Hong Kong Travels: Ngong Ping

I did not expect there to be a theme park when I arrived at Ngong Ping. You can attribute it to the minimal research beforehand. Had I realised the area was purely for tourism I would have adjusted my expectations accordingly, but as it was, I was unprepared. The fact I took a cable car to a monastery should have been a warning sign in of itself. The queue, even at midday on a Thursday, was long and tedious. And although the view of the Buddha emerging from behind the cloud-hidden mountains was exciting, the feeling dissipated upon arrival quickly. 

Ngong Ping is an artificial town, built to serve specific clientele. The rows of souvenir shops selling the same knick-knacks you might find anywhere in Hong Kong, the presence of a Starbucks, and the empty Nature Centre emphasized this; people (like me I must be reminded) were there for the same experience, but not to enjoy the location. 

It is similar for the Big Buddha, the focus of any trip to Ngong Ping. The outside is impressive, there’s no doubt.  He is serene, as you expect from any image of enlightenment. Several other figures with different offerings or attributes flank him. The long staircase to the base of the statue tires you out, encouraging you to linger a moment longer. Compared to the 10,000 Buddhas, the last Buddhist temple I had visited, the statues at least felt like there had been a more formal investment. There was no gold paint flaking off unserious faces. 

Inside is another souvenir shop, betraying once again the thoroughly secular intent of the project. There is a large, tall bell on the inside, though I do not know if it has ever been rung. Certainly, it’s dormant now, another sign of the divorce from spirituality. 

Not yet a complete divorce, however. At the higher level, areas are restricted for visitors. There are names and faces of hundreds of people, but who they are and why they are there I could not tell. Perhaps they were donators to the project, or memorials to the deceased. Either way, it shows a little sincerity, if not for the soul than for the project. 

The Po Lin Monastery is fronted by a large and colourful temple. Three more Buddhas sit inside, two on the left and right, with mirrored poises surrounding them, orchids, oranges and elaborate uses of patterning. The chandeliers are lotus flowers; gold cloth with Chinese script hanging from a blue sky ceiling covered in twisting dragons and other figures. Even the beams have not been ignored. Still more dragons, but flowers too, and a healthy mix of simple and extravagant lines. The case housing the Buddhas has yet more gold. Dragons are coiled around the sides and there’s a presentation in gold, of course, of a Buddha in the garden, surrounded by enraptured followers. 

It is impossible to think that this was created with the same mindset of the rest of the town, and I believe in its authenticity. It is exceptionally well maintained, no doubt with help from the sales in the village. Despite that, it feels like an entranceway: the starter before the main course, as indeed it turned out to be.  

The building behind it is far larger and was clearly the temple proper. Rows and rows of tiny Buddhas line the walls and five full-sized Buddhas dominated the interior. The technicality of the painted ceiling is overwhelming. The primary colours, the patterns, the detailing, the placements of the lights and even how clean it is, makes it more attractive than anything else in the room. There I could believe the monks practised with all sincerity. There I can believe the shared pursuit of enlightenment is undertaken.  

Yet it was empty when I visited. In fact, the only monk I saw during my time there hurriedly shuffled out from behind a screen where they prepared flowers for the shrine. Had they been chased away by the tourists, retreated to a more discreet area of the complex? It would certainly have been quieter there. Maintenance of the site required drilling for as long as I was there, which disturbed any sense of tranquillity. 

Other additions to the Po Lin Monastery seem only to project the idea of a monastery. For example, a koi pond in the shape of a koi fish built just by the side of the temple. The water is pumped up to dribble down a few small pools. Wires are suspended over the top to stop anything too large going inside. Glass has been erected to stop any one from falling in. It feels like a compulsory addition to the grounds, not a natural feature. Another example would be the small food court directly next to the temple in distinctly basic red brick buildings. This gives the area the feeling of a campus or, again, our holiday park.  

It may just be my attitude that affected each part of experience, but that even so close to nominally spiritual grounds, money is exchanged for food and key chains, does not help shake the feeling of the monastery as a zoo. 

"Look at the monks, but do not enter their enclosure. If you return at this time today, you may have a better chance of seeing them. While you wait, feel free to buy a mini-Buddha magnet and eat a tofu ball.” With a different expectation. I'm sure I would have forgiven all these indiscretions. 

The Wisdom Path, by contrast, has the sincerity of nature. That was the moment during the visit that felt closest to spiritualism for me. Growing up in the countryside, I struck out in many directions when rambling, finding streams, climbing trees, jumping gaps, and hiding from farmers. The walk to the wooden pillars felt like a park in places. The clear cement path makes things feel too curated, too domestic. But I cannot deny that the short expedition revitalized me. The crowds had been left behind, as had the din of workmen and the distractions that questioned religious sincerity. 

What I did not expect was to see so many abandoned dormitories. It is hard to say in Hong Kong's climate whether things decay faster than somewhere like England, but the doors always seem to be the first to fail, rusting away in the rain and general humidity. Next goes the plaster, which flakes off like dead skin. The plants slowly creep inside, invited by the building's open-door policy. In some places on the walk to the path, the vines were trying to pull away the window frames or even entire walls, slowly but with natural determination. The bunk beds with misplaced mattresses made me wonder why they had been left behind. Presumably those buildings were for the monks, though I could be mistaken. So why were there still bedsheets rotting away? Why had more not been salvaged? 

It reinforces a recent feeling of areas of Hong Kong being allowed to disappear by themselves. While it is true that every area will have disused buildings or facilities, those in Hong Kong are often immediate to those still in use. Maybe the region is too dense for old places to be removed, or maybe this is only the case away from the wealthier areas. At the same time, there are places in Sheung Wan that have had entire dance studios stripped so utterly that the leftover unit is white paint smudged over exposed concrete. In Causeway Bay, entire ground floors are behind screens to hide the gutted interior.  It's a feature of Hong Kong I am increasingly aware of, for better or worse.

The Wisdom Path was set under a cloud-capped mountain peak, lending the area an increased sense of gravitas. The context provided for the wooden pillars was welcome as I had none otherwise. Again, the sights were slightly below my expectations. I had not expected an art installation. The thoughtful path allowing for introspection I had in my mind was instead a short circle around the monoliths. By the time I had investigated all there was to investigate, I was ready to leave. A quick one-hour wait in the queue for the cable car, and I was back in Tung Chung. 

To be blunt, Ngong Ping and the Big Buddha are tourist traps. There is very little to be gained in terms of education or cultural exposure. A place to visit once and never again, unless you are the single man I saw with a yearly pass for the cable car. I'm happy for him, but there are better places to spend a day out in Hong Kong.