Lovely monks with icy water

by Freya Wallace (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

I didn't expect to find China

Xiamen is hot hot and wet wet. You never know whether the moisture on your skin is from sweat or the damp air. One might venture a suggestion that mid-August is not the best time to go to botanical gardens in muggy Fujian. A few others and I decided to adventure through the bus system, across an enormous delta, and into the city to find some apparently famous botanical gardens. The bridge of the delta was my preferred scene, one had to really squint through the smog to see the mountains peeking out from the edge of the delta. The mind boggles at how many people are crammed into a heaving corner between the delta and the mountains. Tiktok teenagers and water rats in cages can be found occupying the same square meter. Then, slap-bang in the middle of the city are the botanical gardens. We were worried we wouldn't be able to find them, thinking about European gardens that sit in some discreet corner of the city. But trust me, we had no problems finding them, like everything in China they were humongous. As I write this, I am struggling to find the words to convey the scale, it's hard to conceptualise when you grew up thinking London was a big city. Xiamen Botanical Gardens are about 1,300 acres, spread over some hills and lakes. Yes, there are pagodas, there are temples, there are Buddhist symbols. There is even a small gondola that you can ride over the gardens. After gazing at some lakes and lazing under a willow tree; we were starting to wilt in the heat. Sweat was sliding down our backs, water was running out, and hair was sticking to the base of our necks. After climbing yet another hill, we came across a temple and probably thanked the wrong god for some shade. The temple had a round wooden hall in the centre, surrounded by tall traditional buildings on either side. From the eaves of the stone pagoda, we heard someone call over to us. From the muggy air, we saw a flash of orange and someone extending chilled bottles of water. It was a Buddhist monk who had come to our rescue. Thank the heavens (or maybe samsara from what I gather on Wikipedia). Inviting us into the shade, we were sat down and joined by a few other monks. Before we could even attempt a xiexie, there was tea placed in front of us. I got the impression they came across dehydrated foreigners on occasion. Thanks to the magic of translation apps, we struck up a conversation with these lovely monks. They discussed which their practice of Buddhism, all the while they had the 9-year old novice keep our water glasses filled. There was only a gentle whiff of them trying to convert us. Once we were no longer panting like dogs in a hot car, they offered to take us around the gardens and explain what we were looking at. The respect and immense knowledge of the gardens and the plants were obviously exceptional. The monk tasked with showing us around could name every plant, how to care for it, and when it was planted. From the arboretum, the cacti glasshouse (I almost fainted, must have been 45°), the lily pond, this monk had a quiet reverence in explaining the details. Also, quite handily, a zippy little golf cart to get around on. His philosophical understanding, his relaxed eyes, his faded orange robes were wholly comforting. There was quiet in the botanical gardens that we hadn't felt anywhere else in Fujian. Conversely, his lack of eagerness to show us around was the most engaging, he had an unspoken assumption that we needed a guiding hand that afternoon. Since I have graduated, I am persistently jealous of those who live their lives in quiet reverence and contemplation. In their purpose, I imagine comes fulfilment. In all honestly, I am 80% of the way to ditching the grad job hunt and move to a monastery in South-East Chinese mountains to find contentment. I often wonder how many tourists have been provoked in the same way by those lovely monks and their soul calming presence.