Thailand: A visit to the mollusk monastery

Jason Volker Contributor/Bangkok

Although its architect was simply making efficient use of the natural resources at hand, Thailand's most unusual temple today stands as an eco-friendly edifice.

Apparently it all began with the Reverend Gling, some 25 years ago.

After a particularly persuasive dream in which he was instructed to establish a new temple, this humble Thai monk wandered the rice fields of Pathumthani province, just north of Bangkok, in search of suitable real estate for his undertaking.

Having acquired the perfect patch and erected half his monastery, it struck the Reverend Gling that there was no fresh water nearby. Dam! A dam was definitely called for. Local villagers provided the muscle and soon the meritorious work began. That is, until the shovels started clanking.

Giant fossilized oyster shells!

Eight million years ago, give or take a few days, this very landlocked plot was once ocean-front property. And evidently the conditions were just right for giant oysters, weighing a kilo or more, by the hundreds of thousands.

This, of course, presented a conundrum: What do you do when your backyard is filled with hundreds of thousands of giant fossilized oyster shells?

The Reverend Gling, being a very learned chap, had an idea. He decided to pile the shells in the shape of a pagoda and call his new home Wat Chedi Hoi (Temple of the Shell Pagoda).

I first heard about Reverend Gling and his giant oysters over dinner with Thai friends in Bangkok. They raved over the holy oddness of it all, and the more I listened the more I got to thinking: Just how much aphrodisiacal punch would a one-kilogram oyster pack?

The next day the wife and I found ourselves on an impromptu day-trip to Wat Chedi Hoi, accompanied by the fetching but mildly eccentric Miss Wat, and her lead-footed boyfriend, Dao.

The first clue we had arrived at the Temple of the Shell Pagoda was the 10-meter-tall shell pagoda out front. Such things tend to stand out on the perfectly flat paddy plains of Pathumthani province.

As we turned into the lush monastery grounds and bumped along a dirt road lined with rickety souvenir stalls, my observation skills once again leapt to the fore. I distinctly noticed another towering shell pagoda right in front of us.

"Look! Another one!" I shouted, in a tone often used by noted explorers of old.

"Yes," said Dao, politely. He then added a brief comment in Thai which surely was along the lines of "My, what excellent eyes you have!".

Thailand travelers are often bedazzled by the beauty of its temples. There is the golden Buddha statues in half-lotus posture, the ornate tiled pavilions with the curvy edges, the serenely beaming residents in their bright orange robes, and the general, if breathtakingly humid, air of exotic harmony.

Wat Chedi Hoi has all these ingredients in typical abundance. But it's the atypical attractions that make it such a find.

"Just off for a quick massage and herbal sauna," said Dao.

"I'll get the cucumbers," said Wat.

"Cucumbers?" chorused the wife and I.

"To feed the giant turtles," said Wat.

Giant turtles!

"And well need some bread to feed the giant catfish."

Giant catfish

"But first well pop into the museum and check out the giant clamshells."

Call me Sherlock, but I was beginning to detect a theme. Apparently at Wat Chedi Hoi, size definitely matters.

The wife joined Wat at the clam exhibit, while I wandered off to shoot a few rolls of film. This was, of course, a daft thing to do. I mean, that whole "wandering off" business...

I blissfully filled my viewfinder with families worshiping wizened monks. I snapped pony-tailed goddesses and bald, chuckling Buddhas. And I merrily clicked away at the twin pagodas, those crowd-pleasing mini mountains of mollusks.

The Reverend Gling really outdid himself here. These giant oyster pagodas were the finest giant oyster pagodas I had ever seen. Sure, I wondered how the original one kept from collapsing in a rubbly heap, as for the life of me, I could not spot a drop of cement. But, all in all, I was thoroughly entertained.

Before I knew it, a carefree couple of hours had passed, and I was as thirsty as a giant turtle. It was then I realized I had no money.

My wallet was with my wife, and my wife was nowhere to be seen. For the next 20 minutes I madly dashed about under the sizzling midday sun, as thirsty as a giant catfish.

But wait, didn't Dao say something about a free eatery at this temple?

So there I was, baht-less, disheveled and sheepish-looking, sloshing down tall tumblers of iced water and hoeing into a free bowl of fried rice, seated alongside quizzical Thai pilgrims, bemused local farmers, three giggling masseuses on their lunch break, and, slightly to the back and a little to the left, my wife, Wat and Dao!