Buddha’s Relics

                         Joanna had to cover up with a shawl
                          to enter the temple.

Dec. 21, 2013

The view of Chinatown from the room looks roughly like a cross between Queens and Kowloon—tall, utilitarian structures to pack people in. The view from the elevator bank, is quite different. There are rows of low buildings with terracotta roofs. The streets are pleasantly narrow and there is a prominent structure with low eaves not far away.

It was a temple, the man at the desk said. So we went there. Turns out, it isn’t just any temple. It is the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple, maybe the top entry on my see-list for Singapore. About six blocks or so from the hotel. Who knew? Not me, certainly.

And it sits next to a market.

It doesn’t get better than that. Well, sure it does, but not in public, without chemical assistance, and with your clothes on.

The stroll from the hotel is down little streets with arcades over the sidewalks. There are commercial establishments, a gym that promises to unleash my inner beast, and several French and Korean restaurants.

We got to the temple neighborhood. It was upscale Asia: the street overhung with strange trees (I guess if you’re from here there not strange), the heat and humidity of the air balanced by a breeze, cars and a few bicycles zipping past. It’s only when we got to the steps of the temple and saw the sign that I realized my luck. Wow, the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple.

I had read about this in two guide books. It isn’t old, perhaps 10 years or so. I forget how the tooth got to Singapore. There is one other tooth shrine, in Burma.

The ground floor of the temple leads into a ceremonial chamber with monumental Buddhas and Bodhisatvas. To one side is the Hundred Buddha Wall, with figures of various sizes. Some larger ones in niches are surrounded by smaller bas reliefs, about the size of my hand.

Altars are dedicated to various Bodhisatvas, the enlightened teachers, including Kuan Yin. As always, I stopped to say a Hail Mary there.

The second floor is a museum of Buddhist culture. Stone, silver-, and gold-leaf figures represent various periods of art. There was far more information than I was able to absorb.

One piece, carved from dark stone, was almost 2,000 years old, and it was one of the newest acquisitions of the museum.  The relics of the Buddha were divided into eight portions after he was cremated, for distribution to eight kingdoms. Asoka, the Buddhist emperor of India, collected them all and redivided them into 84,000 portions.

The relics are venerated, much as saints’ relics are venerated in Catholic churches, as symbols bringing one psychologically closer to the spiritual.

There is a display of eight Buddhas, each with an empty bowl. Each figure’s hands are in a different position, and each position signifies something different, but exactly what they mean is among the many things that I didn’t absorb.

They are near a room where photography is forbidden. It holds relics of the Buddha. The reliquaries are glass in frames and hold tiny crystallized spheres. Each is identified with a different part of the body—hair, blood, bone, nose, flesh. This kind of thing is right up there with the Eucharist. I’m not sure what I believe, if anything, but I take Communion.

These are matters of tradition and the poetry of it all takes precedence over analysis.

Like saying “Hail, Mary” in front of the image of Kuan Yin.

Speaking of whom, I learned something more. Kuan Yin is the Mandarin name for Avalokitesvara (which I do not know how to pronounce). In India, Avalokitesvara is male. It was when the Buddhist traditions were brought to China that Kuan Yin became female. The Cantonese name sounds like “Gun Yum.”

We walked out the far side of the temple and strayed right into a street market. These things are so much fun. I’ve been to a couple of them in Amsterdam. But there is something about Asia that’s even better. Stands sold everything from fresh vegetables to “I love Singapore” key chains.

Joanna stopped to get cocoanut water, and I had sugar cane juice. Neither one tastes the way I expected.

Just in case that was too healthful, we stopped at a table by the curb and shared a 20-ounce bottle of Harbin beer. It is almost near-beer. The label lists it as 3.6 percent alcohol by volume. So all 20 ounces had about the same kick as a 12-ounce lager.

After that we decided to stroll back to the hotel. I knew the way and led us up a street and around a bend, and boy, my feet were getting sore. I had gotten us lost. I hailed a cab. “We’re lost. We need to go to the Orchid Hotel on Tras Street.”

The driver laughed a little and pointed. “It’s right there.”

I am so glad I hailed that cab. I had led Joanna past the hotel and was still headed in the same (and now wrong) direction.

I remembered how it works in New York. I offered to pay the driver for opening his door. Maybe there’s no charge for that here. He seemed confused. Joanna, mindful of the condition of my feet, said, “Since we’re in the cab, why don’t you just drive us over there?”

And so he did.

The base of the hotel building is lined with shops, including several Japanese restaurants. We went to Gyoza King. Gyoza are Japanese fried dumplings. We had them filled with pork, along with a plate of stir-fried tofu with minced pork gravy, and fried cabbage with bell peppers. That and a Sapporo made dinner and I was done in.

We stopped at a convenience store called Cheers for some staples—yogurt, beer, and chocolate. That’s where I found my favorite local beer so far. It’s called Baron’s, “brewed in the classic European tradition, and inspired by a Black Forest brewmaster’s timeless recipe.” (That’s right from the label.) At almost 9 percent ABV, it’s a perfect nightcap.

Good night.