First impressions can be misleading.
When I visited the 10,000 Buddha Temple in the fall, it seemed perfect. The temple was at the top of a winding path that is lined by colorful Arhan Buddha statues. There were laughing statues, crying statues and praying statues. All together, there were 500, and they were all unique.
The trip to the temple was a journey from the city into the country. The path began at an entrance to an Ikea, and ended in a pleasant forest. At the top of the staircase, there was a row of buildings. Some were ornate-looking temples, but others were abandoned. There was a large colonial home, with rocks thrown through its windows and graffiti on its door. Right next door was a temple that contained a large standing Buddha. There were rusting oil drums everywhere.
Best of all was the main temple, a rectangular building where well over the requisite 10,000 Buddhas line every wall from floor to ceiling. Each one had a small orange light, which flickered like a candle. A stereo system played a long, slow chant from the back of the room.
I saw it as a set of modern ruins - something wonderful rising out of the city. It was somewhat neglected, but still existed. It was wonderful, completely unlike the busy commercial centers of Hong Kong Island. I celebrated by stopping at Ikea on the way back down, pondering dharma over Swedish meatballs.
This week, I made a return visit. I was motivated because I heard rumors that the temple was closing and that parts of it were now in rough shape. I also wanted to find out the real story behind the temple and why it is in Hong Kong.
I arrived to find that rather than deteriorating, the temple was in better shape than it had been several months earlier. A missing Buddha statue had been replaced. The rusted barrels were still there, but in lesser quantities than the fall. There was some construction equipment about, although it appeared to have been unused for some time. It didn't make any sense.
I went into the small restaurant next to the main temple, ordered a bun, and went looking for some information.
"Do you know when the barrels will be moved?"
The older woman who was working at the restaurant stared at me blankly. I remembered I was in an outlying area of Hong Kong - English was at a premium. She at first had no response, but after a minute she pointed me back inside the temple, where I found a young woman who looked to be around university age. She was smartly dressed, with a shiny silver ski jacket and high heels.
She greeted me enthusiastically - a big "Hello." She would be the one who would give me the story behind the temple. By this time, I was impatient. I unleashed a barrage of questions about the history of the temple, the meaning of the buildings and the garbage.
The woman understood some English, but unfortunately, she was unable to talk about the temple's religious symbolism. What she did tell me, though, was not what I wanted to hear. The temple no longer had a monastery, and she did not study at the temple. Rather, the place was now open to visitors and tourists, whom she was there to assist.
The woman working inside the temple also gave me an informative orange flyer that said the temple was founded in 1949 by Reverend Yuet Kai, a man who "wandered" to Hong Kong in 1933. The land was donated by a rich Buddhist merchant.
The little tiny Buddha statues did not represent the dead, as I had thought earlier. Instead, they could be purchased by anyone simply for "wishes." As I later learned on the temple's website, it costs about $450 for a Buddha inscribed with a name, and $800 for one inscribed with a name and a corresponding wish.
The state of the temple was due primarily to a landslide that occurred in 1997. Several temple buildings were heavily damaged, some of which have not reopened. The Arhan statues, which lined the staircase, were even less ancient than the rest of the temple. They were added in 2002, because the current abbot wanted to "glorify the monastery." The group was also working to clean up damage from the landslide.
The woman, who never gave me her name, cleared up the facts behind the temple. But the facts ruined the mystique. The charm of my first visit was that it seemed so accidental, a place that just happened to be there. Now, with the knowledge of the abbot, the tour groups, the restoration and the attempts to "glorify" the place, it just seemed like another tourist trap.
I walked down from the temple feeling disappointed. My spirits were only boosted when I discovered that part of my original visit had not changed - the Swedish meatballs at Ikea were still delicious.
