Bangkok

A silent line of yellow-robed Buddhist monks walked across Rat-withi Road, slowing traffic just long enough for Becky and I to jump in a tuk-tuk, Bangkok's ubiquitous three-wheeled taxi scooter, named for its engine sound. We had visited many of the capitol's four-hundred wats, Buddhist temples with the characteristic slender spire rising from a bell-shaped base, and saved the best for last - the Temple of the Emerald Buddha.

Bangkok (Village of the Wild Plum) is exotic and alluring, and our ride to the Temple gave us a great overview as the little tuk-tuk wove through the Taoist shrines and herb shops of Chinatown, and scooted through "Thieves Market" where everything from silk sarongs to fighting fish are hawked in the street. At times we paralleled the banks of the Chao Phraya River, bustling with crowded commuter ferries, plodding rice barges and solitary sampans. At other times we motored through colorful districts where merchants sold jungle-grown orchids, hand-stitched silk clothing, and intricately carved teak.

And even when we had to wait for a street to be cleared of sacks of dried fish from an overturned truck, we used the time to run over to one of Bangkok's roadside noodle stands and picked up some take-out. We were the only non-Asians there. No waiter, we just shouted our order to a smiling, gray-haired lady, barely visible behind bubbling pots with the seductive scents of ginger, coconut, lemongrass, and lime. We hopped back aboard the tuk-tuk with delicious kuay teow (Chinese udon noodle soup) and pat thai, thin rice noodles fried with vegetables, egg, tofu and peanuts. A huge lunch for two for $3. And no tipping; in Thailand borikan dee (thoughtful service) is an expectation.

The Temple of the Emerald Buddha is located on the grounds of the Grand Palace. We paid our driver and proceeded on foot, walking past dozens of stunning royal pavilions, temples and palaces. The Temple itself has a multi-tiered pagoda roof with brightly colored upcurving eaves to foil unsavory spirits. Protective dragons sprout from every cornice, and its golden spire is guarded by images of sword-wielding creatures, inlayed with mother-of-pearl. A group of new monks walked past us holding their metal alms bowls, eyes turned downward.

The Temple's dark interior was suffused with sweet incense, shafts of sunlight, and muted prayers. Slipping off our shoes, we joined the throng seated on the smooth marble floor. Built on a natural power point in the earth, this most sacred site in all Thai Buddhism, was originally the private chapel of the King of Siam. Reassuring images of the Buddah adorned the walls, and in the center of the hall a series of mountainous gold altars ascended to a throne that bore a three foot tall Buddah carved from a single block of iridescent green jade.

Although not a Buddhist, I'd experienced Buddhism in Nepal, Japan and India, and even as an outsider, I could feel it was a blessing to be here. We sat on the smooth floor, eyes closed, surrounded by Thai pilgrims and foreign visitors, each inhaling the grace and spirituality of many centuries. During the time Becky and I spent there we felt a shimmering grace glowing throughout the hall that was soothing and comforting.

Before we departed, the Temple had one more amazing experience for us. I told Becky, "When people come in, watch for one who sits with feet out in front. Then sit right behind the person and count to ten. Before you reach five something amazing will happen."

Becky gave me a quizical look, but scanned newcomers for twenty minutes until a large man with a florid face seated himself with outstretched white-socked feet. Becky zipped over and sat right behind him, starring at his sunburned neck. "One thousand and one, one thousand and two, one thousand and…" Suddenly his body rose noiselessly, wheeled gracefully over Becky's head, and soared out of sight. Before Becky could turn around, he had disappeared. She looked back, eyes wide in amazement.

The man had flown, though not under his own power. When traveling, it's fascinating to observe how tourists' behavior is handled. Many holy places tolerate any stripe of ill-mannered visitor. But not the Monks of the Temple of the Emerald Buddah. Sitting with your feet pointing toward the image of Lord Buddah is an affront and teams of monks stationed around the the Temple look for this as each new visitor has a seat. Their job is to pick up the offender and quickly whisk him out of the Temple before he can take a breath to respond. No discussion, no appeal. The monks are totally silent, and most people, eyes closed in prayer, are completely unaware that a tourist is being noiselessly whisked right over their heads.

Travelers often lament the devaluation of sacred sites. But in Bangkok the spirit is alive. Just take a break from the kick boxing and custom-made silk shirts, and you'll discover a deep spirituality at the Temple of the Emerald Buddah.

John Huddleston reports on travel and foreign affairs, and is Contributing Editor at Deja Vu Publishing. E-mail John at: johnhuddleston@california.com