Autumnal Mumble

Bhutanese Thanksgiving AKA Beef it up!

“…It’s just the same old movie, I’ve seen it all before, guess one more run through wont undo me, but I would like to know what for” Bombs Away

On this Saturday night Karlos and Sonam gave a great feast with local meat, rice, chilies, and vegetables. The dal was top notch and the meat delicious. In attendance were Karma Om, Hatchet Boy, and her mom.  Sonam’s folks were also there and little Tswering Choden from the village. I was cozy on the couch next to Karma having a genuine conversation while petting Booty. That afternoon I set up my tent down in the farmlands and took a nap. It’s pretty cheap and when disassembling I noticed the strings connecting the posts were frayed. Karlos predicted it wouldn’t last another night. I woke up sick which isn’t surprising after a nice streak of health. I am extremely busy and must maintain my health. Living in Bhutan is balls to the wall. No water or power and constant upkeep and maintenance are required. It can be exhausting at least for this lazy boy. We are spoiled growing up in a developed country where everything is available. However Bhutan does have advantages too if your patient. For instance the students are great and yesterday I had some boys over to look at photos and goofed around after social work with class 8A. Another teacher strolled by and the students tensed up like toy soldiers. I realized they are relaxed in my company which is a good thing. Like I said before it usually lies with the protagonist’s attitude. Those of us “half empties” are reminded to evaluate our positions. October brings epic views of the Matterhorn peaks of Tawang. I usually find a chorten to kick it at and have been roaming about every day. The tiger would like to push his frontiers furthur expanding his territory. When I first arrived I was mesmerized by this land, later I was hypnotized. But now my love for this landscape has crossed into the sacred.

I got locked in the temple today which gave me ample opportunity to explore. The primary statue in the main chamber is a twenty foot Guru Rinpoche draped in gold silk. The three ascending rooms depict the entire story of humanity with a serene golden Buddha meditating in the attic. The rooms are full of relics, bells, conches, prayer books, statues, offering bowls, butter lamps, incense, and the breathing murals that cover the ceiling to floor. The space explodes with color and the musty air tastes divine. Back outside Rinchen Wangmo was roasting maize and offered me an ear. This enchanting 24 year old with two babies has never been to school and speaks only Sharshop, although we are able to communicate in the most basic terms. She never leaves the temple but once a month to walk the fifteen minutes into Tsenkharla. I watched her play with her baby in the ultimate show of love. Bhutanese women strap their babes on their backs with colorful patterned cloth. On the way down the mountain I picked up a full pack of trash in view of the soft glow of an alpine sunset on the distant arc of Himalayan peaks. Ravens jetted over Tsangma’s ruin towards Shakshang as the sound of horns and drums rolled down the ridge. Back in the village I take tea with Sonam and a dozen village women. Many of them speak no English and I realize this is the first generation to be able to communicate well in English. Sonam tells me that a group of tourist from Washington D.C was in the village this morning. Besides the hazelnut folks only two groups of felincpa’s have reached Tsenkharla. These tourists picked a nice day to visit the village and there is a reason that October is the high season for visitors in the Kingdom. That would explain the stoical and mysterious white woman in a kira that snubbed us at the K.C. I call her Edna. But at Tsenkharla I remain submerged in village life which in some ways remains unaffected by the outside world. Speaking of the outside world it was nice to talk baseball with dad and sad to hear about the loss of Jetes for the post season. But we live to play another day. As for myself I make my own entertainment observing the grandest stage on earth featuring the world’s greatest artist, Mother Nature. So if you excuse me I have to complete a mound of paperwork to extend my contract for the 2013 year. This way I give my donors more bang for their buck! So my dear readers enjoy yourselves wherever you are around the world.       

Individually Unique Together Complete

“Now the shoreline beckons, there is a price for being free” Lost Sailor

Tuesday October 16 was a religious holiday for this agnostic cowboy, Bobby’s birthday. Unfortunately I woke up sick as a Ratdog and with an epic errand to run. So I went Truckin to Yangtse to the Dzong papers in hand to renew my contract for another year. As any seasoned Bhutanese volunteer knows submitting and getting approval of paperwork is as one friend says a “shit show” or at the very least an extreme hassle. We get indoctrinated as newbie’s awaiting approval for entry into the Kingdom. I reached the Dzong at 9 Am on a glorious day that I was too sick to appreciate. I met with the friendly DEO (District Education Officer) with the stack of papers BCF advised me to submit. Of course no one in Yangtse had ever gone through the process before and confusion took hold. Three hours bouncing from office to office in the Dzong and the I finally left with most of the ducks in a row. I’d fill you in on the particulars but my head was swimming in a fever dream and for most of the time I was slumped over in the regal courtyard watching men with sword bearing rank shuffle my papers. I jumped back in the coach of The Jupiter and we gunned it to t-gang so I could pass the file off to the Karmenator. Once I reached the K.C I retired to my room where I stayed for two days. This boogie woogie flu featured extreme body aches and cold sweats. Becky fortunately brought me some H2O and food before splitting for Phongmay. I regrettably had to call in sick for two days until I was well enough to travel back HOME. While I was hibernating the outside world underwent a metamorphosis into crispy gold with sweeping blue skies. Bare earth once again exposed as the lush grasses of summer subsided once again leaving the area around Doksom the driest in Bhutan. But no matter I love every inch of it now. Getting sick is a wakeup call and I wonder how I can help myself be more healthy? The truth is the dragon has a veracious appetite and sooner or later it takes a bite out of all of us. It’s been a horrific year on the health front. We lost our friend Martha and many others battled extreme illness both in and out of the BCF expatriate community. I felt I recovered swiftly enough from the flu and am left ONLY with body pain and an earache. Truthfully health is the biggest challenge in the Kingdom and a healthy day is a good day. The Year of the Male Water Dragon will go down as the toughest overall I hope. But as this negative Nellie sifts through the evidence he cannot tear himself away from the landscape and the students that make this home.

In Bhutan teachers share an intimate relationship with their students. Living at a boarding school my life is intertwined with the student body. Thankfully this includes many extracurricular activities outside of the classroom. A teacher in Bhutan can be a life coach, mentor, and educator. I hope to embrace these roles more easily in the coming year. Speaking for myself it took a long time to settle in and a long time for my students to relax around me. It’s satisfying to see the progress we have all made together. But before I can reflect I must bear down for the busiest month of the year, preparing and marking exams. I must stay reasonably shipshape for the homestretch. So if things get out of control the author wants to be the first to wish you all a Happy Halloween, Happy Thanksgiving, Happy Hanukah, Happy Festivus, “Happy” Christmas, and Happy New Year!

TIGER KEY

WTDL = what to do La

La= term of respect for authority in Bhutan

BLAH= the Big La

LOT= Land of Terror

TOL= Terror of Life

Colortini= Sign off phrase from the late great Tom Snyder’s talk show, meaning is open ended.

Teaching in Lhomon

“Some come to laugh the past away, some come to make it just one more day, whichever way your pleasure tells, you plant ice you’re gonna harvest wind”

Happy Anniversary Tyler and Beth and Happy Birthday Bobby!  October 16

Part 1: October Ramble

Outside my door a gold star wobbles in orbit and the air is crisp. Yesterday in Yangtse I picked up some Bomdeling chilies for Karlos. They are beautiful specimens, a devilish assortment of red and green. Somehow I have grown to love the chili almost as much as kimchi. Like kimchi, chilies come in multiple varieties and vary by region. But kimchi is mild on the tongue compared to a Bhutanese chili. East Bhutan is famous for its local chilies and ara, a lethal combo. Sonam’s emadatsi is particularly delicious and Karlos made a raw chili salad that was a sensory delight. Wangmo and Zangmo carry them around drinking their firewater. Chilies come in all shapes and sizes and degrees of spiciness. My first night in Bhutan I almost slipped and cracked my head running for the toilet after my first emadatsi. The hottest emadatsi I’ve consumed was at Manu’s house in Kumdang prepared by her roommate Pema. That dish melted my face.

Today rain returned. Bhutan is the wettest place I have ever lived. The monsoon begins in spring and stays until winter. This accounts for the enormous cucumbers and marigolds. One traditional name for Bhutan was Lhomon, or land of Southern Darkness. This name is apt for the climate. The fun continues in the classroom as I slowly get to know the students as individual learners and people. They are very funny especially when they jabber at each other in Sharshop. Sharshop is hilarious sounding to the laymen with all sorts of animated gestures to accompany the loud words. I honestly can say they have improved in their writing which was a primary goal for the second term. They obviously make tons of mistakes but they can express themselves well which is paramount for an ESL learner. Working with large classes adds to the challenge of assessment and individual tutorials. I try to identify the common mistakes and engage the students with small group activities and individual participation. I still fall into the habit of talking too much and on occasion I can see their eyes glaze over. At these times I interject some humor too lively up the lesson. Each class has some real characters and staying on track is challenging. Overall the students are goodhearted which goes a long way in my book. Exams are zooming nearer and this will be a busy month. I have basically completed the syllabus and am gearing up for review. We will play some trivia games involving the material in small groups. Students have a gap in age and skills and I try to nurture the struggling student while challenging the toppers. It is difficult to differentiate for each learner. It’s been a remarkable experience educating these particular students. Since most of Bhutan’s population is under fifteen, this generation will make or break the nation. HM is depending on education to guide the Kingdom into modern times while preserving the culture and environment. Boarding schools are the paramount institution responsible for producing well rounded students.

I am only one of eighteen BCF teachers in the Kingdom. The only other Western teachers are scattered volunteers like Linda who teaches monks. Australia is placing a volunteer in Yangtse next year but the totality of teachers in Bhutan is scarce. All the English spoken in Bhutan has been filtered through India via the UK. My students generally have a thirst for conversational English but few have a hunger for reading. The library conundrum is a major obstacle. I never leveled off my learners and the selection of books are jumbled in the library. All I have to work with is the curriculum that is prescribed to me by the ministry. Some of the content is good and some is too difficult or irrelevant. When they connect content to their own real life experiences they write well. For instance when asked to write about their village life they produce positive results. But with lack of books and availability of T.V the youth is faced with streamlined language acquisition instead of interacting with their own imagination. My objective is to instill in my pupils the ability to think critically, independently, and work effectively in groups. Limited resources force the teacher to be creative. I am grateful for crayons for art projects and chart paper for KWL’s. Having kids perform and sing in class is great. Each student does have a textbook, notebook, and pen. At this point many of their notebooks are falling apart which make them a headache to correct. But these are all good lessons for a novice teacher who must rely on ingenuity and the student’s abilities to obtain success. In the classroom as in life, “there ain’t no easy answers, that’s all I’m trying to say”  

I had a nice day on campus but still seek the balance of classroom management.  My students feel relaxed but certain boys are prone to outbursts. Ironically most of my report cards remarked that I was talking out of turn in class. Generally the behavior is acceptable and moreover I like to have fun in class, striking the right mix is challenging. Social service club has dwindled to a few dedicated members and bunking is a problem. Usually less than half show up on any given week. I don’t have the inclination to chase bunkers down but rather work with the ones who care. It’s frustrating to purge an area and find it ruined a week later. We are left with a fairy tale landscape scattered with rubbish, and the characters don’t really care. The problem remains lack of trash cans but mostly just cultural attitude. Children emulate their parent’s behavior and are never properly educated. No one thinks twice of littering as an observer would notice strolling on the picturesque village drag. The natural beauty marred by trash present a strange paradox.  I have to step up my efforts and be more diligent in my methods to make any change.  This problem will surely outlast my short time in Bhutan. In the meantime living on the Tsenkharla ridge reminds me of Guru Rinpoche’s copper mountain heaven, except I don’t have two beautiful consorts from India and Tibet. Imagine a bachelor Guru Rinpoche or a descendent of Prince Tsangma coming back to the castle. I remain healthy even though my classroom resembles a Czars clinic with half the students in masks. My diet is simple and unhealthy and then there is my Coca Cola addiction. I know what you’re thinking this would be the right time to quit. I need to learn more dishes but am faced with different ingredients or lack of ingredients. However, one cool thing in Bhutan is the ceiling for improvement is unlimited. 

I wandered into the cypress grove where the ferns are burnt brown. The trail was overgrown with flowering bushes, cobwebs and fallen trees. I stopped at one of my favorite rocks overlooking the valley and inspected its pink lichen letting my mind drift to other groves on other Octobers.

Part 2: Thursday Night Circus

“You must really consider the circus, well it just might be your kind of zoo, I can’t think of a place that’s more perfect, for a person as perfect as you”

At interval my brother calls to give me play by play of the A’s game. I know the Yanks are locked in a battle with Baltimore. Andy lost his game 3-2. From the box score I recreate the drama in my head but it’s not the same. I miss the rapture of post season baseball, the images of players pacing the dugout and the worried look of anxious fans in the stands. I miss America! My life has taken an odd turn as I toil at my craft in the Orient. What am I doing here? Fulfilling a dream or running away from reality?  Sometimes I feel out of context like a ghost rattling his chains. The mountains turn an olive tone somewhere between green and brown. Earthy hues sprawl in a limitless horizon radiating out from my position atop Tsenkharla ridge. I wish I had someone to share it with. But we are all alone on our own ridges and mountaintops. We build bridges between one another stretching over the dark abyss, trying to reconcile with existence. One thing is for certain, life is tentative and fleeting. On my walks in the woods I contemplate my attachments. I love my family and those who helped me arrive at this moment, watching ravens glide and listening to the din of the bell on the prayer wheel.  The faces of those I love blur into the gaping landscape and fond memories scatter like threads of a prayer flag carried into the atmosphere, until I am only left with here and now. 

Today’s hike featured a one hundred and eight ring circus of clouds, starring Puff the Magic Dragon. The ridges popped, sharply defined like boulders under Sand Harbor water. In Bhutan the people live in harmony with the land where Americans wash themselves in blood stained rivers. Our enormous cities built on Native American graveyards. In the Eastern Himalaya Its hard living, do not tempt the dragon or it will eat you. What are the effects of isolation on the psyche? Some grow stronger or assimilate where others go mad. It’s itchy dirty and scary! Listening to the student’s drone of prayers I wonder where I am and how different I am. My gut sends longing messages to my brain requesting a steak burrito with guacamole. It settles for a coke while cockroaches encroach on my turf and poor Becky shares her dwelling with a rat. WTDL in the LOT/TOL! BLAH BLAH BLAH…My soul is wrapped in natural wonderment but my ambiguous tribe is far away. They are anonymous freaks assembled at a dancehall in anywhere USA, a coterie of fair maidens with sumptuous braids, fuzzy boots, and stirrups. There perspiration reeks of forbidden pie as they squeal for the womp in the wee hours, an orgy of Americana and unsurpassed beauty. Chrome spiked bunnies with tramp stamps, drunk on ecstasy flitter their pierced tongues in flickering light; their Sexy cochlea’s diddled by the bass.  Presently the Thursday Night Circus rolls in my hut with your dear author playing air guitar on his broomstick.

Part 3: Keep Your Nose to the Grindstone

“Let’s drink to the hard working people, let’s drink to the salt of the earth” Zeke

On campus marigolds shelter the grinding stone, the iconic rock of old Rangthangwoon. These days I forget about the huge stone and what it means to me. When I first arrived I would touch the stone every morning to remind myself of my responsibility. I never forget to notice the row of gigantic cypress lining the main pathway. They are the treasure of Tsenkharla. From above our campus appears immerged in a forest.  It’s a heavenly compound and my favorite place on earth. If the tiger hibernates it is due to his workload. The next month will be a whirlwind of exams and marking. Exam time in Bhutan is a grind for teachers. Another bluebird day made for a stellar hike. Tsenkharla is at its peak of beauty. Amazing flowers adorn the grasslands and cows graze near golden rice patties clinging to the slopes. I roamed to the second ruin and watched the most amazing mountain sunset. A Meme sat in a field in tattered gho and barefoot bundling grasses. Evening rays turn the mountaintops copper. Sitting on a fat rock under the dilapidated ruin in dirty shirt and worn boots, I think “this is the life.”

 I have completed the syllabus and am reviewing essay writing. I am about to enter the county of procrastination regarding making the exams. I was pleased at Kesang’s improvement from the beginning of the year. She has been locked into the lessons and participating in class. Kesang was so shy at first all she did is stick her tongue out at me.

My pal Becky loves to fall into the lama jams at pujas with elongated horns and robust drums. Phongmay is prime puja country you see. I get off on the singing of prayers by the boarders. There is something about hundreds of voices in tune that is incomparable. They are transported to another place with faces reflecting the creator. In the last section I rambled on the unsurpassed beauty of a trance dance party. The worshipful harmony in the MP hall is equally beautiful. The boys sit on one side of the hall and the girls on the other all dressed in religious attire with butter lamps glowing. Their collective voices rise to heaven in the sweetest sound ever heard. This is when you feel Buddhism in the air intertwined with the cedar smoke burning in the outdoor hearth. The chanting overcomes the observer with an emotive power. Standing outside in the darkness under a starry sky I am happy to be a part of the community and appreciate a culture I will never truly be a part of. I can appreciate a fraction of what it means to be Bhutanese.  As a volunteer in the secretive Himalayan Buddhist Kingdom of Bhutan, one must never forget how fortunate we are to be here.        

Part 4: Eastern Exposure

“…I may be obliged to defend every love every ending, or maybe there’s no obligations now” Graceland

One of my favorite T.V shows of all time was “Northern Exposure.” The plotline is a Jewish Doctor from Queens is sent to a small Alaskan town to work off his loans. This neurotic protagonist has to assimilate in a rural setting, surrounded by quirky townsfolk. Obviously I can relate to Dr. Fleischman’s predicament. But I can also relate to Buck in “Call of the Wild.” As for you, thanks for tuning into another episode of “tiger.” I hope you are able to follow the plot as it plunges deeper into the woods. Interaction with students is where a teacher gets grounded. I find them far easier to communicate with then the adults. The youthful heart is universal. Time funnels into a heavy workload as we BCF’ers dig in to finish our year. It’s not time for summarizing yet but I can conclude it has been an interesting learning experience. The other night on the mobile phone I remarked to Becky that I wasn’t sure I have changed in Bhutan. But upon reflection I realize I have changed incrementally, like Blue Mountains walking to the sea.  Where has the time gone? In the blink of the eye I went from silver spoon to mid life crisis. But once you leave the path the world is your Chili. No rules or accountability except to my students. The name of the game is stay healthy, enjoy the moment. Offer your service to an amazing group of kids. Not a bad way to spend a day. Now if only the author can control his pendulum like mood swings he might be alright. Buddha’s middle path is out there somewhere. It is a trail with no pot of gold lurking at the end of the rainbow. But it reveals infinite moments and beauty along the way. Just watch out for the cobras and sooner or later we all coil at the source.   

Loving a country is like loving a person

Parchment Farm

“I’m sitting around here on Parchment Farm, place is loaded with rustic charm”

Autumn is a beautiful season in Bhutan. The forest is blooming with pink, purple, and white flowers. The sloping fields are turning chartreuse and a crisp breeze rattles the brittle maize stalks. Tsenkharla was buzzing today with swarms of honey bees and multiple unkind of raven. I have never seen so many at once as they are roosting in the row of mighty cypress on campus and taking to the skies in impressive aeronautic formations by the hundreds. My favorite sound is the sharp whooshing of air beating beneath black wings. The stately eagle might soar but the flight of a raven is paramount. The temperature is dropping at night and rain is always part of the forecast. Today I went roaming to the west and met some interesting characters on the trail. One young woman lost her shit laughing at me, rolling around in the canal with her friend. She didn’t speak a word of English but thought I was hilarious. In the middle of the forest it’s not uncommon to see “Day Scholars” on their way home. Today the sun warmed my face and I let my soul absorb every scrap of light. I never tire of these valleys and the 360 degree horizon. If loving a country is like loving a person, I am falling head over heels for this landscape. The kids aren’t so bad either. I am getting to know my students in and out of the academic setting better each day. This is making the job more rewarding and enjoyable. Bhutan has changed the way I see the world. My heart home is Northern California and the Pacific Northwest. Just in the last two years my geographical soul has manifested tenfold. I discovered Yellowstone and Bhutan. I realize that the earth is one astounding beautiful ball, most of which I will never see. For me this is why I love to travel even though I got a late start in life. But finding Bhutan is like coming home to a past life. I am still on the fringe of the culture but walking in the forest I have never been so at home.

To thrive in Bhutan you must embrace challenges and difficult situations. This is something I am not great at, which is one of the many reasons I landed here. Bhutan challenges all of my “issues.” This is no place for sloth, or self loathing. As a teacher I must be upbeat and diligent. Obviously I have a Masters in complaining and PHD in neurosis, but the author hopes to change his habits. The focus in Bhutan is simple, stay healthy and help the students. Most of my goals are wrapped up in facilitating the learning process and exploring the area. Despite hardships like lack of water or vegetables it is easy to make do. I make it harder than it needs to be and attitude dictates reality in this place. As one student told me “life is full of ups and downs” but they are easier to stomach in the wildness of East Bhutan. Observing the students fortitude and adaptability is inspirational. They are a special breed of children. Tough, tender, hilarious, and community minded. They don’t complain about walking in the rain three hours to and from school. They will not grow up to bitch like your author. Boarding School is a demanding and regimented institution. The bell rings at 5 AM to wake them up and their day is spent in a 16 hour routine. Prayer, cutting grass, eating, sleeping, studying, classes, and playing are all regulated by the chime of the bell. I can hear it ringing in the forest as I escape but they remain locked into the groove. They get homesick and bunk in refugee like quarters, as the government goes to tremendous effort to educate and shelter the young multitudes. The future leaders of Bhutan are sacked out in hostels around the kingdom tonight, (some two to a bed). The students love to laugh, draw, dance, and sing and have earned my respect. My class is a place for them to blow off steam on occasion. The students have earned my respect and I hope I have earned theirs.

Although I get frustrated with the process I realize that overall their English skills are good for ESL learners who speak several languages a piece. Since all subjects are taught in English it is important to bolster their skills in the four sacred domains of speaking, listening, reading, and writing. Since these students parents from are often illiterate, the future is promising. Each generation should improve exponentially in English. The third King brought Bhutan into the modern world partly by introducing English in schools. English is a powerful tool in Bhutan and I feel a heady responsibility teaching here. I am grateful that I don’t have more than 31 in my classes or it would be impossible to maintain assessment. It is already very difficult but with ingenuity can be done. Teaching is a noble profession anywhere in the world but I feel a particular charge at my post. At BCF I am humbled to be placed amongst dynamic and dedicated teachers. Some have been teaching in North America and around the world for years. Others are new and hungry to change the world. We hope to do this one pupil at a time. It’s a demanding and chaotic profession but the kids keep it eternally fresh and relevant. Even on a morning where I feel anxious and don’t want to slog up to assembly. It doesn’t take long before a smiling face or a student’s goofy antics snap me to attention. In the classroom we discover our sameness and differences but always bridge the gap with humor and hard work. Sometimes a lesson might bomb but each day brings new opportunity and the students are mostly willing to go along for the ride.

I hope that one day my students revere me like the former students of Nancy, Jamie, and Mark. Of course I am not here for accolades but the reason the aforementioned people are revered is because they influenced their students improving their lives. There is one man at Becky’s school who worships Nancy and she never even taught him. He is BCF’s #1 fan! BCF is reviving a long tradition of Canadian teachers in Bhutan. Now we have 18 Canadians, English, Australian, and American educators in the Kingdom.  WUSC, the original company lost funding twenty years ago leaving a gap of foreign volunteers in Bhutan. In 2010 the Bhutan Canada Foundation began placing certified teachers in the Kingdom. The 2013 group will be the fourth installment. Maybe some of these folks are tuned in to “tiger” waiting for final approval and placement. The approval process takes a long time and is good training for the real thing. Four hour meetings, landslides, cancelled classes, mandatory tea parties, and confusion. Many of these occurrences blossom into warm memories or memorable moments. And some are just an exercise in futility. Slowly we adapt and assimilate into the community, finding the people and pets that make us happy. For me it’s my students, neighbors, and Booty. Booty looks like a little leopard and keeps his coat impeccably clean and shiny. I dream of giving him a home at my mom’s someday. He even sat on my lap for twenty minutes tonight and deserves an easier life then his stray existence. There are likely more stray dogs then people in Bhutan. It’s a hard life for these cats and dogs.

The mountains dominate life in Bhutan. Even keeping the roads open is a constant upkeep. If one had a bird’s eye view of Bhutan it would seem an unbroken chain of mountains. West and South of Tsenkharla the ridges overlap towards Yangtse and T-Gang. To the East the massifs reveal a deep valley threaded by the Dagme Chu flowing from Arrunachal Pradesh. Tawang town is a few hours from the border at 10,000 feet the same elevation as Sakteng. The valley below me is at about 3,000 feet and my hut is around 6,000 feet. In Northern Yangtse the mountains tower on the border with Tibet but the highest peaks are in North and Central Bhutan, exceeding 25,000 feet.

Today I took my class seven out for some trash picking. We stuffed several bags full of trash and I am waiting to see how long before the village street is messy again. My student flung a plastic bottle into the forest right in front of me. It is an issue of engrained bad habits which I am trying to change. We are getting down to the wire to complete the syllabus before exams. I will be in the weeds soon frantically struggling to make the exam and crank them out on the archaic press. These exams must constitute 80% of their grade and must follow a prescribed format. And then there is the promise of Central Marking. The reader can refer to a June edition of “tiger” for those excruciating details. It’s hard not to get swept away in an ideal landscape of farmhouses, rushing rivers, boulders, forests, and clouds. Throw in some chortens and prayer flags and there you have it. Slowly the true magic spins out like the spider web in my doorway . It is paradise!        

Last Getaway

“Leaves are gonna bloom smelling sweet perfume, birds are gonna sing through the whole damn thing” Dave Malone

I hitched down to Doksom and crossed the river on a quarter mile Indiana Jones suspension bridge draped in rainbow prayer flags over the Dagme Chu. It was a scorching October morning as the trail wound through grasslands and chartreuse rice patties butted against a steep range. The clamshell peak had several vertical chutes covered in deciduous vegetation. After my jaunt into the wilderness I returned to Gom Kora to spin some wheels. On the road I was almost blown away by a dust devil before I commandeered a taxi and headed into Trashigang where I met Becky, Ashleigh, Vicky and Ian for tea and talk at the bakery. That night me and Becky visited the Dzong as usual and returned to the veranda for a fine meal. I had the chicken curry. After dinner we took tea with Phuntso and a man she simply called Engineer. I harassed our server Tswering who stuck her tongue out at me like an iguana.  The next day Becky and I set out on an adventure. We had once again abandoned our plan to reach Pema Gatshel instead hiring a taxi and heading into my neck of the woods. Our first stop was Gom Kora . The sky was powder blue with cotton clouds billowing over the ridges. The Kora was open and we slipped inside passed two fogies from Denmark. The interior boasted glossy wood floors and relics from Guru Rinpoche including an astounding collection of huge rocks. One rock resembled the testical of a stone giant. We even got souvenir tour posters that were sold by the monks that Stanley Mouse himself would have been impressed by. It was going to be an auspicious day in god’s furry pocket. We bolted through sleepy Doksom past the junction and into the jungle towards Yangtse. Each leaf and blade sparkled in an ostentatious display of photosynthesis. We rushed through pine forest and into primordial oaks wrapped in serpentine vines and climbing ivy watered by waterfalls. The foliage resembled tree monsters that were dancing together in celebration of the season.  

We reached Yangtse town and lunched at Crickets place. She was adorable as ever in her cropped haircut. After that Becky went to work by circumambulating Chorten Kora 21 times as I joined her for a few then rested on a bench amongst the overgrown sunflowers, and marigolds. The whitewashed Chorten was splattered against an electric blue sky as a mild breeze was carried by the Kulongchu. Even a postcard could not capture the perfection of the scene as it was a day torn right out of the guide book with the serene eyes of Buddha watching over the scene. In the golden afternoon light we moved on to the old Yangtse Dzong where things took a turn for the magical. The old Dzong was constructed by Pema Lingpa and company at the same time as Trashigang. The Dzong had no written plans and no nails were used in the miraculous architectural feat. The original Trashiyangtse Dzong is perched on a hillock at the nexus of an endless wilderness. Below the Dzong is a mighty Cypress that overlooks the river and verdant valley tucked into a smothering forest. This is the old trade route between Tibet and Bhutan and the Rodung La trek which connects Yangtse to Bumthang via Lhuntse. There are said to be many ghost in this remote part of Bhutan.  We breezed through the regal courtyard and into the ancient edifice. The cherry wood floors were exquisite and we ascended steep ladder stairs up several levels reaching an interior alter room. In that room we bumped into a group of monks accompanying the Trashigang governor and his compatriots. On display was a rare statue of the god of compassion with its thousand arms. We got a blessing of holy water from a chalice before leaving the sanctum. Once in the courtyard we preceded to the main Lhakang an eloquent room where we lit butter lamps. A young monk frantically searched for reserve lamps for the governor who was on our heels. The butter lamps we lit were earmarked for the distinguished guests but in this temple we all were treated with equal compassion, dignity, and grace. The sun plunged beneath the pine crest ridge illuminating a northern pinnacle in glittering gold. We hopped back in the taxi and made the run back to Trashigang in about two hours flat. That night we found a stairway to heaven and climbed into the upper reaches of the horseshoe valley above the town. A rare appearance of stars twinkled above the silhouetted trees and the Milky Way stretched across the Himalayan sky. But these stars seemed far away and out of reach. They vibrated in tiny frequencies from another universe or dimension like T.V’s flickering in roadside motel windows.  We couldn’t help ask ourselves if they really existed at all, or for that matter did we?  

Afterschool on Monday I wandered up to Zongdopelri where Rinchen Wangmo was harvesting rice in a bamboo sifter. It was the clearest day in Bhutan revealing two glacial peaks beyond Tawang. I have only glimpsed them twice before and couldn’t believe what I was seeing, two Himalayan toppers like diamonds eclipsed by my thumb. But there they were the throne of the gods, the far eastern link in the chain that stretches from Pakistan, Nepal, Tibet, Bhutan, to Arrunachal Pradesh. From my bonpo meadow the inner Himalaya sprawled in each direction with countless peaks, ridges, and slopes with every conceivable contour, the crown jewel, the dragon tail, the honeycomb and everything between. Flocks of ravens soared in the four directions in esoteric formations while prayer flags flapped in a crystal sky. It is god’s country if there is such a thing. 

Monk at Trashiyangtse Dzong, May

Meme AKA Becky's Mountain