her around cursing her relentlessly. I can tell she speaks from experience.
One of the writers who speaks Chinese tells us to use a stronger phrase than bu yao. I believe it is, "Bu yao peng wo," and means, "Don't touch me." As it turns out, we don't have a problem. Maybe the vendors overstepped the bounds and the officials came down hard on them. We proceed unaccosted.
Lama Temple has a succession of buildings similar to the Forbidden City only on a smaller scale. Unlike the Forbidden City, where each courtyard and building is progressively bigger, here the buildings get progressively smaller and yet taller. Malinda explains that it is a progression from the earthly to the ethereal. I think that's what she says. In truth, I'm not listening to her very much because I'm preoccupied. I've discovered the boy with the gigantic ears.
Now, I've seen people with big ears before, and I'm not easily put in awe. But this boy, who is about five, has face fenders that jump the shark (capable of disrupting the metaphor-building part of my brain). They have a graceful refinement about them, like exotic seashells sculpted by billions of years of evolution. They're narrow where they join the head, but then boldly flare with fluted gusto. Though Malinda is begging us for the umpteenth time to be like sticky rice, not noodles, I have no choice but to follow the boy. For this reason I cannot report on all that the Lama Temple has to offer -- though when it comes to the final smallest and tallest building, Malinda forcefully gathers us all together and insists that we go inside for a gander.
But first I look at the Guiness Book of Records sign on the outside, which says, "This is to certify that the statue of Maitreya in the Lama Temple in Beijing was carved out of a single white sandalwood tree 26 meters high. August 1990." There is another Guinness Book of Records sign next to that one, which says, "This is to certify that the sign to the left is the most obnoxiously placed Guinness Book of Records sign in the world." And next to that is another Guinness Book of Records sign saying, "This is to certify that the sign to the left is the most obnoxiously placed Guinness Book of Records sign identifying a Guinness Book of Records sign that is the most obnoxiously placed in the world." There are further signs, each larger than the previous (because of the growing text), each identifying the one to the left as the most obnoxious on some crazily recursive scale. I follow them around the building and discover a final sign that covers the entire back, and you'll thank me for sparing you its text, which would fill some twenty pages.
At last I venture inside, and once more I call on DM's memory, wanting to know if we've ever been in there. Because if so, I must have been sleeping. Because this Maitreya statue is humongous! You can't photograph in there, and even if you could, it would be hard to capture. For one, a portion of it is underground. For another, the entire upper half is hidden from view by a wall except for viewing from the side of the base. In other words, there is only one vantage point, and that's at the base, where you look almost straight up and can fully see it (except for the part underground). As Malinda explains it, this is by design, because if it were fully viewable from the front, it would be intimidating and cause children to cry and perhaps even adults. The installers wanted it to emanate a sense of protection. It is there to guard the worshippers.
But my god it is huge! It is redwood huge! I mean, what the fuck is a white sandalwood tree anyway? I thought sandalwoods were small, medium at most. I believe Malinda says this one was logged from Nepal, but I haven't had much luck finding information on it online.
It is almost time for us to leave. Malinda gives us free rein but says to meet at the front gate in twenty minutes. That's just enough time for me to relocate the boy with the gigantic ears. And I suppose I should confess at this point that I'm not really interested in the boy. It's the mother at his side who has interested me all along. I've been trying my hardest to catch a glimpse of her ears, because they're bound to be even more spectacular than the boy's. The problem is, she's one of those Chinese women -- you know the type -- who has black hair. And she wears it long. And it's dense, impenetrable. Still, surely there will come a moment when she brushes it aside, or she'll burn incense and bow enough for it to shift out of the way. But as the minutes pass, I feel opportunity slipping away. Then of a sudden her hair stirs. In all honesty it could have been a breeze. But I don't feel one, and I'm convinced her paddlewheel ears are churning at some sound I cannot hear. Then I do hear, the bus is roaring its engine, and the driver dares honk, and all the other writers and Malinda are leaning out windows shouting at me, and there's an edge of menace to their chorus, and though I'm maddeningly close to gazing upon this great mystery, I must turn away and go back to join with lesser company.
Anyway, the bus takes us to Lama Temple. As we're approaching the gate, Malinda gives us fair warning. The vendors are more aggressive here. They won't take bu yao for an answer. They might even clutch at you. She tells us to be firm, and asks us to please not come to her for help. Because if she tries to drive them off, they'll gang up and follow her around cursing her relentlessly. I can tell she speaks from experience.
One of the writers who speaks Chinese tells us to use a stronger phrase than bu yao. I believe it is, "Bu yao peng wo," and means, "Don't touch me." As it turns out, we don't have a problem. Maybe the vendors overstepped the bounds and the officials came down hard on them. We proceed unaccosted.
Lama Temple has a succession of buildings similar to the Forbidden City only on a smaller scale. Unlike the Forbidden City, where each courtyard and building is progressively bigger, here the buildings get progressively smaller and yet taller. Malinda explains that it is a progression from the earthly to the ethereal. I think that's what she says. In truth, I'm not listening to her very much because I'm preoccupied. I've discovered the boy with the gigantic ears.
Now, I've seen people with big ears before, and I'm not easily put in awe. But this boy, who is about five, has face fenders that jump the shark (capable of disrupting the metaphor-building part of my brain). They have a graceful refinement about them, like exotic seashells sculpted by billions of years of evolution. They're narrow where they join the head, but then boldly flare with fluted gusto. Though Malinda is begging us for the umpteenth time to be like sticky rice, not noodles, I have no choice but to follow the boy. For this reason I cannot report on all that the Lama Temple has to offer -- though when it comes to the final smallest and tallest building, Malinda forcefully gathers us all together and insists that we go inside for a gander.
But first I look at the Guiness Book of Records sign on the outside, which says, "This is to certify that the statue of Maitreya in the Lama Temple in Beijing was carved out of a single white sandalwood tree 26 meters high. August 1990." There is another Guinness Book of Records sign next to that one, which says, "This is to certify that the sign to the left is the most obnoxiously placed Guinness Book of Records sign in the world." And next to that is another Guinness Book of Records sign saying, "This is to certify that the sign to the left is the most obnoxiously placed Guinness Book of Records sign identifying a Guinness Book of Records sign that is the most obnoxiously placed in the world." There are further signs, each larger than the previous (because of the growing text), each identifying the one to the left as the most obnoxious on some crazily recursive scale. I follow them around the building and discover a final sign that covers the entire back, and you'll thank me for sparing you its text, which would fill some twenty pages.
At last I venture inside, and once more I call on DM's memory, wanting to know if we've ever been in there. Because if so, I must have been sleeping. Because this Maitreya statue is humongous! You can't photograph in there, and even if you could, it would be hard to capture. For one, a portion of it is underground. For another, the entire upper half is hidden from view by a wall except for viewing from the side of the base. In other words, there is only one vantage point, and that's at the base, where you look almost straight up and can fully see it (except for the part underground). As Malinda explains it, this is by design, because if it were fully viewable from the front, it would be intimidating and cause children to cry and perhaps even adults. The installers wanted it to emanate a sense of protection. It is there to guard the worshippers.
But my god it is huge! It is redwood huge! I mean, what the fuck is a white sandalwood tree anyway? I thought sandalwoods were small, medium at most. I believe Malinda says this one was logged from Nepal, but I haven't had much luck finding information on it online.
It is almost time for us to leave. Malinda gives us free rein but says to meet at the front gate in twenty minutes. That's just enough time for me to relocate the boy with the gigantic ears. And I suppose I should confess at this point that I'm not really interested in the boy. It's the mother at his side who has interested me all along. I've been trying my hardest to catch a glimpse of her ears, because they're bound to be even more spectacular than the boy's. The problem is, she's one of those Chinese women -- you know the type -- who has black hair. And she wears it long. And it's dense, impenetrable. Still, surely there will come a moment when she brushes it aside, or she'll burn incense and bow enough for it to shift out of the way. But as the minutes pass, I feel opportunity slipping away. Then of a sudden her hair stirs. In all honesty it could have been a breeze. But I don't feel one, and I'm convinced her paddlewheel ears are churning at some sound I cannot hear. Then I do hear, the bus is roaring its engine, and the driver dares honk, and all the other writers and Malinda are leaning out windows shouting at me, and there's an edge of menace to their chorus, and though I'm maddeningly close to gazing upon this great mystery, I must turn away and go back to join with lesser company.
I'm nobody's pony.