Wednesday, April 25, 2012

The comforts of home


When he touched the cloud
it was just mist, not cotton.
He hides his dismay.


I promise this Haiku is not indicative of the whole post. I have been meditating on utopias that we construct and how they are really only that: a construction of the mind. A man who gave me a ride from Kuruthang to Bajo from Noorin’s house so I could get my bus asked me “Why are all these Bhutanese moving to the US? Why do they want to go to your country?” Then, on Monday I got to meet up with my mother’s friend Mary Beth to get a care package (and a hot shower!). Her group of travelers marveled at the many beautiful things they had experienced in Bhutan, but also made mention to some things that did not seem to fit with the ideal of Gross National Happiness.

Many people build the US up as a place where they can be happy and get rich, and people also build Bhutan as a place that is free from social problems due to a governing policy of GNH. Both are unrealistic, and possibly the people who believe these tales know this deep down. Just as we know a cloud is simply condensed water vapor without a fixed form, yet idealize them as fluffy and light as if they were made of cotton candy. Not to dash any hopes, but I have been INSIDE clouds here, and they are literally just thick fog (condensed water vapor). Likewise, when people come to the US as immigrants, often they end up in some of the lowest status and lowest paying jobs. And when a person travels to Bhutan, they see the beauty, hear the ideals, but also experience the reality of its social problems.

Nowhere, as far as I have experienced or heard about, is free of its local flavor of social problems because people are going to create problems in the course of interacting and living. There is no utopia, it is in our mind. This is not a hopeless way to look at things. If utopias are a construction, then we don’t have to go far to find them. We can make them where we are, or at least begin. Moving to Bhutan will not bring someone happiness, or even let them experience others being happy. But in Bhutan I can continue the work of bringing my ideals to life. I can keep aiming for my “utopia” here as well as at home or wherever I end up next. In Bhutan, my ideals have been challenged, but not more so than in US. What has been more challenging is letting go of any notion that simply changing my physical location on the globe would bring me closer to achieving my ideals. As His Holiness the Dalai Lama has said, “Physical comfort cannot not bring mental comfort, but mental comfort can bring physical comfort” (This is not an exact quote, but close. It’s from an interview on NPR’s On Being).

So, on to some physical comforts! I mentioned Noorin and Mary Beth, two lovely people I have gotten the chance to visit with in the past week. Here’s the story:

On Friday night last week, I set off for the Norbu Yangphel hotel in Chazam, owned by my student Tshering’s family so I could catch a ride to Kuruthang the next day. Her family is becoming like my second family. At the hotel, I helped with homework, joked with “the brothers” (cousins, brothers, non-relatives) who work in the kitchen, made pizza with the kids and brothers, had a dance party in the kitchen, watched some hilarious Indian dramas with Tshering, and fell asleep full and smiling in a soft white bed. I got up with the kids and had a fabulous breakfast of fried rice, compliments of the amazing “brother” chefs. While eating, a man came in who Ajim Dema (Tshering’s mother) knows, and she asked if I could ride with him to Bajo (where I could get a taxi to Kuruthang). Wonderful luck! This was at 7am and the bus that passes from here to Bajo shows up around 9:30am...or later. On the road, we saw monkeys, the same way you’d see deer in Minnesota. I was so enthralled that my driving friend stopped his car so I could take pictures. We arrived in Bajo around 10:30, just in time for me to hit the bank and post office (get ready for some letters!). Then I headed to the bus station, reserved a return ticket for the next day, and got a taxi with a few other people to Kuruthang.

Once in Kuruthang, Noorin, my friend who is teaching there through BCF, told me to head to the market since she was still teaching class. (Side note: I got the day off because we had a village Khuru—darts—tournament at school and my 2 classes that day were cancelled) The market was spectacular and overwhelming for me, since we have no market anywhere near Rukubji. Piles of chilies, fresh spring vegetables like ferns, peas, and asparagus, spices, flour, rice, butter, cheese, and FRUIT!  Even though Noorin had pre-shopped for me in the morning, not  knowing when I’d arrive, I filled my backpack with delicious goods. Wanting to take a picture of the scene, I looked for my camera, but did not find it. Disappointed, I figured that I left it in the car with Ajim Dema’s friend. There was nothing I could do about it. I called Madam Dema (teacher at school) to let her know and she said that he’d likely bring it back, though neither she nor Ajim Dema had his phone number. This explains why this post doesn’t have pictures from any of my recent adventures.

After filling my pack to capacity, I found my way to Noorin’s school. She welcomed me with a hug (I haven’t had one in so long!) and a smile. We talked nonstop for the next hour until she had to go oversee a competition. Her school is far larger than mine, with over a thousand students and fifty staff. She also lives on campus, which I do not. Her quarters are simple, but well kept and comfortable. It is hot in Kuruthang, a shock for me. In many ways Noorin’s life is very different from mine in Rukubji, but I was looking for a rural experience when I applied, and she was not. Noorin taught on a reserve in Northern Ontario last year, living in a village in a cold climate, not unlike what I am experiencing. Last year, I taught in a city at  a public middle school of nearly 600 students, not far off from what she’s experiencing (except she's got the added factor of being in Bhutan). It is so good to hear her perspective on my experience since she's had a similar one.

When Noorin returned, we headed out to do some much needed shopping for me. Like at the market, I was overwhelmed by choices, but was able to find everything on my list thanks to Noorin’s knowledge of the shops and calm demeanor. I felt like a country mouse. We joked about how strange it will be for me to come back to the US. Noorin also took me to the Evergreen salon where I got a facial and my hair oiled.  I was amazed that the water was hot and running! And then, to have someone massage my head and face was truly luxurious. At the salon, Sarah, another BCF teacher in Gasa, came to meet us and get her share of TLC. Once we had been pampered, leaving the salon women with effusive thanks and tips, we hunted down some momos (Sarah’s favorite) and continued catching up. It was cathartic to talk with people who are experiencing some of the same things, hear their stories and share my own. We had a lot of laughs.

I also got to skype my family and Joe while at Noorin’s since she has a DSL connection. My heart both soared and broke seeing and hearing simultaneously the faces and voices of the people I love most dearly for the first time in 3 months. As Noorin said, Skype is a double-edged sword. It made me feel close, yet so far away at the same time. With email and letters, the distance is comprehensible. However, when you can see someone and hear them, but cannot reach out to touch them, it becomes incomprehensible. 

In the morning, we feasted on banana pancakes (made by me, the pancake queen), and french press coffee while I loaded up my computer with entertainment. We headed out to finish my shopping (10kg of rice…), after which I caught a ride from a contact of Noorin’s. I made it to Bajo in time for the Phobjika bus, and hopped on with my goods. The bus was packed, but luckily my seat was #1, next to a kind old Ahgey (grandpa) who sang along with the driver’s music the whole way, making me laugh and smile, to his delight. After about 10+ stops along the way to pick people up with their loads, and 4 hours later, I was let off at the junction of the road to Phobjika and the main lateral road. I waited no more than 5 minutes before a family headed to Bumthang stopped and picked me up. They let me off at the jackknife turn to Rukubji  where Madam Dema and Miss Deki helped me lug my rice and vegetables home.

I unloaded in my house feeling rejuvenated in a way I have not felt in a long time despite my fatigue from traveling. I cannot thank Noorin enough for her generosity, her listening ears, and her willingness to let me come and relax at her place. I hope I can make it happen again, and I also hope she and Sarah will take an opportunity to visit the “country mouse” out here in Rukubji.

I thought I’d been pampered beyond belief at Noorin’s when I received a call from my mother’s friend Mary Beth who had come to do a bike tour in Bhutan. My mother had given her a care package to bring me. Mary Beth’s group was staying in Phobjika (valley of the Black Necked Cranes, who are now in Tibet for the summer) that night and she invited me to come pick up my package and stay the night at the hotel. I got approval from the principal and left to hitch a ride right after school. I rode with a kind forest worker and his kitten all the way to my destination. I met Mary Beth and the other women she was traveling with through “Woman Tours”. They had traveled for almost a week, biking through Bhutan. It was a joy to talk with her and the other women. I got to stay for dinner and take a hot shower, which was over the top decadent since I haven’t been under hot running water for 3 months. I also got to unload the wonderful gifts from my family and Joe. I could feel the love poured into each little gift: books, chocolate, the Planet Earth series, letters, natural flea remedies (thanks mom!), a shirt, a Minneapolis pin (which I wear proudly on my toego now), playing cards, earrings… these little things meant so much because of the obvious care that had been taken in selecting and getting them to me.

Mary Beth was more than generous. She also gifted me with little, but much needed things, like socks, snacks, beauty products, and medicine. She and her friend Gaia were quite intrigued by my experiences here, and it was great to share to them (Mary Beth was a French teacher with my mother). One connection I made was with one of their guides, who knows Ajim Dema, and runs a bike shop in Thimphu. He encouraged me to do the September race from Bumthang to Thimphu. I told him I'd consider if I could rent a bike. That would be quite an experience! I ate breakfast with the group and then bid them farewell. They were off for a full day of hiking and biking, and I had to get back to school. Again, feeling full of love and rejuvenated by company and comforts, I rode to the Lawala pass with the truck driver for Mary Beth’s group. From there, a high point where yaks roam and high Himalayan peaks are visible in the distance, I walked down to the junction with the lateral road and waited for a ride. While waiting, I met a French-speaking teacher from ILCS in Trongsa who gave me her contact information and invited me to visit (her car was packed). I caught a car after about 30 minutes with another teacher headed to Trongsa. 

After getting home, I got a call from a monk who is Tshering’s cousin. He had gotten word from Miss Deki that my mother’s first package had arrived in Thimphu and he informed me that he could bring it to me on his way home. Finally! 

Comfort isn’t everything. In fact, I find I have learned to appreciate the simplicity of my life. I do not often consider what I might be “lacking”. When the opportunity arises to get a shower, or even more luxurious, a facial, or eat a piece of chocolate, it is a real treat. It is rare and appreciated all the more.

I feel like my birthday has come early. An enormous thank you to all the hands and hearts that were involved in bringing me so much love and comfort.




Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Rimdro and Easter



The plum tree

Monks with their music

The altar

Me and Miss Deki


These days melt like lamps

and snow that chilled the pines, now

grays yield to green


It is a rainy, rainy spring in Rukubji! I have always wondered what it would be like to touch a cloud, and I’ve come close when I’ve hiked in the West coast of the US. But here, I can see the bellies of the clouds rubbing against the pines on the hills, and I realize: I am in the clouds. I am touching them. They are not solid, or icy, as I have imagined staring out airplane windows, but amorphous and damp. And, like any child knows, they are where the rain comes from. These slow rolling, vaporous beings drip showers throughout the day, punctuated by bright breaks of sun and high-mountain blue, or thunderous drumming. Strange that the first time I heard thunder here, I thought it was a truck or an airplane. But airplanes are very rare (though trucks are not, since I am a 10 min. walk from the main lateral road of Bhutan). Thunder is far louder and closer in the mountains than in the plains of Minnesota with the din of a city.

Spring is also a time of blessings. Our school held its annual Rimdro last Friday. Rimdro, as I pieced together from various explanations, is a sort of blessing ceremony that rids the school of sickness and bad spirits (Bhutanese readers: please correct me if this is wrong, but this is how it has been explained to me). I had attended a ‘Puja’ at Tshering and Kinley’s house a week before, where there were monks praying all day and lots of food and offerings. Rimdro was very similar to this, but on a larger scale.

The day before Rimdro, we all pitched in to get ready. The kids helped set up the altar and helped prepare the school grounds. I got to help make fried cookies that would become an offering on the altar, then given out to eat after they had been blessed (these offerings that are later eaten are called “tso”). Since Easter Sunday was this weekend, it felt a lot like Easter preparations at the Mefleh house, making cookies with Carmen or grandma.

The next day, I was instructed to show up to school at 7 am, wearing something nice. I had been warned about the “wear something nice”, and had bought a hand-woven kira from Dema (her aunt wove it), and a matching tego (jacket) and wanju (blouse) in Bajo. I was shocked at how many compliments I got during the day, yet the only thing I changed in my appearance was the clothing—which I admit was stunning. All credit goes to the handiwork of Dema’s aunt.

When I showed up at Dema and Principal’s house, we got busy making popcorn for “tso”. After, we headed to the outdoor kitchen to eat “tukpa”, which is a spicy and savory rice porridge. During Rimdro, the school provides food for the monks, as well as the teachers, students, and villagers throughout the day. After breakfast, we went and saw the altar, prostrating to the chanting monks, then to the altar, making a small offering.

The rest of the day was filled with busy moments of helping get food prepared, setting more things on the altar, lighting butter lamps, listening to the monks, drinking lots of tea, eating (all 3 meals, and then lots of “tso”), and playing games with the students. I also got to serve the monks lunch with Chimi and Lopen Namgayla, rid myself of sickness using balls of molded flour (but I got sick the next day with a fever), hold a flag during a part of the ceremony, throw grains at a flour statue and yell at it with the rest of the crowd, then watch the statue get taken outside followed by torches.

It was quite an incredible experience that I’d have trouble unraveling and recreating, mostly due to my lack of knowledge as to the purpose of each part of the ceremony (which everyone else seemed to know very well—though I suppose a Bhutanese Buddhist would be just as lost in and Easter service). Chilled from a rainy day spent between an unheated dining hall and an outdoor kitchen, I got home around 6, started my fire, and slept as soon as I could.

Spring is full of celebration everywhere it seems. Though I missed out on Easter, I felt the spirit of renewal during Rimdro, bringing me close to my own traditions despite the distance. On Easter Sunday, I got up singing the Arabic Easter hymns I’ve heard since birth, my own way of welcoming in the blessed and new life of spring.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

A Walk to the Temple (April Fool's!)

The secret swimming hole
Rhododendrons
Nalay in the flags
The cooking class enjoys their creations
Pudding? (Kinley B, Dema, and Nalay)


ripping red petals

they sing, high as birds, skipping—

do, re, mi, it’s spring.


This haiku is what it is like to walk to Chazam with the self-proclaimed “silly women”, my gaggle of 11-12 year old students. It all started with an invitation to join them in their daily trek home (3km), since they found out I love a good walk. From there, a cooking class was planned, and now I walk with them several times a week and we’ve had 2 cooking classes. The regular group is (minus second names) Nalay, sisters Tshering and Kinley Z (who is 9), and their cousin Kinley B. On a recent walk, I taught them “Doe a deer, a female deer…” etc. from The Sound of Music (prompted by a reading about animals and explaining what a “doe” was in Class 5). What resulted was straight from the film: me leading a trail of children along a mountain road while we sang on the tops of our lungs. Now we sing it every time. They are begging for more songs too. Good thing I was a camp counselor for a few summers and have a repertoire of crazy songs to entertain them. Once we reach Chazam, I am always invited into Tshering and Kinley’s parent’s hotel/restaurant/shop and offered tea, and dinner. I always accept the tea, but since it still gets dark before 6:30, I usually decline the meal (though sometimes I risk the dark and accept a glorious Bhutanese meal that I didn’t have to prepare). I leave the hotel for home feeling full in many ways.

This past Saturday, while getting laundry washed before school, students showed up on my doorstep bearing the fixings for our 2nd cooking class. After the Khuru inter-house championship, where my house won, a group of 7 convened at my house to cook up a storm (Khuru is darts, but long range. I can’t believe anyone ever hits the center target, but it happens!). Our project of the day were: pudding (my contribution—American food is hard to make here. There’s no oven and many ingredients are not found.), sag datse, keptan, and ezay (the girls’ contribution of Bhutanese dishes). The tiny kitchen was packed and I learned even more than how to make these dishes. Pemba offered to take my compost to her cows, advising me to keep my eggshells and chili cuttings in a separate container because cows don’t like them. They showed me how to cut a plastic bottle and use it to grow one of my sprouting onions into green onions. And of course, learning to make the Bhutanese food. Keptan is like ‘roti’, it is just flour (maida), baking powder, salt, and water, kneaded and rolled flat (we used a bamboo rod since I lack a rolling pin) and cooked in a pan without oil (or on your bukari if you’ve got a fire going). Sag datse is mustard greens cooked with cheese, onions, and the ubiquitous chilies. Finally, ezay is chilies and onions, chopped with different additions. Ours featured fried egg, but usually it has cheese in it, and sometimes cilantro. The chilies and onions were cooked in our version, but they are not always cooked in other versions. Everything turned out amazing, except the pudding, which didn’t set since we couldn’t cool it enough (we drank it out of cups—the girls loved it anyway). We ate our creations on my floor while they had me DJ music and show them pictures on my computer.

After our fantastic lunch, I got a bag ready to spend the night in Chazam. The day before, the girls had invited me to stay at the hotel overnight and walk to the temple with them in the morning on Sunday. I was excited by the prospect of a long hike to the temple as well as spending time with the “silly women”. I am sure they were quite excited to have me stay overnight as well, like a slumber party. The evening was filled with walking down to Nika Chu bridge, a soccer game, me reading aloud, and scrumptious dinner prepared by one of their brothers (the cook at the hotel). After dinner, the girls showed me my room. I fell exhausted into the soft warm bed (a real bed! I sleep on a camping mat with a sleeping bag) and was sound asleep before 9:30. I woke to soft sunlight and birdsong, and meditated. Kinely B knocked on my door soon after and offered me a cup of tea and an April fool’s joke (“Miss! What’s that on your head?!”). I went upstairs to meet the rest of the girls, who played more April fool’s jokes on me and their family, and we feasted on momos and ema datse (steamed giant dumplings and chilies and cheese). After, they loaded their bags with offerings for the temple and we set off. We picked up Nalay at her aunt’s house on the way up the mountain. From there, Leki (another friend of the girls’) said she knew the way. Trekking straight uphill, we walked into prayer flags and rhododendrons in bloom. After about an hour of hiking, we were deep in the forest/jungle with no sign of a path. The girls did not lose hope, rather cheerily repeated lines from speeches and readings from school: “Miss, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again!” (what amazing attitudes!). As we crawled under hanging branches and through thorns, I began to get worried by the lack of trail, the amount of ticks descending on us, and our eventual lack of water on the first warm, sunny day here. We decided to begin walking downhill, towards home, since they couldn’t find the trail. On our descent, we came across two women gathering fodder for their cows. Kinley and Tshering knew one of the women, who led us to the well-rutted trail that leads up to the temple and down to Chazam and the river. We were all relieved and decided, since we’d been gone nearly 3 hours, that we’d go home and attempt the hike another day. We sat on the trail and the girls ate and drank the offering cakes and soda. We hid the butter and incense in the bushes for the next time (they didn’t want to go home and tell their parents they hadn’t made it). The girls concluded that this walk was our “April fool’s walk to the temple”.

We all went down the mountain, passing the spot where we’d made a wrong turn (all of us exclaiming how silly they were for not noticing the blatant uphill path to the side). Once down, we headed to Tshering’s house where her family was having the yearly Puja (or blessing ceremony) at the farmhouse. We had tea and zow (puffed rice), then lunch. I spoke my little bits of Dzonghka with their great uncle/grandfather who, rather than scold the girls when they asked me to go swimming, told us of a place where the river is a little deeper and better for dipping in (by the Chorten, in case you are wondering). After popping in the house and getting blessed by the group of young monks reciting prayers, we raced to the river and jumped in. The cold water soothed my sunburned, jungle-scratched, tick-bitten skin. The river is not ideal for swimming (it is quite shallow with lots of huge boulders and fast-moving), but grandfather’s spot afforded us a little depth and space to float for a few seconds at a time.

Sufficiently chilled, we dried in the sun, dressed, and walked across the river and down the road to the hotel. I collected my things and thanked the girls and their family for a fantastic weekend and began my walk back to Rukubji. Inhaling the smell and sight of the flowering trees, feeling the sun’s warmth on me and the weariness in my legs and feet, my heart and face smiling, I felt childlike joy and gratitude wash over me. What fun it is to play! (this only confirms that I am not actually 26, but 12 years old….)