Repose for the Urban Weary: Cebu Taoist Temple

Homebodies like me never really get along with adrenaline rush; the kind people chase after whenever they get a holiday. My roommate is a constant wanderer, shelling out every cent from her pocket cheerfully in the name of adventure. Zip-lining, island hopping, diving, biking, you name an exciting trip to the outdoors, she'll want a piece of it. Meanwhile I could not even be bothered checking out the beach resort I've been ogling online.

My train of thought about trips is always the same, "It's too far. It's too expensive. I'll be too tired to enjoy the place." And more often than not I predict my situation quite correctly. It would seem that wanderlust is not for the easily nauseous couch potatoes. But I needed a break, and a quick Google search gave me the idea to literally go up in the mountains to one of the biggest temples in Cebu City. The Cebu Taoist temple was three things that negated my usual getaway predicaments: it's near, it's quiet and best of all, it's free.

 As I packed a small bag for a trip uphill to the Taoist Temple, I expected another arduous journey ala Lord of the Rings. But I could not remain restless at home, either. Sometimes the city gets to you and the limbs feel stiff and the mind foggy. The Taoist Temple promised itself as a place of meditation and peace and peace I was desperate for.

Hailing a cab at JY Square, the taxi driver knew the way like the back of his hand. One way up the mountains is through Sudlon Street; a lot of people go up there everyday for the temples and the highland hotels and resorts miles up. As I sat in the back of the cab, sipping from a juice box for energy, I watched the city and its makeshift houses and garbage entrails disappear to make way for trees and farms. After a while concrete sprouted up again as we neared the aptly called Beverly Hills, with its high metalwork and brick walls enclosing houses of the well to do.

The driver asks whether I'd like to be dropped off at the lower gate or the upper entrance. My legs have been dreading the temple's eighty-one flights of steps, and although I'd like to experience the shrines properly, I saw no harm in simply opting for the couch potato way of entry into the place. The deities there won't mind if I do, would they?

 The taxi stops at a dead end of high limestone walls mottled with lichen that opened up to the left with a red-roofed gate of the Taoist temple. An elderly Chinese couple walks ahead of me; according to the guard, the upper entrance was preferred by the elderly patrons who couldn't handle the eighty one steps anymore.

I enter the temple premises through the red gate that opened up as a stone bridge across the uneven slope, resembling the style of the Great Wall of China. In fact, an acrylic painting of the Great Wall hangs at the entrance. Down the sides of the bridge, side gardens could be seen with ponds, running brooks and even stone pagodas.

The largest dragon of the temple is perched along a sloping greenery, guarding the main prayer hall, just one of the many stone dragons there. Upon closer inspection, all of them have five claws, a sign of royalty or esteem (dragons with lesser claws are for the lower social classes in Chinese tradition). He stared out into the sky with large glass eyes that looked more alarmed than menacing.

The shrines make use of the sloping terrain to its advantage, creating hanging gardens that provide a perfect highland view of the cityscape in the distance. There are different levels to the place, almost never uniform except for their decorations. Small shrines near the gate have golden incense bowls for worshipers, their residing deity surrounded by ornate flowers and decor.

Lines of fiesta banners were tied across the buildings as if in preparation for an event; they fluttered noisily in the heavy winds. Checking the side temples I notice the temple workers hanging up silk banners across the main entrances of the shrines, richly embroidered and intricate in detail complete with colorful tassels.

I was about to approach and ask them if there was a celebration when the sound of gongs rose in the air over the fluttering plastic banners. I crossed the courtyard and climbed up to the main prayer hall where an endless procession of devotees waited their turn at the foot of the enormous altar. The process of prayer could only be guessed by and outsider like me, there were no pamphlets about the place and information boards were all in Chinese. The red-shirted local workers at the shrines were hardly articulate with the details of Taoism and the resident patrons were all too busy to even disturb with inquiries.

The sweet smell of scented incense hung in the air as I stood outside the viewing window looking into the prayer hall. I watch worshipers kneel on low leather stools, offer incense to the giant golden bowl of ash, rattle a bamboo rods written with prayers and throw mango-sized polished stones to the floor after praying.

It was forbidden to take pictures of the deities or their altars and I ended up gawking there, scribbling away details of the rituals when the a guard approached me, thinking I'm a media hazard. I merely asked whether non believers also come to pray when he defensively told me that official interviews were not allowed, although he admitted he didn't know the actual protocol about asking questions. Again the information barrier hits me. It was clear that the only people who knew of the actual purpose and details of the shrine were its sponsors and patrons who were within the prayer hall sorting the offerings of devotees. I decided not to press them or the baffled guard about the big preparations.

The events hall lies directly to the side of the prayer hall, an open area with a souvenir shop and a hot tea station for visitors. Up the last flight of stairs are the koi ponds and the uppermost shrine. A temple worker assisting a visitor on how to properly offer incense to the golden-clad deity within. While the woman prayed I managed to ask him about the god on the altar.  He explained that the deity in gold was the center of the universe, although he did not know the actual name, himself. According to him, many things are lost in translation and the temple workers often cannot pronounce Chinese names properly. Even Google didn't provide an answer, and as I looked up at the statue sitting underneath two dragons locked in an eternal dance, I could only see the resemblance of Shi Huangti, the first emperor of China, who claimed being the center of the universe.

I turned to follow the deity's gaze which led to the sky. It was the highest point of the temple and from there I could see all the dragons poised over the roofs. The open air was clear, the sun blotted out by light clouds, letting me overlook the green of the mountain slopes and the blue grey haze of the metal and concrete city beyond.

I was so transfixed by the tranquility of the upper shrine that I found myself leaning forward to get a better look. I heard the shrine workers too late and...I ended up leaning against the railing with still wet paint. I clearly wasn't paying attention to the sign they had put up.

Embarrassed and feeling rather foolish, I scuttled away and stuffed my stained jacket into my bag. For a while I sat at a marble side table hidden away above the smallest koi pond under the eaves of the green-tiled roofs where the dragons seemed to gather. People came and went, some outsiders that gawked at everything and others seasoned worshipers who knew exactly where to go. When it was time for me to descend I finally meet the eighty one steps. A family rested at the first station, weary from the uphill trek that I so cowardly refused myself.

The steps grew narrower as I climbed down from the temple. The side gardens grew smaller as well. The gongs faded in the distance and I met another red gate. It was ten times smaller than the one I came in, just big enough for two people to walk abreast. The journey of the Taoist temple was supposed to be from the ground up, against the heat and strain, the path opening up to its visitors and have them leave through a gate that was a hundred times more marvelous than the one that met them. I took the easy way and did the journey backwards; from up to down, from grandeur to modesty.

As karma would have it, all taxis were booked and there were no rides back to the city. I ended up walking halfway before getting a ride. Maybe the deities there were keeping an eye on the lazy guests after, all.