Buddhas, Chortens, and Hitchhiking

Scott’s whirlwind welcome to Bhutan started with a visit to the weekend market to view handicrafts, used clothes, and an extensive array of produce and other Bhutanese essentials, like incense, cubes of dried yak cheese, and dried chilies. Immediately after, he plunged into the shopping spree that I’ve been on since arriving in Thimpu and we walked back to the hotel with a rice cooker, some ugly yet practical drinking mugs, and an assortment of large plastic containers that will help with washing clothes and storing water.

With a few hours left of daylight, we headed out of the city toward Buddha Point, where one of the largest – if not the largest; it’s hard to keep track – outdoor sitting Bhuddhas resides. It was an adventure getting there walking through people’s properties, around barbed wire fences, and scrambling a few steep parts up, but it was, of course, worth it.

I had been watching the big Buddha from the window of the room I shared with Sue everyday since we arrived in Thimpu, and it felt right to be face-to-face with him with Scott beside me. From where we stood looking out, we had a bird’s eye view of Bhutan’s largest (and very much still growing) city.


On Sunday, we joined seven other BCF teachers and two local teenagers for a hike outside the city. Our starting point was about a 30-minute drive east out of the city to Dochu La, a mountain pass at over 10,000 feet. This is the site of 108 chortens – structures which contain Buddhist relics and is used as a place of worship – and a new temple. From there we planned on hiking for about 3-4 hours. But our plans changed. The eleven of us had piled into two taxis and were almost to our destination when the taxis slowed down for an unexpected (well, to us it was unexpected) road checkpoint. As obvious foreigners in Bhutan, you are either a tourist with a tour company, in which case the company would arrange all the route permits, or you have a work permit which proves that you live and work in Bhutan. As new teachers without official paperwork, we had neither. And the checkpoint people did not want us to proceed onto Dochu La. Two of the older guys from our group took the initiative to talk to the checkpoint people themselves and managed to negotiate a deal – while we would not be allowed to just be dropped off and hike, we could drive to Dochu La, check out the sites, and be back at the checkpoint within an hour and a half. We accepted the deal.

Inside the temple was a feast for the eyes – painted murals depicting Bhutan’s history from the first king to a portrait of the current royal family to a group of monks huddled around a laptop; intricately carved and painted wooden pillars; crystal chandeliers; colorful silk wall hangings; elephant tusks; stones embedded into the wooden floor; large statues of three Buddhist figures, including one of Buddha himself.

Supposedly on a clear day, Dochu La allows for a panoramic view of Bhutan’s Himalayan range. We were not so lucky on the weather.

A close up of a chorten.

After visiting Dochu La and returning to the checkpoint by 1:00 pm, we had the taxis drop us off at the nearby village of Hongtsho. From there we hiked about two hours up to Trashigang Goemba, which was built in 1786. We were welcomed to the monastery by a barking dog and young monk who invited us to tour the old goemba.

After taking off our shoes, we were allowed to tour all the rooms which were so cold we could see our breath inside. After climbing a steep set of stairs we happened upon a small group of monks who were all sitting together, barefoot, watching Bhutan Star. Some of the younger monks were both watching the TV and building yak butter statues. While the goemba itself was remarkable and intriguing, I mainly just wanted to get back outside in the warm sun.

When we hiked back down to Hongtsho, the eleven of us managed to hitchhike back to Thimpu in four different vehicles that all stopped within minutes of each other. Scott’s first weekend in Thimpu ended with a BCF group dinner at Bhutan Kitchen where we sipped bowls of ara, a local spirit also known as “Bhutanese moonshine.”

Arrival

Mina, the driver for BCF, picked me up around 8:30 this morning and we made the windy hour-long drive to Paro. As he told me stories of his life – becoming a monk at age 14, then quitting the monk-hood 15 years later to get married, only to have his wife leave him and their three young children for the shiny prospects of America – I tried hard not to let the nausea overcome me. Sitting in the front seat made me acutely aware of every curve but I focused on Mina’s words and the destination ahead – the airport.

When we got to there, Mina got us two ‘Guest’ passes in order for us to wait inside. Scott’s flight was half an hour late and it was nice to be inside; the day’s sun had yet to warm everything up. Mina and I drank tea and talked more. When asked what he would normally be doing on a Saturday if he weren’t working, Mina replied, “I go to the market with my family to buy vegetables and I wash my clothes.” Simple. Mina has since remarried and had a fourth child with his second wife. Despite everything he’s been through, Mina says he was never sad, that there was never any reason to be – his first wife had wanted to go and that was that. His only concern had been for the kids, especially their youngest who was only one at the time. It’s hard for me to imagine, in a situation like that, not being angry, sad, hurt. But then again, I’ve never been a monk.

Instead of the scheduled 9:30 am time, the Druk Air flight from Bangkok touched down in Paro a few minutes after ten. Mina and I stood by the large glass window watching the plane taxi and finally stop, the staircase being driven over, a Druk Air employee walking up to the plane making sure everything was okay and laying down a welcome mat. Finally, the doors opened and I watched expectedly as each passenger stepped out. I thought Scott would exit sooner but he must have needed time getting everything together because the majority of the passengers had come out before he emerged – out of the plane and into the sunlight of Bhutan.

DOs and DON'Ts

(This list will undoubtedly get bigger and bigger the longer I’m here)

DO stand up when an important person/official is entering a room.

When tea is offered by an important person/official, DON’T immediately start drinking it. DO wait until the honored person takes a sip first and then everyone can drink together.

DON’T drink out of plastic containers, i.e. a Nalgene bottle, in front of important people/officials.

Just because all your students’ second name is Dorji, DON’T assume they are all related. Most babies in Bhutan are named by lamas, not by the babies’ parents.

DO observe first. Then ask questions if you’re still confused.

When someone offers you something – even if you want it – DO try to decline two times before finally accepting. In the same token, when offering something to someone else, DON’T accept when s/he says, “no.” DO keep persisting in your offering. If they continue to decline after three offerings, DO finally give up.

When accepting something from someone older than you, DO take the object (or piece of paper or gift) with both hands. When giving a gift, DO give it with intention.

When shaking the hand of someone older than you or a dignitary like a minister, DO shake their one hand with your two hands and DO bow your head a little bit casting your eyes downward.

And, according to a female senator of Thimpu, DO "Loosen up on the idea of independence," meaning if a student offers to carry your bag for you, DO accept their help. DO extend help and DO accept help.

Good News

Scott's application has been approved by the Royal Civil Servents Commission and the Foreign Ministry, so the one last step is through immigration. Scott should be on the Saturday morning flight from Bangkok to Paro, where there will be a car waiting to bring him to Thimpu. Hurrah! I guess I shouldn't get too excited; I never know what small detail could change all of this. I'll keep my fingers crossed...

Hmmm...

... I wonder why people keep mistaking me for Bhutanese.

Culture

“Without our culture, we are extinct. The western culture is very forceful and the youth of Bhutan are hypnotized.”
~ Lyonpo Minjur, Minister of Home and Culture for Bhutan

Today was one of those days where I loved life. It was the first day of a two-week orientation, the welcome for my upcoming year here in Bhutan.

In the morning we met Chodem and Chimmi who work in the Human Resources Division. They’ve been in charge of placing the Bhutan Canada Foundation (BCF) teachers, making sure that we’re going where there is a need. Their division is in charge of the over 700 teachers that are in Bhutan, both local and from abroad. Chimmi ended up giving a talk on the makeup of the Ministry of Education and its endless departments and divisions, which include a Non-Formal Education and Continuing Education Division, a Games and Sports Division, and a School Curriculum Division. While it may sound boring, it was actually quite interesting and useful to see the framework of how education in Bhutan is handled, and where exactly I, as teacher, fit in it.

I ended up sitting next to Chimmi at lunch after the morning session, and he started a conversation by telling me his sister lives in New York and married an American, so she is Bhutanese-American. We talked freely for the whole meal, and he said he would take Scott (when he arrives) and I out to dinner later this week or early next week. Resisting the urge to generalize, I must say that I love Bhutanese. The ones I’ve met and talked to at great length are always so warm and friendly, as if we’ve been friends for a while.

In the afternoon, we were invited to do a “call-in” with Bhutan’s Minister of Home and Culture. Each district of Bhutan has a dzong, which is a building that houses both the offices of district officials and the monks. Our “call-in” was in the Thimpu Dzong. Just entering a dzong carries rules and formalities. We weren’t allowed to wear a casual jacket, like a fleece, no hats, no jeans. If you’re in National Dress, you must wear a sash or scarf – a red rachu if you’re a lay woman, a white kabney if you’re a lay man – so as you walk up to enter the dzong, you see everyone swathing themselves with the appropriate scarf and sash. Meena says she keeps one red sash at home and one at the office as she never knows when she’ll have to enter an official building. She said she used to carry one in her handbag but that got too bulky. As new volunteers, most of us were wearing western clothes. Before entering the Dzong we had to walk through a metal detector.

Inside the courtyard of the Thimpu Dzong.

We were invited into an ornate room – intricate paintings lined the top edges of the walls, carved furniture and bright colors elegantly everywhere – with two rows of small cushioned benches facing each other. At the head of the room sat the Minister of Home and Culture wearing a folded orange scarf – the folds themselves carrying a weight of importance – and a sword. On either side of him were imposing swaths of orange and yellow – two large, silk versions of the Bhutanese flag.

Lyonpo Minjur was elegant and kind, as I’ve found all Bhutanese to be so far. Before being elected to Minister, Minjur was a teacher and also served as the director of Sherubste College, where Scott will be lecturing, so he has a soft spot for teachers. Being the Minister of Home and Culture, he talked about the importance of Bhutanese culture, which, while there is a whole book (literally) of the code of conduct, is most evident in Bhutan’s National Dress and architecture. He talked of the need for us teachers to learn and try as hard as we can to follow the cultural norms, since we will be role models for our students, and children, after all, are the future of Bhutan. He thanked us for coming to Bhutan to serve as teachers, which is so odd to me – to be thanked for being here. He said that as soon as we reached our placement towns and villages, we’d be embraced by the communities. Somehow I believe him.

Lyonpo Minjur with BCF teachers.

His director of cultural affairs, whose official name and title escapes me (Bhutanese are very into their titles), explained how it’s their culture that ensures their sovereignty, their “different-ness”, is what distinguishes them from two neighboring superpowers China and India. They must retain their uniqueness to ensure not being swallowed up.

The only hitch to the day is the fact that it’s a business day and there’s still been no progress on Scott’s visa. As of right now, it’s up to the Royal Civil Service Commission (RSCS) to approve his application with the university. Once that it done, it’s just a matter of one to two days for the visa clearance. Then, and only then, can Scott enter the country without paying the high tourist tax. Needless to say, this process is frustrating. The people with BCF can only do so much and, from what I can see, they are doing the best they can trying to move the process along as quick as possible. But it’s not all frustration, of course. After all, I’m in Bhutan and Scott is exploring Thailand – things could be a lot worse.

From Paro to Thimpu

After a morning of sightseeing in Paro...

The ruins of Drukgyel Dzong, originally build in 1649

The Paro Dzong from the outside

Inside the courtyard of the dzong.

... our group of 16 teachers set off for Thimpu (pronounced Timpu; the 'h' is silent). Our bags were piled and tied to the back of a hilux and the teachers went in the minibus. We drove for about an hour on a windy, spectacularly stunning road which followed the Paro River to where it meets the Thimpu River, at which point we turned left at the intersection. The road itself has just in the past couple of years been widened. Prior to this road construction, our one-hour trip could've taken up to seven or eight hours.

After settling into our room in the Hotel Dragon Roots, Sue and I ventured out in search of a plug adaptor. We had no luck but continued to walk, soaking in the first sights and sounds of early evening in Thimpu. We passed many Bhuddist craft stores, young Bhutanese men with gelled hair, small restaurants, fabric stores. Sue commented on the crowds, the litter. For me, everything felt perfect, manageable, unexplored.

Thimpu at night.

The intersection where Bhutan's first traffic light was installed before public outcry caused it to be taken down. Thimpu remains the only capital of a country without a traffic light.

Tomorrow is the first day of orientation. The first day of two weeks before some other teachers, Scott, and I head east to our various posts. It'll take us four days and three nights to get from Thimpu to Kanglung.

It's my third night in Bhutan. It feels like a lot longer.

Taktshang (Tiger's Nest)

On our first full day in Bhutan, the other teachers and I attempted the hike to Taktshang, Bhutan's most famous and holiest monestary which is located on the side of a sheer cliff. After a challenging hike, followed by what seemed like thousands of steps descending only to ascend again, I'm proud to say that I was one of only two from our group of eight who made it to the monestary.

After Jean Daniel and I finished the downhill portion of the steps, we were just starting our climb up when we heard yelling from across the chasm at the Bird's Eye View, an amazing vantage point for Taktshange located before the steep up and down steps. It was our guide Rinzin and Charlie. Rinzin was waving a piece of paper. Apparently to enter the monestary as a tourist, you must go with a guide and produce proof of a visa - something I was not aware of at the time. I decided to press onward and Jean Daniel followed me. My thinking was that when we got to the entrance, we could explain our situation; if we were allowed in then great, but if we were not then we'd peacefully head back the way we came. Luckily, we were granted permission to enter, so all the steps we climbed were not in vain.

We had the monestary almost to ourselves. Our only company were three monks who had raced ahead of us earlier on in the hike and a young man from India with his guide. On our way back from the monestary, we passed many small groups of pilgrams, Bhutanese, and one group of tourists.

Tashi Delek

It was a cloudy landing in Paro, not a perfect blue sky day, but still beautiful in every way. As I got off the plane, I was awed by the airport’s architecture and felt compelled to take many photos to capture my arrival. As we entered the terminal, the Bhutan Canada Foundation teachers got shuffled into the ‘Diplomats’ line – I guess we are working for the government. As soon as I went through immigration, Karma was waiting. All the men in the airport were wearing National Dress – a gho which falls beneath the knee. Below the hem of the gho, the men wear knee high socks and black dress shoes. Karma has a warm face, handsome and distinguished. Then I spotted Meena, our Bhutan-based email contact for the past few months. Immediately we discussed Scott’s situation. Meena and Karma said his visa clearance will hopefully come through early next week and that he should be in the country Wednesday or Thursday. Let’s cross our fingers. Apparently, the fact that it was a holiday on Thursday (due to snow) and today (due to the mayoral election) didn’t help matters. I’m hoping they are right.

Seven other teachers and I piled into a minivan and left the airport and drove on a windy road with breathtaking scenery on both sides. For all of us, it was our first time in the land of thunder dragon…

The Druk Air plane that brought me to Bhutan.

The Paro International Airport in Bhutan.

Right now I am the same age as his Majesty Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuk, the fifth King of Bhutan. We are both monkeys according to the Chinese Calendar, born 1980. But on February 21, the King will turn 31, passing me in age and, I’m sure, in many other things as well. This sign welcomed us at the airport.

Downtown Paro.

My first Bhutanese meal, at Dagmar Restaurant.

A Blink

Somehow two days have passed by from when we were with Britta in Denver and she was dropping us off at the airport. And now I’m sitting on a pink chair at gate D8A at the Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok, the departure gate for Paro, Bhutan. I’ve met a few other teachers with the Bhutan Canada Foundation – Julia, Chalie, Jean Daniel. Old and young. From when we left Denver and flew to Seattle to Tokyo and to Bangkok, I haven’t slept for more than an hour at a time. My mind is jittery, disjointed, fragmented.

Sometime before we landed in Bangkok, I had this regretful feeling. Maybe regretful isn’t the right word – maybe it was just a feeling of longing. It occurred to me an hour or so before landing in Southeast Asia that I had left America and wouldn’t be back there for a while. Usually this doesn’t bother me because usually I don’t even think about it, but this morning or last night or whenever it was, I cared. So yes, a feeling of longing, a sigh. Scott and I touched down in the states for a month, a mere 30 days and in a blink it was over. Of course, it never feels like a blink during it. But 30 days in two years isn’t a long time.

Because Scott does not yet have visa clearance to get into Bhutan, Scott and I left each other reluctantly – the first goodbye we’re had to do for a long, long time. This was after staying up all night at the Bangkok Airport. We killed the time by wandering around the airport, eating noodle soup, and playing cribbage. I’m grateful he stayed with me but obviously I’m sad he couldn’t come along, that we couldn’t begin our Bhutan adventure together.

One Last Tanzanian Thought

It’s Saturday night here in Wyoming which means it’s Sunday morning in Tanzania – one last day before the first day of school at Orkeeswa. Tomorrow morning here will be Sunday night there and Sunday night here will be the first morning of the first day of school for a new form three, form two, and form one. I recall roughly this time last year – days before the first day of school, when Scott and I stood next to Peter as he announced our arrival to the group of students. I recall Isaack’s face and applause, although at the time I had no clue his name was Isaack. And then when Peter announced the return of Thomas, everyone, including Issack, broke out into greater cheer. That was just the beginning. The MIT group was there. Scott and I had zero clue what the rest of the year would bring, what we would bring. Neither did anyone else. Peter, the students, Scott and I – we were all betting on each other and somehow, some way, it worked out.

And now we’re here, days away from beginning another bet, another roll of die.

Being with the students at Orkeeswa and opening up their lives to new experiences made things more real, more weighty, more true. As if, if they could see it – a plane land, a movie in a theater, a national park – then we’d be allowed to. Their lives made ours more substantial. And I know that now – one year later, a world away.

How on earth did we get so lucky as to have met them? How, for instance, did my life get to cross with Hosea’s? How was I so fortunate to have had a window into his life, his world – to know that when his parents died, one after the other, that he truly thought that he was next. That now – alive – he feels lonely without them. The students’ words collided with mine, as I retold what I had read. How Edward would run and hide and sleep in the woods for a whole night in order to avoid getting beat by his father. And despite all of that, I was able to witness them laughing and playing and loving and living.

I’m learning what happiness is. And I don’t necessarily believe in 96% – the percent of people in Bhutan who say they are happy; I don’t know if I’ll ever find happier students than the ones at Orkeeswa, happier people.

We don’t like to admit it, but Scott and I did betray a trust by leaving them, by abandoning, by seeking our own happiness. No matter what, Scott and I live up to our American-ness – we are selfish at heart.

At Michael’s house the week after school ended, Mbayana was in disbelief when Jane and I were trying to explain how we gain so much from the students, way more than we give. That we learn from them. He didn’t believe, understand. It’s because Mbayana doesn’t know true selfishness to the levels of the western world, or the western version of emptiness. He’ll never understand that it was us who needed to be fulfilled, who sought something greater, that by teaching and volunteering, it was us who were taking. I will always remember Mbayana’s face of disbelief, the innocence, like we were telling him a sweet lie.

I like to believe I left something behind, that my time there mattered. That I left seeds of confidence which I, at their age, never grew into. That, in them, a very small piece, sees me.