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Bodhisattva, won’t you take me by the hand

Sunday, July 29, 2012 in Canada, Richmond

The bodhisattva Avalokitesvara trying to teach me patience and compassion. God knows I need it. Photo by David Lansing.

There was another Buddha at Richmond’s International Buddhist Temple that I liked a lot better than the Laughing Buddha: Avalokitesvara.

Actually, Avalokitesvara isn’t a Buddha; he’s a bodhisattva. According to Wikipedia, a bodhisattva is “anyone who, motivated by great compassion, has generated bodhicitta, which is a spontaneous wish to attain Buddahood for the benefit of all sentient beings.”

What they’re trying to say is that a bodhisattva is someone who shows you the way to spiritual enlightenment but doesn’t go through the door themselves. Remember that old Steely Dan song: “Bodhisattva would you take me by the hand/Can you show me/The shine of your Japan/The sparkle of your China/Can you show me/Bodhisattva.”

Probably the most popular bodhisattva is Avalokitesvara, which means something like “the Lord who looks down on the world.” That’s because he’s keeping an eye on everyone. Actually, lots of eyes. He’s said to have 10,000 hands and 10,000 eyes in each hand, the better to see you with, my dear.

A Buddhist website says that in Tibet, he is said to be a reincarnation of the Dalai Lama. That’s interesting. “Avalokitesvara teaches us patience as well as compassion. He has withheld his own Buddahood until he has helped every sentient being on earth achieve nirvana.”

I like that idea. Which is maybe why I spent a lot of time on Saturday hanging out Avalokitesvara.

Evidently August 6 is “Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva Enlightenment Day” here at the temple. Lots of chanting going on. Maybe I should come back. If you wonder what chanting to Avalokitesvara might sound like, check out this YouTube video.

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The Joker Buddha

Saturday, July 28, 2012 in Canada, Richmond

Maitreya, the Laughing Buddha, at the Kuan Yin Buddhist Temple in Richmond. Photo by David Lansing.

Laura and I pass by stands selling fresh berries and corn and other produce and then all of a sudden in the middle of this farmland there’s a Sunni mosque and then a temple for Sikhs followed by a Krishna center, Jewish synagogue, and several churches. We are on the Highway to Heaven, on our way to the Kuan Yin Temple, one of the most authentic Chinese Buddhist temples in North America.

We walk through the temple’s classical gardens where lotus flowers float in a jade-colored pond surrounded by elegant bonsai trees, all meant to recreate Deer Park where the Buddha Sakyamuni delivered the first sermon to his five disciples thousands of years ago.

And there in a courtyard shaded by fragrant cedar trees is my old friend the Laughing Buddha. Except this Laughing Buddha, unlike the one I wrote about on Tuesday that I saw in the Ten Fu tea shop in the Aberdeen Centre, is a little creepy looking. His white face and lipsticked lips make him look like Heath Ledger’s The Joker from the second Batman movie. Which is too bad. Because the Laughing Buddha is supposed to be a good guy. They say that he will be reborn after the degeneration of times and will succeed Gautama Buddha and help people realize their goodness and compassion. But I don’t know. I’m not feeling that way about this particular Joker Buddha.

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Karaoke and Lost in Translation in Richmond

Friday, July 27, 2012 in Canada, Richmond | 2 comments

“So what’s fun to do on Friday nights in Richmond?” I ask Laura. “I mean, other than eating.”

“Karaoke,” she says. “Want to go? It’s huge here.”

She’s right. There are like a dozen karaoke spots, including one a block or so from my hotel, Millennium, which has 13 private rooms and over 40,000 songs.

“If we go, we have to do a Lost in Translation thing,” I tell her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m Bill Murray and you have to wear a pink wig and be Scarlett Johansson.”

“I love that movie!” Laura says. “What do you think he whispered to her at the end?”

“I’ll see you in L.A.”

Laura laughs. “In that case I’d better not be Scarlett Johansson. I don’t think The Tug Boat Captain would approve.”

I nod. “Maybe you could just wear the pink wig. And I won’t whisper in your ear.”

“Hmmmm….” says Laura. “Let me think about that.”

Now I’m not sure if I hope she still wants to go to a karaoke bar or not. I would like to see her in a pink wig.

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Yes, Wu Fung Dessert has no dessert

Thursday, July 26, 2012 in Canada, Richmond

Wu Fung Dessert in the Aberdeen Centre, Richmond BC. Photo by David Lansing.

Here’s what I’ve learned about Mijune: If she suggests you go somewhere to eat, just go. Even if it doesn’t sound like your thing (think chicken feet or frappé).

Today she says, “I have a craving for Wu Fung.”

“What’s Wu Fung?” I ask.

“Deep-fried chicken wings.”

Okay, again: I don’t do chicken wings and I never do deep-fried fast-food. “Chicken wings?” I say. “Seriously?”

Mijune doesn’t even listen to me anymore. Just as well.

But before we bite into our chicken wings, I have a question to ask: What is it with Asian places giving fanciful names to eateries that have nothing to do with what they serve?

For instance: Yesterday Mijune and I were walking around getting all hot and thirsty so we stopped at a place called the Cherry Juice Company. And guess what? They don’t serve cherry juice.

Wu Fung, as you can see from the picture, is actually called Wu Fung Dessert. Would it shock you to discover they don’t sell any desserts (unless you consider soy sauce hard-boiled eggs to be a dessert)?

Somebody please write and tell me why they do this.

Anyway, back to Wu Fung. Once again, Mijune was right. These puppies are meaty and flavorful, the crust crisp but also kind of puffy, sort of like a fish & chips batter, with a slight taste of ginger in it. A little oily (get them out of the Styrofoam container they’re served in as soon as possible) but positively delectable. They reminded me of some Hong Kong street food I had once.

Oh, and get the lemon tea. It’s just as good as the chicken wings and the perfect accompaniment.

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Bliss in the form of a Frappé

Wednesday, July 25, 2012 in Canada, Richmond | 2 comments

Mijune shoots our frappe bliss before we devour it. Photo by David Lansing.

I don’t do dessert. I just don’t. So when Mijune suggested that after we finished our chicken feet at Fisherman’s Terrace we head up to the food court in the Abderdeen Centre for some Taiwanese-style shaved ice, I told her to go on ahead.

“You should try it.”

“First of all, I can’t eat another thing. And secondly, the last thing I want right now is shaved ice. I hate shaved ice.”

“It’s not really shaved ice,” she said, grabbing my arm and dragging me towards the escalator. “It’s frappé.”

Whoopy do.

I haven’t known Mijune long but obviously what Mijune wants, Mijune gets. She was going to drag me kicking and screaming like a two-year-old to the food court.

So the Taiwanese-style shaved ice place is called Frappé Bliss. Mijune says in Taiwan it’s called xue hua bing, which means “snowflake ice.”

“But it’s not really ice,” she says as she barks out instructions to some kid behind the counter for what she wants. “It’s actually frozen milk.”

Like that makes it sound any better.

Anyway, Mijune orders a big bowl of green tea frappe with fresh mango, kiwi, and strawberry and a scoop of ice cream on the top. Then, after we get it, she whips out her cell phone and starts taking photos. While the whole thing melts. Which is just fine with me since I’m not going to have any of it anyway. Finally, she dips a plastic spoon in to the bowl and takes a tiny little bite.

“Oh-my-god,” she murmurs. She looks up at me but I ignore her. She plays with the spoon in her mouth, as if she’s licking off every last drop. “Oh, David,” she moans. People are looking at her. It’s like that scene in the diner in When Harry Met Sally—she’s having an orgasm at the Aberdeen food court.

“Fine,” I say, grabbing a spoon. “I’ll take a bite. Just stop moaning.”

The frappé is ethereal. Remember when you were a kid and the first snow of winter would fall and you’d go outside and lift your head up to the sky and catch a single solitary light-as-air snowflake on your tongue and it would instantaneously melt and make you giggle?

That’s what this dessert tastes like. Silky, fluffy, feathery snow. With flavor.

“Stop eating all the frappé,” I tell Mijune, pushing her plastic spoon out of the way. She smiles. “Should I get another?”

“If you want any you should,” I tell her.

And off she goes to Frappé Bliss. While I close my eyes and spoon into my mouth each delightful bite of the green tea-flavored feathery frozen milk delight.

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