To stand in front of this gorgeous dome and contemplate the tedious untying of shoes. Then contemplate some more. Imagine the precariously intricate floral patterns on pristine white pillars. Be lured by thoughts of lovely pictures. And then decide that a small effort must be taken.
To then remove the camera from the backpack, before depositing it safely at an inconspicuous, orange flower shop.
To then go back to the bag. Remove a scarf and cover your head, having been looked at suggestively.
Move on to get security check-ed.
To be informed that cameras are not allowed.
To contemplate, again.
Shoes are already removed. Grandma said to never return halfway back from a temple. Fine. Enter, with bare feet, covered head and a plate of flowers.
To not know what to do with the flowers. “Just keep it there? With the plate?”
Just follow all the others.
To not know how to pray.
Just follow all the others, again.
“Fine. That was good. Now? Out?”
To look around. “Nooo! Am I lost?”
Just follow all the others, yet again.
To reach a prayer hall.
To look around.
For signs this time.
To carefully maneuver way out.
Sigh.
"To be a tourist at a holy place."
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