20 Hours in Bartsam

Through the clouds of smoke from the forest fire.

After two hours of watching my Singye House students perform social work in the flower garden, I rushed home, packed some stuff in a bag, ate some momos, and Scott and I were headed to lower market to meet up with Scott’s basketball student, Kinga. The three of us were going to Bartsam. It was a warm, sunny day. As we walked down the hill, I loved that feeling of adventure, of escape, of freedom.

Before we even got to lower market, our neighbor Karma, along with four of his six children, pulled over, and asked us where we were going. We said Bartsam. Karma was going to Trashigang, which is on the way to Bartsam, so we hopped in. We picked up Kinga, who Karma knows well, and we were off. Scott sat outside in the bed of Karma’s truck while the rest of us were inside. Karma’s small kids all eventually fell asleep on top of each other, and, being on the edge of carsickness, I wished I could do the same – curl up and let the rumble of the road lull me to sleep.

After passing a long string of forest fires on the other side of the valley, we arrived in Trashigang. We bought some items for Shauna and Julian – fellow BCF teachers who we were visiting in Bartsam – and parked ourselves at an outdoor table. At that point, we knew the fires were causing trouble on the road leading to Bartsam. So we waited. Kinga, who was born and raised in Bartsam, had already arranged a ride for us there with a friend, Kuenzang. We waited at that outdoor table. We waited in Kinga’s aunt’s store. Finally, it was time to go.

Since the feeder road to Bartsam was closed, we had to go the long way – via Rangjung and Bidung. Usually just getting places in this country is the adventure itself, the journey. Scott and I love it. We saw more of the country this way, passing Rangjung and Vicky and Ian – other BCF teachers – who happened to be walking on the road as we drove by, and driving up and up to Bidung to get a brief glimpse into Jean Daniel’s life (yet, another BCF teacher).


On our drive, we saw this group of people having a picnic by the side of the road. One of the men came to the passenger window where Scott was sitting and offered him a drink. We stopped for a few minutes to chat with them.

We – Kinga, Scott, Kuenzang, and I – finally arrived in Bartsam around 6 pm, and we started our 20 hours in Bartsam.

Smoke from the forest fires cast all of Bartsam, including the small town, in a haze. Julian and Shauna met us within two minutes of our arrival and we hugged. Immediately there was a weird divide, a line drawn between Kinga and the rest of us. In hindsight, I realize it must have appeared odd to Kinga that we’d visit Bartsam and have two Canadians who’ve only lived there for two months show us around instead of Kinga, a local Bhutanese born and bred in Bartsam whose family still lives and thrives in Kinga’s original family home. The thing was that more than wanting to tour Bartsam, Scott and I wanted to visit another couple who knows what we’re going through. We wanted to let go of Bhutanese formalities and just relax, talk casually, relate. Alone time with Shauna and Julian had to wait through. Our first stop in Bartsam was Kinga’s family’s house, a 30-minute walk down the mountain to a village called Kumu.

Darkness fell as we followed Kinga’s lead down a rocky path. In front of us we saw sporadic lights glowing from farmhouses. Finally, the light to Kinga’s house was before us. His mother was cooking in a detached kitchen when we arrived. We walked up the staircase and into the main house.

Earlier in Trashigang, Kinga had insisted that we have dinner with his family – “We will laugh, drink ara, and share stories.” He insisted in such a way that we couldn’t say no, a practice that is common in much of Bhutanese culture. We – Scott, Shauna, Julian, and I – were led into a large room which also contained the family’s prayer alter. We sat on mats. Kinga and his brother joined us in the room. Kinga’s mom came in and served us some of her ara, which is apparently known around town as being quite good. Scott, Julian, and Shauna had decided on the ara cooked with butter and egg. After my experience at Rinchen’s house, I opted for the plain ara

Soon, dinner was being served. But instead of a dinner with Kinga’s family, the four of us ate alone while the family served us. Even Kinga didn’t join us. “I ate already,” he said. I replied, “How did you eat already? You’ve been with us the whole time?” Kinga said he had gone into the kitchen and ate. None of his family members were going to eat with us; I don’t think that was ever the plan. His father and mother served us heaping bowls of rice and meat and datse as well as daal and buttermilk. We ate while Kinga and his brother sat and watched us. This was Kinga’s idea of sharing a meal with his family – them serving us. I know it’s part of the Bhutanese way, treating us like honored guests, but it felt awkward. Shauna and Julian said that was what always happens when they are invited to a Bhutanese house for a meal.

After politely stuffing ourselves with too much food, saying “Thank you” a sufficient amount of times, and feeling a bit tipsy from the ara, the four of us walked into the dark night and made it up the steep mountain back to town and to Shauna and Julian’s house. We filled the rest of the evening with similar tales of teaching woes and frustrations, details of weekend adventures, and needed laughs. Even though Scott and I had only known Shauna and Julian for a little more than two weeks during orientation, a friendship seemed to develop in the absence of seeing each other, in the need to have a bond with someone from your culture.

The next day we woke up early, ate breakfast, went on a three-hour hike around Bartsam, ate a small lunch, and were back on the road to Trashigang by 2 pm.

Shauna and Julian's house. Below are views from our walk around Bartsam.



This view would have been a lot better without the lingering haze from the smoke.

A blessing from this temple will keep you safe from snakes.