Yongphu Tschechu (and the Hottest Chilli Chop)

The way to the Yongphu temple has been traveled by Scott and I at least ten times. It has become all too familiar – that is, when I’m following Scott. As most people who know me are aware of, I am directionally challenged. I’m a brilliant follower but when left to my own sense of direction, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Fortunately for me, directions were not needed. There is a path to the Yongphu temple. All I needed to know was where the path started, which I did, and the rest was as simple as following it. The trail to Yongphu has been carved in the ground over and over by hundreds of human feet, cow hooves, and dog paws. After roughly 30 minutes of following the dirt path up and up and up, I arrived at the Yongphu Lakhang.

The first days of tshechus are always less crowded. That’s what everyone says and it was true at the Yongphula Tshechu. Today was no exception. When the mask dances started up again after the lunch break, I was one of around 25 to 40 spectators. For most Bhutanese, tshechus are a dime a dozen. Even though we were granted holiday from school in order to attend the tshechu, most of my fellow teachers said they didn’t plan to go. They’ve been seeing tshechus for as long as they can remember. Mask dance, schmask dance.

For me, though, it’s magical. Especially on the first day when I don’t have to stretch my neck, stand on tippy-toes, or fight the crowds to see the action. Today, I happily sat on the low, white-painted temple rock wall and watched as brilliant colors danced before me. I’m memorized by the twirling, by the way the fabric, all the many layers of it, is bunched up in just the right way and cinched at the monk’s waist by a woven belt and floats up at the slightest turn.

By the heavy wooden masks worn by the dancers that are strapped on so tightly I often wonder how they breathe.


By the way they dance circularly in a circle, turning and jumping and turning.

That means there’s no one to follow if they happen to miss a step. And they do miss steps. The mask dancers aren’t perfect. I even saw two lose their balance so much they had to put a hand on the ground to catch themselves. And that is what they’re dancing on – ground. With bare feet, they dance on the uneven rock surface of the temple ground. Each dance lasts anywhere between 30 minutes to 90 minutes, these slow methodical steps that intermittently crescendo into my favorite turns and twirls and circular jumps. To the left of me was the music stage, an open air booth where the drummers, cymbalists, and horn blowers sat. Sometime during the first or second mask dance of the afternoon, long horns poked out below the roof of the temple, non-dancing monks stuck their heads out and watched from individual windows. When a dance was over, the dancers exited one by one through the front entrance of the temple, the curtain pulled aside, and someone inside grabbing the dancers as they passed the threshold as if they needed that extra push just to get off stage.

During one of the dances this afternoon, the monks came out in long, full silk robes, each a different color and pattern. Equally impressive head dresses trailed behind the masks but, with momentum, would end up covering them. There was some sort of frame under the robe that broadened the hips and added extra space from which the bottom material could twirl from.

With the sun shining during this monsoon season day, I eventually got too hot sitting on the stone wall and moved to a covered sitting area. One of my students came over and offered me a chili chop, a deep fried green chili. My experience with chili chops in the past has led me to believe that they tend to not be that hot. So I made the brutal mistake of chomping the whole thing down, seeds and all, and found out that I had just been given the hottest chili chop that’s ever been made in Bhutan. I was in the middle of having a chili attack – when I can’t seem to dampen the fire that is inside my mouth and has spread all over my head, out of my pores and eye ducts (I’m getting hot just thinking about it) – when my neighbor, Karma, comes over and sits down next to me. I kept drinking a pepsi I had bought earlier in the afternoon in hopes of the liquid quelling the attack, but it seemed to just enhance it. The only thing I could do was to wait for it to subside. And it did eventually. As I tried to talk pleasantly with my neighbor, the sweating stopped, the crying stopped, the chili attack stopped.

For the remainder of the afternoon performance, Karma and I sat in the shade and watched a dance about a hunter who, with his two hunting dogs, kills a deer.

The MCs of the event have many responsibilities. They entertain the crowd when the dancers are taking a break. They sometimes tell lewd jokes. They wear costumes that feature a phallus stitched on the back.

They help the dancers when they run into trouble with their own costumes.

Animal masks.

The sparse crowd. This summer tshechu in Yongphu tends to not attract big crowds as most of the locals are in their fields farming. In fact, I heard the Yongphu temple holds this tshechu to bring luck to the farmers.

More dancing.


For many, shopping is the best part of a tshechu.

For others, it's the gambling.

At the end of the day's entertainment, all the very important guests, including the Rinpoche who's wearing the red and white scarf, exit their viewing box.