He came with fresh eyes,
hands outstretched to kids and cows,
and a ready smile.
The next day in Thimphu, we had an atypical breakfast of
granola, yogurt, and espresso at the Ambient and then headed out to do some
shopping for the return to the village. First stop: a gho for Joe. Even though
I can count on one hand the times I’ve been in Thimphu, I felt a bit like an
expert leading Joe around. Yes, I was his tour guide here and would be for the
rest of the trip. We went to a shop I know of and like simply because the owner
and I chatted for an hour about Rukubji the last time I was there, and he also
pointed to me to the best tailor in Thimphu. While the owner wasn’t in, his
family was, including a precocious little guy who kept throwing a ball over the
counter so that I’d have to go retrieve it only for him to throw it again. In
the end, he offered me and Joe some gummy candies for our efforts. The shops
for gho and kira are quite unlike any other clothing shops. Stacks of
multicolored, multi-patterned cloths bolts line the entire length and width of
every available space in the shop. It can be overwhelming and tricky if you
don’t know where to start and if the shopkeeper doesn’t speak much English
(like in this shop). I asked the shopkeeper, an older woman, in my still
limited Dzongkha, if we could see a few gho that might fit this tall, lanky
westerner. She brought out several patterns and colors and we decided on a
traditional reddish checked pattern. Then, to try it on (and teach me how to
put it on for Joe!). The Ama (older woman) got a white ‘wanju’ (under blouse)
and put it on Joe. Then she wrapped the bathrobe sized gho around him, adjusted
the sleeves so the wanju could be folded as cuffs, and then closed the front of
the gho and made the bottom hems even before wrapping both sides back, pushing
in the pleats, and tying it all together with a ‘gera’, or hand-woven belt. She
stepped back to admire her work, clucking and telling him he looked like a
‘dasho’, or official. High praise! We bought the whole set, including some knee
high grey socks, and thanked the Ama and little guy for all of their help.
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| A typical gho/kira shop in Thimphu |
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| Thimphu from above (January) |
Back out on the bright streets of Thimphu, we headed to
another type of clothing shop to buy a tie for my student Nalay. I had promised
Joe would teach her to tie a tie if she taught him how to wear a gho. We found
the perfect pink and black checked silk tie. A half-day already spent, we
decided to rest so Joe could recover from the 2 days of travel before we got on
a bus in another day. Returning to the Ambient, we saw a few of my friends that
I’d met the last visit to Thimphu and they kindly invited us out that night to
celebrate Emma’s last night in town. Emma had been working with BCF,
interviewing teachers to advise the program about teacher retention. She had
interviewed me earlier in the village and I had really enjoyed our
conversation. She was presently working on her presentation, trying to find a
fitting title. We promised we’d think of some good puns and get them to her by
evening.
“Rukub-gee I hate to leave!” Oh yes, and they got better
from there…
A note about the Ambient: it is on Norzin Lam and is a
trendy hot spot for expats in Bhutan. The owners are supremely kind and have a
hilarious little boy who loves to chat with everyone. Here, I have met more
than a few charming people engaged in fascinating work in Bhutan. They also
make delicious food and have an espresso machine. What more could you ask for?
The hotel directly above is owned by the Ambient, and made a great landing pad
for Joe’s arrival in Bhutan.
My friend Dave, another BCFer, ended up coming from his
southern post for the fun of it and met us, now better rested, at, of course,
the Ambient. I was really happy that Joe got to meet Dave, which I didn’t think
would happen. Dave has been on the other end of the phone to help me
through difficult situations, to laugh with, is wickedly intelligent, and a
great musician. I knew they’d have a lot to talk about. Joe and Dave got geeky
about music over dinner and then we headed for an evening stroll to the National
Memorial Chorten. The Chorten is lit up at night, à la Tour Eiffel. We circled
around three times and then were ushered out by the caretaker monk, as it was
now 9pm. From there, we descended to the Taj Hotel, which is one of the
swankiest hotels I’ve ever set foot in. This was the site of the going away
party. Walking in, we left any trace of Thimphu or Bhutan behind. We could have
been in any city in the world. As we neared the lounge, we heard the belting of
an American song by a great voice. We were greeted by a bank of expats and
Thimphu hipsters and settled onto some couches to drinks and conversation. I
don’t think this is the Bhutan Joe had been expecting, especially considering
my descriptions of village life over the past 6 months. But this is Bhutan too. All of it. The village, Thimphu’s bustle,
the Taj. I recently listened to an interview where Michael McCullough described
how easily we can see the diversity within our own perspective, but have a hard
time seeing the diversity in others. And it is the same with Bhutan. What’s the
“real” Bhutan? All of it. It is as diverse as anywhere and to think otherwise
is a mistake that we’re all prone to make because of the images we’ve seen and
the preconceptions we have.
We had a great time, singing along with the singer and her
deejay, finally getting up to dance all around the lounge to “You’re the One
That I Want” from Grease. We hugged everyone and danced our way out before
midnight. The Ambient had given us a key to the outer gate since we’d be out past
10pm. We walked the surprisingly busy blocks to the hotel, stepping past the
first sleeping homeless person I’d seen in Bhutan in the alley of the hotel. I
was so shocked by this, I thought the man was actually dead. But, luckily he
wasn’t, just a poor soul looking for rest and warmth beneath a garbage bag under
the eaves in the alley. This is also Bhutan.
We fell asleep, a little shaken, to the sounds of the barking night raiding
dogs.
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| 180 view of the road from the West right before Rukubji |
The next day, with reloaded bags, we left the Ambient before
opening (meaning we had to wake up one of the workers to let us out, poor guy!)
for the bus station. Next stop: Punakha.
We arrived at the bus station in time and I bought us a cup
of tea from the vendors and a bag of apples for the ride. It is apple season
now and they are delicious! Our seats: 1 and 2, thankfully. Joe’s first ride on
a bus didn’t need to be of the roller coaster variety that you’d experience
sitting in the back (though we did get this opportunity later during his stay).
The bus climbed up out of Thimphu, the forest tangling deeper and thicker along
the side of the road the further from the big city we rose. The bus stopped for
tea and breakfast and then continued down toward the valley of Punakha. We
jumped ship at Lobesa’s market to get some produce, not knowing if we’d get
another chance later. Eggplant, tomatoes, greens, cilantro, limes, mangoes,
passion fruit, bananas... lower altitude produce that is hard to come by up in
Rukubji. We caught a taxi down to Kuruthang and unloaded in front of Kuruthang
Middle Secondary to stay with my friend and fellow BCF teacher Noorin.
Noorin greeted us with hugs and a smile and a cool glass of
apple juice. We chatted for a while in her small, yet homey school quarter. Unlike me, Noorin lives on the school grounds. Her living space is a large front room, a small kitchen closed off by a door, and a bathroom area, also closed off by a door. Her space is slightly smaller than mine, as I have a separate bedroom, but not much. The biggest difference is that she's not able to get away from whatever's happening at school, like I am in my village house. That separation between school life is sometimes necessary and vital to my sanity and ability to give a lot when I'm at school. It's also stickily hot in Kuruthang, another main difference. Noorin's got a fan. I've got a 'Bukari' (wood-burning stove).
We headed out for a lunch of momo (steamed, stuffed dumplings) at
one of Noorin’s favorite spots. I was thrilled that Joe and Noorin got to meet,
since Noorin has been such a great friend throughout this journey and is an
incredible woman of many talents and accomplishments She taught in Hunza and
China and northern Ontario and her stories, example, and advice are invaluable. At lunch, Noorin and I joked about our chili eating ability that we've honed during our time here, rating the 'eazay' (chili sauce that goes on the momo) at a 5, while Joe rated it at an 8 out of 10.
After lunch, Joe and I packed a bag with water and a camera
in search of the Punakha Dzong. We walked the several kilometers of road that
follows the river, lined by paddy fields. Rice is a curious thing for Minnesota
kids like us, so we bent to inspect the grainless shoots. Now, the paddies
boast purple grains at the ends of their stalks- a transformation that took
less than a month! We also passed a high school soccer tournament where one of
the elder sisters of my Chazam hotel family was cheering. Soon the impressive
Dzong came into sight. It was the 2nd to be built by Zhabdrung
Nawang Namgyal in the mid 1600s (the first was Simtokha, close to Thimphu). The
white and red fortress is surrounded by bright flowers and the river on both
sides. To reach it, you walk across an ancient cantilever bridge. A steep slope
of steps then leads you up to the level of the temples and offices. We checked
in with the guards who were curious about our lack of guide and my teaching
location, and then entered the main courtyard. This courtyard sits high off the
ground level, yet a giant tree spreads its branches from its center, giving the
whole place a science fiction feel- as if we just walked into the place where
the “tree of life” is housed. We walked reverently through a passage into the
next courtyard and then up the steps to the main temple. Most Dzongs I’ve seen
do not keep their temples open, so this is the first I’ve seen. And it was
magnificent. Huge golden statues of the Buddha and Guru Rimpoche gazed at us
from behind the altar. The walls were covered floor to ceiling with depictions
of the Buddha’s life and other intricately painted themes. Hundereds of unique
golden statues housed behind glass stared in meditation the length of two
walls. You cannot take pictures inside temples, but no words or snapshot could
do this one justice. Joe and I knelt in front of the altar. Though we’re not
Buddhist, a display of honor of such magnitude incites respect and veneration.
We left in wonderment, walking back through the Dzong, down the steps, to a
smaller temple that was closed. We spun the prayer wheels around the
circumference, pet the ubiquitous temple cat, and continued our walk along the
river. The path led us to the Longest Suspension Bridge in Bhutan, which I
would estimate to be over a football field’s length. Surprisingly, we found
traces of cow dung in the metal grates of the bridge- what cow would dare cross
this span?! We have one such bridge in Rukubji leading to the school, but this
one was far more thrilling to walk across, suspended so high from the ground
for such great distance.
On the other end of the bridge, as if to welcome us, we met
a man wearing a Minnesota Twins baseball cap. He just smiled and nodded when we
tried to explain that we came from the state he was representing. We finished
our walk along the other side of the river, stopping to dip in the
monsoon-swollen water. Nearer to town we saw a group playing archery and
stopped a while to watch them celebrate their good aim by dancing and singing.
I have seen a lot of this since I’ve been in Bhutan, but witnessing guys with bows
and arrows performing a coordinated dance and song in front of the target is
still so enjoyable.
We made it back to Noorin’s around evening and decided to go
out for dinner, as the lack of electricity would make cooking more challenging
than pleasurable. After a good meal of rice and curries and dal (lentils), We
settled down on Noorin’s floor to tea, chocolate, and conversation- a real
sleepover party. Noorin had school the next day, so we saw her off before
packing up and then heading in to town to find a taxi to take us up to Lobesa
where we’d hope to catch a bus. We found one that happened to be like riding in
a mobile club- dance music blaring. We piled our goods in and bid Noorin thanks
and goodbye before jamming out of the school ground to our dance floor
soundtrack.
Up at Lobesa, we paid the driver and waited in the beating
sun. A few buses passed, but none had room for us. Finally, the ‘club taxi’ driver
told us his friend could take us to Rukubji if we’d be willing to share the cab
with others for a mere 300 nu a piece. Jackpot. We loaded into his van and were
on our way finally to Rukubji. It was thrilling for me to point out the spots
of the road I knew well or had stories about. Like the time Chimi (the
caretaker at our school) and I waited at the junction of Phobjika and the road
for and hour, burning cowpies for warmth while trying to hitch a ride back
from a trip to Wangdue. We picked up a monk, an older intoxicated man, and a
younger man who was the elder’s escort along the way. Soon, the fields of
Rukubji rose into view. Here we were! My village. My home for the past 6
months. Joe was going to get to see all the things I’d been talking about. We
unloaded at the unmarked turnoff (which now boasts our school sign- see
picture) and began to walk the rocky road down to my house.
To be continued (again)….
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| New sign marking the road down to Rukubji |
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