After the walking in National Park the day before I stay at Bodhi Heart. Many people arrive. They bring loads of food to the hall. I learn that these are the parents and relatives of novice monks and nuns. We eat.
I sit down at the tea house to meditate. Children come and also a woman. We talk. And what do i hear? These are the exact novitiates that stay at MBMC. Yes, the meditation centre in town that I wanted to go to but couldn’t because the abbot said it wouldn’t be suitable for yogis due to a novitiate programme taking place from Dec 1-14. Now they have come here to Bodhi Heart Sanctuary to put on robes and to be instructed as samaneras.
It is Sunday and thus, the appropriate time to go hiking. There is a train leading up to the hill but I am not interested as my feet are hungry to walk and my skin is ready to sweat. I leave at about 7.30 a.m. and reach the top at around noon. On the way, Liu gives me a water flask. Later I am invited to have some coffee. And I have a nice talk with some guys at a rest area. A newspaper article informs me about a 70-year old man who gives hurtful and effective massages there every day at 4.30 p.m. For free.
When I come to the hill top I finally see what I tend to call ‘the business’. It’s not that I don’t like tourists. I only try to avoid or dodge tourist settings because I have come to know them as ripoffs. Locals can’t see the people they are dealing with because their eyes are dealing with the money they get from them. It’s not as bad as the ‘fuck-the-farang’ attitude i encountered in Thailand from time to time. But still, tourist place is tourist place. It’s poisoned… in a jan delay sense if you catch my drift I know you do.
In the evening… visit Burmese temple (Wat Chaiya Mangalaram) and get some food in Little India and, still not enough, still not tired, take pictures of mural art in Georgetown. Then on my way home by bus trip I see a procession of Chinese dragons pass by. Some people try to balance a 10metre flagpole on their forehaed or chin. Traffic comes to a full stop. Nothing goes. Artists and musicians dance in the street while I read the Malukyaputta Sutta in the air-con bus homewards.