Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 1

One thing I love about traveling is that even ordinary things in far-away places become full of interest and wonder. I was walking through the streets of Saigon, not having any idea of where I was or where I was going, and I was amazed at how much the city came alive when I walked this way. I didn't need to look to find anything--everything captivated me, from the tiles on the sidewalk to the patterns of the traffic, from the scent of fish sauce to the cries of small children, from the signs of shops to shops of signs. And as I was heading down a crowded street, I happened to run into a temple, sandwiched neatly between some motorbike repair shops and furniture makers, by the name of Tran Quoc Pagoda. I had been to some of the temples on the tourist circuit, but this one was not in the books I had seen about Ho Chi Minh City.

The outside of the temple is rather dull and gray in color, but the second and third levels of the facade has ornate Buddhist images. I walked into the doorway, and an elderly woman, crouching in a corner, directed me inside. I removed my shoes and entered into the lower level Buddha hall, where three monks and about six lay believers were chanting and bowing. The style of the musical accompaniment (very vigorous drum and cymbal work) and the motifs on the altar (lots of colors, ornate Buddhist imagery) gave the temple a Tibetan feel. And monks were wearing very formal ritual robes--this was not a Chien (Zen) temple! I joined them until the ceremony ended.

Afterwards, I began to talk with some of the lay believers there, some of whom spoke English. They seemed to appreciate that someone was interested in their religion. One of them even insisted on giving me an apple and an Asian pear (which I think she snatched off the altar) as a "souvenir." I tried to refuse, but they insisted. I was getting ready to leave when the monks led me in to their kitchen, sat me down at the table and served me some tea. I was suprised and delighted by this unexpected hospitality, and appreciated the chance to be able to meet some of the sangha in Vietnam.

We attempted to communicate through hand gestures for a while, but one of the monks slowly began to reveal his English skills. We talked about our families--some of them had family in America--and when they couldn't quite say what were trying to say, they wrote it down on a piece of paper and we worked it out together. When we began to talk about Buddhism, I discovered that some of them knew Chinese, and most of the extremely limited Mandarin and Chinese Characters I know are Buddhist-related. I had never really had a useful conversation in Mandarin before, and it was a pleasant suprise to have it in Vietnam. My tea cup was always kept full!

Later on, the elderly woman who was at the doorway of the temple came up to me and began to speak in French. She was 82 years old (I had originally thought 92, but I mixed quatre-vingt-deux and quatre-vingt-douze!) and had studied French in the eight years she attended school during the colonial era. She had a consistent and beautiful smile on her face, and I feel fortunate that we shared a common language.

One of the monks, Thich Giac Lam, gave me his email address and asked for mine. I didn't hesitate, but I was slightly suprised because a) the temple had bats in it b) I didn't see a laptop under his robes and c) I wouldn't know how to email in Vietnamese. However, I could understand because a) the bats weren't that big b) Thich Giac Lam did indeed have a cell phone under his robes and c) the abbot of the temple took cell calls during ceremonies.

We got to talking about Guan Shi Yin Bodhisattva, when one of the monks disappeared through a door and came back with a small ceramic image of her (Guan Yin). Again, they insisted tthat accept it as a souvenir (although they explained that was infact from China, and the colored strings inside were of special importance. We then shared some of the mantras we knew associated with Guan Shi Yin pu sa.

The monks asked that I return the next day at 3:00 PM to see the drums and bells upstairs. We then bowed and said goodbye ("nam mo a mi ba phat," except the elderly woman, who said, "Au revoir!").

I was out of clothes, so the next morning I perused some shops to obtain a couple of shirts, a pair of shoes, and trousers. Again, it was a delight to just do simple everyday things in Saigon.

(continued above in Tran Quoc Pagoda, Part 2)