Fun Photos and a Few Reflections

In celebration of having high speed internet, I have decided to post some fun photos. Here is a batch that show just how humorous the use of English language can be.

Downtown Thimphu

I definitely want to get my hair done here!

Mmm Hmm

Yup

Feels Like the Wild West

Not exactly sure what these are...

It was particularly apt that this lady decided to take a rest here.

And now for a few more entertaining photos that did not make it into my initial postings. Given the lack of decent internet, I had to be circumspect in uploading (or trying to upload) photos. Now that we are having a little Christmas vacation back in the USA for a few weeks, I can include the fun ones. Here's Chris's opinion of having to wear a gho (which, by the way, he has only done officially once). He claims that they are too hot in the summer and too chilly in the winter (even though I offered to buy him some woolen tights to wear underneath).

But he looks so good!

Here is an example of a popular shopping item in Thimphu. Don't ask me why--I haven't got a clue. But Batman too gives Superman a run for his money. The little boys in Thimphu just love these.

Oh, I forgot to mention Spiderman!

Here's a new friend I made in the first few weeks. I forgot to ask her name, but I saw her everywhere--albeit in different stunning outfits.

I call her "Sunny."

Here are a couple of well-placed wall murals. Even if we tried, we could never replicate the perfect "timing" of these compilations.

No really, this isn't photo-shopped.

Swimming merrily along

And this little girl cast a knowing eye on our photographic interests.

"These foreigners--what's wrong with them?"

This lady in the market was sampling her own wares.

Mmmmm, delicious.

And this big guy certainly knew what he wanted to eat.

Don't get too close!

Being back in the USA is an odd experience, but one that has proven to be easily assimilated. After all, how hard can it be to get used to being warm inside, eating fresh food, taking a hot shower, and having high speed internet? While I appreciate such things, it is clearer than ever to me that for much of the world such experiences are indeed luxuries, and I am grateful for my good fortune at the same time as I have a very different perspective now on it. For those who don't know, we are back in the USA for the Bhutan winter break, which runs mid-December to mid-February, rather than in the summer. Since winter is so cold in Bhutan, the university has its long break now so that students can go home and try to get warm. In the summer, during the monsoon, the break between semesters is only two weeks long. I figured it was best to plan a trip home now, rather than over the summer. So, when we return to Bhutan in mid-February, we'll likely be there for a solid year. It seems my blog title might need to change--one year in Bhutan isn't nearly enough, and we have been extremely lucky in our connections, such that staying longer is not only possible, but pretty much definite. Especially for me in my attempt to do research for my dissertation, this spring will mark the actual beginning. I have managed, in spite of the odds, to forge the right kinds of relationships--those which will allow me to travel to the various locations associated with my Buddhist saint in order to conduct interviews with local villagers and elders. I will be assigned a Bhutanese counterpart upon my return to Bhutan in February--a scholar who will accompany me to wherever I need to go in order to both translate and facilitate my interviewing. I will also be teaching part-time at ILCS (a course in English literature--of all things) as part of my own offering back to Bhutan. This is one of the smart and lovely things about officially doing research in Bhutan. Any foreign researcher is asked both to give something back to the institutions with which he or she is working, as well as to help to train a Bhutanese scholar in that particular form of scholarship in exchange for which, the foreigner is given all possible help in conducting his or her research. It took me nearly six months to establish the right relationships for beginning this process in earnest. It is very clear to me now that Bhutan is very much a face-to-face culture. Trying to set things up from outside the country is very difficult, nearly impossible. But once one is inside and has a chance to be seen and to make personal connections, the doors open. I am excited to return and really get down to work, as the manifestations of my Buddhist saint seem to be multiplying day-by-day and I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up with his transformations through time and space! But in the meantime, the joy of being home, seeing family, and just reflecting on the intensity of the past six months is enough. I will be posting more as the days go by and I have a chance to catch up on many of the adventures I wasn't able to post about before.

From Dochu-lha

Daily Life

Mangde Chuu Valley in Autumn

At five am the alarm goes off. Torn from a dream in which I am swimming through a frothing lake that has no horizon, I open my eyes to the pitch dark of the inside of the bedroom. At five am, no moon remains to shed a ray of light beyond the window, and the concrete walls of the room make it nearly as dark as an underground chamber. Holding my hand in front of my face, I cannot see even the slightest outline. Rising in solid darkness aside, it’s the chill in the early morning air that makes me even more reluctant to emerge from beneath the layers of blankets under which I have made a toasty cocoon. Getting out of bed in Bhutan requires a leap of faith—that I will maintain enough body warmth to re-layer myself in my outdoor clothes, turn on the one small panel heater in the next room, and make my steaming mug of coffee before the cold settles over me once again. Coffee is a complex affair of instant coffee, unsweetened cocoa powder, sugar, and milk boiled up in a pan on our two-burner propane stove. I have to watch the mixture carefully since the burner is slightly too large for my small pot and one wrong move can send the entire beverage cascading across both stove and counter—a mishap that has occasionally extended my cooking time by a half-hour or so! Back upstairs, I sip from my insulated mug (an item I hold as precious as a rare diamond for both its size—most Bhutanese sip tea from tiny teacups—as well as from its ability to maintain the heat) while stretching.

The Warm Room

I recall overhearing a conversation in a shop in Thimphu when Chris and I were buying dishes to bring to Taktse. Two Bhutanese women were examining a rack of much larger-than-usual teacups. One woman said to the other: “Who drinks out of something like this? Can you even imagine a situation where you’d ever want something so huge?” The other woman nodded her head sagely—clearly, imbibing one’s tea out of such a large mug was considered extremely gauche. Recalling that our insulated mugs were easily twice as large as the mugs the women were commenting on, I had to laugh. Since then, I’ve been very carful to serve tea to guests only in the tiny teacups we bought that match our dishes.

Bedroom

After stretching, Chris and I arrange our meditation seats and practice in the perfect silence of the pre-dawn hours. It is so quiet at this time of day that I can hear the blood rushing in my veins. Most Bhutanese do not seem to be early risers, though I have occasionally come across villagers out in the early morning, away on a path to some unknown destination. By the time we’ve finished our practice, there is light behind the curtains. Drawing them aside, I still find it difficult to determine what sort of a day it will be due to the thick layer of condensation that coats every window in our apartment. It’s a bit of a mystery why so much condensation accumulates on the inside of the windows. I can understand those in the bedroom, but why in every other room when there is no heat that might be reasonably understood to cause the moisture? We can only figure that it is due to the fact that the poured concrete walls and floors of the apartment are “sweating” in spite of the chill, winter weather. In fact, someone casually mentioned that it would likely be a few years before the concrete was dry. If we lived in Thimphu, or some other drier location in Bhutan, this would be fine, but Taktse has proven itself to have the wettest weather in the country. Even when other parts of Bhutan are warm with the brilliant winter sun, we are, as often as not, shrouded in thick fog and heavy wet clouds. In spite of how utterly gorgeous this spot is when the sun is shining, it is unclear to me why the decision was made to locate ILCS in such an inhospitable location. Everyone is already dreading the return of the monsoon next summer, when heavy rain, fog, leeches, and mud participate in an ongoing cycle of mold, damp, and chill. I am secretly (or not so secretly!) planning to engage in ethnographic research during some of those summer months that will allow me to live in less damp environments!

Our Kitchen

While Chris gets ready for his first period class, I reflect that it is pleasant to be back in what currently counts as “home” after spending the past week in Thimphu. Even the damp and the gray clouds can’t change the fact that here is where we have begun to craft as comfortable a space as possible out of the raw ingredients at our disposal. My week in Thimphu had both a pleasurable element (seeing and spending a bit of time with my sister, who was there on business) and an utterly frustrating element—four solid days spent attempting to purchase plane tickets from Paro to Bangkok using local currency. While my sister dutifully attended to her meetings, I spent numerous hours engaging in the exactly the kind of fruitless endeavor that many South Asian countries stimulate best—dealing with bureaucratic red tape. The issue, in a nutshell, is that Bhutan has not developed any kind of policy for foreign residents (those who are not safely wrapped in the protective bubble of their tour guides’ expertise) to engage in activities that most Bhutanese take for granted. One example of this is buying plane tickets with the only airline that serves Bhutan, Druk Air. Travel details to and from Bhutan itself are generally taken care of by whatever tour company the tourist has signed up with. The tourist only has to provide his or her passport number and dates of travel. However, for someone like me, living in Bhutan, with Chris being paid a local salary in local currency, this issue becomes enormously complex--especially when it concerns things like exchange rates, etc. While I had little trouble booking the flight, paying for it became a marathon of institutions, discussions, letters and bank visits.

Thanksgiving Dinner: Mashed Potatoes, Indian Snack Mix, Red Rice, Ema Datsi, and Saag Curry

Thanksgiving Guests: Lopen Lungtaen, Matt Robinson, Chris

The story goes like this:

I arrived at the Druk Air office just as they opened. In spite of my early arrival, I was still required to take a number, since others had arrived before me. After an hour of waiting while the three people ahead of me at the three open counters took care of their tickets, my number was finally announced. I sat down with the agent and explained that I had booked tickets and wished to pay for them using local currency. But because I am a foreigner, I was told, “So sorry Madam, but this is not possible.”

“What is not possible?” I asked.

“You must pay in US dollars.”

“But I don’t have enough US dollars to pay for these tickets. Can’t I use ngultrim?”

“Just one moment, Madam.” The agent disappeared for about ten minutes into the back of the office, while I tried to imagine what the problem was. Finally, he came back.

“I’m sorry, Madam, but you must have a letter from the RMA.”

“The what?”

“The RMA—the Royal Monetary Authority.” He looked very embarrassed.

“Why do I need a letter?” I asked, trying to maintain a polite demeanor but feeling my heart sink—what the hell is the RMA?

“You must have a letter saying you can pay in local currency.”

Sigh. “How can I get this letter?”

After a fair bit more questioning I learn that my “institution” must first write a letter to the RMA explaining that Chris and I are “employees” of ILCS and that we wish to pay for plane tickets in local currency. Upon receipt of this letter, the RMA would review the claim and decide whether or not to issue another letter authorizing Druk Air to take our money.  By now I’ve been in the Druk Air office for about three hours and am beginning to have an intuition of just how much time this process is going to take.

“Can’t I just give you a credit card?” I ask in desperation.

The agent looks horrified. “Oh no, Madam. We don’t take those.”

Of course not—credit cards barely exist in Bhutan. No one uses them.

I leave the office and stand on the busy sidewalk under the bright sun flipping through the listings of phone numbers in my phone. Who should I call? Finally, I call Lopen. He tells me that I should go to the main Royal University of Bhutan office and get them to write the first letter. He’ll make some phone calls and let them know I’m coming and why. I hang up and begin the forty-minute walk up the steep roads to the office. Soon, for the first time in days, I have to take off my coat and hat. In spite of the cool, winter air, the sun is brilliant and warm. Too warm, in fact. By the time I reach the office, I’m sweating. Entering into the enormous marble and concrete building the temperature seems to drop about twenty degrees. True to his word, Lopen has informed the administrative staff of my coming. I sit down with a young man who is in charge of HR. While he’s been told what I’ve come for, he seems very unsure how to proceed.

“What do I need to do?” he asks me.

I am taken aback. “Um, I think you are supposed to write a letter to the RMA,” I say.

“Oh.” He stares for a while at his computer screen without typing anything. Finally, he faces me again. “I’ve never done this before,” he says apologetically, “What should it say?”

I contemplate a number of inappropriate responses.

“Well, how about just giving our travel dates and passport information and asking them to approve the use of local currency for payment?” I finally say.

After a while we manage to produce what I feel is a reasonable document. The young man eventually also produces another letter that has been written by someone else asking for the same thing for another teacher at Sheruptse College, so our process is helpful to him. As we finish, a senior official comes into the office. Lopen has also apparently spoken with him, and he’s prepared to oversee this process. He reads the letter and asks me if I have a copy of Chris’s work permit. While I have both of our passports, passport photos, copies of our visas, and my own dependent card, the one thing I don’t have is a copy of Chris’s work permit.

“I can’t submit the letter without a copy of Chris’s permit,” he tells me.

“Do you have a copy on record here?” I ask, since this is, after all, the main office of RUB. But no, after a few more hours of discussion and a few phone calls, it is revealed that there is no copy on hand, neither here, nor in Semtokha where ILCS used to be located. In fact, the copies of the work permits have been sent to Taktse. By now it’s nearly four pm and the RMA offices are closing. Its clear that there is no way the letter will be sent today. I try to call Chris. After about eight tries, the phone finally connects (this is an ongoing problem in Taktse—phones rarely work).

“I need a copy of your work permit,” I tell him, after explaining the situation. Since it’s past 4pm, there is nothing he can do until the following morning. But neither of us can figure out how he will be able to send a copy. Since there is no internet and no fax in Taktse, we realize that Chris will have to take a photo of his work permit, upload it to his computer and pray that the data card will work long enough for him to send the file. If it doesn’t he will have to get on the bus and come to Thimphu—an eight-hour drive.

I arrange to come back to the RUB office the following morning and walk tiredly back to the hotel room I am sharing with my sister. She’s exhausted too and we lie on our beds discussing our respective days. I am reminded that nothing is simple when it comes to this kind of paperwork. Bhutan government agencies, in particular, are obsessed with having paper copies of every single document. Often this means that everyone, Bhutanese included, must carry around photocopies (and in some cases, the original documents) of every element of one’s life, including photos. I think that my photo must be on file already in numerous cabinets.

Autumn Cherry Blossoms

That night we are treated to a private dinner by the Vice Chancellor of RUB, with whom my sister and her colleagues have been meeting all day. In one of those experiences of complete reversal that I am becoming familiar with in Bhutan, we are picked up by a private car and whisked up into the mountains to a hidden resort. The VC has rented out the entire place—an enchanting, traditional structure nestled into the pine forest high over the city. Stars glitter in the cold, mountain air and lend an eerie white glow to the bare snow peaks across the Thimphu valley. We all settle into the bhukari-heated dining room where we sit on cushioned benches around low tables. The room glows with a golden light from the fire and the warm yellow lights. The VC has arranged absolutely everything and we are treated like queens and kings as the meal unfolds like an elegant dance of Bhutanese custom and cuisine. In fact, I notice that lining the walls are photos of some of queens of Bhutan eating here.

The food is the best I’ve had in Bhutan. The meal begins with traditional butter tea and snacks, including cupse (deep-fried, elaborately shaped cookies), puffed rice (with a crunchy consistency and nutty flavor), pounded corn flakes, and other snacks. As we all chat amiably and sip our tea, I remark to myself on how skillful the VC is in creating atmospheres in which people are put at their ease. This dinner is an extremely generous offering and very much honors the guests--my sister and her colleagues. Flaming cups of arra (local “wine”) follow the tea, along with spicy juma (blood sausage fried with spices), some kind of pork skin (a culinary challenge for all but the most daring), a delicately spiced cucumber salad, and another salad of chopped banana flowers—a wonderful dish with an indescribable sweet flavor. At this point, I’m stuffed, but the VC, who is seated next to me, reminds me that these are only the appetizers! Soon we are invited to the buffet, where traditional Bhutanese red rice (rich and nutty in flavor), spiced buckwheat noodles (a specialty of Bumthang), chicken curry, a pork stew, ema datsi made with red chilies, a bean dish, and a delicately spiced pumpkin soup, push my already overstuffed stomach over the edge. Dessert (traditionally very unusual in Bhutan where people don’t generally eat sweets) is the only concession to “modern” cuisine, but is, nevertheless, extremely unusual. It consists of sugarcane “candy,” very much like maple sugar candy in consistency but closer in flavor to molasses, covered with local honey and fruit. A special “digestive” tea of some kind of delicate flower completes the meal. Swooping back down the twisting mountain roads to our guesthouse, I note how much my experience of Bhutanese society is constantly changing from utter charm and delight to grinding frustration and back again, often within the space of a few hours. But all along, I can’t help but love the people I’ve met and continue to meet. Somehow, I am continually left with the feeling that we are all travelers on this road through life’s ups and downs, and that a bit of humor, kindness, and a smile will always make the journey a bit more pleasant.  

The next day continues my odyssey with Druk Air. To make a long story somewhat shorter, the highlights include: the morning spent in the RUB offices attempting to get the copy of Chris’s work permit. This process is complex and includes my attempted use of multiple computers to download the file, and a long search for a printer to print it. It also includes the rewriting of the original letter, which did not (for some unfathomable reason) contain the dates of our departure and return to Bhutan. Finally, by noon, the letter was ready and the senior official, after first suggesting that I take it myself to the RMA, but when it became clear that neither I (nor he) had any idea which department to give the letter to, agreed to take the letter himself—but not until after lunch. Lunch hour is sacrosanct in Bhutan and all government agencies and some private businesses always close between 1-2pm. Due to this, the letter would only be delivered after lunch and I would need to pick up the new letter written by RMA authorizing payment the following day. Sigh.

Day Three: The letter from RUB requires further alterations and must be resubmitted. Finally, after lunch, I receive a call that the RMA letter is ready for me to pick up. I again walk up to the RUB office to retrieve the letter and thank the senior official who has now himself endured a fair amount of frustration and inconvenience in getting the letter issued. He’s pleased though, that there is now a prototype for this kind of request that RUB can use in the future. (Well, at least!) I rush down to the bank to change the US dollars I do have into ngultrim and to get more from the ATM before lunch again shuts down all offices. Over lunch, I carefully count out the exact amount I owe for the tickets. In fact, I only have the exact amount! Timing my arrival at Druk Air, I am still required to take a ticket. I sit for about an hour on a bench, while agents appear to be helping other customers. Finally, after noting that not a single number has been called, I approach the desk. The manager, noticing my hovering, questioning face, comes over to inform me that their computer system is down, and “can Madam please come back tomorrow?” (Auggghhhhh!)

Day Four: My sister and I arrive at opening time. We are planning to do some Christmas shopping after I have paid for the tickets. Again, I wait for some time, hoping to see the manager who has promised me that I don’t have to wait in line again. However, it appears that although I noticed her as we approached the office, she has slipped out the back door just as we entered the front door. Finally, she returns, and true to her word, as soon as she sees me, she beckons me over. However, in tallying up the sum for the tickets, she tells me that I owe her about 3000 ngultrim more than I have, since in the time I’ve spent running around getting my letters of approval, the rates have gone up dramatically. Naturally, I don’t have that extra 3000, having only brought my carefully counted-out amount. I feel a bit like crying, but my sister comes to my aid and lends me the money so that I don’t have to run out around the city to the bank again and then come back. Finally, the tickets are paid for. It isn’t until I get back to Taktse that I realize the return date has been written down incorrectly and the tickets have been issued for a later date. Oh well, a couple extra days in Bangkok can’t be that bad!

View From Dochu-Lha on a Clear Day

After all of this, being back in the peace of Taktse is welcome. My bus ride on the local bus back from Thimphu begins at 6am, where I and all the rest of the passengers puff out white breaths of air as we wait while the bus driver secures our belongings to the top of the bus. Since the bus to Trongsa (where I need to get to) was full, I have had to buy a ticket on the bus to Bumthang—a full three hour-drive further than Trongsa. This means that while I can get off in Trongsa, most of the other passengers have a much longer journey. I have a seat at the front of the bus on the right hand side. Usually, the cross-country “coaster” buses have a set number of seats and only sell enough tickets to fill those seats. However, as becomes quite clear about three hours into our journey, our bus driver has set up a private business on the side. His phone rings constantly and its obvious that he is setting up meetings and pick-ups along the way. I am the only foreigner on the bus and most people stare at me curiously. I try to smile back, but I’m exhausted after nights of little sleep and a lot of running around. I just want to get home.

Our Apartment Complex

As the journey progresses, more and more people get onto the bus until the aisle down the middle is filled with people sitting on their luggage. The jumper seat next to me is taken up by an old man with his young son. He smells strongly of wood smoke, not terribly unpleasant until we descend into the low Punakha valley and the heat of the sunlight pouring in through windows that won’t open makes us all rather ripe. In general, I don’t mind riding the public buses in Bhutan. Usually they are uncrowded and fairly efficient. But this time, the crowded bus and the numerous stops become irritating, especially when we arrive at a road construction site just in time for its’ hourly closing and are forced to wait for an hour before they open the road again. Just a few seconds earlier and we would have made it. Six hours into our journey, I’m not particularly happy to add another hour to the trip. Lunch break happens at the same restaurant our bus stopped at the last time I took the bus. It’s obvious that all the buses stop here. Five buses are parked outside, perched on the precariously winding road above the long sloping valley dotted here and there with scalloped fields of brilliant yellow mustard seed. Rather than going into the restaurant, which I recall as being packed with people shoveling huge plates of rice and ema datsi in at top speed (the entire luncheon takes about 10 to 15 minutes) I sit on the side of the road in the sun and wind.

A young man comes over to chat and I learn that he is a student on his way home for the winter break. He lives in the Trongsa area. He is the only person brave enough to talk to me directly, and I like his sweet earnestness when, after telling me he wants to be a teacher, he asks me, “What do you think of teaching?” I tell him its what I’ve always known I would do and a profession I feel is critical to our development as human beings. He seems to relax as I say this, and I remember that until recently, teaching jobs in Bhutan were not highly valued. This seems to be changing dramatically now, but old feelings still linger. As people begin to stream out of the restaurant, my student friend asks to take my picture. We crouch together in front of the phone he holds up in front of our faces. I wonder what he’ll do with the photo?

On the final moments of the trip, right before we arrive in Trongsa, the bus again stops to pick up a couple more passengers, even though we are now packed window to window. It’s all I can do to suppress my irritation. An elderly monk wearing a maroon wool cap that curls up over his prominent ears is given the jumper seat next to me. Forcing myself to be polite, I greet him. His sweet infectious smile spreads over his face and after a moment I find myself laughing out loud as we try to communicate in broken Dzong-kha and Tibetan. He’s the sweetest thing, on his way to Kurje in Bumthang and his smile and warm gentleness completely reverse my mood. By the time I get off the bus in Trongsa, where Chris is waiting, I feel a sense of good will towards all. As the bus gets ready to pull away, I see my monk friend, now sitting in my vacated seat, waving madly to me. I laugh and wave back, suddenly noticing that everyone else is smiling and waving too. If only I could thoroughly and completely get out of the way of myself, I think I’d find that the world is filled with goodness. One has only to open one’s eyes and look.

Our New Bhukari

Arriving back home, Chris lights our new bhukari (wood stove). It arrived the day I left for Thimphu and I have not yet had the pleasure of its warmth—something we’ve both been looking forward to. But for some odd reason, the stove smokes abominably and after a while I can’t actually stand being in the room since my eyes are smarting so much from the fumes. Chris, who is an Eagle Scout and who prides himself on his ability to make fires, is frustrated. For a few days, we experiment lighting fires only to escape upstairs into the only room in which we have a bit of heat from our panel heater. Finally, we decide that something must be wrong. Thousands of Bhutanese use these wood stoves to heat their homes and surely they do not all smoke like this. We can’t figure out why we are unable to get a simple wood fire to burn. We enlist the advice of our next-door neighbors, Tendzin and Kelzang, whose bhukari provided the original inspiration for us to get one ourselves. Tendzin arrives wearing a black Kashmir wool coat with a satin collar, exactly the kind of coat one might wear to a formal winter wedding. However, rather than a tuxedo, Tendzin has paired his fine jacket with a pair of track pants and plastic flip-flops. It’s an incongruous mix that nevertheless manages to look quite elegant on him. Kelsang gets to work on our stove immediately. Within a couple of moments, she has cleared a blockage at the back where the smoke is drawn up into the pipe. But still the stove is smoking. After some consultation, both Tendzin and Kelsang remind Chris about the mesh he put over the end of the pipe. Kelsang suggests that perhaps the mesh is keeping the pipe from drawing properly. Sure enough, when Chris reaches in and removes the wire mesh, we all can see that it is already caked with wet soot. With the mesh gone, our fire is soon roaring merrily. Tendzin asks Chris why he put the mesh there to begin with. Chris replies that he was worried a bird might decide to nest in the pipe. For a moment both Kelsang and Tendzin stare at him incredulously before bursting into laughter. Soon we are all laughing at the Eagle Scout’s overly conscientious attention to detail. After they leave, I tell Chris how adorable he is. He pouts a bit, since he was genuinely concerned, but ends up laughing again at the silliness of it all. Happily, our stove is now working well and warming the downstairs is a genuine possibility!

Conference in Thimphu

Protective Garuda for our Drive

I depart Taktse in the thick fog that lingers into morning after a night of torrential rains and an electrical storm lasting nearly three hours. In my mind’s eye I can still see the bolts of lightening plunging down through the wet darkness not twenty feet from the front door—sizzling jolts of pink light followed instantaneously by deafening claps of thunder. The Land of the Thunder Dragon is speaking. Our trip to Thimphu hugs the narrow winding road that snakes alongside mountain slopes dropping thousands of feet to the churning Mangdu Chuu river, as swollen now as it was at the height of the monsoon season. Everyone is commenting on how odd the weather is this year. Usually, October and November are peak tourist season in Bhutan, primarily due to the fact (or it was a fact until this year) that the weather suddenly and dramatically clears, clouds vanish into the deep blue of a sky that seems to go on and on. But not this year. This year clouds, rain, and an early cold have gripped the country so that everyone is mentioning it. My hope that I might actually see the mountains of Bhutan dissolves as we stop for lunch just short of the Pele Lha pass. An important Bhutanese minister has just finished his lunch at the restaurant, and we are invited in to eat for free. Since I have managed to get a ride with the Director of ILCS, who is also a well-known monk, we are ushered into the VIP room—a small space festooned with brocades, thangkas, and Tibetan-style rugs. It’s a bit too bad, since the main room is warm and cozy from the large bukhari stove and this one is freezing, but we sip cups of milk tea and wait until the friendly owner brings us a large serving dish filled with steaming red rice, and two more dishes—kewa datsi (potatoes, cheese, and chilies) and ema datsi (chilies and cheese). Since I have yet to describe the experience of eating ema datsi, now seems like a good time. I take a small helping of rice and a spoonful of ema datsi—a thick cheesy sauce in which large pieces of hot green or red peppers are immersed. Traditionally, one eats ema datsi with one’s hand, scooping up rice mixed with the thick sauce and depositing it into one’s mouth. So far, I’ve only had to do this once—an experience that proved to me that eating rice with one’s hands is an art form that can only be perfected over time. Otherwise, one just ends up a complete mess, with cheese, bits of rice and peppers dripping off one’s fingers. Happily, our lunch proprietress provides us with utensils. But the other thing to know about ema datsi is that it is hot, hot, hot. Bhutanese food is said to be one of the hottest (i.e. spiciest) cuisines in the world. Those peppers that make up the main part of the dish are hot peppers. I manage to eat about five or six peppers mixed in the cheese sauce before my mouth is burning so much that I almost can’t feel my lips. But it’s an interesting experience in that the spiciness of the peppers has a physiological effect on one’s whole body. One feels flushes of heat throughout the body and there is almost a sense of tingling. Now that I’ve eaten enough ema datsi to get to that particular experience, I can understand why it’s addictive. There’s almost an exhilaration to it. I wonder if this is the explanation for Bhutanese eating so quickly, almost without any talk at all—that is, they start in on the peppers and just get carried away by the sensations. I know I’m not there yet because I have to pause for long moments to let my mouth recover before I can continue. But I digress.

Poem in Concentric Circles

We finish lunch and sit for a while around the hot bukhari before piling back in the Toyota Hilux. Lopen and I chat about ethics, wondering about the transformations that can take place in a person if he or she is placed in an extreme situation. Since most of us usually have a sense of what we feel is “good” action in the world, it is interesting to speculate about the kinds of actions we might all end up performing if, for example, we were starving and unable to find “acceptable” kinds of foods. Would you eat human flesh if the choice were either that or starving to death? By the time we reach Thimphu, darkness has fallen and the chill Himalayan air forces me to put on every layer I’ve brought with me. Lopen drops me at the guesthouse where I’ve reserved a room. It’s a pleasure to walk into the warm café owned by the guesthouse. I know the owners and its lovely to see them again. Since I have not been in Thimphu for over two months, I am not sure how I will find the “big” city. But I am happy to discover it still feels warm and friendly. After a bit of catching up, I am shown to my small, wood-paneled room. I’m exhausted and the conference is starting the day after tomorrow. I turn on the electric panel heater and climb in beneath the huge heavy comforter and blankets. Slowly I get warm. Outside my window, the endless packs of dogs that roam the streets of Thimphu are gearing up for another night of interminable barking. Earplugs help to dull the noise and I am so tired after eight hours of being bounced around in the truck that I fall asleep remarkably easily for me.

RTC Lhakang and Campus at Nightfall

The next morning I am up early with my computer working through my power-point presentation (let it be known that I officially hate power-point presentations) for the conference sponsored by the Royal University of Bhutan entitled “Insights from PhD Journeys”—the first conference of its kind in Bhutan. I am delighted that I’ve been asked to present on my research, but a bit concerned that my isolation in Taktse has kept me from doing as much research as I might like. I notice that after the keynote speaker, I am the first presenter. I wonder how much this has to do with the fact that I am from Harvard University and I pray I don’t embarrass myself too much. While it will be nice to get my presentation out of the way and relax, it would be better to be able to watch others first and get some sense of what to both do and not do! There are 29 presentations in all—a lot to get through in only two days. The conference itself is being held at RTC—Royal Thimphu College—the only privately funded college in Bhutan where students must pay tuition. RTC is newly built and operational in the last three years. As my friend Sonam drives me up into the mountains to the campus, I am struck by how different the Thimphu landscape seems now that winter has come. While the sky is still mostly cloud covered, rays of sunlight stream down through the trees with a sharp golden light that is echoed in the yellow leaves. Deep green pine forests look calm and peaceful with their needled floors in the silence and the wind. The air is crisp and cold. By the time we reach RTC, we are far above Thimphu and can look back down the valley to where the Buddha Dordenma perches on a promontory overlooking the rapidly growing city. It’s a lovely campus complete with luxurious faculty and student housing and even a large temple building for cultural performances. I am staying with my friend Rachael, who is teaching at the college. After letting myself into her apartment, I make a cup of tea and await her return from classes. I don’t have long to wait before she arrives and we eat pizza I’ve brought from Thimphu as well as a lentil orange soup she made. As I lie down to sleep beneath the thickest comforter I’ve yet seen in Bhutan I notice that the stars are gleaming outside my window like a river of diamonds. The clouds have finally cleared off and the moon is down. I drift off to sleep beneath billions of flaming jewels in the perfect silence of the Himalayan night.

The conference opens with a speech by the Vice Chancellor of RUB on a new policy being developed by the government of Bhutan to move the country toward becoming a repository of knowledge—a knowledge-based state. In light of this, the kind of work being done by PhD students in Bhutan is essential. Then there is a speech by the RUB director of research concerning the purpose of this “faculty research meet,” which is to provide a discursive forum for RUB faculty and international scholars to share experiences, insights and perspectives from their research projects. This event is the first of its kind in Bhutan, but it is anticipated to be an annual event. It, along with an annual student research “meet” and other research activities are designed to build research capacity and to enhance research at RUB and in the country. I listen to both these speeches with interest since I have been so isolated at Taktse that these developments are unknown to me. I realize that I am participating in the first of these events to take place in Bhutan, and this seems quite auspicious. Our group sits in a circle around a large table. The shades are drawn over the windows, which is a shame considering that the day has dawned absolutely clear and high white snow peaks are visible across the valley, but necessary in order to view the power-point presentations. Multiple electric panel heaters are plugged in around the edges of the room, but in spite of their valiant efforts, its quite cold and I’m glad that I am wearing long underwear beneath my long kira skirt and multiple layers under my tego and wangchu. 

Participants of the 2011 RUB Faculty Research Meet

The keynote speaker for the first day is Professor Janet Schofield who is currently one of the main developers of RTC and a tenured professor at the University of Pittsburg in Psychology as well as being a Senior Scientist there. I met Janet back over the summer and feel a strong bond with her and her husband Doug, who are two of the loveliest people. True to form, Janet’s address focuses on the practical necessities of doing research, such as—formulating an important research question; fitting the methodology used to the question; planning carefully how to gather data in the field, etc. She is direct and clear and the information she imparts is relevant for everyone in the room. Unfortunately, since the opening speeches took so long, we are behind schedule already and the moderators try to get Janet to speak quickly. We’ve been told that we each have fifteen minutes to present and another fifteen for discussion. I feel sad that Janet’s talk is cut short, since it is so useful. Now it’s my turn. Due to my distaste for power point I’ve actually never given a presentation in which I’ve used it. Now, it’s immediately clear to me that my power point has too much information in it. Since it’s far too late to do anything about it, I just make my way to the front of the room and launch into my talk. One of the good things about having to talk out loud about a project is that one quickly discovers what works and what doesn’t—sadly, that happens after one has spoken. My presentation is entitled “Writing Liberation: Drukpa Kunley’s Literary Practice of Self-Formation,” and it describes my plan to explore how the writing of this particular kind of liberation narrative can be understood as a technology of the self—or—a way that a person remakes him or herself through writing about the self. In addition, I am interested in exploring how my Buddhist saint, Drukpa Kunley, the mad yogi of Bhutan’s (whose autobiography provides me with my case study) biography has morphed into other kinds of rituals, images or stories that also work to transform those who practice or hear them. In other words, what kind of ethical persons arise from hearing or coming into contact with the story of this crazy saint? I can tell my audience is interested. Everyone in Bhutan knows Drukpa Kunley (one of the main reasons I am here) and its fun to talk about something that everyone is interested in, even if I am sure that I lose most people when I get into talking about rhetorical strategies, etc. But the feedback is overwhelmingly positive when I am finished and many people have very helpful comments for me, especially concerning the ethnographic part of my project.

Drukpa Kunley with Bow, Arrows, and Hunting Dog

Once I am done, the next speaker begins his presentation on “Monitoring and Evaluation System for Improving the Job Performance of Block-level Extension Agents in Bhutan.” I am clueless about what exactly is a “block-level agent,” but this is not my time to find out, as Professor Francoise Pommaret and I slip outside so that she can give me some more advice on my project. Francoise is a fascinating person who has lived in Bhutan for over 30 years, publishing numerous articles and books, and consistently working to put Bhutan on the academic map. She is one of the few foreigners who has been made a Bhutanese citizen. She is smart and funny and her advice is priceless since I know she knows what she is talking about. So, while I miss the second presentation, it’s more than worth it.

View from RTC of Buddha Dordenma Beneath Snow Peaks

Tea break is next and we all gratefully munch on cheese momos and biscuits while sipping hot milk tea. Since I was too nervous to eat any breakfast, it tastes delicious. I wonder what the rest of the day will be like. Having read through the program, I notice that I am the only researcher working in the Humanities. (In addition, there are only three foreign researchers-- myself and two others. Everyone else is Bhutanese) All the rest are doing research either in the hard sciences or in the social sciences. I wonder if I will have anything to offer to the presenters? I have little to no knowledge of the fields of agriculture or animal husbandry, but at the very least I realize that I will learn a lot about the various concerns taking place in Bhutan. And in fact, as the day goes on, this turns out to be absolutely true. While the titles of the presentations sound technical and impenetrable, depending on the enthusiasm of the speaker and the subject, many are fascinating and provide an insight into aspects of Bhutan that I would never otherwise have known anything about. For example, one Bhutanese woman, Nayzang Wangmo, speaks about her doctoral thesis on infectious waste management in hospitals in Bhutan. She is smart and very clear and her research has revealed a number of serious problems in how hospitals are dealing with infectious waste, both from the point of view of the policies in place to give guidance and in terms of actual practices of waste management. It is revealed during her presentation that although she has a clear sense of measures that could and should be taken to address these issues, no one in any position of influence has allowed her to present her findings, despite repeated requests on her part to do so. I can’t help feeling delighted that she is able to say these things in a forum in which she is being heard, not only by other researchers but also by people in positions of power who can actually give her findings an audience.

Another presentation is entitled “Monitoring Water Quality Using Physico-chemical Parameters and Benthic Macro-invertebrates”—an impenetrable topic if I ever heard one. But after listening to Nandu Giri present his findings, I find his work fascinating. He’s been monitoring the water quality along one river in Bhutan for a number of years—from the source of the river down to where it empties into larger rivers in India by using tiny organisms found in potable water called “Benthic Macro-invertebrates,” scary-looking microscopic beings that he projected up on a large screen. These tiny creatures are indications of pure drinking water—who knew? And his findings have shown a decrease in these little guys as various kinds of industrial and agricultural projects have grown up along the riverbanks.

As the day goes on, it’s clear that we are far behind the scheduled timing. Although there is a timekeeper, as per most “meetings” in Bhutan, no one seems to pay much attention. This might be due to the fact that the timekeeper is a young female student from RTC without any kind of authority. Upon being told that he has only five minutes left, one presenter actually states that this doesn’t apply to him (?!!) By the time we get to the end of the day around 5pm, there are still two presentations left. I grit my teeth, thinking that I can surely make it through at least one more. But the presentation on “four-way stop contrasts in Dzongkha: a phonetic and phonological investigation” dives into the realm of linguistics complete with a technical vocabulary that is utterly obtuse, including endless graphs and acronyms such as VOT, CD, VLT, SB, etc., which no one in the room other than the speaker can understand. Fifteen minutes of this might have been fine, but the presenter goes on and on, utterly ignoring the signals that his time is up. After forty-five minutes, when he shows no sign of letting up, I’ve had it. I quietly gather my things and slip out the door. I’m trying not to feel irritated but failing. Although the presenter told us at the beginning that he was afraid he might lose us in technical jargon and that we should stop him to ask for clarification, such a caveat is lost after about three minutes, when so much technical jargon has been put out that there’s no possibility of going back. The most irritating part is that the findings of all this could have been summed up in a simple statement concerning the uniqueness of one aspect of Dzongkha (Bhutanese) language.

View from Rachel's Kitchen Window

After another night in the silence of RTC’s campus I am ready to try again. The second day of the conference contains a number of fascinating projects. After a bit of a rocky start due to a projected power cut at 10am, we get under way with two presentations from the previous evening that there was not enough time for—gosh, I wonder why? This immediately sets us back about an hour and a half. Again the window shades in the conference room are drawn, but today an additional five or six panel heaters have been brought into the room. Instead of being a bit cool, its stiflingly hot. It’s one of those situations I can never get my mind around. Why doesn’t someone just say—can we turn off a couple of heaters? But I know that no one will, especially not when the Vice Chancellor is in the room. As a chi-lop, I could do it myself, but after a while I get tired of being the one who asks for adjustments. Since I seem to have come down with a cold, I tell myself that its probably better to be too warm than too cold, but the hot air makes my congestion worse and I’m sneezing every few moments.

A few highlights from the second day of the conference: A presentation on (believe it or not), “The Genetic Structure and Biodiversity of Pigs (Sus scrofa) in South Asia” by a very dynamic speaker named Karma Nidup, a PhD scholar working at CNR (The College of Natural Resources) in Lobeysa revealed how important maintaining biodiversity of livestock resources for achieving food security and alleviating poverty in developing countries. While much of the presentation was given in the form of graphs that I could not read, the presenter’s enthusiasm and interest in his subject nearly convinced us all that this was of the utmost importance. His presentation was a great lesson in how much important it is to have genuine curiosity and concern for one’s research subject. Another fascinating topic was by a Cambridge University PhD student, Jonathan Tae, who presented on “Healing Trajectories in Bhutan.” His work considers how three different modalities of healing (modern medicine, traditional Tibetan/Bhutanese medicine—gsoba-rigpa--and “religious” healing methods such as pujas, ritual healers, shamans, etc.) are used by individuals as part of the stories they use to explain and explore their own healing processes. In addition, Jonathan is looking at how this integration of modalities is affecting policy, practice and patient experiences in the Bhutanese medical system.  Another Cambridge University PhD student, Riamsara Kuyakanon Knapp, is exploring the relationship between environmental conservation and Buddhist beliefs and practices, with emphasis on the ways in which the conservation landscape is infused with notions of the “sacred.”In particular she is looking at a phenomenon called ridam/lhadam. These two terms literally mean “mountain/blocked,” and they refer to a Buddhist practice whereby it is considered forbidden to climb to the top of certain mountain peaks at certain times of the year for reasons of environmental conservation, but within a uniquely Buddhist framework. I find Riam’s work particularly interesting and realize that if I had not been a natural textualist, I would have loved to study sacred geography. Another presentation on chili by PhD student Tulsi Gurung is a quintessentially Bhutanese subject. Everyone loves it and the room is filled with laughter and jokes. However, as the afternoon moves on, I find myself feeling less and less well. Finally, by about 5:30pm, when there are still at least three presentations left, I have to leave and go lie down for a while. The lack of sleep and my cold have taken their toll. 

Dochu Lha: Chotens and Mountains

The next morning I am ready to go. I am lucky to get a ride back to Taktse with the Director again and I get a ride early to his house. The day is completely clear and for the first time it will be possible to see the views from the high passes we will cross on the way back. Sure enough, by the time we crest the Dochu Lha, the mountains spread out to the north in a dramatic panorama that literally takes one’s breath away. Now, for the first time, I really see just how amazingly beautiful Bhutan is and why, for so many years it has been considered a beyul or “hidden land.” The jagged snow peaks of the Himalayas pierce the deep blue sky like sharp, white teeth. The air is clear, cold, and filled with the silence of high mountains. Even the cars of other travelers and tourist cannot break that vast silence. It’s a stunning display of geographic power and beauty. I am reluctant to leave, but Lopen and one of the other ILCS lecturers, Tenchok, regale me with stories of the magical powers of the fourth King of Bhutan, who is considered to have placated a fierce protector deity by carrying loads of offerings on his back up the valley from Punakha to Talo Monastery (the deity’s home), a distance of about 15 or more kilometers up a mountain. He is also known to be the only person who is safe navigating the high mountain lakes above Thimphu.

Abode of the Gods

As we attempt the long drive up the next pass, the Pele Lha, a squeaking noise forces us to stop while Lopen, Tenchok and the driver all attempt to figure out the problem. Any indication that there might be car problems must be dealt with immediately on these remote twisting mountain roads, otherwise the problem might escalate and one could easily be stranded far from any source of help. I amuse myself by watching the towering white peaks of the nearby mountains. Fortunately, the problem is easily solved and we are soon on our way. 

Car Repair View

How Many Bhutanese Does it Take to... (Not that I'm any help!)

But before we have gone far, we make a necessary stop in the tiny village of Nobding, perched high up along the road to the Pele Lha. This town is a place to which I must soon return for it has many associations with Drukpa Kunley. But for now, we are there mainly for the peppers! As winter comes on, the pepper season is dwindling and Bhutanese are frantic to buy and store as many peppers as possible before none are available for the winter months. I am greatly amused by the frenzy that overtakes my road companions as they dive into a huge basket of peppers, eventually buying about 20 kilos. Apparently, Nobding is the place for peppers, since the villagers there grow many of them and sell them cheaply. We easily spend 45 minutes with the pepper farmers, negotiating, weighing, and determining which are the best for drying. 

Chili Madness

How Many Kilos?

I receive a lesson from Lopen on the best ways to make ema datsi and I plan to try it out on my father for Christmas. Lopen is clearly an expert and explains to me that it is better to pull the chilies apart with one's fingers instead of cutting them with a knife so that the jagged edges of the chilies will more readily absorb the melted cheese. However, one must first coat one's hands with oil so as not to burn the skin with hot chili juice! I am determined to get him to give me a real cooking lesson. When we finally get back on the road, we are all hungry and tired. We realize that we have been taking our time so much that we are not likely to arrive back in Taktse now until after dark. But this, as Lopen points out, is the best thing about traveling home—one does not have to hurry, as one’s home is already set up and waiting for you. As darkness falls we finally enter back into the steep Mangde Chuu valley and I can see Taktse across the valley as the sun slides behind the peaks of the Black Mountains. I wish I could somehow take wing and simply fly across the valley, but we still have at least a two hour drive to get us there. Being home, being back with Chris, will be lovely!

Mangde Chuu Valley at Sunset, ILCS Taktse on Hill on Left