The sacred Sak Yant tattoo follows a very specific ritual. First of all, you meet the monk and make an offering, which includes flowers, candles, incense and, strangely enough, a pack of cigarettes. Then you’re not the one who decides which tattoo you’ll receive: he does. After observing and studying you, he understands what you need. Every design has a precise meaning. Protection from negative energies, strength, justice, and luck. The monk chooses the right one for you and, most importantly, he chooses where to place it.

After crossing the Tha Chin River, the taxi stops in front of the temple. At this hour in the morning, there isn’t a soul in sight, just me and the driver.

During the one-hour ride, I managed to stay calm, but now the anxiety starts to kick in. And a lot. Why? I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to go through with it. I don’t know what I’ll get tattooed. Or where. The only certainty is that whatever it is, I’ll carry it on my body forever. I know, crazy. I tell the taxi driver to wait for me, even though it might take a while.

The temple courtyard is huge and filled with colourful statues that look pretty kitsch: demons, tigers, strange animals and other grotesque figures, some with paint faded by the sun and peeling off. Some of these statues make my mood even worse. For the offering, I already have the cigarettes and the incense, but I’m missing the candles. And the flowers! So I step outside the courtyard, find some on the side of the road and grab them, hoping they’ll be fine. On my way back, I notice a few dogs in the courtyard. They look strange, with parts of their bodies vaguely deformed, like they just came out of Chernobyl. They’re honestly terrifying.

I try to keep my distance until I run into someone else in the courtyard, a guy with Asian features about my age. I approach him, hoping he speaks English. He’s Malaysian, and I find out he’s here for the exact same reason. And just like me, he’s very nervous. But now that we’ve met, we decide to go through this experience together. That makes me feel much calmer: the craziness feels a little less crazy.

Once inside the main building, we try to explain to the only person there, a monk, why we’ve come. We understand we have to wait. Meanwhile, a sweet, sharp smell hits me. Maybe incense, but mixed with something I can’t quite place. While we’re waiting, I notice a large glass case in front of me. Inside, a figure wrapped in a sanghati, the typical orange robe of monks. At first glance, it looks like a statue, but when I look closer I realize it’s not at all. It’s a mummified person: Luang Phor Pern, a monk who died about twenty years ago after a long monastic life. Before dying, he asked for his body to be displayed to remind people of the transience of human life. I had never seen a mummy before. It’s easy to understand how this discovery adds to an atmosphere that’s already pretty unsettling.

After the wait, the monk comes back and gestures for us to follow him. I take the chance to grab a couple of candles from a small table, the last offering I was missing. Maybe I’m not supposed to, but there are hundreds scattered around the temple. We walk through a long, poorly lit corridor when suddenly barking breaks the silence. Within seconds, we find ourselves surrounded by about ten dogs.