In these first few months of grad school, I have come to notice that few of the issues that baffled me about Thailand/SE Asia have not already been written about, few of the questions I have have not already been posed (and answered...many times). These are the remarks of a rookie to the academic game, though. I hope this sentiment will soon morph into an attitude more conducive to productivity.
A couple weeks ago I had a brief but interesting conversation with another student in my program that made me think back to the eight days I spent at a Vipassana Meditation Center in a temple outside of Chiang Mai. That was over two years ago now.
In the middle of a lunch held by the Center for Southeast Asian Studies, I asked the student how he feels about Westerners who come to Thailand to lock themselves up in meditation retreats for weeks on end only to boast of their discipline-charged experience with feigned nonchalance later on to white backpackers in tourist pubs.
"Well, I didn't do one of those retreats, but I understand what you're saying..." my fellow grad student (and former resident of Thailand) acknowledged.
I charged forth:
"Because there are so many farang (white westerners) who come to Thailand only to stay in a temple, and don't explore how the temple experience plays out in real life...in Thailand where Buddhism is an institution as opposed to a trendy novelty in Western White Culture (think celebrity or California Buddhism). They stay in one temple and then move on to another and when they are all done they can go back to New York or Montpelier or Berlin or San Francisco and tell all of their friends about their rejuvenated sense of inner peace with that condescending glaze over their eyes when really their experience just isn't that special."
I think I stunned myself with my own skepticism.
Of course, generally I do believe that it is important to experience other cultures and religions. Many people in the world don't travel, much less explore a religion or philosophy that wasn't handed to them by their immediate circumstances.
I do appreciate the openness of Buddhism, and the general Thai attitude that you do not have to be a declared Thai Buddhist in order to benefit from some of the practices. Growing up Catholic, I always felt a little awkward leaving Dad alone as Mom, Jacob, and I went up for Communion. Dad, the rascally Protestant-turned-agnostic of the bunch, was left in the pew, engaging in the trusty Faux-Kneel (the Faux-Kneel is the stance you take during Mass when you are too lethargic to engage in the Full Kneel. To clarify, the Faux-Kneel does not require the knees to make contact with the kneeler. You need only to scoot your rear to the edge of the pew and hunch your shoulders a bit to look humble and reverent. But, whoa, how I digress.). The point is, not every religion is as inclusive in nature as Thai Buddhism.
Some of my issues with the tourist's relationship to Buddhism come in when tourists begin to think of themselves as authorities on Buddhism simply because of the meditation experiences they had while on Temple Tour. The Western obsession with temple-hopping in Thailand often seems superficial and self-indulgent to me. Maybe part of this is because there are so many temple-tourists, all with very similar stories, backgrounds, and motivations. While I kind of despised the book Eat, Pray, Love (I did indeed attempt to read the whole thing. Made it half-way.), I've got to hand it to Elizabeth Gilbert as a businesswoman. She did the exact same thing that millions of other tourists do every year, but figured out a way to make a stupa's weight in American dollars by writing about it.
Anyway, I shall share a couple of parables in an attempt to both relate my experience to you and begin to understand for myself the discomfort I feel when I think about the flocking of foreigners to Thai temples.
I arrived at Wat Phrathat Sri Chom Tong one sunny afternoon in late March. In my backpack were two loose, white button-down shirts, one pair of baggy, shin-length white pants, my wallet, passport, and a tiny notebook. You are not supposed to bring anything to a Vipassana center that could be "distracting," so I justified the diary by limiting myself to two or three skeletal sentences a day.
Riding the local bus from Chiang Mai up into the surrounding mountains, I felt a bit over-dramatic, like I was committing myself to an asylum or something. The feeling intensified when I arrived and saw the meditation students (inmates!) slowly meandering the grounds (prison!) in identical white garments (straight jackets!).
At that time, like many American 20-somethings, I was unemployed, insecure, and lonely. I was a walking cliche, I was curious.
Home for the week.The Worldly Desire for Breakfast
The first morning I was there, I clearly remember the sharp hook of hunger that had lodged itself in my stomach overnight. Since I am normally a three-square-meals a day kind of gal, the kiwi juice I had slurped down the night before just hadn't cut it. At the temple, guests, like monks, are expected not to eat any solid food after 12:00 noon. Guests rise with an ominous-sounding bell at 4 a.m. and practice meditation for two hours, at which point the breakfast bell rings.
Of course, my first morning was pretty much a two-hour wait until that glorious sound. At exactly 6 a.m. I started walking towards the kitchen, lift heel, lift toe, moving, heel down, ball of foot down, toes down, trying to think only "I am walking to breakfast, walking, now I am walking." The day before, a meditation assistant from Mexico had explained some of the basic concepts of Vipassana to me. The idea is to experience only each moment, not to anticipate nor remember, to consider each moment a tiny bead in an infinite strand.
However, these moderate thoughts were usurped by more worldly, exclamatory desires: "I can't wait for breakfast! Holy shit. Can't wait can't wait!"
When I entered the kitchen, I was ashamedly the first to arrive. The temple workers were still bringing out the food. I tried to slow down my steps in hopes that someone else would come, but no one did. I quietly took a bowl, spooned out some vegetable gruel, and sat down to eat, alone in the empty hall ("Shame, shame, I am feeling shame. And eating. Eating, eating. Gruel, gruel.").
Only at several minutes after 6:00 did other guests silently enter the cafeteria in a trickling, white procession.
You're gonna reap just what you sow
Most of my memories of my Mini-Temple Tour seem to involve food in one way or another, mostly because I was hungry all the time. Soy milk and juice doesn't make a dinner...much less eight back-to-back dinners. After the first couple days, I realized that I would need to eat a bit more for lunch to keep myself upright for the succeeding 8 hours of meditation that lay ahead of me. But not the equivalent of two meals, because that would lean on gluttony. I settled somewhere around moderately full, but not to the point of discomfort.
One day, I noticed a bowl of what appeared to be stir-fried minced red tomatoes. Something similar had been served the previous day, and it was surprisingly delicious, so I helped myself to two generous ladles of the stuff. After sitting down, I quickly heaved a large spoonful into my mouth and then quickly realized why my neighbors had taken only a spoonful of the same thing. The tomatoes were actually chili peppers of noxious heat intensity.
Wasting food is highly frowned upon in meditation centers for many reasons, especially because you are supposed to refrain from realizing intense desires anyway, such as the desire for copious amounts of stir-fried tomatoes. I sized up my plate. I rhythmically ate every last bit of my chili salad, seed by precious seed.
Thailand: Land of Smiles and Mental Recuperation!
One day I had just finished attempting-to-meditate in the designated meditation hall, and met a smiley young German woman outside as I was walking back to my room. Normally we were not supposed to speak at all except for our daily meetings with the meditation instructor, but I think she was asking for directions or something. She told me how stressful her job in Germany was, and how she had started coming to Thailand every year to do meditation. She was staying for 21 days at Chom Tong.
"What are you doing after this?" I asked.
"Oh! I'm going to another temple for 20 days. Then back to Germany," she answered, matter-of-factly.
She, like many others, was addicted to meditation, and to the act of visiting Thailand every year during her vacation. Ironic, right?
She was friendly enough, but now I think I at least partially understand why I felt so uncomfortable around her. Many tourists seem to think of Thailand as a giant rehab facility. They frequent the temples and the spas, they engage in excessive rituals of self-caring. And that is Thailand to them.
This is of course beneficial to local Thai economies, and perhaps a preferable choice of entertainment when compared to sex tourism and the moral quandries of prostitution. But I still think that this manner of experiencing Thailand serves to further exoticize Thailand to Western eyes. Thailand is the land of massage, meditation, facials, doting attendants, and yoga (all at a reasonable price).
To sum up
Despite the skepticism I feel now regarding the larger issue of tourism and Thailand, I do value the experience I had at Chom Tong. I don't think I caught wind of nibbana, but I did have the luxury of time to learn a little bit about patience. I also learned that, if absolutely necessary, I can survive eight days without consuming a drop of caffeine.
The meditation itself was pretty much pure agony for the first two or three days. If I had ever encountered you in any way prior to March of 2008, you can rest assured that I thought about you at least 100 times, and pinpointed all the ways I have wronged you, or embarrassed myself in front of you. I was a bad friend, girlfriend, student, daughter, sister, and teacher over and over again in my head until at some point my brain realized that exponentially exaggerating past experiences was not a pleasurable way to spend its time.
After that, I began to feel more relaxed, slightly peaceful, and not entirely bored. Although, still a little bored. Vipassana meditation consists of a series of three actions: sitting, walking, and prostrating. By the fifth day, the teacher suggested that I picture a tiny steel ball in the center of my head. During the sitting portion of the series, I was to picture the ball sliding from the middle of my head to my right hip, back up to my head, then to the left hip, and so on. This was a helpful focal point, I realized, and I guessed that the idea was to eventually eliminate the steel ball altogether and focus on absolutely nothing.
After the eighth night, I thanked the nun who had taught me a couple chants in Pali, the meditation teacher, and the teaching assistant from Mexico. I caught the bus to Lampang, and then south to Bangkok. My old friend David was flying in from France. We would drink cocktails on beaches, ride bicycles around the ruins of Sukothai, and get doused in ice water on the Lampang streets during Thai New Year. Now and then, a small steel ball would apparate inside my brain.
So I guess I have two semi-conclusions that address why the Temple Tour makes me uncomfortable: 1) The presumptuous notion that you are more intellectual or knowledgeable about "Thai culture" if you go to a meditation center and the bragging about this that goes on in backpacking circles and 2) It contributes to another form of exoticising the East.
I'm still not totally satisfied with the thoughts posted here. Obviously, there are plenty of curious Westerners who are more modest about their experiences. Meditation centers are also frequented by scholars of Pali and Buddhism. And there is certainly nothing wrong with using meditation as a means of gaining new perspective. This is not a disclaimer. I'd just like to make it clear that I don't think that all foreigners who frequent meditation centers in Thailand meditate only for the bragging rights.
I'll keep thinking.
