What they had in common was youth, a simple look about them, an an apparent will to help without asking for anything in return. They were good-hearted Vietnamese, in our opinion, above any suspicion.

Or would you doubt the intentions of a monk inside a Buddhist temple?

The first case: the perverted monk

It was our first visit to a Buddhist temple in Southeast Asia. We were in Can Tho, largest city of the Mekong Delta. And we were given, without any request on our part, a guided visit by a young man who seemed, to our ignorant eyes, an apprentice monk.

What started as sacred, with incense lit for the ancestors and three bows before the shrine, devolved into comical. The so-called monk, who spoke no English, made himself photographic director. He told us to pose with the bell. Under the stairs. With the view to the city. With the view to the street. We got the idea.

the 20th picture he started posing by my side, and the game of permutations resumed: the monk and me before the bell, the monk and me under the stairs…

We obeyed, a little out of respect, a little out of the weirdness of it all and a little out of curiosity as to where this would all culminate. After a certain point Roberto stopped pressing the shutter. He just aimed the camera and smiled. Disobeying a monk, after all, must be wicked bad luck.

What started as scared and devolved into comical soon turned to suspicious. At each shot this Vietnamese Annie Leibowitz found a way to get close to me. His hand migrated from my innocent wait to my hip. Alarmed, I said: “Roberto, the monk just grabbed my butt!”

But the exotic appeal was strong. A part of me wouldn’t believe in what I just felt. It had to be an accident. But the monk, not content with a successful fondle of a Brazilian butt, decided to push his luck.

After exploring my southern zones, he decided to migrate north. You know when you take a picture with someone by slinging your arm over his neck? Well, I think plenty of boys know the technique of leaving the land a little limp if his picture buddy is a lady of sizable bust.

The monk knew this technique. What started as sacred, devolved into comical, and turned suspicious, became startlingly clear. Take note of my expression:

No more pictures. No more joking around. We left in an instant.

The habit does not make the monk. It really, really doesn’t.

P.S. In the photos I’m wearing a tank top, a real faux-pas that I corrected a short while later. In a Buddhist temple, one must cover one’s shoulders and legs. My fail.