Frank and Iris decided on a strategy of visiting the Shaolin Temple during the first week of their stay in China. Getting to the temple was not as straightforward as they had hoped, since they had to fly to Zhengzhou and then take a bus. The road from Zhengzhou to Songshan was under repair, and the driver frequently had to steer sharply to avoid holes, which put Iris under a lot of stress as she suffered from carsickness anyway.
Frank had, in his mind’s eye, a stereotype of Shaolin monk, stern and unyielding. He imagined there would be a dozen of them at the temple gate, each with a stick in his hand, asking him who he was and barring the way. But it wasn’t like that at all. The temple was built in a valley, by the side of stream, with steep mountains on three sides. Even though the weather was warm, a cold wind was blowing down from the mountain, which made Iris’s ears sting. It looked as though a storm was in the offing. A fat, cheerful monk checked their tickets at the door after which they were free to step into the temple, which was smaller than Frank had though it would be.
There are no women living in the temple, and the appearance of Iris wearing a low-cut dress with a thin strap over each shoulder, seemed to cause quite a stir and to stimulate the monks to engage in conversation with them. One monk spoke English, and gave them a guided tour. He explained how the monks had been granted the title of protection monks by statute of the Emperor. There were several small shops, each with a good stock of monk’s clothes and Bruce Lee films, though the thing Frank liked best were the yellow shoes, which he had to stoop to examine. The friendly monk explained that the training of a Shaolin monk was very strenuous. In order to build strength of character, they had to wash their clothes by hand, and stitch them too, if they needed mending. They had to rise before six in the morning, which was a strain sometimes, and they were trained to take a hard blow in the stomach without flinching. “Why don’t you come here and stay for a while?” the monk asked Frank. Frank said that his health wasn’t good enough. “Well, if you let me train you, your health will soon be a lot better,” smiled the monk.
Frank had, in his mind’s eye, a stereotype of Shaolin monk, stern and unyielding. He imagined there would be a dozen of them at the temple gate, each with a stick in his hand, asking him who he was and barring the way. But it wasn’t like that at all. The temple was built in a valley, by the side of stream, with steep mountains on three sides. Even though the weather was warm, a cold wind was blowing down from the mountain, which made Iris’s ears sting. It looked as though a storm was in the offing. A fat, cheerful monk checked their tickets at the door after which they were free to step into the temple, which was smaller than Frank had though it would be.
There are no women living in the temple, and the appearance of Iris wearing a low-cut dress with a thin strap over each shoulder, seemed to cause quite a stir and to stimulate the monks to engage in conversation with them. One monk spoke English, and gave them a guided tour. He explained how the monks had been granted the title of protection monks by statute of the Emperor. There were several small shops, each with a good stock of monk’s clothes and Bruce Lee films, though the thing Frank liked best were the yellow shoes, which he had to stoop to examine. The friendly monk explained that the training of a Shaolin monk was very strenuous. In order to build strength of character, they had to wash their clothes by hand, and stitch them too, if they needed mending. They had to rise before six in the morning, which was a strain sometimes, and they were trained to take a hard blow in the stomach without flinching. “Why don’t you come here and stay for a while?” the monk asked Frank. Frank said that his health wasn’t good enough. “Well, if you let me train you, your health will soon be a lot better,” smiled the monk.