Idiosyncrasies Number 1

·      Garbage: Our first week in Thimphu I found myself concerned with some basic issues. I.e., what does one do with one’s garbage? Given that no one is composting; all food scraps go into the garbage can; and it’s the monsoon—you can well imagine just how quickly the garbage begins to smell. After looking about in vain for a dumpster or other large receptacle into which I could throw the garbage bags, I finally asked our landlady. “Oh,” she said, “the garbage truck comes three times a week—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings.” This was fantastic news. However, the reality turned out to be somewhat more complicated. Here’s a synopsis: there is only one garbage truck in Thimphu. It announces its presence via an ancient siren somewhat akin to those used on police cars in old black and white movies. One can hear this siren echoing up the valley long, long before the truck itself makes an appearance. When the truck does arrive at one’s street, it blasts the siren as it makes its way to the end of the street, at which point, the siren is turned off. The truck then makes its way back along the street. Anyone who wishes to get rid of his/her garbage must come into the street bearing the garbage bags and personally deposit the bags into the back of the truck. The guys driving the truck are just that, drivers. It’s impossible to tell exactly where the truck is at any given moment once the siren has been turned off, so invariably one ends up standing by the side of the road holding one’s garbage and waiting for the truck so that one does not miss the precious opportunity to eliminate the smell of rotting food in one’s domicile. So far, this has involved us running back and forth to the window in order to ascertain just how much more time we have before we have to be on the street. As might be imagined, this makes for a most relaxing morning. On the other hand, I'm pretty grateful that the garbage is getting picked up at all! I have no clue what I'd do with it otherwise.

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Men’s Clothes: in particular, this refers to the gho, the national men’s dress of Bhutan, which is not unlike a Tibetan chuba, but which is considerably more complicated to put on and arrange appropriately. In fact, in a dramatic reversal, it is possible to say that men’s clothing in Bhutan is substantially more complicated, time-consuming, and labor intensive than women’s clothing! Given that Chris will need to wear a gho to work, we have now visited two different fabric shops in order to outfit him appropriately. He is, it should be noted, less than enthusiastic about this aspect of his employment in Bhutan, feeling as he does, that a gho looks suspiciously like your grandfather’s old bathrobe, hiked up to show one’s knees and tied tightly around the waist so that the top portion forms a kind of pocket—or, as I like to say—a man’s purse. While it was impossible to talk Chris into buying the local pattern (orange or red plaid or striped fabric), we were successful in purchasing three ghos—one solid back, one light blue, and one a pin-stripped dark gray. We even got Chris a pair of high, gray knee socks, which I regret to inform you all he has not yet tried on. The most complicated part of gho-wearing involves putting it on so that the folds and pleats are properly arranged. Suffice it to say that the man cannot put this thing on by himself and requires the assistance of his doting spouse (me, in this case) to fold, hoist, and tie it in place. So far, we have not yet been successful in this enterprise, likely due to the fact that neither of us is exactly sure what to do or how to do it. After all, we’ve only just watched the fabric store owner tie it on Chris. Don’t worry, as soon as I get him in it, I’ll post pictures!

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1996 USD Currency: if and when you come to Bhutan, be sure to check the issue date on any US currency that you bring with you and if you discover that some of your bills were issued in 1996, you may as well leave them at home for all the use they will be to you here. We are sorely wishing we had known this rather odd fact before we brought the equivalent of $800 USD in one hundred dollar bills, all of which turn out to radiate some kind of, as Chris says, bad juju. The bank won’t take them, not even as “seed” money in setting up an account. The travel agent we had to pay for our tickets to Paro checked the issue date first thing and politely informed us that she could not accept our money—and did we have other bills? No one can explain why 1996 bills are anathema, they just are. So there.

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Washing Machine: the point here is merely this—WE HAVE ONE! At least for the time being while we languish about in Thimphu. Let’s face it, even though this washing machine is a “twin tub,” i.e., you wash clothes on one side in cold water by manually adding the water, turning it on and letting it “agitate,” then drain it manually and fill it again to rinse, then you shift the clothes in small batches into the other “tub”, the spinner, and spin your wet clothes as quickly as possible before hanging them up to dry on the line, the fact is that we do not have to wash everything by hand (or by foot—see attached pic from our adventures washing laundry in Kathmandu)—an enormously time consuming process. I will even admit that we looked in various stores in downtown Thimphu to see just how much it would cost to buy a washing machine to bring with us when we move to the middle of the country some time in September—we’re that desperate!  

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Alcohol and Drugs: Bars in Thimphu. Guess how many licensed bars there are in Thimphu, a city with less than 100,000 people, whose borders may be traversed in about 20 to 30 minutes on foot? I guessed about 12. I was promptly corrected—there are 800 licensed bars in Thimphu, about 8000 in the country as a whole! Apparently, alcoholism is a major issue and one which has only recently begun to be addressed, but is now being taken very seriously. In the country we were told, it is possible to find households that begin the day, not with a cup of tea or coffee, but with a large glass of arak, a grain liquor not unlike vodka made from barley, millet, rice or wheat. Many of the bars in Thimphu are what are known as “shop cum bars,” tiny little holes in the wall with a couple of stools where you can purchase a quick shot of whatever strikes your fancy (your fancy had better be limited to whiskey or beer for the most part) and a packet of digestive biscuits. As for drugs, there is a steadily increasing drug problem among young people in the capital city. When we inquired what sorts of drugs, we were told that marijuana and pills were the main culprits. The marijuana is not hard to imagine given that fields of it grow next to the side of the road, sending their pungent odors into the air as soon as the rain stops. It’s everywhere! Most of the conversations we have had about this emphasize the fact that many foreign aid workers together with local organizations are working hard to address both alcoholism and drug use.