Himalayan Odyssey

(This entry is dedicated to Karlos, IT, and Tinley Sir…)

Part 1: Going Through the Portal

NAMASTE y’all

It’s a stormy afternoon here on top of a mountain called Tsenkharla in Far East Bhutan. Outside my window snow coats the upper reaches and around my feet are the scatterings of an epic adventure. Evidence of a remarkable journey: A jagged blue rock, an Annapurna poster, a velvet tiger, a shimmering party hat. Have I really landed back here in my cold leaky hut? School has begun, sort of. The students have arrived and the tedious five hour meetings in Dzonka have commenced. Classes will start after HM’s b-day celebration at the end of the month. In the meantime at a boarding school there is a lot to sort out on the business end. I will be teaching three sections of class nine and both sections of class seven this year. I am excited to have many new faces in class and new curriculum to delve into. I have never taught students as old as class nine so it will be challenging as the stakes are high approaching class ten exams. I don’t have a home class and will carry twenty eight periods instead of thirty two and can’t wait to get back into the classroom and my routine, but exactly two months ago I couldn’t wait to escape Rangthangwoon.

The class ten boys were celebrating completing their exams and after sharing a meal of delicious emadatsi at the mess I hit the road in a taxi to the KC hotel. I banged my toe on the bed upon waking up in T-Gang bruising it severely but managed to load into a taxi with Ashleigh and we picked up Scotty in Yadi. It was heartwarming to see Scott say goodbye to his students and colleagues after two years of service. It was a beautiful clear day with patches of ice over the Thromsing La Pass of 12,400 feet. A wall of mixed forest rises from Limithang cresting and breaking into the magnificent pine forests of the Bumthang valleys. Gangkar Puentsum towers in the distance (the tallest unclimbed mountain in the world) I held over in Bumthang for a few days at the welcoming River Lodge. By day I explored the valley visiting the impressive Dzong and several ancient temples. My favorite was Jampey Lhakang featuring some very old paintings and statues and an elephant tusk. Inside the temple was a boxed shape of prayer wheels and some faded murals with tantric scenes. The interior contains three stone stairs that represent the three ages. The bottom step is the historical Buddha, the middle step is the present, and the third stair is the future Buddha or matreya.  The caretaker was a mild mannered young monk who spoke English well.  While in Bumthang I also visited the Burning Lake which is really a pool set in a narrow gorge. The pool is actually part of the river but gathers in a tight inlet interlay with countless strings of prayer flags stenciled with flying horses and mantras. The water at this point moves in unusual ways swirling in gentle circles and snaking ripples. One might stare into the depths and contemplate Pema Lingpa dazzling the assembled villagers by diving in the lake with a burning lantern, immerging with a terton prize and lamp burning brightly. This is the epicenter of the spiritual heartland of Bhutan. Bumthang is a region considered particularly holy by Bhutanese and for good reason. Located at the center of the country the land stretches out into wide valleys and sloped pine ridges, an alpine wonderland in all directions. Before leaving Bumthang I dragged Scott up to Ura a traditional village off the highway. This intriguing village had friendly residents, a Tibetan style temple, and stone houses out of the pages of a fairy tale. On the way Scott a former pharmacist turned teacher lamented on leaving Bhutan but felt it was time to move on to China. Walking back from Martin and Tara’s place at night we ran into some students who struck up a conversation. Afterward Scott says he will miss talking with kids most of all.

On a bright morning BCF teachers Ashleigh, Martin, Tara, Scott and I headed West on the Chummay school bus. En route we picked up Sonam Lhamo a pleasant young woman who had a weaving shop in the valley. At my insistence we became friends on the twelve hour haul to Thimbu where the road was blocked between Trongsa and Wagdi by a mammoth slide. The bus lumbered into the capital after dark which appeared as a veritable metropolis compared to East Bhutan. Becky received me at the Ambient Café where I checked into a modest room and we headed out to The Zone for pizza and burgers. The next day I moved to Paro to meet my mother and brother at the airport.   

Ram Dass said, “If you think you’re enlightened spend a week with your family.” I was slated to spend eighteen days with mine beginning in Paro. Upon seeing me in the terminal, my mom broke into tears to the bewilderment of some Bhutanese onlookers. I hugged my mother and brother tightly and we were off together. Bra booked us into a spectacular hotel overlooking Paro called the Palace. The property is perched on a hill lording over the entire valley including the town and the Dzong. We set out down the hill merrily but before long we were aimlessly wandering in the parched rice paddies on the valley floor. We laughed at our plight as I pointed out piles of trash discarded in the fields. But not even some trash could deter from the perfection of the warm winters day. The massive Dzong sits across a wooden bridge spanning a shallow river up an imposing stone staircase. (which wouldn’t be my last) The impressive structure reeks of importance and value, a classic example of Bhutanese architecture. This Dzong was crucial in fending off numerous Tibetan invasions in its heyday; sufficient to say without this prominent edifice we’d be standing in China right now. Like Lhuntse this Dzong is being restored but remains a powerful place resembling a massive gingerbread house constructed for defense. A small watchtower is perched above the main Dzong, Its square dimensions supported by massive wooden beams. We spent the night in the tower of the palace with a rat who woke Tyler up nibbling on potato chips left on the nightstand. My mom slept well but bra was still jetlagged. We sired a taxi and drove out to Drukyel Dzong outside Paro. The ruined Dzong was the sight of a battle between Bhutanese and Tibetans long ago and the path to the Dzong is lined with thick cypress that reminded me of redwoods. On the perimeter of the crumbling fortress is a stunning glade of pines with Jhomolahari rising above. Mt. Jhomolahari is the mother goddess making the border of Bhutan and Tibet west of Paro valley. I longed to see this peak more than any other Himalayan massif and was rewarded. Its snow cone pointed askew angled to some distant galaxy dominated the horizon,  although far off, this peak emanated a potent energy. I had had aspirations to trek to the base but in my heart realized this was my moment with the goddess. Actually it was a family triumph as Ty and mom joined me on the rocky outcropping at the mouth of an endless wilderness. The warm day confirmed us in sunshine as we retreated back to Paro gazing at Taksang high above on the cliffs. The Paro valley is one of Bhutan’s treasures and features colorful architecture painted with penises, tigers, and dragons. The erect phallic symbols have to do with the Divine Madman and are painted on the side of homes as a means to fend off evil spirits. The painted phalluses are more common in the west but carved ones are favored in the east and can be seen hanging near entranceways. 

On the way from Paro to Thimphu with an extroverted driver who called himself R.C, Tyler chewed dolma spitting profusely and I don’t recall him trying it out again. We reached the Dragon Roots Hotel a place anyone associated with BCF will know, and met Sonam Lhamo at the hotel who arrived with her cousin Pema wearing full kiras and looking resplendent. We headed to the National Chorten on the most auspicious evening of the end of the world. At 5:12 the earth was scheduled for a major shift in consciousness or literal destruction in accordance with Mayan predictions, but on the front page of Kuensal Buddhist leaders pronounced the world was not going to end. I was pretty sure that a shift of consciousness was eminent due to the amount of positive psychic energy at that moment in our universe. We arrived at the impressive neon lit chorten and fell in line with other regulars who were there to recite nightly mantras. As it turns out Becky was already deep into a spiral of circumambulations when she pushed me from behind. When I turned to confront the culprit she jeered at me. I introduced her to the quiet and comely Sonam Lhamo and we joined the circling with Ty and my mother. So it goes we all slipped happily through the portal together at 5:12 P.M and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. After that we began the new era at the zone where we met up with Ashleigh, Reidi, and Tara., I gave Reidi and Tara a hug saying goodbye while Sonam Lhamo dabbed chili sauce on her pizza and absorbed our rapid repartee. How strange we must seem to a traditional young woman from Bumthang who lives with three generations in her home. (Sonam was off to Thailand for a few weeks to a workshop with twenty other ladies and I was thrilled for her) I gave my mom a purse made by Sonam with gho fabric and the evening was a wonderful cultural exchange as the backroom of the zone was lit with good cheer.

Our first full day in Thimphu was memorable to say the least. The day started out nice as we took in an archery match. My brother was psyched to see live archery and later confided that this was one of his ambitions while in Bhutan. I must confess although I appreciate the cultural significance and pageantry I can’t follow the action with my poor eyesight. The tradition is authentically Bhutanese though with songs and chants performed after each arrow. These players were the best in Bhutan and the crowd of locals was transfixed watching the strong handsome men compete in colorful ghos. We stayed the entire morning and were offered lunch by the cultural minister in the V.I.P tent. The spread was authentic Bhutanese giving my family a taste of the cuisine here. Tyler fancied the emadatsi but my mom was not so keen. After archery we went to the weekend market which was full of vegetables, dried fish, and clothes. Coming from the east I was overwhelmed by the selection of fresh food in the capital, which although small functions as a city of 100,000 people.

On the way back to the hotel my mom took a terrible fall on some uneven steps busting her shin wide open. When I turned around she was flat on her face. We rolled her over and pulled up her pant leg revealing a gaping hole in her leg that exposed the bone and the wound began gushing with blood. As my mother lost blood I felt my own blood drain from my body as I attempted to cover the gash with her sock. Some Bhutanese Samaritans got a taxi and Tyler and I carried her into the backseat as she went into shock. I thought she might have struck an artery and the situation was life threatening! We rushed to the hospital (on the way I felt terrible that I wasn’t guiding her up the stairs in the first place as I had done the night before on the way to the Chorten where I was attentive in helping her through the streets. But the truth is my mom is quite capable at 68 and is in great shape and accidents can happen to all of us) The scene at the hospital was surreal, we got a wheelchair and moved my mom into the hallway outside the ER. Inside every available hand was working on a small child while his mother was nearby weeping. A savvy female doctor was running the OR and despite the developing world appearance of the place I felt in capable hands. A man at the desk lips were hanging off his face and we both were told to wait. I was scared but my mom’s steady bravery calmed me some and she wasn’t even crying.  We took her into the side room and got an x-ray and an injection of pain medication. Unbelievably the bone was not damaged and eventually we got her into see a male nurse named Sonam who had the task of stitching mom up. But first he had to administer several deep injections with a huge needle directly into the gaping wound. My mother writhed in agony which tore my own heart apart. At one point I almost fainted from the trauma of seeing my mother in grave pain. After the shots he applied twenty five stitches in three layers to close the hole. Amazingly three hours after falling on the sidewalk we were on our way to the Dragon Roots and my mom was walking under her own volition but in extreme pain. I can assure you I wouldn’t have handled the pain so well and would be bitching about it like nothing else. But my mom is not a Grossman by blood and has a positive outlook of Amor Fati (excepting ones fate with good humor) Mom settled in with a flick and Ty and I retrieved our heroine some pizza and chocolate cake. (Gotta love Thimphu right?) Due to a Snafu with acquiring a road permit we had an extra day to begin my mother’s recovery. Bra and I puttered about town, met Sonam Lhamo at the clock tower, and shopped for school supplies. I began to feel okay about what had happened to mom but still worried about infection of the wound, but amazingly the vacation went on and so did we pressing east towards Punakha.

Part 2: A Very Wangdi Christmas and a Happy Birthday at Tigers Nest

We were again treated to spectacular clarity on Dochela summit with an outstanding panoramic view of the Bhutanese Himalaya. There is nowhere on earth like Dochela with its visibility for hundreds of miles. An expanse of forests layered beneath a distant arc of giants. The view sweeps from Jhomolahari to Gangkar Puentsum. In the foreground, primal looking cypress flow downward into slumbering rhododendron forests and nowhere else can you grasp the varied topography of Bhutan to such a vast extent. The vortex is marked by 108 chortens of white and red, prayer flags, and an elegant temple which we were permitted last year as a group of teachers but usually is locked. Again I stood with my mom and brother overlooking the tallest mountains on earth, a hundred miles away across grand valleys and pine clad ridges. On the other side of the peaks the vast wasteland of the Tibetan plateau. But in front of us the forests benefited from sizable rainfall making them lush and formidable, a refuge for monkeys and leopards. After soaking up the view for an hour we descended the switchbacks in our vehicle through dormant rhododendrons and mixed vegetation. By the time we reached the Dragons Nest Resort in Wangdi the temperature was mild supporting a drier brand of plant life including succulents and cacti along a meandering turquoise river. This would be our home base for the Christmas holiday (A very Wangdi Christmas!) Speaking of wangs on Christmas morning we headed off to Chimmey Lhakang, or as Ty quipped the “porn palace” For me, this was another pilgrimage to the temple of the Divine Madman. Drukpa Kunley comes from the tantric or crazy wisdom sect of Himalayan Buddhism. He enlightened folks by his sexual exploits, drinking and song and he constantly challenged taboos and the religious hierarchy of Tibet and later Bhutan. He wandered south to Western Bhutan subduing demons by striking them with his flaming thunderbolt, hence the protective penises. He seems to have a lot in common with Guru Rinpoche in the tradition of embracing the infancy of each moment. Both figures brought the light of Buddhism to a “savage land” where bon’s worshipped spirits and external forces. The way of the Buddha is in reality atheistic and singular renouncing duality of any kind. Yet somehow in Bhutan they are left with a pantheon of deities and gods similar to Hindus or Bon. I’ll never figure it out but that seems to be the starting point for the Divine Madman or the crazy Wisdom manifestation of Guru Rinpoche with bulging eyes and clenched teeth saddling a tigress. On that Christmas day all was well in a dry valley and resting above the barren fields was the modest Chimmey Lhakang adorned with a gate and bodhi tree similar to that of Gom Kora. Children scampered around the premises kicking a football and ran over to greet us in typical exuberance for rural Bhutanese kids. I enjoyed my mom interacting with the children who asked her many questions. My mother has a childlike and irrepressible innocence of spirit! Inside the dilapidated compound we happened upon a puja inside the temple. Monks in maroon robes beat worn drums and chanted prayers from dusty texts. We received a blessing from a monk being tapped on the head by a ten inch wooden penis. This is known as a Wang blessing, what an auspicious Christmas morning being bonked by a wooden phallus. No gifts were exchanged except the precious present of spending time together as a family. We headed to Punakha Dzong visiting a chorten en route inhabited by nuns who also played football on the grounds.

Punakha Dzong enjoys an extraordinary position at the confluence of two rivers surrounded by undulating hills. A huge wooden bridge invites the traveler into its midst. The Dzong is unlike any other and is the grandfather of all Dzongs, a heartfelt expression of Bhutanese culture and identity. One must ascend steep ladder like stairs to reach the inner complex. We passed through a painted foyer with enormous prayer wheels into a spacious courtyard, a marvelous area with a bodhi tree and cobblestones. The whitewashed exterior of the Dzong rose above into the crystal sky, there are several opulent inner temples and extravagant murals line the halls. Monks roam the corridors chatting and attending the shrines. One room features glorious wood floors and golden relics adorned the walls as pigeons fly about the ideal setting; this is the soul of Shangri-La. The best Bhutan has to offer. One realizes the specialness of the country when standing in the vicinity of Punakha Dzong and can’t help but speak in hushed voices. The gentle landscape accentuates the landmark and brings about a harmonious feeling, only momentarily disturbed by an angry deity scowling from the wall.  

We enjoyed Christmas dinner at the Dragons Nest benefiting from the attentive service of Boono, a fetching waitress from Southern Bhutan. Like many Southerners she is of Nepali descent. At dinner we were hysterical recording a video message to my father on Tyler’s I Pad.  I am sure we were more than noticed by the large Japanese group at the next table and it was a Grossman classic holiday feast. The rest of the night is a blur, however we all woke up and went on with our lives. This meant traveling eastward on the lateral road to Pobjikaha Valley temporary home of the migrating black necked cranes. Heading over a pass we saw several shaggy yaks wandering the roadside before dropping into the picturesque valley where we saw two cranes poking around a fence.  My mom was spun out from the harrowing drive and relaxed in a rustic room near the bukari, while Ty and I went roaming, it was a cold afternoon with a biting wind. We walked the windswept valley floor as the sun raced up the pine covered nub above a dilapidated temple where we observed an intense prayer session. On the way back we were buzzed by a threesome of cranes swooping overhead with a haunting cry. Tyler, moved by the birds gave me a brotherly embrace and kiss on the cheek. We felt lucky to see the rare birds as several Malaysian tourists had come to Bhutan just on the hope of seeing the species. The cranes fly here from Tibet each winter along with a smaller flock roosting in Bumdeling in Yangtse. The birds are revered by locals and have a safe haven in the isolated and sparsely populated valley. A full moon rose over the cold mountains as we stopped in a smoky shed to watch a local family chop veggies for dinner. We went up to an upscale hotel for supper sitting in a stunning dining room overlooking the whole valley. Sitting next to mom we enjoyed the roaring bukari fire and a fine meal of beef and veggies from the buffet. It was a rare moment of stillness in the frenetic pace of the Grossman family vacation. A smattering of stars sparkled in the icy sky as we moved back to our hotel.

The next day was a travel day back to Paro. It was a full day in the car this time with charismatic Jigme at the wheel. En route we saw a pair of large monkey sharing a special embrace along the road and once again we stopped at the zone for dinner accruing an expensive bill that astounded simple Jigme. I have to admit I felt a tinge guilty at the gap in living standard. The zone features a jet set of Thimphu citizens not the average Bhutanese crowd. All Jigme could say about the Yak ribs we ordered him was they were “too salty” That night we returned to the palace to round out our Bhutanese travels. There was ample discussion if my mom would be able to hike the three hours vertical up to Tigers Nest and we decided at bedtime that it wouldn’t be prudent for her to go. We shared a room for nearly every night of the vacation except the night of her injury and the following night at the Dragon Roots. It was like a family slumber party and we all handled the close quarters well.

On the morning of my 35^th birthday my mother announced emphatically that she would be joining the expedition to Tigers Nest. So we set out around 8 AM on another glorious winter day. Hiking to Taksang is the epitome of any Bhutanese itinerary. It is also a very important pilgrimage for all Bhutanese and other Buddhist from around Asia. Therefore each trip to Tigers Nest involves ascending the mountain in a loose configuration of people with a shared goal of reaching the monastery. By the end, many of these folks become acquaintances bound together by the holy charge at hand. This would be my second trip up having come with my comrades during orientation, and I couldn’t script a happier circumstance for my birthday. A little Indian girl instantly gravitated to Tyler who helped her up the trail holding her tiny little hand delivering her to father and I was reminded what a dutiful father Tyler is. Also on the trek was an older Indian couple, Indian schoolgirls on a trip, a couple of gentlemen teaching abroad in the Middle East, two Tibetan ladies, and a young lady and her guide from Singapore. On the trail camaraderie developed as we all ascended through pine forests with panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. The monastery clings impossibly to a cliff face thousands of feet above the valley floor and the original monastery burnt down then rebuilt. But it appears old clinging to the crags and the story behind it all is most remarkable. Of all Guru Rinpoche’s stops in Bhutan none resonate as firmly as Tigers Nest. Here the Guru transcends historical reality and manifests himself in the very air flowing into your lungs. He shines in the faces of each passerby or glimmers off each pine needle. In his presence there is no time, identity, or god. Instead there is only the crackling static of the moment broken up with laughter and sputtering coughs along the winding trail. The second Buddha brought Buddhism up from the plains into the wild territory of Tibet and Bhutan. He is near and dear at the core of tantric Buddhism. Guru Rinpoche originally sprang spontaneously from a lotus flower in a lake in Afghanistan or more precisely the Swat valley in modern day Pakistan. He was born an inquisitive eight year old boy with many talents. This event occurred around twelve years after Buddha died. Like Buddha he served as a prince before being banished from the palace after dropping his trident on a woman and killing her (This story is meant as a metaphor) But the Guru had an appetite for destruction if the mood struck him in his wrathful manifestation. Little is known of his escapades and fact and fiction often blur together. But after witnessing him at Zongtopelri Tsechu I can testify that this incarnation of Buddha still walks the earth and is contained in the fabric of our collective DNA. At Taksang the Guru flew on Yeshi his consort turned tigress to the top of the mountain where he meditated and subjugated the local troublemaking demons thus converting the land to Buddhism. It’s a powerful myth with palpable ramifications. This is not just a story to the devotees but an essential part of their shared identity. Guru Rinpoche maintains an important thread connecting the Himalayan Buddhist ethos from Northern India, Nepal, Tibet, and Bhutan. The second Buddha reached the sacred places associated with everyday life in the kingdom. But perhaps both Buddha’s are the same as we are all the same. Or as Zeke says, “we’re all meat off the same bone” Actually Zeke at times struck me in both appearance and mentality as a big baby (or electric infant) which is the cornerstone of crazy wisdom. Observe the way a babe interacts with the world and you have a blueprint for enlightenment. You dig?

 So in various forms of consciousness we pushed up the mountain. Some even quit at the midway café but my mother persevered up the switchbacks towards immortality. After descending more crooked stairs we reached an icefall with chunks cascading to the bottom near a bridge. Patches of ice impeded the trail which hung precariously over a chasm. The final push to the nest is up a slippery stone staircase to the front entrance of the iconic monastery. At the very moment I stepped through the gate I received a text from Becky in Thailand wishing me a happy birthday! Hmmm how auspicious. As a family unit we explored the monastery. My mom was in a great deal of pain, although she wouldn’t admit it I could see it in her face. We crept into various chambers including one with a trap door revealing part of the cave where GR meditated. A heavy air seeped up from the dark cavern where the Guru tangled with prehistoric demonic forces. Since we know that energy cannot be destroyed these subjugated entities were merely consumed by the precious master or turned into guardians of the region. Nevertheless there was a rawness emanating from the bowels of the cave. Atop the tigers nest is another entrance to the upper portion of the cave with slits deep into the mountainside. Near that entrance is a forbidden staircase leading to a locked door as I could only wonder what lay inside before an officer asked me to come down. The entire place is saturated in holiness as if the known universe radiated from the miraculous structure itself that clings to the cliff over 10,000 feet on the hairs of angels. In another chamber we received a blessing for long life under the statue of Tara (powerful female deity) I prayed for my niece and nephew’s long life and the longevity of all my loved ones. The cold stones burned my bare feet as I traversed the promenades between secret rooms coming in contact with a lively statue of the Guru that winked at me.

Eventually we reversed course and descended from the magnificent monastery carefully treading to the snowy bridge. I spotted a side stairwell and scampered up to a hidden shrine in the fold of the mountain. My brother found me in the crease of earth and we gave an offering to the goddess before rejoining mom who was walking with the older Indian gent. On the way down I was met by the Indian Schoolgirls who in tandem wished me a happy birthday! I have no idea how they even knew it was my special day but something pervasive and magical was in the thin air on December 28^th 2012. I was so proud of my mother who completed the challenging hike and later would admit that it was the highlight of her entire vacation! We absconded back to the palace for our last night together in the kingdom, Ty and I got mineral stone baths in the shed behind the property, like mad fiends we called out for another rock! to be dropped into the sizzling water. We soaked our weary bones to the sounds of Sector Nine in the steamy shed, satisfied by a great trip in Bhutan.

The next day we boarded a plane with BCF teacher Sarah and her mom bound for Bangkok. My mom grabbed my arm upon takeoff and told me she now understood why I loved Bhutan. This alleviated some of my uneasiness of staying on another year. As we flew over Phuentsholing and the Indian plains, Ty read aloud passages from Jamie Zeppa’s book and I couldn’t help laughing at the relevance of her words twenty years later. It was clear I wasn’t ready to say farewell to the kingdom just yet, but a break didn’t seem like a bad idea either.

Part 3: Adventures in Southern Thailand    

Arriving at the international terminal in Bangkok was shocking. Tourists crowded every inch in designer fads looking annoyed and board, wanting to get on with their vacations. I wolfed down a KFC sandwich before we boarded a domestic flight and three hours later landed at Crabbe, a tourist Mecca near the Southern tip of Thailand. The streets were stuffed with New Years crowds mainly from European countries. There were many families and far less drifters than other spots in Thailand and we arrived to a swirly sunset over the Andaman Sea. But the scarlet clouds indicated sketchy weather blowing in from the Philippines. Crabbe sits along several coves with long beaches with the area boasting remarkable limestone cliffs that tower over the coast and jungle. The beach is studded with a strip of restaurants and shops, but near the end of the shore was chilled out massage parlors and outdoor bistros and a patch of beach inhabited by inquisitive monkeys who climbed on tourists including my mom. An alpha monkey even chased me into the surf in pursuit of my bottle of coca cola. My mother was like the monkey whisperer as they climbed all over her limbs, I on the other hand was terrified by the creatures with angry pink faces and long claws. We spent three days in Crabbe getting massages, eating street food, and trolling the beaches. One day was spent on a snorkeling excursion to four offshore islands. One stop included an amazing inlet of warm turquoise water within a ring of limestone formations. At the base of the cliffs were mangrove forests that sprouted from the sea itself. Here the sun made a blazing fantastic appearance. that night we dined on Thai curry and fresh fish. On the 30^th the brothers hooked up with two Dutch chicks at the nexus of several seedy bars. Wed mistakenly turned down an alley and were attacked by hungry prostitutes with sharp talons and scanty clothes. We took refuge at a table with two blonds who collectedly sipped their cocktails. Brianna and Linda (AKA Wanda or Helga) both were on a long vacation together and at the table we were treated to a private show by Marco, a drunken pole dancer from the Ukraine. We promptly ditched Marco and the hookers and went out to a club. The music was fine, mixing modern hits like Gum dung style with more sensible beats and the dance floor was a mix of Wookies, prostitutes, lady boys, and tourists all having a high time. Later on at Burger King a misunderstanding almost escalated into a brawl between my brother and some wangker but fortunately the situation was dispersed. Our last night on the mainland was New Years Eve and as per booking regulations we had to take dinner at the hotel which put on a splendid buffet but an awkward party. After eating myself sick Tyler dragged me out on the town for the midnight festivities and for the magic moment we lit and released a fire lantern into the sky. We watched our lantern join hundreds of others in a journey over the ocean while drunkards lit off fireworks in all directions.

On New Year’s Day we headed out in a taxi over two ferries to the enchanted island of Ko Lanta. We stayed at a sprawling resort that was under the process of renovation. The upshot was the resorts locality on a pristine beach but something was amiss. Up and down the beach were runners all appearing tall and blond whom we dubbed the “super race” and in fact we had booked a spot on an exclusively Scandinavian part of the island. Despite the brooding beautiful people we enjoyed our stay in paradise immensely. The long sandy beach stretched for miles mirrored by the Andaman Sea. At the end of the shore the sand gave way to sharp rocks and minute tide pools. Here we witnessed an astounding sunset refracting off grotesque funneled clouds. At the resort we met a couple of old hippies from Boulder and went to dinner, they were a riot with psychedelic stories of the 60’s and had a son who played in the NFL. While on Ko Lanta we explored other islands and snorkeled, peering underwater I saw a rainbow fish and shadowed it for awhile as it navigated the coral labyrinth. This fish had the full spectrum of rainbow colors in proper arrangement and swam at a queer pace lilting from side to side then twirling, wiggling its translucent tail in gay fashion, the golden donut holed coral soon gobbled up my companion and I returned to the boat. At night I savored red snapper in spicy chili sauce with a banana split for desert. Unbelievable! On our last day on the island mom opted for beachcombing while bra and I hopped on a rented scooter for an island getaway. Although my brother is an excellent driver I am not fond of this mode of transportation. It harkens back to a dawn speedway chase five years ago on my inaugural trip to the land of smiles. We zipped over the hilly terrain past jungle thicket zooming over bluffs revealing ocean vistas, meeting my mom and the Colorado couple in old town for lunch. Before our meeting Ty and I stopped at a deserted inlet where we saw a mudskipper, a most peculiar critter that walks on water. It is half reptile and half fish and I believe this tiny creature might be the link between sea and land, our common ancestor, Adam. While examining this miracle we heard Muslim prayer music piped from the forest (Ko Lanta is predominantly Muslim) The sun baked our mudskipper while the hypnotic drone for Allah mingled with the waves. After lunch we jumped on the scooter and headed out to a pristine national park on the point. The road cut through tremendous old growth forest with towering trees sporting albino bark. The final grade down to the park was steep but we arrived safely to a palm laid oasis on the Andaman Sea. We had hit the jackpot I mean Holy Cow! This place was paradise. The sea shined in a dazzling array of blues and greens and a lighthouse pronounced the point. From here the onlooker can see the curvature of the earth and gaze down at empty white sand beaches. The Oceanside is a vivid wilderness of its own, perhaps the most primal of wild places beyond which lies the ultimate underwater domain, where likely humans crawled out of the salty solution as a mudskipper. It just had to happen that way as the sea seems far more ancient than the land. From the beach we did a groovy forest loop ascending steep stone steps through a humid jungle, exhibiting some very impressive trees with trunks thick as redwoods with ultra light bark. I am always game to discover new trees! And don’t get much tropical love. But on that day I was Jungle Jim and bra led me through the forest skillfully. We left the park and went beach hopping ending up at reggae themed bar drinking a lasse for sunset. On the way back Ty stormed our scooter into a Muslim marketplace like “American Dad” and was rebuffed by an angry man. Overall I found the local Muslims were congenial and enterprising. A crescent moon etched the tropical horizon over a silhouetted mosque and after our run in at the stalls we burned rubber back to the resort before mom had a panic attack. It was a fun day that I will always cherish.

Mommy had to go to the clinic to change her bandage and clean her wound, and on the table next to her was a surprisingly calm obese fellow with a knife protruding from his side. After four days on Ko Lanta we returned to the mainland to fly to Bangkok. I had passed through Bangkok briefly but was interested in spending a few days in the mix. Honestly I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the place as much as I did.

Part 4: A Happy Ending in Bangkok

Upon arrival in Bangkok I began to feel apprehensive about saying goodbye to my mom and brother. But was grateful we had three more days together. Tyler did a fantastic job in coordinating the Thailand trip and once again we had a great hotel downtown with a rooftop pool that was open all night. Bangkok is a nocturnal place with many strange creatures roaming the streets after dark as the author will inform you of soon. Ahem, but first dinner. We found Terminal 54 a supermall with a plethora of eateries including an amazing cafeteria with duck, noodles, soups, fish, and everything else oriental and edible that you can imagine. (Sitting here after midnight at my desk in my hut I am salivating recollecting this monarch of cafeterias) One floor of the mall even had a San Francisco theme including a replica Golden Gate Bridge, while In the basement was a Japanese burger joint and Dairy Queen. The blizzard was divine! But out on the streets another side of Bangkok unfolds. From the limited exposure I received I judged the city as diverse and tolerant. Beggars huddle in the street near food vendors and shops hawking everything but the kitchen sink. And then there is Soy Cowboy. Heehaw! Or is it –saddle up partner. This neon avenue resembles a pornographic spacecraft seething with flesh and deviance. Lady boys outnumber gals here and often it’s hard to discern the difference without running objectionable experiments. The clubs are fronts for prostitution with the exception of a few exclusively stripper joints, we saw some bizarre things which were an interesting insight into aspects of humanity. The lady boys for instance are regarded as a third gender and widely accepted in Thailand. We steered mom down Soy Cowboy to show her another side to Asia before cruising back to the Inn. Tyler and I adjourned to the roof for a nightcap looking over the glowing skyscrapers and cracking wise about our family outing to the red light district then chatted up some Bangladeshi brothers in the wee hours before turning in.      

The following day we explored Bangkok as a family. We went to the famous weekend market that featured everything for sale including, clothes, food, furniture, and puppies but it was so hot that at one point I almost collapsed on the pavement. After the market we went to the ornate Royal Palace with was encrusted with shimmering jewels, an image from a lyric of “China Cat Sunflower” To reach the hotel we took a longboat on the river which was a definitive Bangkok ride at sunset, the waterway was jammed with boats of all sizes passing in the choppy river. The sticky air saturated my lungs as I took a moment to appreciate my family sitting next to me. There was scarcely time to enjoy one more family dinner before we groggily departed for the airport the following dawn. Hugging them goodbye I grabbed my carryon and headed toward my gate. I felt empty walking away but as Buddha says, “we are born to depart.” The spell with my mom and bra will remain a cherished time in my heart and in the company of my beloveds I realize the marrow deep similarities and traits we share. 

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>

(This entry is dedicated to Karlos, IT, and Tinley Sir…)

Himalayan Odyssey

Part 1: Going Through the Portal

NAMASTE y’all

It’s a stormy afternoon here on top of a mountain called Tsenkharla in Far East Bhutan. Outside my window snow coats the upper reaches and around my feet are the scatterings of an epic adventure. Evidence of a remarkable journey: A jagged blue rock, an Annapurna poster, a velvet tiger, a shimmering party hat. Have I really landed back here in my cold leaky hut? School has begun, sort of. The students have arrived and the tedious five hour meetings in Dzonka have commenced. Classes will start after HM’s b-day celebration at the end of the month. In the meantime at a boarding school there is a lot to sort out on the business end. I will be teaching three sections of class nine and both sections of class seven this year. I am excited to have many new faces in class and new curriculum to delve into. I have never taught students as old as class nine so it will be challenging as the stakes are high approaching class ten exams. I don’t have a home class and will carry twenty eight periods instead of thirty two and can’t wait to get back into the classroom and my routine, but exactly two months ago I couldn’t wait to escape Rangthangwoon.

The class ten boys were celebrating completing their exams and after sharing a meal of delicious emadatsi at the mess I hit the road in a taxi to the KC hotel. I banged my toe on the bed upon waking up in T-Gang bruising it severely but managed to load into a taxi with Ashleigh and we picked up Scotty in Yadi. It was heartwarming to see Scott say goodbye to his students and colleagues after two years of service. It was a beautiful clear day with patches of ice over the Thromsing La Pass of 12,400 feet. A wall of mixed forest rises from Limithang cresting and breaking into the magnificent pine forests of the Bumthang valleys. Gangkar Puentsum towers in the distance (the tallest unclimbed mountain in the world) I held over in Bumthang for a few days at the welcoming River Lodge. By day I explored the valley visiting the impressive Dzong and several ancient temples. My favorite was Jampey Lhakang featuring some very old paintings and statues and an elephant tusk. Inside the temple was a boxed shape of prayer wheels and some faded murals with tantric scenes. The interior contains three stone stairs that represent the three ages. The bottom step is the historical Buddha, the middle step is the present, and the third stair is the future Buddha or matreya.  The caretaker was a mild mannered young monk who spoke English well.  While in Bumthang I also visited the Burning Lake which is really a pool set in a narrow gorge. The pool is actually part of the river but gathers in a tight inlet interlay with countless strings of prayer flags stenciled with flying horses and mantras. The water at this point moves in unusual ways swirling in gentle circles and snaking ripples. One might stare into the depths and contemplate Pema Lingpa dazzling the assembled villagers by diving in the lake with a burning lantern, immerging with a terton prize and lamp burning brightly. This is the epicenter of the spiritual heartland of Bhutan. Bumthang is a region considered particularly holy by Bhutanese and for good reason. Located at the center of the country the land stretches out into wide valleys and sloped pine ridges, an alpine wonderland in all directions. Before leaving Bumthang I dragged Scott up to Ura a traditional village off the highway. This intriguing village had friendly residents, a Tibetan style temple, and stone houses out of the pages of a fairy tale. On the way Scott a former pharmacist turned teacher lamented on leaving Bhutan but felt it was time to move on to China. Walking back from Martin and Tara’s place at night we ran into some students who struck up a conversation. Afterward Scott says he will miss talking with kids most of all.

On a bright morning BCF teachers Ashleigh, Martin, Tara, Scott and I headed West on the Chummay school bus. En route we picked up Sonam Lhamo a pleasant young woman who had a weaving shop in the valley. At my insistence we became friends on the twelve hour haul to Thimbu where the road was blocked between Trongsa and Wagdi by a mammoth slide. The bus lumbered into the capital after dark which appeared as a veritable metropolis compared to East Bhutan. Becky received me at the Ambient Café where I checked into a modest room and we headed out to The Zone for pizza and burgers. The next day I moved to Paro to meet my mother and brother at the airport.   

Ram Dass said, “If you think you’re enlightened spend a week with your family.” I was slated to spend eighteen days with mine beginning in Paro. Upon seeing me in the terminal, my mom broke into tears to the bewilderment of some Bhutanese onlookers. I hugged my mother and brother tightly and we were off together. Bra booked us into a spectacular hotel overlooking Paro called the Palace. The property is perched on a hill lording over the entire valley including the town and the Dzong. We set out down the hill merrily but before long we were aimlessly wandering in the parched rice paddies on the valley floor. We laughed at our plight as I pointed out piles of trash discarded in the fields. But not even some trash could deter from the perfection of the warm winters day. The massive Dzong sits across a wooden bridge spanning a shallow river up an imposing stone staircase. (which wouldn’t be my last) The impressive structure reeks of importance and value, a classic example of Bhutanese architecture. This Dzong was crucial in fending off numerous Tibetan invasions in its heyday; sufficient to say without this prominent edifice we’d be standing in China right now. Like Lhuntse this Dzong is being restored but remains a powerful place resembling a massive gingerbread house constructed for defense. A small watchtower is perched above the main Dzong, Its square dimensions supported by massive wooden beams. We spent the night in the tower of the palace with a rat who woke Tyler up nibbling on potato chips left on the nightstand. My mom slept well but bra was still jetlagged. We sired a taxi and drove out to Drukyel Dzong outside Paro. The ruined Dzong was the sight of a battle between Bhutanese and Tibetans long ago and the path to the Dzong is lined with thick cypress that reminded me of redwoods. On the perimeter of the crumbling fortress is a stunning glade of pines with Jhomolahari rising above. Mt. Jhomolahari is the mother goddess making the border of Bhutan and Tibet west of Paro valley. I longed to see this peak more than any other Himalayan massif and was rewarded. Its snow cone pointed askew angled to some distant galaxy dominated the horizon,  although far off, this peak emanated a potent energy. I had had aspirations to trek to the base but in my heart realized this was my moment with the goddess. Actually it was a family triumph as Ty and mom joined me on the rocky outcropping at the mouth of an endless wilderness. The warm day confirmed us in sunshine as we retreated back to Paro gazing at Taksang high above on the cliffs. The Paro valley is one of Bhutan’s treasures and features colorful architecture painted with penises, tigers, and dragons. The erect phallic symbols have to do with the Divine Madman and are painted on the side of homes as a means to fend off evil spirits. The painted phalluses are more common in the west but carved ones are favored in the east and can be seen hanging near entranceways. 

On the way from Paro to Thimphu with an extroverted driver who called himself R.C, Tyler chewed dolma spitting profusely and I don’t recall him trying it out again. We reached the Dragon Roots Hotel a place anyone associated with BCF will know, and met Sonam Lhamo at the hotel who arrived with her cousin Pema wearing full kiras and looking resplendent. We headed to the National Chorten on the most auspicious evening of the end of the world. At 5:12 the earth was scheduled for a major shift in consciousness or literal destruction in accordance with Mayan predictions, but on the front page of Kuensal Buddhist leaders pronounced the world was not going to end. I was pretty sure that a shift of consciousness was eminent due to the amount of positive psychic energy at that moment in our universe. We arrived at the impressive neon lit chorten and fell in line with other regulars who were there to recite nightly mantras. As it turns out Becky was already deep into a spiral of circumambulations when she pushed me from behind. When I turned to confront the culprit she jeered at me. I introduced her to the quiet and comely Sonam Lhamo and we joined the circling with Ty and my mother. So it goes we all slipped happily through the portal together at 5:12 P.M and that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. After that we began the new era at the zone where we met up with Ashleigh, Reidi, and Tara., I gave Reidi and Tara a hug saying goodbye while Sonam Lhamo dabbed chili sauce on her pizza and absorbed our rapid repartee. How strange we must seem to a traditional young woman from Bumthang who lives with three generations in her home. (Sonam was off to Thailand for a few weeks to a workshop with twenty other ladies and I was thrilled for her) I gave my mom a purse made by Sonam with gho fabric and the evening was a wonderful cultural exchange as the backroom of the zone was lit with good cheer.

Our first full day in Thimphu was memorable to say the least. The day started out nice as we took in an archery match. My brother was psyched to see live archery and later confided that this was one of his ambitions while in Bhutan. I must confess although I appreciate the cultural significance and pageantry I can’t follow the action with my poor eyesight. The tradition is authentically Bhutanese though with songs and chants performed after each arrow. These players were the best in Bhutan and the crowd of locals was transfixed watching the strong handsome men compete in colorful ghos. We stayed the entire morning and were offered lunch by the cultural minister in the V.I.P tent. The spread was authentic Bhutanese giving my family a taste of the cuisine here. Tyler fancied the emadatsi but my mom was not so keen. After archery we went to the weekend market which was full of vegetables, dried fish, and clothes. Coming from the east I was overwhelmed by the selection of fresh food in the capital, which although small functions as a city of 100,000 people.

On the way back to the hotel my mom took a terrible fall on some uneven steps busting her shin wide open. When I turned around she was flat on her face. We rolled her over and pulled up her pant leg revealing a gaping hole in her leg that exposed the bone and the wound began gushing with blood. As my mother lost blood I felt my own blood drain from my body as I attempted to cover the gash with her sock. Some Bhutanese Samaritans got a taxi and Tyler and I carried her into the backseat as she went into shock. I thought she might have struck an artery and the situation was life threatening! We rushed to the hospital (on the way I felt terrible that I wasn’t guiding her up the stairs in the first place as I had done the night before on the way to the Chorten where I was attentive in helping her through the streets. But the truth is my mom is quite capable at 68 and is in great shape and accidents can happen to all of us) The scene at the hospital was surreal, we got a wheelchair and moved my mom into the hallway outside the ER. Inside every available hand was working on a small child while his mother was nearby weeping. A savvy female doctor was running the OR and despite the developing world appearance of the place I felt in capable hands. A man at the desk lips were hanging off his face and we both were told to wait. I was scared but my mom’s steady bravery calmed me some and she wasn’t even crying.  We took her into the side room and got an x-ray and an injection of pain medication. Unbelievably the bone was not damaged and eventually we got her into see a male nurse named Sonam who had the task of stitching mom up. But first he had to administer several deep injections with a huge needle directly into the gaping wound. My mother writhed in agony which tore my own heart apart. At one point I almost fainted from the trauma of seeing my mother in grave pain. After the shots he applied twenty five stitches in three layers to close the hole. Amazingly three hours after falling on the sidewalk we were on our way to the Dragon Roots and my mom was walking under her own volition but in extreme pain. I can assure you I wouldn’t have handled the pain so well and would be bitching about it like nothing else. But my mom is not a Grossman by blood and has a positive outlook of Amor Fati (excepting ones fate with good humor) Mom settled in with a flick and Ty and I retrieved our heroine some pizza and chocolate cake. (Gotta love Thimphu right?) Due to a Snafu with acquiring a road permit we had an extra day to begin my mother’s recovery. Bra and I puttered about town, met Sonam Lhamo at the clock tower, and shopped for school supplies. I began to feel okay about what had happened to mom but still worried about infection of the wound, but amazingly the vacation went on and so did we pressing east towards Punakha.

Part 2: A Very Wangdi Christmas and a Happy Birthday at Tigers Nest

We were again treated to spectacular clarity on Dochela summit with an outstanding panoramic view of the Bhutanese Himalaya. There is nowhere on earth like Dochela with its visibility for hundreds of miles. An expanse of forests layered beneath a distant arc of giants. The view sweeps from Jhomolahari to Gangkar Puentsum. In the foreground, primal looking cypress flow downward into slumbering rhododendron forests and nowhere else can you grasp the varied topography of Bhutan to such a vast extent. The vortex is marked by 108 chortens of white and red, prayer flags, and an elegant temple which we were permitted last year as a group of teachers but usually is locked. Again I stood with my mom and brother overlooking the tallest mountains on earth, a hundred miles away across grand valleys and pine clad ridges. On the other side of the peaks the vast wasteland of the Tibetan plateau. But in front of us the forests benefited from sizable rainfall making them lush and formidable, a refuge for monkeys and leopards. After soaking up the view for an hour we descended the switchbacks in our vehicle through dormant rhododendrons and mixed vegetation. By the time we reached the Dragons Nest Resort in Wangdi the temperature was mild supporting a drier brand of plant life including succulents and cacti along a meandering turquoise river. This would be our home base for the Christmas holiday (A very Wangdi Christmas!) Speaking of wangs on Christmas morning we headed off to Chimmey Lhakang, or as Ty quipped the “porn palace” For me, this was another pilgrimage to the temple of the Divine Madman. Drukpa Kunley comes from the tantric or crazy wisdom sect of Himalayan Buddhism. He enlightened folks by his sexual exploits, drinking and song and he constantly challenged taboos and the religious hierarchy of Tibet and later Bhutan. He wandered south to Western Bhutan subduing demons by striking them with his flaming thunderbolt, hence the protective penises. He seems to have a lot in common with Guru Rinpoche in the tradition of embracing the infancy of each moment. Both figures brought the light of Buddhism to a “savage land” where bon’s worshipped spirits and external forces. The way of the Buddha is in reality atheistic and singular renouncing duality of any kind. Yet somehow in Bhutan they are left with a pantheon of deities and gods similar to Hindus or Bon. I’ll never figure it out but that seems to be the starting point for the Divine Madman or the crazy Wisdom manifestation of Guru Rinpoche with bulging eyes and clenched teeth saddling a tigress. On that Christmas day all was well in a dry valley and resting above the barren fields was the modest Chimmey Lhakang adorned with a gate and bodhi tree similar to that of Gom Kora. Children scampered around the premises kicking a football and ran over to greet us in typical exuberance for rural Bhutanese kids. I enjoyed my mom interacting with the children who asked her many questions. My mother has a childlike and irrepressible innocence of spirit! Inside the dilapidated compound we happened upon a puja inside the temple. Monks in maroon robes beat worn drums and chanted prayers from dusty texts. We received a blessing from a monk being tapped on the head by a ten inch wooden penis. This is known as a Wang blessing, what an auspicious Christmas morning being bonked by a wooden phallus. No gifts were exchanged except the precious present of spending time together as a family. We headed to Punakha Dzong visiting a chorten en route inhabited by nuns who also played football on the grounds.

Punakha Dzong enjoys an extraordinary position at the confluence of two rivers surrounded by undulating hills. A huge wooden bridge invites the traveler into its midst. The Dzong is unlike any other and is the grandfather of all Dzongs, a heartfelt expression of Bhutanese culture and identity. One must ascend steep ladder like stairs to reach the inner complex. We passed through a painted foyer with enormous prayer wheels into a spacious courtyard, a marvelous area with a bodhi tree and cobblestones. The whitewashed exterior of the Dzong rose above into the crystal sky, there are several opulent inner temples and extravagant murals line the halls. Monks roam the corridors chatting and attending the shrines. One room features glorious wood floors and golden relics adorned the walls as pigeons fly about the ideal setting; this is the soul of Shangri-La. The best Bhutan has to offer. One realizes the specialness of the country when standing in the vicinity of Punakha Dzong and can’t help but speak in hushed voices. The gentle landscape accentuates the landmark and brings about a harmonious feeling, only momentarily disturbed by an angry deity scowling from the wall.  

We enjoyed Christmas dinner at the Dragons Nest benefiting from the attentive service of Boono, a fetching waitress from Southern Bhutan. Like many Southerners she is of Nepali descent. At dinner we were hysterical recording a video message to my father on Tyler’s I Pad.  I am sure we were more than noticed by the large Japanese group at the next table and it was a Grossman classic holiday feast. The rest of the night is a blur, however we all woke up and went on with our lives. This meant traveling eastward on the lateral road to Pobjikaha Valley temporary home of the migrating black necked cranes. Heading over a pass we saw several shaggy yaks wandering the roadside before dropping into the picturesque valley where we saw two cranes poking around a fence.  My mom was spun out from the harrowing drive and relaxed in a rustic room near the bukari, while Ty and I went roaming, it was a cold afternoon with a biting wind. We walked the windswept valley floor as the sun raced up the pine covered nub above a dilapidated temple where we observed an intense prayer session. On the way back we were buzzed by a threesome of cranes swooping overhead with a haunting cry. Tyler, moved by the birds gave me a brotherly embrace and kiss on the cheek. We felt lucky to see the rare birds as several Malaysian tourists had come to Bhutan just on the hope of seeing the species. The cranes fly here from Tibet each winter along with a smaller flock roosting in Bumdeling in Yangtse. The birds are revered by locals and have a safe haven in the isolated and sparsely populated valley. A full moon rose over the cold mountains as we stopped in a smoky shed to watch a local family chop veggies for dinner. We went up to an upscale hotel for supper sitting in a stunning dining room overlooking the whole valley. Sitting next to mom we enjoyed the roaring bukari fire and a fine meal of beef and veggies from the buffet. It was a rare moment of stillness in the frenetic pace of the Grossman family vacation. A smattering of stars sparkled in the icy sky as we moved back to our hotel.

The next day was a travel day back to Paro. It was a full day in the car this time with charismatic Jigme at the wheel. En route we saw a pair of large monkey sharing a special embrace along the road and once again we stopped at the zone for dinner accruing an expensive bill that astounded simple Jigme. I have to admit I felt a tinge guilty at the gap in living standard. The zone features a jet set of Thimphu citizens not the average Bhutanese crowd. All Jigme could say about the Yak ribs we ordered him was they were “too salty” That night we returned to the palace to round out our Bhutanese travels. There was ample discussion if my mom would be able to hike the three hours vertical up to Tigers Nest and we decided at bedtime that it wouldn’t be prudent for her to go. We shared a room for nearly every night of the vacation except the night of her injury and the following night at the Dragon Roots. It was like a family slumber party and we all handled the close quarters well.

On the morning of my 35^th birthday my mother announced emphatically that she would be joining the expedition to Tigers Nest. So we set out around 8 AM on another glorious winter day. Hiking to Taksang is the epitome of any Bhutanese itinerary. It is also a very important pilgrimage for all Bhutanese and other Buddhist from around Asia. Therefore each trip to Tigers Nest involves ascending the mountain in a loose configuration of people with a shared goal of reaching the monastery. By the end, many of these folks become acquaintances bound together by the holy charge at hand. This would be my second trip up having come with my comrades during orientation, and I couldn’t script a happier circumstance for my birthday. A little Indian girl instantly gravitated to Tyler who helped her up the trail holding her tiny little hand delivering her to father and I was reminded what a dutiful father Tyler is. Also on the trek was an older Indian couple, Indian schoolgirls on a trip, a couple of gentlemen teaching abroad in the Middle East, two Tibetan ladies, and a young lady and her guide from Singapore. On the trail camaraderie developed as we all ascended through pine forests with panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. The monastery clings impossibly to a cliff face thousands of feet above the valley floor and the original monastery burnt down then rebuilt. But it appears old clinging to the crags and the story behind it all is most remarkable. Of all Guru Rinpoche’s stops in Bhutan none resonate as firmly as Tigers Nest. Here the Guru transcends historical reality and manifests himself in the very air flowing into your lungs. He shines in the faces of each passerby or glimmers off each pine needle. In his presence there is no time, identity, or god. Instead there is only the crackling static of the moment broken up with laughter and sputtering coughs along the winding trail. The second Buddha brought Buddhism up from the plains into the wild territory of Tibet and Bhutan. He is near and dear at the core of tantric Buddhism. Guru Rinpoche originally sprang spontaneously from a lotus flower in a lake in Afghanistan or more precisely the Swat valley in modern day Pakistan. He was born an inquisitive eight year old boy with many talents. This event occurred around twelve years after Buddha died. Like Buddha he served as a prince before being banished from the palace after dropping his trident on a woman and killing her (This story is meant as a metaphor) But the Guru had an appetite for destruction if the mood struck him in his wrathful manifestation. Little is known of his escapades and fact and fiction often blur together. But after witnessing him at Zongtopelri Tsechu I can testify that this incarnation of Buddha still walks the earth and is contained in the fabric of our collective DNA. At Taksang the Guru flew on Yeshi his consort turned tigress to the top of the mountain where he meditated and subjugated the local troublemaking demons thus converting the land to Buddhism. It’s a powerful myth with palpable ramifications. This is not just a story to the devotees but an essential part of their shared identity. Guru Rinpoche maintains an important thread connecting the Himalayan Buddhist ethos from Northern India, Nepal, Tibet, and Bhutan. The second Buddha reached the sacred places associated with everyday life in the kingdom. But perhaps both Buddha’s are the same as we are all the same. Or as Zeke says, “we’re all meat off the same bone” Actually Zeke at times struck me in both appearance and mentality as a big baby (or electric infant) which is the cornerstone of crazy wisdom. Observe the way a babe interacts with the world and you have a blueprint for enlightenment. You dig?

 So in various forms of consciousness we pushed up the mountain. Some even quit at the midway café but my mother persevered up the switchbacks towards immortality. After descending more crooked stairs we reached an icefall with chunks cascading to the bottom near a bridge. Patches of ice impeded the trail which hung precariously over a chasm. The final push to the nest is up a slippery stone staircase to the front entrance of the iconic monastery. At the very moment I stepped through the gate I received a text from Becky in Thailand wishing me a happy birthday! Hmmm how auspicious. As a family unit we explored the monastery. My mom was in a great deal of pain, although she wouldn’t admit it I could see it in her face. We crept into various chambers including one with a trap door revealing part of the cave where GR meditated. A heavy air seeped up from the dark cavern where the Guru tangled with prehistoric demonic forces. Since we know that energy cannot be destroyed these subjugated entities were merely consumed by the precious master or turned into guardians of the region. Nevertheless there was a rawness emanating from the bowels of the cave. Atop the tigers nest is another entrance to the upper portion of the cave with slits deep into the mountainside. Near that entrance is a forbidden staircase leading to a locked door as I could only wonder what lay inside before an officer asked me to come down. The entire place is saturated in holiness as if the known universe radiated from the miraculous structure itself that clings to the cliff over 10,000 feet on the hairs of angels. In another chamber we received a blessing for long life under the statue of Tara (powerful female deity) I prayed for my niece and nephew’s long life and the longevity of all my loved ones. The cold stones burned my bare feet as I traversed the promenades between secret rooms coming in contact with a lively statue of the Guru that winked at me.

Eventually we reversed course and descended from the magnificent monastery carefully treading to the snowy bridge. I spotted a side stairwell and scampered up to a hidden shrine in the fold of the mountain. My brother found me in the crease of earth and we gave an offering to the goddess before rejoining mom who was walking with the older Indian gent. On the way down I was met by the Indian Schoolgirls who in tandem wished me a happy birthday! I have no idea how they even knew it was my special day but something pervasive and magical was in the thin air on December 28^th 2012. I was so proud of my mother who completed the challenging hike and later would admit that it was the highlight of her entire vacation! We absconded back to the palace for our last night together in the kingdom, Ty and I got mineral stone baths in the shed behind the property, like mad fiends we called out for another rock! to be dropped into the sizzling water. We soaked our weary bones to the sounds of Sector Nine in the steamy shed, satisfied by a great trip in Bhutan.

The next day we boarded a plane with BCF teacher Sarah and her mom bound for Bangkok. My mom grabbed my arm upon takeoff and told me she now understood why I loved Bhutan. This alleviated some of my uneasiness of staying on another year. As we flew over Phuentsholing and the Indian plains, Ty read aloud passages from Jamie Zeppa’s book and I couldn’t help laughing at the relevance of her words twenty years later. It was clear I wasn’t ready to say farewell to the kingdom just yet, but a break didn’t seem like a bad idea either.

Part 3: Adventures in Southern Thailand    

Arriving at the international terminal in Bangkok was shocking. Tourists crowded every inch in designer fads looking annoyed and board, wanting to get on with their vacations. I wolfed down a KFC sandwich before we boarded a domestic flight and three hours later landed at Crabbe, a tourist Mecca near the Southern tip of Thailand. The streets were stuffed with New Years crowds mainly from European countries. There were many families and far less drifters than other spots in Thailand and we arrived to a swirly sunset over the Andaman Sea. But the scarlet clouds indicated sketchy weather blowing in from the Philippines. Crabbe sits along several coves with long beaches with the area boasting remarkable limestone cliffs that tower over the coast and jungle. The beach is studded with a strip of restaurants and shops, but near the end of the shore was chilled out massage parlors and outdoor bistros and a patch of beach inhabited by inquisitive monkeys who climbed on tourists including my mom. An alpha monkey even chased me into the surf in pursuit of my bottle of coca cola. My mother was like the monkey whisperer as they climbed all over her limbs, I on the other hand was terrified by the creatures with angry pink faces and long claws. We spent three days in Crabbe getting massages, eating street food, and trolling the beaches. One day was spent on a snorkeling excursion to four offshore islands. One stop included an amazing inlet of warm turquoise water within a ring of limestone formations. At the base of the cliffs were mangrove forests that sprouted from the sea itself. Here the sun made a blazing fantastic appearance. that night we dined on Thai curry and fresh fish. On the 30^th the brothers hooked up with two Dutch chicks at the nexus of several seedy bars. Wed mistakenly turned down an alley and were attacked by hungry prostitutes with sharp talons and scanty clothes. We took refuge at a table with two blonds who collectedly sipped their cocktails. Brianna and Linda (AKA Wanda or Helga) both were on a long vacation together and at the table we were treated to a private show by Marco, a drunken pole dancer from the Ukraine. We promptly ditched Marco and the hookers and went out to a club. The music was fine, mixing modern hits like Gum dung style with more sensible beats and the dance floor was a mix of Wookies, prostitutes, lady boys, and tourists all having a high time. Later on at Burger King a misunderstanding almost escalated into a brawl between my brother and some wangker but fortunately the situation was dispersed. Our last night on the mainland was New Years Eve and as per booking regulations we had to take dinner at the hotel which put on a splendid buffet but an awkward party. After eating myself sick Tyler dragged me out on the town for the midnight festivities and for the magic moment we lit and released a fire lantern into the sky. We watched our lantern join hundreds of others in a journey over the ocean while drunkards lit off fireworks in all directions.

On New Year’s Day we headed out in a taxi over two ferries to the enchanted island of Ko Lanta. We stayed at a sprawling resort that was under the process of renovation. The upshot was the resorts locality on a pristine beach but something was amiss. Up and down the beach were runners all appearing tall and blond whom we dubbed the “super race” and in fact we had booked a spot on an exclusively Scandinavian part of the island. Despite the brooding beautiful people we enjoyed our stay in paradise immensely. The long sandy beach stretched for miles mirrored by the Andaman Sea. At the end of the shore the sand gave way to sharp rocks and minute tide pools. Here we witnessed an astounding sunset refracting off grotesque funneled clouds. At the resort we met a couple of old hippies from Boulder and went to dinner, they were a riot with psychedelic stories of the 60’s and had a son who played in the NFL. While on Ko Lanta we explored other islands and snorkeled, peering underwater I saw a rainbow fish and shadowed it for awhile as it navigated the coral labyrinth. This fish had the full spectrum of rainbow colors in proper arrangement and swam at a queer pace lilting from side to side then twirling, wiggling its translucent tail in gay fashion, the golden donut holed coral soon gobbled up my companion and I returned to the boat. At night I savored red snapper in spicy chili sauce with a banana split for desert. Unbelievable! On our last day on the island mom opted for beachcombing while bra and I hopped on a rented scooter for an island getaway. Although my brother is an excellent driver I am not fond of this mode of transportation. It harkens back to a dawn speedway chase five years ago on my inaugural trip to the land of smiles. We zipped over the hilly terrain past jungle thicket zooming over bluffs revealing ocean vistas, meeting my mom and the Colorado couple in old town for lunch. Before our meeting Ty and I stopped at a deserted inlet where we saw a mudskipper, a most peculiar critter that walks on water. It is half reptile and half fish and I believe this tiny creature might be the link between sea and land, our common ancestor, Adam. While examining this miracle we heard Muslim prayer music piped from the forest (Ko Lanta is predominantly Muslim) The sun baked our mudskipper while the hypnotic drone for Allah mingled with the waves. After lunch we jumped on the scooter and headed out to a pristine national park on the point. The road cut through tremendous old growth forest with towering trees sporting albino bark. The final grade down to the park was steep but we arrived safely to a palm laid oasis on the Andaman Sea. We had hit the jackpot I mean Holy Cow! This place was paradise. The sea shined in a dazzling array of blues and greens and a lighthouse pronounced the point. From here the onlooker can see the curvature of the earth and gaze down at empty white sand beaches. The Oceanside is a vivid wilderness of its own, perhaps the most primal of wild places beyond which lies the ultimate underwater domain, where likely humans crawled out of the salty solution as a mudskipper. It just had to happen that way as the sea seems far more ancient than the land. From the beach we did a groovy forest loop ascending steep stone steps through a humid jungle, exhibiting some very impressive trees with trunks thick as redwoods with ultra light bark. I am always game to discover new trees! And don’t get much tropical love. But on that day I was Jungle Jim and bra led me through the forest skillfully. We left the park and went beach hopping ending up at reggae themed bar drinking a lasse for sunset. On the way back Ty stormed our scooter into a Muslim marketplace like “American Dad” and was rebuffed by an angry man. Overall I found the local Muslims were congenial and enterprising. A crescent moon etched the tropical horizon over a silhouetted mosque and after our run in at the stalls we burned rubber back to the resort before mom had a panic attack. It was a fun day that I will always cherish.

Mommy had to go to the clinic to change her bandage and clean her wound, and on the table next to her was a surprisingly calm obese fellow with a knife protruding from his side. After four days on Ko Lanta we returned to the mainland to fly to Bangkok. I had passed through Bangkok briefly but was interested in spending a few days in the mix. Honestly I wasn’t expecting to enjoy the place as much as I did.

Part 4: A Happy Ending in Bangkok

Upon arrival in Bangkok I began to feel apprehensive about saying goodbye to my mom and brother. But was grateful we had three more days together. Tyler did a fantastic job in coordinating the Thailand trip and once again we had a great hotel downtown with a rooftop pool that was open all night. Bangkok is a nocturnal place with many strange creatures roaming the streets after dark as the author will inform you of soon. Ahem, but first dinner. We found Terminal 54 a supermall with a plethora of eateries including an amazing cafeteria with duck, noodles, soups, fish, and everything else oriental and edible that you can imagine. (Sitting here after midnight at my desk in my hut I am salivating recollecting this monarch of cafeterias) One floor of the mall even had a San Francisco theme including a replica Golden Gate Bridge, while In the basement was a Japanese burger joint and Dairy Queen. The blizzard was divine! But out on the streets another side of Bangkok unfolds. From the limited exposure I received I judged the city as diverse and tolerant. Beggars huddle in the street near food vendors and shops hawking everything but the kitchen sink. And then there is Soy Cowboy. Heehaw! Or is it –saddle up partner. This neon avenue resembles a pornographic spacecraft seething with flesh and deviance. Lady boys outnumber gals here and often it’s hard to discern the difference without running objectionable experiments. The clubs are fronts for prostitution with the exception of a few exclusively stripper joints, we saw some bizarre things which were an interesting insight into aspects of humanity. The lady boys for instance are regarded as a third gender and widely accepted in Thailand. We steered mom down Soy Cowboy to show her another side to Asia before cruising back to the Inn. Tyler and I adjourned to the roof for a nightcap looking over the glowing skyscrapers and cracking wise about our family outing to the red light district then chatted up some Bangladeshi brothers in the wee hours before turning in.      

The following day we explored Bangkok as a family. We went to the famous weekend market that featured everything for sale including, clothes, food, furniture, and puppies but it was so hot that at one point I almost collapsed on the pavement. After the market we went to the ornate Royal Palace with was encrusted with shimmering jewels, an image from a lyric of “China Cat Sunflower” To reach the hotel we took a longboat on the river which was a definitive Bangkok ride at sunset, the waterway was jammed with boats of all sizes passing in the choppy river. The sticky air saturated my lungs as I took a moment to appreciate my family sitting next to me. There was scarcely time to enjoy one more family dinner before we groggily departed for the airport the following dawn. Hugging them goodbye I grabbed my carryon and headed toward my gate. I felt empty walking away but as Buddha says, “we are born to depart.” The spell with my mom and bra will remain a cherished time in my heart and in the company of my beloveds I realize the marrow deep similarities and traits we share. 

 To Be Continued...