Foguangshan Monastery by Brent Hannon

The 21st Century has seen an explosion in vacation options. Just look at the travel brochures: they offer bungee jumping, trekking, shopping, fishing and a thousand other things, from cooking lessons to gambling to health spas that pummel the flesh and pack it in mud.

But sadly, research shows that the benefits of a modern vacation are fleeting. Those sandy beaches and romantic sunsets become distant memories on the first morning back at work, and evaporate completely by noon. That’s because most holidays are vexing, packed with activities that drain the mind and spirit, to say nothing of the pocketbook.

So the search is on for a truly relaxing holiday, one that will leave a lasting glow in the mind and body, or at the very least will be highly memorable. As it turns out, Taiwan has just the place: Foguangshan Monastery, in rural southern Taiwan. Foguangshan – or Light of Buddha Mountain - is a large, well-kept collection of shrines, universities, dining halls, dormitories, and meditation halls, filled with peaceful gardens and overlooked by a tall golden statue of the Buddha.

Here, one may take an anti-vacation, with a lean vegetarian diet, lots of meditation and chanting, disciplined calligraphy, and 5:40 am wakeups. Upon my arrival, Ven. Bhiksuni Jue Men, explained the eight precepts of the monastery. Until my departure three days later, there’d be no killing, stealing, sexual misconduct, lying, or alcohol consumption. Also, no food in the afternoon, no decorating myself, and no comfortable bed.

So, oozing the excesses of modern life, I check in to Foguangshan for a regimented ritual of early risings, contemplation, meditation, and spartan lodgings. I had some questions going in: do the monks have air conditioning? Will there be enough food? And most important, do Buddhists drink coffee?

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. Minutes after I arrive, Ven. Bhiksuni shows me a room in the Pilgrim Lodge: it is equipped with TV, air con, thick mattresses, and even a mini-bar, with water and crackers. I complain to Ven. Bhiksuni that the bed is too soft, and might be in violation of the eighth precept: no comfortable bed. Her reply is short and pragmatic: “Take out the mattress,” she says.

Coffee too is available, although it’s mostly for visitors: the practical folks at Foguangshan don’t want to be too hard on their guests. But the early morning wakeups are all too real. The monastery awakens at 5:40 am the next morning, to ringing bells and pounding drums. The monks and students, hundreds of them, file slowly into the main shrine, two by two, for morning vows.

The main shrine is a striking Buddhist cathedral, filled with rich detail and set alight by candles and shafts of sunlight that pierce the ceiling. The worshippers sit lotus-style on small pads, chanting mantras in Chinese. Visitors are welcome to participate, but I don’t know the words, so I listen to the chanting, and watch the sun rise.

After the service comes a ritualistic, monastery-style breakfast, eaten in total silence. Before breakfast, I am handed a complex chart that shows the position of plate, rice bowl, soup bowl, fruit, and chopsticks. The dining room is large and plain, with long rows of tables and simple chairs. “Eat fully, with meditation and appreciation,” says Ven. Miao Long, another of my guides. “Wait patiently for the food, and wait patiently until others are finished.”

The idea is to eat for sustenance only, and to stop eating when I am 70 percent full. “Compose your mind,” says Ven. Miao Long. “Take three scoops of rice, chew slowly, and eat for the body only, without desire.” After the sparse meal of tea, rice, vegetables, and gruel, I am indeed only 70 percent full.

After breakfast comes the calligraphy. The idea here is to write the sutras, or lessons, in pen and ink, while at the same time absorbing the written lesson. I am given a felt pad, stone, brush and ink, and a stick of incense. I dip tentatively, and start to write. After about 30 characters, my attention flags. I glance at the teacher, writing patiently away, and try to concentrate. After 30 grueling minutes I finish, and it’s not a bad job, except for a few blotches and some misshapen characters. It won’t hang in the National Palace Museum, but I’m proud of it.

Next up is lunch. The food in the Pilgrim Lodge, while ample, is very plain: bamboo shoots, squash, coarse rice, pineapple with mushroom, and stewed wheat gluten. Ginger and salt are the only flavours, along with a few mild chili peppers. The cooks don’t use onions or garlic, which are said to stimulate the emotions. The general blandness makes it easy to eat small meals.

That afternoon it is time for meditation, which is done in a large, purpose-built hall, dark and somber. Some 70 people sit in the hall, engaged in silent contemplation. It is strange to be in the presence of so many quiet people. These students are on a 49-day meditation retreat, and they meditate for 14 hours each day.

Before I begin, Ven. Hui Chao, the meditation master, gives me some quick advice. The first lesson: “Look deeply inside your mind. Your mind is like a trash can, it takes in lots of garbage. Meditation will clean out the trash can.” And this: “Try to calm yourself. Your mind is like a basin of dirty water, all stirred up. Let it settle, and the water will clear.”

Okay, let’s do it. I assume the lotus position, relax, and concentrate. I look deeply into myself, and there I see . . . sleep. Twice I nod off, and awaken with a jerk. Afterwards, Ven. Hui Chao tells me not to feel bad. It takes a lot of practice, up to 20 years to become a good meditator, and 30 years to achieve enlightenment. But in one year, a beginner can acquire basic knowledge.

Foguangshan offers a variety of meditation retreats, including one-day, weekend, and five-day programs, which are open to the public. Graduates of the short retreats can sign up for the 49-day retreat. The monastery offers many other programs for lay people, including chanting retreats, monastic retreats, and calligraphy retreats, also of varying length. Visitors can also tailor programs to their own needs, experiencing different aspects of monastery life, which is what I have done.

Altogether, Foguangshan receives about 70,000 visitors per month, of all kinds, including pilgrims, participants, and sightseers. Rooms in the Pilgrim Lodge are negotiable in price, depending on the length of stay; the monastery suggests a donation of about US$40 per day, which includes food. The simpler dormitory-style rooms are less expensive.

The spacious monastery has a live-in population of about 3,000, and includes a high school, a male college and a female college, an orphanage, and several hundred monks and nuns. Foguangshan is a wealthy monastery, with a reputation for charity: the sect spends lots of money on emergency relief, and is particularly active after earthquakes and typhoons.

Between meals, calligraphy, meditation, and morning and evening prayers, there is time to stroll the grounds. Foguangshan has a number of sights for visitors, including a pleasant view of the nearby Kaoping river, but the foremost attraction is Pure Land Cave. This is a long tunnel, something like a Disneyland set, that has various moving figures that depict Buddhist lore. Lotus flowers open and close, mannequins dance about, birds sing, and bright lights and halos emit from the heads of Buddhas and Bodhisattvas (disciples). Pure Land Cave opened in 1972, and it has a charming 1970s feel to it.

The monastery also has an art museum, called the Culture Exhibition Hall, which features general Chinese art and calligraphy, nicely displayed. Another hall, the Buddhist Cultural Museum, has a valuable collection of antique Buddha statues. The art is not strictly for entertainment, says Miao Long: it is also supposed to beautify and enrich the mind.

Dinner comes early at Foguangshan: 6:00 pm sharp, every night. The offerings are normally some combination of wheat gluten, tofu, rice and vegetables. Overeating is not a problem at Foguangshan, but free time is. On ordinary vacations, food plays a central role, and many hours are spent in the pleasurable pastimes of eating, drinking and talking. But here, dinner is over in 20 minutes, with not a beer in sight. Drinking is not encouraged, because alcohol clouds the perception. At night the monastery goes dark, and the stars come out. The lack of activity makes for an early night.

And so it goes, my Foguangshan holiday: 5:40 wakeup, morning prayer, and ritualistic breakfast in the dining hall. The morning chants vary. One morning, roughly translated, the chant was: Congee has 10 advantages to benefit a practitioner, the merits are immeasurable, with eternal and ultimate delight.

Eventually my peaceful holiday comes to an end. I’ve learned a lot about Buddhism, and picked up a few hints about its related disciplines. There are precious few places in Asia where a vacationer can write, meditate, chant, eat healthy food and avoid vices, let alone learn the 10 advantages of congee.