MY BUDDHIST ROLLER COASTER. (1970)

I was probably the easiest mark this team of conmen had met for some time. It didn’t net them a swag but it was worth a few hours easy work for them As a simple, trusting tourist I was no match for these pros who had stalked me.

I landed in Bangkok on my circular return to Oz, routed from Manila, through Taiwan and Japan and was at last heading in the general direction of Australia. Already I had a bag of stories and a stack of photos to regale the folks back home. What drew me to Bangkok was religion. As the Buddhist capital of the world it drew me and I was eager to immerse myself in this booming city.

Taiwan had produced a similar experience of this ancient religion. My fellow student and friend Fr. Stan Yuan a very exuberant Jesuit in the Taipei had accompanied me to visit Lion Mountain where there were a clutch of Buddhist shrines.

After a long bus ride we started climbing, and climbing and climbing. I suppose we lost any idea of time as the lush scenery and shrines along the way lured us on. It was the first time I’d met Buddhist nuns- bald headed and in poor clothes- so unlike “ours” and I found them a little off putting. Some of the shrines were tawdry but the main one was quite magnificent with its gleaming, golden Buddha.

Stan suddenly realises that time has indeed flown and the plan of getting back to a nearby town to lunch with a bunch of his brother Jesuits, pastors from surrounding parishes, looked improbable. But Stan was up to the challenge. As we strode down the hill, quite lost, we came across a tea processing plant. It was all very basic, with rows of tea drying in the sun and attended by peasant women in conical hats. There was a craggy older man supervising. Stan approached him and started yammering away trying to negotiate some transport.  It was obvious that the man was not budging or being at all helpful. At one stage they turned and stared at an ancient motor cycle in the shade. Stan persisted, “Yuan” was resisting. I nudged Stan and showed him a roll of dollars. The tone changed, Yuan was reconsidering and pushing at the same time. At last a deal was struck. He would drive us down the mountain and to the town. It would take 30 minutes.

It was the most hair-raising ride I’ve ever had. The bike must have been a WW2 relic but did splutter into life and sounded strong enough. But then put THREE men on it and it did complain.

Luckily it was all down hill. I was on the pillion while Stan bumped along on the petrol tank. There were some wicked turns, steep hillsides plunging down hundreds of feet, with tea plantations rearing up to the heights. I was petrified and so hung on and hoped and prayed. “Please Mary”. What a relief when we made the descent and then cantered into town for a much needed beer and some lunch. A Gentle bus ride through lush country soothed the nerves.

It was while in Taipei that I met a legendary French Franciscan who had made headlines shortly before. I was buying books at the Catholic book shop. As Taiwan did not recognise copyright you could pick up some great bargains. I noticed, heard this garrulous, lively man in brown and knew immediately who he was, as I’d read his story in TIME magazine. Soon, we were chatting I was chatting with the remarkable Fr. Drouette ofm.

“It must be hell living over in Quemoy”. I said.

With typical French insouciance he replied “No, not at all. I enjoy it. It’s really very exciting.”

“But what about the Chinese communists shelling your from the mainland. Surely that’s pretty unnerving or even dangerous.”

“Pffp” he replied in his dismissive French style.

“ It’s all for show. Of course they do some damage of course. But, we get to know when the barrage is coming and we head for our shelters. All very exciting”

What bravado, dash, élan! He could have been a Marshall Ney, hero of many of Napoleon’s battles in another lifetime. I was sure he was nuts. He was probably enjoying his international notoriety. But then I found out that every congregation from Marists to Salesians has at least one of these “Foreign Legion “ odd bods.  Maybe we need them in some strange way.

I had a most unnerving experience a day or so later. With Stan’s advice I had taken a cab to visit one of our other student friends, a Sr.Joanna Chang, teaching at a boarding school some twenty miles out from the capital. He gave instructions to the cab driver. I also had some fair idea of the destination. How could you miss a large boarding school just off the road? Well, we did and by many a mile. In fact, it was obvious that after near and hour we were lost. I insisted we turn back, something he seemed reluctant to do as he had this rich American on board and was enjoying the sound of waterfalls of cash. After another twenty minutes, there appeared a school, recently carved out of the jungle on top a hill. We drove up. I was sure we would get valuable information. There were hundreds of students in full cry and lots of teachers. Not one of them could speak English!! Impossible. I felt completely helpless and frustrated. No option but to drive back to Taipei. Just as I was about to climb back into the taxi, the miracle happened. A female teacher with enough English saved the day. Thanks be to God….and his holy mother!

Joanna’s school was a delight. Being aligned with the “Rose Bay” sisters they provided quality education which impressed me. As a consolation for my mishap she organised a treat the next day. With my guide Agnes I took a bus, a ferry across a wide river and another bus to the Palace Museum. Now, this was not your run-of-the-mill museum. This would rival the Uffizi in Florence or the Metropolitan in New York. It has a stunning story. As Mao Zedong’s forces were closing in and it was obvious that Chang Kai Chek’s Nationalist forces were beaten, Chiang decided to gather up all the priceless art treasures from China and ferry across to safety to Taiwan. They were all in this Palace Museum. For several hours I roamed around in a state of euphoria. Here were art works from centuries ago,  all emphatically stating that Europe was centuries behind in culture. A series of paintings caught my eye. The painter was obviously not Chinese. In fact he was an Italian Jesuit.



MATTEI RICCI SJ.

 What a power those Jesuits were in their mission work. Of course they were duded by small minds in Rome who just couldn’t grasp what Ricci, the Jesuit leader, was trying to tell them. As missionaries they needed to be more sensitive to the wonderfully rich culture. It would demand some enculturation. For that reason he and is workers were dressing in an appropriate way. With his mastery in mathematics and with a world map and some of Europe’s whiz-bang products like clocks he moved his guests’ appreciation of these “barbarians”. He’d also studied the venerable custom of “ancestor worship” and found it was custom rather than religions. There was misunderstanding from other missionaries, Franciscans and Dominicans but he did win them over. But there was some “dirty work at the cross roads and Rome was duly informed. Rome was uncomprehending and clamped down. How could they even begin to grasp what the Jesuits had learnt? They put restrictions….and so was missed a glorious chance for a more enlightened approach to evangelisation.

And so onto Bangkok with all these recent memories bouncing around in my head.

A wonderful American Redemptorist, Fr. O’Connor met me at the airport. Without him the night ride from Bangkok airport would have been a little unnerving as we barrelled through the night to Ruam Rudi. It was next morning when I looked around that I realised it was in the finer part of town and there opposite us was a magnificent Catholic church in Thai style. My good friend, Fr Gus Collacao a superb host appeared next morning and  intent on giving me a good time in his home town. Having trained in the US, this dashingly handsome young Thai was certainly westernised and quite a blade!

In the middle of the Vietnam war this city was a bustling centre for American troops on R&R.

A whisk around to different bars that night educated me in another side of Asian culture. It was lively, alluring and quite sad. I imagined that many villages in the boondocks had emptied as young women trekked to the city to the streets paved in gold so as to offer their services to soldiers and so help their families out of poverty.

I was more at ease on the golf course where Gus took me next day. That’s until I noticed these soldiers just off the fairways into the trees and all toting submachine guns. It really did put me off my usual game of precision. Gus succeeded in easing me as he explained they were there to protect the Queen Mother who was playing on adjacent fairways. I really tried harder to keep my head down. A wayward slice over the trees and onto that fairway might result in a burst of gunfire and the demise of a “terrorist”.

Gus had to leave and move up country, leaving me to my own devices. I was able to meet an Australian family who sent an air conditioned car to pick me up and together we enjoyed the fare at Rama hotel. Yes, the McEwen’s, Joeys connections, were just so kind .

But it was time to assault this Buddhist fortress. The string of temples along the river were certainly spectacular. The morning I decided to go I discovered that my wallet was very light. I would have to stretch my resources, at least till I got to Hong Kong where I might be able to raise a loan from our Brothers! So, I decided to walk rather than take a taxi or bus. So, with my very inadequate map I stepped out, into a very hot and humid day. After half and hour and not the sniff of the river or sight of tall temples I was growing a little disheartened. Just then a friendly Thai in light clothing and looking so cool, sidled up and we began to chat. In a few minutes I had revealed that I was fascinated by Buddhism and would love to visit the temples. He was just a spring of information and assistance.

“No problem, I’m going that way. Would you like a lift?”

As if by magic, a sedan had pulled up and we continue our conversation amicably. Soon we’re down by the river bank and organising one of those long, narrow speedy craft that zip around these waterways.  At this stage there is a subtle change. As I sat myself in the middle I note there are two extras, one behind and one in front of me. But, I’m gulled by this extraordinary hospitality. I have my own private taxi. Soon, I was alighting at one of the biggest of the temple with their fascinating bell like shapes- or is it more like an inverted tornado?  I noted that one of my companions walked alongside as a sort of protection I expect while the other seems to be back away and keeping a look out. But I suspected nothing.

We sped on. Up canals that host many craft, like narrow sampans where families live, slowing down as we met kids frolicking in the water. It was a sensational experience.

After two hours and more we were heading back over a wide part of the river. Grateful and gracious this generous tourist decided that I really should contribute something to this expedition. I tap my guide on the shoulder and explain that I’m so grateful as I had over $10.00. He snarls almost. I’m a little taken aback. Suddenly he zips the other two tenners from my open wallet, gives one to the driver while pocketing the other. I’m stunned and angry.

“Hey! I’m no millionaire you know. I’m just a teacher on holidays……” and other drivel.

He ignored me. Soon we’re edging into a quiet wharf. I’m powerless. Then I noticed my first helpful contact was standing up the bank near the car that taxied me as part of this scam.

I was so angry. What a dope! What a typical gullible tourist. That was most galling of all.

I walked and walked in the hot sun, determined not to spend another baht in “this bloody country”.

Making it back to Ruam Rudi and its air-conditioning I slumped down in disgust and disappointment. I proceeded to assuage myself with a goodly number of Buds.

And that big-hearted Fr.O’Connor listened to my story, empathised with my plight and assisted me generously to make the next leg of my journey. Hong Kong was surely a safer place and for the moment I had lost all interest in those "foreign" religions.