There's something about monks...

Tiger Cave Temple, Krabi, Thailand

When I was 10 years old I would run all the way home from school so that I wouldn't miss the first words in the opening credits of my favourite TV show. I can still remember exactly how they sounded - "In the time before Monkey, primal chaos reigned..."

Monkey was a Japanese production, hilariously dubbed by some wry chaps at the BBC, a version of the Chinese story Journey to the West. The tale of the priest the Chinese call Xuan Zang and the Japanese call Tripitaka, who travelled all the way across China into India to retrieve the sutras for his people, is a very famous one. Tripitaka, convincingly played in Monkey by a female Japanese cosmetics model, was my very first hero.

It's not that I imbibed much of the very fine, practical Buddhist wisdom that the show, though comedic, had to offer. I did, however, develop an enduring affection for Buddhist monks.

When my primary school organised their first fancy dress day I announced breathlessly to my mother that I had to go as Tripitaka. My mother considered this for approximately 1.5 seconds before gathering together a house-fly costume, a creation that involved wearing a black leotard and a mask made of kitchen sieves, something she'd come up with for my little sister years earlier. I spent many an hour wistfully gazing at Tripitaka's slipper-booted feet, leggings and little pointy braided hat.

Years later in Tokyo I would follow monks dressed in the same style, though more elaborately, through the streets on my way to work. They would walk slowly, ringing small bells or a triangle. I pretty much melted around the power of cool they exuded. I'm sure they were quite unaware of this particular feature of the Buddhist priesthood.

Now I'm in Thailand and monks are everywhere. It doesn't matter how young they are, whether they are playing with mobile phones with death metal ringtones, or are sucking down Marlboros like they can't wait for their next life, they still have a vibe that somehow commands respect. When I see a monk, I suddenly want to pull my socks up and fly right.

I guess this monk feeling is an extension of my childhood concept of god, the guy who was a bit like Santa Claus. He knew when you didn't wash behind your ears and left rocks in your chocolate box.

The monks here aren't as serious as their snappy-dressing East Asian counterparts. Their simple, beautifully coloured robes, flip-flops and shaved heads put the focus on their frequent smiles and their eyes. In a country where almost all men take the robe and bowl at some stage of their lives, usually for at least 3 months, they can't all be saints. Maybe it's the elimination of individualist features, maybe it's the environment of the temple, but the monks here all appear happy and serene. It's hard not to be conscious of a monk's presence.

We sat opposite a very young monk on the 12 hour bus ride from Krabi to Bangkok. He was like any other boy, though his English was very good, soft-spoken and precise. He was going to visit his father and he talked often on his mobile phone (you rarely see a young monk without one) and watched the slapstick kung-fu movies with the same relative inattention that young people apply to anything that isn't interactive. His face was refreshingly innocent and open. He eagerly chatted to Doug about Australian soccer, something neither of us have the first clue about.

At the Tiger Cave Temple in Krabi province though, the presence of many older monks was almost palpable. It's not just me either, Doug was fretting a little about not brushing past them (which is very rude) and being respectfully dressed etc.

What really surprised me was my first glimpse of Buddhist nuns. Here they wear blinding white robes and the same shaved heads as their male counterparts. Every time a nun caught my eye she would smile beautifically, kindly. I was utterly fascinated. The nuns positively glowed with inner peace.

That's when I realised – it's not something about monks – it's something about robes! ;)