The Buddha has 10,000 Faces.

I awoke the next morning in Ah Shan hostel, and rose early to check directions to my next destination. I'd contacted a few Hong Kong natives through an account with a little dating site that I occasionally use to meet new and interesting women in the cities to which I travel, and I had gotten recommendations for a few places. That was how I'd found Flow the first time I was in Hong Kong.

I'd also gotten a recommendation to visit a place called the Temple of 10,000 Bhuddas. Established in the 1950s, it's a relatively new place, and officially, it's not a monastery because no living monks reside there (I say no living monks because one dead one does reside there. The founder, embalmed and coated in gold paint, sits front and center in the main Temple building). Instead it is maintained by the congregation, with no entry fee but a donation box near the main grounds where you may leave a little money if you are so inclined.

So after I'd gotten what I thought were good directions, I headed out into the Hong Kong morning. It was a grumpy, overcast day, with the sky playing part of emo teenager--spitting rain one moment and simply being dark and brooding the next. I had no umbrella, and I'd refused to buy one in Korea because the asking prices were around $5 US. I made up my mind to swing by the market to find breakfast at a bakery and see if I could locate a cheap umbrella while I was out. Ideally, the cheapest umbrella I could find, since that would also be the lightest weight, and therefore the easiest to carry in my backpack for the rest of the journey.

I decided that I would buy one for less than $4 us (or $28 HK) and barter if it were between $4 and $7. I rounded the corner into the market and the third booth had small umbrellas wtih a hand painted sign saying $12--about $1.80 US. I was so surprised I didn't even both negotiating, I just paid the full price. The umbrella was, of course, remarkably cheap, but in Hong Kongs narrow concrete canyons there is little wind, so there is not much threat that your umbrella will turn inside out. I decided that it would be perfect for my needs, since it was ultra-lightweight, and off I went. In a bakery, I found breakfast, a croissant wrapped around a hot dog, a big doughy breakfast bun, and a couple of the delicious hong kong custards that I have become addicted to.

Hong Kong bakers put a small square of wax paper underneath the center of each large item if it has a flat surface, and despite the fact that I've now bought from several different bakers in Hong Kong, I am always forgetting this rule until I get through the first bite of whatever I'm eating, at which point I think "this had a weird texture" and turn the thing over to see the square of wax paper with a big toothy bite out of one corner. Maybe one day I'll learn.

Thinking back on it though, I should probably be far les concerned with the fact that I ate a bite of wax paper than the likely contents of the meat in that Hong Kong hot dog. I'm quite sure, from the flavour (which was generically meaty and very tasty, yet different) that it was neither beef, nor chicken, nor any kind of pork I recognized, at least if it was pork there was some seasoning I didn't know. Oh well. It was a damn tasty breakfast.


I took the Hong Kong MTR train out to the Sha Tin station and walked the two blocks to where I thought the entrance to the Temple would be. Signs pointed me most of the way, and when I rounded the first corner of a huge office building between me and the hill where I expected to find it, there was a large Bhuddist style gate with a sign identifying it by some other name, and I thought perhaps that was the Chinese nickname for the place, so I went in.

I'd heard that there were over 500 steps to climb to reach the temple, so I was disappointed to find a polite sign indicating that I should use the escalator. A recent installation, perhaps? I read the other rules carefully and saw no barring of photography. The whole place looked shinier and less kitschy than I expected. When I reached the top of the first set of steps, there was a sort of office area, tastefully done out, that looked rather like any insurance agent, with polite men in impeccable suits advising people at large wooden desks, and one of the iconic good luck cats that are everywhere throughout Asia by the door.

I thought this was odd--why would there be a business associated with a Bhuddist temple?--but my brain hadn't quite sorted out where I was yet.

It wasn't util I rounded the corner of the next major building that I figured out I was not on the path to the temple at all--I was in a Mausoleum, that ran high into the hillside, alongside the path.

That explained the office at the first terrace. It was a funeral home.

I'm always fascinated by how a culture deals with their dead, especially a culture like Hong Kong, where practical and usable land can be very difficult to come by. There is a huge tradiational western style grave far outside the city, that cascades down one of the hills near the harbour like a sort of frozen waterfall of marble and stone. Here though, was the more traditional explanation. A given family or clan purchased an entire mausoleum room, about the size of a one car garage and twice as high, with a roll down gate that could be locked up. Family members were recognized (and, I assume, stored) in each small compartment--perhaps one square foot on its face--that covered every square inch of all three walls. The front was engraved with their name and title and honorifics, and often a picture was attached as well.

I've posted a few pictures of the site because I know you're curious as to what the place looks like, but I've used the soft focus effect so that it is impossible to discern the names and faces of the dead. I don't want to be disrespectful. Throughout my time there, though, none of the locals who were performing rites or burning incense (the Chinese equivalent of leaving fresh flowers at the grave) ever gave me a disapproving look or told me to put away my camera, and the behaviour sign at the entrance (which had included instructions on things like eating and pets) hadn't had a photography prohibition either. I tried mostly to take pictures of the architecture of the place, rather than the mausoleums, because it was such a beautiful series of small white buildings, climbing up into the hills with terrace after terrace and thousands of stairs forming multiple paths to each area.

Once I'd gotten a few good pictures, I tried to work my way to the top, hoping there would be a way to cross to the temple. However, like most modern American cemeterys, there is only one entrance and exit to a Chinese Mausoleum, and there was no way through that I could find. Eventually, after getting somewhat stymied by all the side passages, I found what appeared to be a small concrete path that cut across he hill, so I wouldn't have to walk 300 steps down just to go all the way back up.

Instead, I found myself at the entrance to a man's front hard. There was a small house with a flat concrete pavilion in front of it, directly between the mausoleum and the path. It had entrances on both sides, and I assume it was owned by one of the cemetery's caretakers. He saw me standing in his gate with my confused expression, and I explained that I was lost, and was trying to get down there--pointing to the path on the other side of his yard. He nodded and beckoned me to follow him, then unlocked his front gate so I could cut through his property. I thanked him profusely and headed off up the hill.

The temple of 10,000 Buddhas starts off relatively unimpressively, with a line of Buddha statues on each side of the path up to the main temple. They're life sized, done out in a shiny yellow-gold paint, and the run the gamut from smiling fat Buddhas, to male Buddhas that look like Jesus and Mohammed, to Buddhas with the androgynous look you often see in Thai imagery.


I took pictures of a few on my way up the hill, and when I reached the top it got really interesting.

There are actually around 13,000 Buddha statues here. Thousands of them are life sized, and scattered around the grounds. In the main area, I found the diversity of the Buddha became even greater, there were angry, warrior demigods with giant swords and spears, decked out in armour. There were feminine Buddhas, with soft hands and demure postures. There were Buddha riding dogs, taming tigers, and drinking liquor. There was a Buddha with hands for eyes (I'm going to have to ask Quang about that one) and another with one long arm stretching far into the sky (that story I know, it remins the viewer of the "do not look at the finger, or you will miss all the heavenly glory" lecture immortalized in popular culture by Bruce Lee). Farther back in the temple grounds there is a giant white stone Bhudda embedded in a waterfall along a cliff face, and dozens more scattered throughout the forest that surrounds him.

There is a 9 story pagoda with a small Buddha in each little archway, all of them in slightly different postures. And inside the main building, there are thousands tiny Buddhas lining the walls, each one unique. I took a few pictures to give you an idea of the scope of the place. The ceiling was perhaps 30 or 40 feet up, and from a distance, the figures on the wall took on the look of wallpaper, but each is a tiny and unique statuette.

In the center of this room, in front of the most ornate and beautiful of the Buddhas, is the figure of the founding monk, covered on gold leaf, sitting inside a glass box for everyone to see. His glass box, of course, makes him impervious to photographs.

Especially for Derek and Aaron, I snapped this shot as well. I suppose even devout Bhuddists like to unload a little AEG action on someone once in a while?

As I wandered through this surreal collection of Bhuddas, I thought about my own religion. The Bhuddist don't believe there are many Bhuddas, rather they are emphasizing, in this place, that Buddha's enlightenment took many forms. He could be warlike or kind, happy or sad, strong and commanding or meek and patient. The Buddhist don't think there are 10,000 Buddhas, rather that there is one Buddha with 10,000 faces.

I thought about this as I wandered around the temple, and I thought of the many postures of Christ. His grace and humility before God on the mountaintop. His quiet pride and commanding presence as Mary washed his feet with her hair. His righteous anger in the moneylender's temple. I imagined a Cathedral with 10,000 statues of Christ, and smiled. It makes me wonder, if the Buddhists can accept 10,000 images of their spiritual mentor, why can't Christians accept the three simplest forms of God? Why aren't we comfortable with the ethereal force of the God the creator, the physical presence of the son, and the spiritual influence of the paraclete? It seems such a simple thing to accept, yet each year the debate is begun anew as to what exactly the Holy Trinity means.

I think perhaps we could learn from a Buddhist who sees 10,000 faces and see beneath them all the same underlying brilliance.

When I was done wandering amidst the statues, I headed back to the train station. On the way there I was entertained by the stronger winds present here on the outside of the city proper. They inverted my umbrella at every opportunity, and it was very little help aside from keeping my head, upper torso, and backpack try.

Ah well. I slugged through the rain back to downtown, picked up my bags, checked oaut, and headed for the airport. I had a plane to catch to Jakarta.