Bring on the Buddha

Christ the king, Swiebodzin, Poland

This week's Camino a Ítaca reflects on giant Buddha's and takes us to a frozen, muddy field in western Poland to see a Marvel-inspired Jesus. Read the original Spanish piece here or the English below. Tambien se puede ver el original en castellano abajo en PDF.

I first caught a glimpse of it beyond the dormant fields and stands of naked poplar trees as the train sped towards its birthplace in neighbouring Germany. It was a speck of rare whiteness that contrasted with the perennial grey that blots out the sun during the long northern European winters. The barrenness of the landscape seemed indecent, almost obscene without a white blanket, but since the climate began to change, only rarely do the fields get dusted in white.  

An hour earlier we had escaped the acrid, coal-flavoured air of Poznan for the fresher, albeit bitingly cold wind of the small town of Swiebodzin in western Poland. Our goal was to get a closer look at that white speck. The idea was hatched the previous evening over a dinner of Ukrainian pierogis and wine from La Mancha. We were going to take an hour-long train ride out into the Polish countryside and look deeper into the national psyche.

It was a good thing I had spotted that speck from the train because as we stepped off into the cold, there were no indications telling us which way to go and no one to ask on the deserted streets. We crossed over the tracks and headed in the general direction towards what I thought I had seen. After all, if it really was as big as they say, it should be easy enough to spot.

Smaller towns here are mostly made up of detached homes interspersed with Chruszczowka  or soviet-style apartment blocks. Outside the main squares though, finding a bar or cafeteria to ask for directions and a fortifying nip is almost mission impossible.

A break in the trees on the left and across a muddy field, there it was. A 400 tonne statue, perched on a man-made mound and standing in a familiar pose, arms outstretched as if to embrace the Tesco supermarket across the road.

This was no Christ the Redeemer. The Girl from Ipanema definitely didn’t come to mind and the sounds I heard in my head were more like martial Wagnerian marches. Its gargantuan,  chiselled and squarish body, combined wth the slight scowl on its face, didn’t exactly radiate peace. It's look gave off something else, like the hint of a warning. The only identifying mark beyond its stance was the three-metre-high gold lamé crown festooned with crosses. This Christ wasn’t patterned after El Greco, Raphael or even Warner Sallman’s 20^th century kitsch, this is more Marvel comics.

But that’s exactly why we had come. The odds of a St. Paul in Damascus moment for either of the non-believing brothers were slim if not impossible from the start. We were pilgrims of another sort. We had come precisely to see why someone would spend millions of euros to build, what is contentiously, the tallest statue of Christ in the world. A giant elephant with its back turned to the main motorway to Berlin in what amounted to the middle of nowhere.

The only other soul around was a man on the other side of the road selling fireworks in the lead up to New Year’s Eve. So, as we sheltered from the wind eating our sandwiches we had luckily packed, I reflected on the recently announced news that Caceres was soon be home of a giant Buddha. Road to Damascus moments or their equivalent Bodhisattva’s will surely be few but what about hipsters making pilgrimages from Lisbon, Madrid and beyond? One thing’s for sure, they’ll be able to find a bar on their way.