The Land of Vases

We depart Taktse in what has now become the most common of experiences—a downpour accompanied by thick, wet fog so dense it almost seems alive in its tenacious ubiquity. Everything we own is either damp or soaked. Chris sneezes regularly from the mix of mold and whatever unknown Bhutanese allergens are released from the plethora of plant life dripping down the steep mountain slopes. I am desperate to get away from the ongoing sounds of hammering, sawing, and grinding that go on into the night. Blessed Rainy Day, the day that marks the “end” of the monsoon rains provides a convenient excuse to make a short three-day journey into the sacred heart of Bhutan, Bumthang, the Land of Vases. A bum pa is a vase usually used to dispense blessed water inside a lhakang. Pilgrims offer whatever butter, incense, foodstuffs, or monetary offerings, and in return they receive a palm-full of blessed water into the right hand. The appropriate action is to then sip the water and rub whatever is left over the top of one’s head.

On our way through Trongsa

Bumthang is known for the vast number of Lhakangs and monasteries scattered through its wide valley. It is particularly known for its connections to the Nyingma lineage of Tibetan Buddhism. Bhutan’s most well known terton (treasure revealer) Pema Lingpa is said to have visited almost every part of Bumthang, and stories of his miraculous activities are everywhere. Almost every tour that comes through Bhutan makes a long stop in Bumthang. Chris and I are most curious to visit the valley, as well as most anxious to get away from Taktse for a few days, attempt to dry out, and have a break from constant construction noise. We manage to find a ride at the last moment into Trongsa, an hour’s drive from Taktse, the nearest “town” with any kind of facilities. Because Friday is “Blessed Rainy Day,” nearly all of ILCS’s lecturers have decided to drive to Thimphu on Thursday in order to be with their families for the holiday weekend. Blessed Rainy Day seems to be a uniquely Bhutanese holiday. It occurs every year on the 23^rd of September and, in theory at least, marks the end of the monsoon rains. It is also, as it turns out, a big family holiday and people travel long distances to be together. We are happy with this arrangement because it means that we can absent ourselves from Taktse from Thursday until Sunday. I am hopeful that when we get to Bumthang, a two and a half hour drive from Trongsa over two high mountain passes, there might be decent enough internet to call home or send some emails at the least. A friend has recommended a local Bhutanese guesthouse where we can pay the “local” rate, rather than the rate set aside for foreign tourists, which is usually much, much higher.

Trongsa Dzong in the mist

In Trongsa, we eat a brief lunch of shamu datse (mushroom, cheese and chili) with rice, Tibetan bread, and the best chai milk tea in Bhutan, at our favorite restaurant (yes, we actually have a “favorite” restaurant, but this is largely the result of it being the only restaurant in which we have eaten in Trongsa). Meanwhile, the ama-lags (Mom) who runs the restaurant finds us an affordable taxi to take to Bumthang. Comfortably seated in the back of the cab, we chat amicably with Pampa Rinchen, a Bumthang resident who is friends with our cab driver. He is determined to set us up in a local housing situation so that we can experience Bhutan more directly. While on some level, staying in someone’s farmhouse might be a fun experience, at the moment, we are more interested in our own room in an inn. But Pampa is full of information as we crest the serpentine twists in the road that mark all the roads throughout Bhutan. Rain continues to fall and the mists slide up and down the steep slopes as we come down into Bumthang. Immediately, the landscape changes from the dramatically steep valleys of Trongsa area to wider, shallow valleys filled with pine forest groves, apple orchards, and the most beautiful architecture I’ve yet seen in Bhutan. Every home has eaves that are ornately carved and painted, murals of protective figures such as garudas, dragons, and the huge phallus of Drukpa Kunley along the outside walls, and some even have four flying phalluses, wings and all, attached to the four upper corners of the roof—a most amusing sight! As we descend gently through the rolling valley, I keep seeing home after home that I imagine as “the perfect home.” But still, the sky is gray, rain dances across the cab’s windshield, and the air is chilly and damp. When we finally arrive in Jakar, the main “town” of Bumthang, we are grateful to stop being bounced back and forth over the back seat of the cab. Our guesthouse room is a small cozy room with wood paneling on the walls and ceiling and a wooden floor worn smooth by many feet. Earlier in the year, Jakar experienced a series of fires that have leveled about half the town. Authorities are convinced that the last of the fires was arson, but have not yet been able to prove it, and therefore the township has received a lot of money to rebuild the buildings that burnt down. As a result, much of the town is also under construction. Sigh. There is no place in Bhutan where one can go, I think, where one is not surrounded by construction. Happily, our guesthouse is far from the construction.

Jakar Dzong

After tea and a snack of cupse (Tibetan deep-fried bread cookies), we head out on a walk. The rain has temporarily stopped and the deep, blue sky spreads out behind lingering gray and white rainclouds. The light is glorious, a deep golden translucency that animates the green fields and endless hedges filled with flowers of all sorts, from deep red roses to delicate pink wildflowers. Across the valley from where we have walked, the Jakar Dzong is a crouching red and white fortress from which one can see any direction up or down the valley. On our way back to the guesthouse, we stop at the local Swiss cheese factory to purchase the “hard” cheese we’ve been told is only made in Bumthang. At the same time, we buy a bottle of “apple wine” made locally for about $1.50. It seems like a gamble at the time, but later on, when we sip glasses while waiting for dinner, I am delighted to note that this “wine” tastes exactly like the hard cider I used to drink in Wales during my junior year in college abroad. Dinner is the ever-present ema-datse (chilies and cheese), rice, carrots cooked in butter, spinach, huge French fries, and fried pork (a most interesting dish where the pork fat makes up more than half of the pork itself—hmm). We fall asleep in the silence of the alpine valley, warm and dry beneath layers of wool blankets and a huge down comforter.

The next morning, we are ready to explore. After a breakfast of toast, eggs, and locally made wild-strawberry jam, we meet up with Tsering Samten, a young monk who lives at the Dzong. He’s 27 years old and he’s made a point of telling us that he chose to become a monk seven years ago, because he’s always known that he “wanted to be a monk.” This is in contrast to a situation that often occurs in Vajrayana Buddhist countries like Bhutan, as well as in Theravada Buddhist countries like Thailand or Sri Lanka, where boys are given to the monasteries at very young ages, sometimes as young as 4 or 5 years old. As Tsering reminds us, having one son as a monk in a monastery is the equivalent in terms of merit-making for the family of having built one stupa. It is considered very auspicious to have at least one child in the monastic life, since all the actions undertaken by that monk or nun provide enormous amounts of merit for the entire family. In many Buddhist cultures, becoming a monk or nun is said to be one of the only ways that a child can pay back his or her parents for their boundless kindness and compassion in raising the child. However, many boys who are given to monasteries when they are very young often leave the monastery when they reach puberty or shortly thereafter. Since they have not voluntarily chosen the monastic life, many simply decide the life is not for them. Tsering is the opposite. Having grown up as a normal child, he decided that as soon as he finished his basic schooling, he would join the monastery. He is now the secretary for the monastic body that migrates between Jakar and Trongsa and is in charge of giving out funds to all the monks so that they can support themselves. Tsering has offered to accompany us while we visit a number of sacred Buddhist sites in the Bumthang valley. Our journey will only take us to a very small number of sites. In fact, it is said that in order to visit all of the sacred places in Bumthang, one would need at least a month. Even though we only have a day, we decide to make the most of it.

Jampa Lhakang

Our first stop, under gray skies and spitting rain, is the Jampa Lhakang, a temple dedicated to the future Buddha Maitreya. The central sanctuary consists of a main shrine with a large statue of Maitreya framed on either side by the four bodhisattvas. To the right of the main sanctuary is a temple of Dukhor (Kalacakra), or The Wheel of Time, the most complex and fascinating of all Tantric teachings. These are the teachings that are said to have been preached by the Buddha, but kept secret in the hidden kingdom of Shambhala until the time that they could best be utilized. It is immediately clear that this temple is quite old. Its tapestries and murals are stained with hundred of years of soot from the burning of innumerable butter lamps and incense sticks. In spite of the grime, the paintings are gorgeous, painted with a style that one does not see in more modern representations of these deities. Outside the temple a small group of old women, bent nearly double in their traditional kiras, circumambulate daily. In fact, Tsering says, after speaking with one toothless old lady who smiles delightedly at us, they are here every day, spinning their prayer wheels and saying the Om Mani Padme Hum mantra. This is the prerogative of all elderly Buddhists in Bhutan. Having labored in the fields and the household, and having raised all their children, they now spent their time preparing for the next life, accumulating as much merit as possible. Inside the Kalacakra temple room, one old woman has committed herself to performing one million prostrations. On her forehead, a large dark callous shows just how many times she has lowered herself to the floor in the traditional gestures of surrender.

A regular at the Jampa Lhakang

Leaving the Jampa Lhakang, we run into a friend from Thimphu whom we never expected to see in Bumthang. She is by herself, on her way to join a group of trekkers in eastern Bhutan. After she joins our small group, we all pick our way along a very muddy road beneath a light rain that swiftly becomes a raging downpour. While Chris, I, and Rachel all have umbrellas to help keep off the worst of the rain, Tsering has nothing but his maroon robes. He refuses Chris’ raincoat and is soon drenched to the skin, but seems completely unfazed by the cold, wet rain. Our next stop is Kurje Monastery. Kurje, or sku rje, is one of the most sacred sites in Bhutan as Guru Rinpoche meditated there and left his body imprint in the cave around which the monastic complex is constructed. sKu means “enlightened body” and rje means “lord.” So, this is the place of the lord’s enlightened body imprint. Tsering takes us right to the main temple, the site of the cave where Guru Rinpoche meditated. The entire temple is built out around the original cave, which is painted in rainbow colors and in front of which a large statue of Guru Rinpoche sits. The walls of the temple are lined with a thousand statues of Guru Rinpoche, small reproductions that stand about eight inches in height. Each face has been individually painted and is slightly different from its neighbors’. We all spend a while looking at all the various expressions so skillfully painted on the faces.

Kurje Monastery

Leaving Kurje, we are happy that the rain seem to have let up and we climb up a stone stairway built into the hillside to a local drupchu or holy water spot for a snack and a sip of the “holy” water. The hill is a dripping green tapestry covered over with towering white pines. As we arrive at the spring, we see groups of Bhutanese pilgrims lined up with large plastic jugs waiting to be filled. I can’t help wondering how many people actually get most of their drinking water from this spring. We too fill a water bottle and in an act of faith, drink it down without any treatment. It’s cold and delicious, (and so far, no ill effects!).

Lined up at the Drupchu

Coming back down the trail, we cross over a footbridge that sways back and forth across the monsoon-swollen and churning river and climb up the opposite slope to the small Padmasambhava Lhakang which was built over another of Guru Rinpoche’s meditation sites. This small temple was founded in 1490 by the terton Pema Lingpa. It is very old and contains only one small temple built around another cave. Tsering tells us that very few foreigners ever come here due to the hike required to reach it, but that it is the repository for a dung dkar or white conch that miraculously leapt across the river from Kurje Monastery to land here. Tsering speaks with the blind caretaker, who stands silently in the corner of the temple, his head lifted and dark red scars stretching down over his cheeks. He is the only person we see at the lhakang, and he gives permission for us to see the conch. As Rachel remarks to me, this is the best part of visiting sacred spots in Bhutan—that one finds oneself reverently slipping small units of paper money into the openings in miraculous white conch shells while praying for whatever benefits one can imagine!

But the best is yet to come, as we descend the muddy trail and head to our final sacred spot of the day, the Tamshing Lhakang, founded in 1501 by the same Pema Lingpa. This monastic complex is famous in Bhutan for being one of the only places where Pema Lingpa’s lineage of “revealed” teachings is still taught and practiced by the monks who study there. The main temple contains a number of paintings from the 16^th century that are still in fairly good condition and which are probably the oldest paintings in Bhutan. The temple itself contains statues of Guru Rinpoche and his Eight Manifestations and Pema Lingpa himself. Around this inner temple is a circumambulation track that is indoors. Here there is a coat of mail that is said to have been forged by Pema Lingpa, who may have been a blacksmith at one point in his life. The story goes that if a person puts on the coat of mail and walks three times around the inner sanctuary, one’s sins will be purified. Naturally, we are most interested in purifying our sins and so first Chris, then I, then Rachel, then Tsering put on the heavy mail coat and walk diligently around the track. The coat of mail is a series of linked chains and is extremely heavy. Walking with the iron links draped over my shoulders, striving to hold it closed in front with fingers that ache within minutes from the heavy chains, I find the walk around the dark circumambulation track challenging. Passing paintings so old they have not yet been dated, the faded faces of tantric deities and Buddhist bodhisattvas staring out at me across time, I pray for the courage to work through my emotional upheavals living in Taktse so that I may actually emerge from this time in Bhutan having done something of genuine value beyond the completion of my PhD degree! I have been surprised by my emotional response to our situation—the cold, the noise, the loneliness in not having colleagues, friends or family to relate to, the endless damp air, wet clothing, and lack of any comfortable place to even sit down, no internet, constant construction, laborers, the lack of privacy, and the “issues” that manifest daily (right now, even, electricity has failed and I am sitting in a semi-dark room, rain falling again onto the sodden, muddy earth trying to type this blog), have resulted in my experiencing a lot of emotion, most rather dark and depressed. On top of that, I am disappointed in my own lack of flexibility and my ongoing tendency to note the negative. Why, I keep thinking, can’t I just relax and “go with the flow”?

Wearing the Chain mail of Pema Lingpa

Purifying Sins

(FYI--for really good information on all the sacred places mentioned above, see Francoise Pommaret's "Bhutan: Himalayan Mountain Kingdom.")

Leaving Tamshing, we begin the five-kilometer walk back to Jakar. At first the road is merely a muddy mess, little more than a trail, but soon we are on pavement, albeit pavement that is potted and broken, streaming with mud and water. The rain begins again and quickly progresses to a cold downpour accompanied by a stiff wind up the valley as we give in to the inevitability of a soaking long before reaching the relative warmth of our guesthouse. My hope that Blessed Rainy Day really signifies the end of the monsoon dissolves like the mists that continually rise and fall over these high mountain valleys. For now, I must rely on endless cups of tea to keep me warm and attempt to stop watching for the sun. Sometime soon, I am told, these clouds will suddenly vanish like that imprint of the bird in the sky and the sun will warm these long dark valleys. 

Rangjung (Self-arising) Phallus

Drukpa Kunley's Hill

(I will upload pictures to supplement this post as soon as I can!)

We left Thimphu on a clear morning. After a bit of determined wrangling, we were able to hire a shared taxi to take us over the first high pass into central Bhutan, the Dochu Lha and down into Lobesa, a descent of over 10,000 feet. As the taxi began the series of climbing switchbacks up to the pass, I craned my neck from side to side, trying to see the country we were finally going to penetrate into. The higher we climb, the foggier and colder the air. Soon, I find myself closing the window as the tangled Himalayan rainforest foliage gives way to predominantly pine forests. Local women line the road in places where it widens, bags of fresh apples ready for sale. The old lama in the front seat buys a large bag, immediately offering apples to us in the back. As we near the top of the pass the fog grows denser and wetter. Finally, we crest the top. Dimly visible through the shifting sheets of white fog is a hillock completely covered with small stupas. This pass is known as the pass of a hundred and eight stupas and there is an eerie silence to the place as the stupas slide in and out of view in the mist. We exit the car and walk into the wet silence. The stupas are simple, white, each one houses either Padmasambhava, Sakyamuni, or the Zhabdrung. Sadly, we have little time to gaze or sit high in the clouds. Our ride is waiting, the other passengers less interested in the view than we are. Back in the taxi, the descent goes down and down. Soon the sun is again shining and the heat from the wet jungle swiftly penetrates the inside of the taxi. 

Our taxi takes us to the Royal University of Bhutan’s College of Natural Resources. Due to an auspicious connection, Chris and I have been asked to spend a couple of nights here by the Vice Chancellor of RUB in order to teach basic meditation practice to the faculty and students. The Vice Chancellor is an extraordinary person, whose vision of creating an environment of “contemplative education” at RUB dovetails nicely with the overall Bhutanese vision of GNH (Gross National Happiness). Chris and I are happy to comply. We are met by the Director of the College of Natural Resources, who is himself a forestry expert. Given the amazing diversity of the forests I have seen in Bhutan so far, I can only imagine it is a fascinating field of study. The Director settles us into a room in the college guesthouse. It is a traditional Bhutanese building with high windows and ornate wooden carved décor. The building itself is nestled in a quiet pine forest. The air is more humid and warm than any we’ve yet experienced, but given that Lobesa is at about 3,500 feet, that is not surprising. After lunch in the tiny town of Lobesa with huge dump trucks rattling down the main street on their way either to or from the enormous hydro-electric project located some way down the Punakha Chuu River, the Director turns us over to one of his assistants, Tandin. Tandin’s job is to guide us out to the Chimi Lhakang, a place I have been longing to visit. The Chimi Lhakang is the primary locale for Drukpa Kunley in Bhutan. It is located at the top of a small hill in the middle of the wide Punakha Chuu valley. These days, couples or women who are trying to have children come here to be blessed by Drukpa Kunley’s bow and arrow, as well as by the huge wooden phallus he is said to have carved. I have heard mixed reports as to how well this blessing works! My friend Sonam in Thimphu came multiple times, both alone and with her husband, Yeshe, but to no avail. Eventually they adopted an adorable baby girl. Nonetheless, the Chimi Lhakang must somehow have earned its reputation.

Chris lingers behind as Tandin leads us along a narrow path through deep green rice paddies. Here and there, men and women are bent in the water working on the rice. The air is sultry in the mid-afternoon and we are soon sweating. Climbing the hill up to where I can see the Chimi Lhakang in a grove of Bodhi trees, I am struck by how wide this valley is compared to the Thimphu valley. Off to my right, the river meanders in wide slow turns across the valley floor. Hoopoe birds hop over the grassy trail. Tandin tells us that killing a hoopoe bird earns the killer rebirth in a Buddha realm. When we regard him with bewilderment (why would killing this bird result in what is normally thought of as a reward?), Tandin explains that the hoopoe eats more worms per day than any other bird, so many, in fact, that killing the bird is said to save the lives of countless other beings.

As we arrive at the Chimi Lhakang I immediately note the large numbers of village people sitting outside on the ground around the lhakang. Some are picnicking, but most are counting their mantras and/or reading texts. A huge Bodhi tree rustles in the breeze with that particular song the wind plays in a Bodhi tree’s leaves. Inside, the small courtyard is packed with people. Tandin explains that we have arrived on a particularly auspicious day, when a Chenrezigs puja is being performed. Chenrezigs is the Bodhisattva of compassion whose Sanskrit name is Avalokiteshvara. He is often depicted as having one thousand arms and some of the most beautiful Buddhist art I have seen features these amazing statues. As we remove our shoes and enter the main lhakang, a large group of women seated to the right of the main shrine gaze up at us in wonder. Chattering erupts, and laughter. All of the women sit to shrine right, while the men fill the left hand side of the room. All eyes are on us as we prostrate first to the lama who is leading the puja and second to the shrine where a huge statue of Drukpa Kunley peers out from beneath ropes of flowers and colored cloth. Around him is an array of weaponry, everything from the traditional bow and arrows to a large musket that cannot be less than five feet long—surely not a weapon that Drukpa Kunley, who lived in fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, ever saw. After prostrating and handing over the tsok or bag of offerings consisting of biscuits, snacks and a couple bottle of liquor to the monk who is serving the shrine, we sit on the floor and practice with the village people. While I can’t understand exactly what is being said at any given time, I have participated in enough Buddhist ritual practices to know the basic structure. When everyone begins a long mandala offering (a practice where one imagines everything of value to oneself and in the world in order to offer it away, thereby helping to cut through one’s attachment to possessions and wealth), I too put my hands in the traditional mandala offering mudra. A murmur goes through the room and I notice that everyone is staring at me in amazement—how does the chillip know the appropriate mudra? After some time, everyone finally returns their attention to their own practice. Sitting on the old wooden floor wore smooth as silk by hundred of years of people sitting, standing, prostrating, and walking on it, listening to the rise and fall of the monks’ chants, smelling the fragrant and sharp smell of burning juniper from the tsang (purification) offering, I again feel a sense of peace. It would be nice to sit here and practice with everyone for the rest of the day. However, the fact that the time for the meditation class that we have to teach is approaching galvanizes us. As we rise to leave the lhakang, the shrine-serving monk comes forward holding Drukpa Kunley’s wooden phallus and bow and arrows. We bow our heads and he bonks us on the top of the head with both simultaneously. Who knows? Perhaps something will come of such of a blessing! Walking back down the green hill in the later afternoon, the river slides slowly by in the distance and clouds gathered over the peaks of the surrounding mountains are silver and gray in the soft, humid air. It’s a slow and peaceful place and I can well imagine how Drukpa Kunley delighted in it enough to build his lhakang here. To this day, the lhakang is supposedly cared for by one of Drukpa Kunley’s descendants. While we did not have time to meet this person and hear his stories, I plan to return to spend more time there as soon as I can.

Arriving back at the guest house, we have time for a quick shower and review of what I will teach that evening. At 6:30, we enter the large, carpeted room set aside for the meditation teaching. Since today was a holiday and most students and faculty had the day off, I am not sure what to expect. Will anyone come? But to my surprise, the room is packed. There are easily about 45 people who have come to hear our presentation and to learn to practice basic meditation. The Director introduces us and I give a short talk on the view of mindfulness practice, after which I give a long guided meditation. At the end of this, we open up the floor for questions. Although we’ve been told that Bhutanese are often quite shy about asking questions, there is no shyness in this crowd and we are inundated with many questions about posture, thoughts, working with emotions, holding the mind to the object of meditation, etc. Certain elements are clearly demarcated. For instance, Bhutanese, who have grown up in and participated in a traditional Himalayan Buddhist cultural world, are in no way confused about our status as teachers of mindfulness practice. They know, and we know, that we are not “realized” lamas or gurus in the traditional sense. Since this is clear, it makes it easy to distinguish between “real” meditation, such as that which is done in the monasteries and nunneries, and mindfulness practice as a tool for working with and coming to know one’s own mind in such a way that one might be able to be of benefit in the world. It is fantastic to see such interest and enthusiasm in this crowd. Finally, we have an another sitting period and close the session. As we sit, everyone following their breath (or trying to), I have a moment of surreality. Here I am, in Bhutan, teaching mindfulness practice to Bhutanese people. It’s both wonderful and very odd given how much I myself have to learn from this culture and its people.  

A New Home

The new ILCS campus in Taktse is, well, a fascinating experience. Everyone says the first day is the worst, but then it gets better and better. As you read my blog below, you will see that this is my experience also! There is an amazing mix of situations taking place at every moment. One instant I feel delighted, the next devastated, one minute inspired, the next horrified. Even the photos posted in my last blog cannot do justice to the scope of the construction and the ongoing nature of this project. It’s a serious shock to be here. One main point--I have no email access from our apartment at this time. If you are reading this blog, you will know that I have tried and succeeded to send email from the main academic campus. If this is the case, for the next couple of weeks, I will compose at the apartment and then send when I am up on the main campus—after all, I have a number of episodes to make up! The main campus is a 20-30 minute walk up a long and very muddy dirt road, so I may not be running up there every minute (although so far, my actions belie this statement). Sadly, my blog will have to make due without photos for now. Soon, we are being assured, there will be campus-wide wifi—by the end of September at the latest. In fact, our informants are fond of pronouncing, the money has already been paid (this is apparently the linchpin argument).

Just to fill you in in more detail—here is a description of our first day: We arrive here for the first time in the pouring rain with fog so thick I cannot see ten feet in front of my face. The air is gray, sodden, and seems almost like a live thing as it seeps through doorways, windows and penetrates into my bones. Although we have been told that our apartment is “ready,” as we slog up to the door, past the soaking wet Indian laborers, carrying our wet bags, it is immediately clear that “ready” is a relative term. Inside, the floor is covered with mud, footprints, construction dust and dead insects. When we enter the building, workers rush about here and there. Looking inside the downstairs bathroom, I see that the floor is smeared with plaster, bugs, mud and debris, the sink filled with some kind of red paint and it is clear there is no running water. The Director is furious. He has consistently asked that certain things be taken care of, but clearly they have not yet been addressed. Construction noises fill the large echoing space. The apartment is huge—four large rooms, a kitchen and two bathrooms on two floors, but the space is entirely built of concrete so every noise echoes as if we were inside of a giant tin can. We head upstairs to one of the bedrooms where our “stuff” has been stored, only to find that everything is damp at best, soaked at worst (inevitable in this cold monsoon rain), muddy and piled in heaps on the floor along with two bedframes. Half of the things in the room turn out to belong to someone else. After accessing the situation, and huddling for a while in the cold, damp, dark room on a bedframe in a state of shock and dismay, we go back downstairs and inform the Director that we wish to be driven back to Trongsa (an hour’s drive) at least until there is running water and the place has actually been cleaned.

Two days later, we return in the morning sunlight, the mountains’ steep, green slopes tilting dramatically around us, endless waterfalls plummeting down to the distant Mangde Chuu River, blue sky stretching out over the high peaks. The apartment is clean, water running, toilets flushing. Now, we are doing our own cleaning—a never-ending project due to the construction dust and the fact that the apartments on either side of us are not nearly so far finished as ours—apparently all the manpower has been focused on getting our residence ready, so that while we now have a place that’s mostly “complete” many others still camp on soggy mattresses with no water, bathing facilities or cooking areas. Apparently, we “chillips” (the Bhutanese term for foreigners—the term means “one who arrives from outside”) require special facilities, while others are tougher and can do with less. I have mixed feelings about this and if I had not come here to research and write a dissertation, I might contest it. As it stands, however, I simply cannot risk not being able to do any work at all, merely taking this entire thing as an “adventure.” In my early 20’s I might happily have welcomed a chance to camp out on a construction site, but now electricity to power my computer, internet, and some degree of privacy and moderate quiet at least some of the time are essential for getting done what needs to take place.

In one day, we manage to set up our bedroom and one sitting room with two wooden bedframes, two wooden chairs and two desks. For the moment, we decide to ignore the downstairs since we have no furniture with which to set it up. Our one rug helps on the cold concrete floor and for our first dinner we sit on small pillows on the floor. Our kitchen contains a two-burner propane stove, rice cooker, water boiler, and a small refrigerator—all of which we brought with us from Thimphu. Earlier in the day, the workers have rushed to put up curtain rods, so that we have privacy—at least no one can gawk at us through the windows anymore—and considering that there is scaffolding set up outside the entire back of the building, where the workers are easily able to gaze inside, this is a good thing. One nice aspect is that everyone is very eager to make us happy and with any request we have, they work very hard to take care of it immediately. But the construction noise is cacophonous and continuous. Thankfully, they don’t begin before 8:30am and they finish around 5-6pm. This morning, however, I woke up in tears, wondering how on earth I could possibly do any work here at all. After some reflection, I have decided to rise at 4:45am and work steadily from 5-8:30. Then I will relax for a while, perhaps go for a walk, or attend a class or two up on the academic part of the campus, come back and work again from 1-2:30 or so, while everyone else has their lunch and then do easier work for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening in the midst of the construction chaos. This is not enough, but it’s a start.

This morning, Chris and I go up to the main academic part of the campus. Everyone is very happy to see us. I think they are really pleased to have foreigners actually willing to deal with this (I keep thinking this should make me feel better, but I’m not sure it does). There are only four of us “chillips” here amongst hundreds of Bhutanese and hundreds of Indian laborers in the middle of nowhere. And we really are in the middle of nowhere—more nowhere than I’ve ever been, and I’ve been some pretty nowhere places! However, its one of the most beautiful nowheres I've ever been. We are immediately rushed into Chris’s first class (for which he is completely unprepared but during which he comports himself admirably by doing a wonderful introduction in front of a very attentive group of Bhutanese college students, the girls all dressed to the nines in their beautiful kiras, their hair combed, make-up on, earrings in place and the boys all combed and styled—Bhutanese boys love hair gel—in their ghos), and then I sit in on a Buddhism class taught entirely in Tibetan by one of the main lopens (teachers) here—the one with whom I very much hope to work on Drukpa Kunley (my dissertation). It is quite impressive—if I continue to attend that class, I will not only maintain my Tibetan, but I will get much, much better. This, of all things, makes me feel MUCH better about being here—at least for the moment. The fact is that many of the classes being taught here would be very good for me in terms of my Tibetan (which is the primary thing that needs to improve). I also like this Lopen Choten very much. He is obviously a very learned scholar as well as Buddhist practitioner and he seems interested in talking with me more about my project. He hasn’t really known anything about us and when I tell him I am working on a PhD in Buddhism, he is delighted and agrees to meet with me. It’s embarrassing to have studied Tibetan for eight years and to sit in on a first-year Buddhism class and still struggle to understand what’s being said. However, none of my Buddhism classes have ever been in Tibetan and speaking Tibetan has always only occurred for me during summer language intensives—providing me mostly with then having another year to forget everything I learned the previous summer! But even my reading skills need some serious resurrection at this point, and that will begin tomorrow!

At the moment, Chris is talking with the workers about our “punch” list for the apartment. Some of you might be shocked and appalled by the mess of hoses, pipes, wires, and construction woven across the ground outside the back of our apartment. I, myself, cannot figure out at all how they make anything work—the electricity, the water, the sewer, the actual construction, but somehow they do. It’s so raw and primitive and yet somehow the hot water geyser in the bathroom fills up with water, heats, and provides us with a fantastic shower. At night, at least, it is silent and we sleep well (minus the anxiety dreams!). I was terrified that construction would go all night long as it does in Thimphu, but so far (keep your fingers crossed) I have been told it ends by 5 (or really 6) pm. Right now, outside my window, an enormous blue backhoe (how did it ever get here?), operated by a boy who cannot be more than fourteen years old, excavates the foundation area for yet another student dormitory—a new development—that will be built basically right outside our front door. About 25 Indian laborers are crouched in the mud over piles and piles of iron rebar, bending it into appropriate shapes for framing that will hold poured concrete. All of this occurs in a beautiful, utterly remote mountain setting. Eventually, this place will be fantastic, but this development is far in the future.

Transitions

Yesterday’s Bhutan News states the following:

The first batch of students enrolled at the Institute of 
Language and Cultural studies in Taktsi, Trongsa district, are an unhappy lot. With some structures such as the hostels to be completed, 
the 160 students are sleeping in the classrooms.

          This is not the end. Other than hostels, the dining hall, staff 
quarters, library building and auditorium have not been completed. The 
food is being cooked in a makeshift kitchen. The classrooms are packed with beds and luggage, making it difficult for 
the students to even move around. The classrooms have no proper electric 
lines.


          A student said the ongoing construction works are distracting students. 
“This is disappointing. Why were we sent here when the construction is 
underway?” she questioned.



“Text books were supposed to be issued by September 2 but we still 
haven’t got it and we are not receiving any facilities that we require 
in a college,” another student said.


           Meanwhile, the Director of the Institute, Lungtaen Gyatso, attributed 
shortage of manpower as one of the main reasons for the delayed 
construction. He said since Taktsi relatively is in a rural setting, the laborers 
prefer to work in places like Thimphu, Punakha, Paro and Phuntsholing.



        Lungtaen Gyatso also said that he does not see any major problems faced 
by the students. According to him, temporary electrification is provided 
for the students to study for the time being and necessities of the mess 
are provided.“Yes, there are definitely some problems but the situation will improve 
after the construction of the dining hall is completed in two months. We 
hope the students can adjust until everything is completed as we don’t 
have a choice.”



          He cited that it was wise for them to start with the session rather than 
waiting for everything to complete. “As each day and hour passes, everything will be in place and the 
session will move on. Everyone is working hard and in a couple of weeks, 
we will see fully completed structures. We cannot push the session 
further and waste more time,” he added.

           Kencho Wangmo, counselor, said that the sessions started from September 
1 and with time many students are learning to adjust. “They understand 
the problems and since they know there is nothing we can do but wait, 
they are moving on with the hope that everything will be all right soon.”



             The entire work is scheduled to be completed by March next year. The construction is monitored by a private consultancy firm based in Thimphu and it is being carried out by three Bhutanese contractors. The institute is located on a 72 acre plot in Taktsi, about 20 
kilometers away from Trongsa towards Zhemgang. The construction started 
in 2009.


The new ILCS campus seen from across the valley

Today, our final bags are packed. Hopefully, the rest of our luggage is loaded on a large truck awaiting transportation to the unfinished Taktse ILCS campus where classes are already underway and Chris will need to jump straight into teaching. If our luggage ends up missing in the ether somewhere, we will have a couple of shirts, a pair of shoes, and a jacket or two. We are leaving Thimphu after nearly six weeks and jumping straight into the heart of the dragon—or perhaps, straight into a mud puddle. After such a long period of stasis, it is odd to suddenly be in motion and the activity of the last few days stands in stark contrast to the leisure and space of the weeks before. But that is, apparently, how things often work in Bhutan. Nothing happens for a long time and then everything happens at once.

And so, we are in transition.

Closer View of the Academic Area

Living Quarters

The new campus of ILCS has two main locations, one for the academic block—including classrooms, offices, the Cultural Center, kitchen, dining area and auditorium and the other including staff quarters and student dormitories. There is about a ten-minute walk between the two areas. See photos to give a sense of just how far behind construction actually is! We have been promised that our staff quarters will be finished by the time we arrive. Both Chris and I have very ambivalent feelings about this given the situation of the students. It feels lousy to have “luxurious” (or at least livable) housing while all the students sleep crammed into two classrooms, the women sharing three toilets and two sinks, the boys the same. No showers, no privacy.

Office Block

Classroom Block

We should arrive at our destination by Friday night after spending two days in a small town called Lobesa, the location of the College of Natural Resources, where Chris and I have been asked by the head of the Royal University of Bhutan to teach two session of “mindfulness practice” or shamatha/vipashana meditation to the students there. At the same time, we will have an opportunity to visit the main environs and monastery/lhakang of my Buddhist saint, Drukpa Kunley, the Chimi Lhakang. I am fascinated to see this temple. Today it functions largely as a popular fertility cult locale, with many women and couples from around south and southeast Asia journeying there to receive blessings from the ten-inch phallus said to have been carved by Drukpa Kunley himself. (But I’ll write more about this once we have actually been there!)

Staff Living Quarters--We will be in one of the middle units. You can see the Academic Block in the background.

ILCS Campus from nearby mountain--gorgeous location!