The Temple of Ten Thousand Buddhas by Belinda Jackson

Buddha is everywhere. Literally. Behind me, in front of me, to the side. Everywhere I turn, there’s Buddha in a different position. He looks happy, fey, resolute, or even vacant.

The figures, on a quiet hillside in the New Territories in northern Hong Kong, together with nine temples and pavilions, make up Man Fu Ji, the Monastery of Ten Thousand Buddhas. In fact, there are about 13,500 sculptures of Buddha at the religious complex, which has one of the best views of the heaving city.

The climb up to the temple is a steep 431 steps, lined all the way with gold-leafed Buddhist statues. They watch your panting progress in the tropical heat with bemusement, curiosity or faint boredom. At 1.7m high, they are life-sized and alarmingly life-like in their scrutiny.

The path winds through a jungle Tarzan would be happy to call home – all twisted vines and dense foliage, swishing in the slow breeze. Then comes the rustling, and then you realize there’s more to this jungle than banana trees and vines. There are also eyes, lots of real, gleaming eyes, which quickly become lots of monkeys. Naughty monkeys - very big, naughty and hungry monkeys with very little respect for the sculptures; every now and again they park unceremoniously on the bald pate of a spiritual sage to watch our progress.

A word of warning: don’t carry plastic bags up the pathway. For years, these beasts have been fed by tourists and locals and now the rustle of plastic equates to the chime of a dinner gong. They’ve no qualms about snatching your bags to rip through for anything edible. The signs along the path give valuable lessons in monkey etiquette, namely don’t scare them with loud noises, move slowly, and keep your bags close. Consider it a challenge that takes you closer to Nirvana.

At the top of the stairway sits the main temple, built in 1957. At 320 feet above sea level, the temple houses another three large sculptures of Buddha and a glass container holding the lacquered and gilded remains of the temple’s founder, monk Yuet Kai Fai Sei, who died in 1965. The walls of the main temple are lined with 12,800 golden Buddhas about six inches high, each in a different pose, with the names of generous donors and their wishes written below.

In the courtyard, around a nine-storey pagoda that features on the HK$100 note, sit a series of sculptures of Arhans - those who have attained Nirvana. They stretch unfeasibly long arms six feet into the sky or walk through waves on grotesquely extended legs. They hold more symbols, a lamp or beads, a walking stick or branch. Manjusri, Buddha’s left-hand assistant, sits atop an enormous blue dog, while Samantabhadra, Buddha’s right-hand man, rides high on a great white elephant.

Another short climb, another four temples, and on either side of this path, the sculptures get weirder, and, dare I say it, at times downright creepy. One has a small white cow balanced on his head. Another has arms coming out of his eyes. At the top sits Buddha’s mother, Candi Buddha and the Kwan Tei God, beloved by jockeys and those who don’t mind a flutter on the horses, which makes him a very popular god in racing-mad Hong Kong.

By the time I reach the final Temple of the God of Heaven, I’m beginning to believe that Nirvana is achieved only by excessive sweating, so it’s with relief that I start the downward trek. Skipping down the stairs, the monkeys have disappeared and the sculptures seem more benign. The peace of the Buddhist monastery is left behind and in its place once more is the hyperactive roar and fug of Hong Kong.