Return to Taktsi

(Continued from previous blog...)

At Yangkhil Resort in Trongsa--Trongsa Dzong in Background

The next morning we linger in our warm hotel room sipping tea and enjoying the silence of at least one place in Bhutan from which the sounds of construction are not audible. I realize how rare this kind of silence is. Even in Taktsi, far, far out in the middle of nowhere, we are surrounded by construction as the building of ILCS straggles on. Our last meeting with the director of ILCS in Thimphu informed us that the ongoing struggle to maintain construction labor continues. We’ve been hearing about this problem since we moved to Taktsi, and slowly we’ve come to understand the reasons for it. The primary reason seems to lie in the fact that the construction workers, who are mostly Indian, are unaware of the circumstances of their employment. They are not told, when they are hired, that they will be living in an extremely remote area with no facilities to speak of, or that the cold and damp of the climate there will be shocking to their systems. They imagine they will be working in urban areas such as Thimphu or Phuentsoling and the arrival on a mountaintop in central Bhutan with nearly perpetual rain, wind, and freezing temperatures is surely demoralizing and shocking. I often note how very large buildings such as the student dormitories appear to have only 9-10 workers per building. It is no wonder that the project itself is years behind schedule. We learn from the director that only a few weeks ago, a group of eleven workers ran away in the middle of the night. They were found later walking on the long, dark road, carrying all of their belongings. When they saw the headlights of the vehicles coming behind them, they threw their things on the road and dove off into the thick, jungle undergrowth that chokes the steep slopes. Most were rounded up and brought back to Taktsi, but one remains missing and another died shortly after being brought back. I feel very sad upon hearing this.

The Only Gas Station in Trongsa

Pumping Gas in Trongsa

After repacking the car we drive the hour past Trongsa to Taktsi. The weather is the usual cold, gray, wet that seems to perpetually shroud this area. I wonder, not for the first time, why they decided to build a college campus in such an inhospitable place, and on top of that, why they decided to use an architectural style that is far better suited to a warm, tropical environment. The entire campus, including the residences for staff and students, is built out of concrete. The rooms are cavernous, with huge glass windows and no insulating factors of any kind. In a climate that is nearly always wet and cold, it is nearly impossible to heat these rooms and a cold wind is constantly blowing. This style of architecture seems to be at odds with much traditional Bhutanese architecture, which includes wood-paneled walls and wood floors, smaller windows, and thick stone or wood walls. 

Our Guesthouse in Thimphu--More Traditional-style Architecture

In any event, as we turn onto the three-kilometer driveway that snakes up Taktsi mountain to the campus, we are pleasantly surprised to discover that the road has been substantially improved since we left for the winter break. Before that, it was nearly impassable, and one of our main hesitations in buying a new car was the thought that we would likely destroy it merely in driving up and down the Taktsi campus driveway! Happily, this no longer appears to be the case. In fact, we have been informed that the road will soon be black-topped, and whether or not “soon” is a realistic time marker, it is certainly true that the road has been smoothed and rolled in preparation for paving. As a result, getting up the mountain takes about half the time it used to. However, as we arrive at the top and begin the descent to our residences, it appears that the road improvements come to an end. We later learn that due to the fact that there are four contractors working on the ILCS campus, contention has arisen as to which part of the road each contractor is responsible for. Apparently, the contractor working on the lower portion of the road refuses to grate or roll the part of the road that extends down to the staff and student residences. At least we only have to bounce violently up and down for about ten minutes!

We pull our car up the side of the staff residence and gather up armloads of supplies. But when we actually get to our door, we discover that the key does not fit the lock. In fact, the lock isn’t ours at all and we have no way to get inside. Chris puts in a call to the director, but there is no answer. In mounting frustration, I also call the director. When my first call goes unanswered, I call again, letting the phone ring and ring. Finally, the director answers my call. He informs me that he is in a meeting. Before he can hang up I tell him that we are standing outside our residence and that our lock is gone, replaced by another to which we have no key. He replies that he will send down the estate manager to help us.

Drying Meat

After a delay, the estate manager, a young man on a motorcycle, who, while very nice, is mostly useless, arrives. He runs off to find the new contractor, who has, apparently, been living in our residence. When they both return, they sheepishly hand us the one remaining key to this new lock. Opening the door, we are shocked by the mess that greets us. The floor is covered with mud, construction debris and small piles of garbage. We learn that none of the geysers (hot water tanks) work anymore and note that our new bhukari (wood stove) is covered with rust and dirt. While we gaze about in disbelief, the contractor calls in some workers to remove his mattress and the belongings of several others from upstairs. It becomes clear that a number of people, not only the main contractor, but likely his entire crew of Indian workers, have been living in our residence, using the bathrooms, and the woodstove. While this is disconcerting, primarily due to the fact that we were not even informed that someone would be living in our apartment, it wouldn’t be so bad if the place had been taken care of. Apparently, they even knew the dates we were returning, but the place is trashed and nothing works anymore. Our firewood, so laboriously gathered from the mountainside and chopped, is nearly gone. Since the apartment is such a mess that we cannot actually live there, we inform the estate manager that we will go back to Trongsa for the night. We ask him to make sure that someone does at least a preliminary cleaning and repair of the geysers.

Himalayan Jungle

We both feel terrible. There have been so many inconveniences with living in this place that this feels like the last straw. No wonder my ability to actually do any work on my dissertation has been so compromised. If even the basic living conditions are not in place, never mind having electricity, running water, or (god forbid) internet or phone connectivity, then how is it possible for any progress to be made? While I was willing to “experiment” with this situation for the past six months, I can no longer afford to do so. When we signed up for this situation in Bhutan, we had expected to be living in Thimphu. It was only at the last minute that we discovered the campus was being rebuilt in the middle of nowhere and that we would be expected to move there. But we were assured over and over again that the basic living situation would be workable. Over and over again we have been promised internet, or phone connectivity, or electricity, or running water and over and over again such promises do no more than create a sense of an ever-receding horizon that can never be reached. My advisor is breathing down my neck. I can no longer do this. Chris too is furious—more so than I have yet seen him. The construction that was to have been finished in the apartment (the entire reason we even left a key) has not been done and the little bit that was done was never cleaned. We drive back to Trongsa trying to determine whether or not we should just pack up and leave for Thimphu. We compare possible options. But the fact remains that we really don’t have anywhere to land in Thimphu. Chris needs a job and we cannot afford to just find some place to rent without that security. Plus, Chris’s contract is for a year—if we break the contract, even under these conditions, will that jeopardize our visas? I have yet to even begin the bulk of my research—after all this time, do I want to just give up? Plus we are both slated to begin teaching in just a couple of days. Our classes are planned and to leave would be to leave ILCS without two teachers. But at the same time we are really fed up with the living conditions and the endless empty promises. On top of all this, we both desire to maintain the warmth and congeniality of the relationships that we have worked so hard to forge in our time here. We want to stay in Bhutan, but somehow, the situation must change.

After arriving back at our hotel, we settle down to await the director’s call. And we wait and wait. He doesn’t call. That night I have the longest lucid dream I can ever remember having. In the dream, before it becomes lucid, I tell myself that this is enough! I don’t have to continue in this dream—I know it is only a dream. In that moment, I am suddenly freed. I am able to fly and choose the trajectory that the dream takes. I travel through multiple dreamscapes, always making solid decisions about what I want to happen. When I awaken in the morning, I feel a sense of liberation. I am tired of feeling trapped by this situation. One way or another, things must change. When we still have not heard from the director by 11am, Chris calls him. As it turns out, unsurprisingly, the estate manager has not even informed him of the state of our apartment or of the fact that we have returned to Trongsa. He is shocked to hear that multiple Indian workers have been living in our apartment and assures us that he only gave permission to the contractor to “set up an office” there. The whole conversation is painful. The director apologizes over and over and promises to make things better. He begs us to give him “one more week.” With nowhere to go yet, we agree although neither of us believes that anything will be settled in a week. If internet has not come in six months, how will it actually come in “one week”? In fact, it’s been one week, one week, one week for six months. But what else to do? It seems like a very dramatic statement to just pack the car and leave, breaking Chris’s contract and likely severing all goodwill, something we adamantly do not want to do. We agree to teach this semester, but it is clear to us that once Chris has fulfilled his contract, we will be looking to find a situation that will provide a central location in which I can easily access the resources I have finally been able to establish.

Chod Practitioners at Dungtshe Rinpoche's Kudung in Paro

Returning later that afternoon to Taktsi, we are met by the director who accompanies us to our residence. In spite of our obvious dismay the day before, no cleaning has yet been done. The estate manager, who promised us that it would be, has done nothing. The director calls him and soon a team of workers is sweeping and washing. We stand outside for a couple of hours while the director gives lengthy tongue-lashings to anyone and everyone. In some ways, it is humorous. While he is clearly upset, and he vents most of that frustration on the estate manager, the estate manager for his part just bows his head and takes his scolding, but later on is invited in to join us at the director’s residence for tea as if nothing ever happened. And this is the thing—no matter how incompetent or unsuited anyone is for a job here, they will never, ever be fired or replaced. Too much depends on who knows who and who is related to who for those kinds of activities, which might cause immense offense and long-lasting damage to interpersonal relationships, which are, in the long run, deemed more important. When I even suggest that the director might find a candidate for estate manager who would care more about the job and do a better job, my suggestion is met with stony silence. While this kind of condition is perhaps the single-most frustrating circumstance of living in Bhutan, it is something that one just must get used to. It is far too entrenched and imbedded in the kinds of obligations that exist between individuals for any change to take place. This society is founded on relationship between oneself and others, a virtue that I value and while I find aspects of it immensely frustrating, I am slowly learning that one must simply take matters into one’s own hands and make the changes that one wants to make oneself. Since our situation at Taktsi really cannot accommodate my needs at this time when I must be working on a dissertation, I must change that situation. No one else will do it for me. In the meantime, I will teach my class and give the best that I have to the students at ILCS. At the same time, I will pursue the relationships that I do need to get my own work done. Once my obligation to ILCS has been fulfilled, I will be free to travel to the locations where my collaborators are lined up to work on this text. Since I am only teaching for the first half of the semester, this seems entirely workable. And in fact, after two class periods, where I attempt to introduce my students to a short history of western, European literary history in preparation for our poetry discussions, I find that I have more of a routine established here than at all previously. Once a sunny day finally arrives and we are able to wash away the inches (yes, really) of mold from the clothes, blankets, and pillows we stored while back in the States, and dry them in the hot sun, we finally feel that we are “home.” And after setting up a new office space with a second heater, with my feet happily ensconced in my new UGG slippers, I am almost warm and comfortable. The next adventure is to return to Thimphu at the end of the week to consolidate relationships set for me by the RUB Head of Research, a wonderful, kind and helpful person who has connected me with some of the tulkus (reincarnations) at Tango Monastery, including His Holiness Gyalsey Tendzin Rabgye, the reincarnation of Drukpa Kunley’s (my dissertation subject) grandson and at Paro College, where I have been introduced to two Lopens (teachers) who are willing and interested to help me with reading Drukpa Kunley’s biography. It appears that doors are opening! 

Early Spring Blossoms

Virgin Drive

There are so many things to catch up on with this blog. I didn’t expect to become so busy so fast, but I suppose that is a good sign. The next series of blogs are an attempt to fill in the gaps over the past two weeks. I begin at the beginning, which is always the best place!

Memorial Chorten on Losar Year of the Male Water Dragon 2012

Prayer Flags over the River

Chris and I began our virgin journey in the new car on a hazy, early spring day. We were both a bit nervous about the drive. The single east/west road in Bhutan is a narrow, endlessly twisting strip of blacktop that more often than not disintegrates into pitted ruts and holes large enough to take out any car’s suspension with in a single moment. Have I mentioned that in Bhutan people drive on the left side of the road—so the driver’s seat and gearshift are on the opposite side of the car than what we are so used to? Driving is, therefore, very slow, especially in a car like ours where the motor is about the size of a lawn-mower. But happily, the car climbed easily up the long, serpentine pass of Dochu-la and I actually began to have fun wrenching the steering wheel from side to side while simultaneously attempting to see far enough ahead to stomp on the brakes if and when a huge dump truck was bearing down on us. As we crested the top of the Dochu-la, we were forced to stop for an hour while a giant excavation machine worked to clear the huge boulders and piles of mud and sand that had covered the road over the night in a landslide. This kind of delay is exactly what makes a 7-8 hour journey into a 12 hour journey. As we waited, we watched the mist slide through the needles of the tall pines that blanket the top of the pass and sipped Chris’s concoction of very strong, very sweet, black tea from a thermos.

Virgin Journey

Finally, we were allowed to pass and almost immediately, I pulled over to allow the convoy of huge trucks barreling down the twisting road to the Punakha and Mangde Chuu hydroelectric projects to pass us by. These huge trucks, driven by both Bhutanese and Indian drivers, have largely destroyed the roads, which were never built to sustain that kind of heavy traffic. They supply most of the traffic on the roads and almost never pull over to make room for other cars. As a result, whenever I see one, I just pull as far over as possible (usually this has to happen in a split second) and hope that the truck can make it past me. Many Bhutanese drivers, however, head straight for the truck, each driver only barely twisting the wheel at the last moment to avoid a head-on collision. Bhutanese drivers would be excellent candidates in “Chicken.” But such games are not for me—I just want to get there in one piece. Descending into the Punakha Valley, the air is warm and sultry, orange trees are laden with fruits, and the market is abuzz with activity. This time of year is the best time to be in this very low valley (for Bhutan—only about 3,500 feet), as it is not yet too hot, but winter has largely departed. It is this valley, in fact, where I hope to do the bulk of my ethnographic research, as it is the home of most of Drukpa Kunley’s activities in Bhutan and the locale for his temple, the Chimed Lhakang.

Leaving the Punakha Valley, we begin the endless ascent of the Pele Lha, the pass marking the division between western and central Bhutan, where one then descends down through the Black Mountains towards Trongsa and our home in Taktsi. About halfway up the Pele Lha, we pull over for a luncheon under pine trees laden with cones and interspersed with the vivid pink blossoms of what looks very definitively like Red Bud (my favorite blossoms of spring).

Calves Hoping for some Chocolate

We’ve been driving for about five hours and there is still a long way to go. The ascent of the Pele Lha is endless and the road is absolutely terrible, with plunging cliffs off to the left and steep rocky slopes extending precariously overhead, looking as if they may give way at any moment (as they have obviously so often done before) and bury the road in rubble. We make our way laboriously upward, often traveling no more than about 10-15 miles per hour. (Not that one ever travels faster than about 35/45 miles per hour in Bhutan!)

Approaching the Summit of the Pele Lha

Finally, we reach the summit, where a prayer-flag festooned chorten bisects the road and our car must circle around to the left in traditional circumambulation-style beneath thousands of fluttering prayers streaming away in the cold, mountain winds.

Photo by Jmhullot-Summit of Pele Lha

This pass is marked by an unusual kind of dwarf bamboo—not a pretty plant, but a striking one with its sharp razor-like needles. Descending the pass is far easier than our ascent, partially because the road is much better, still twisting and turning dramatically, but without the precipitous drop-offs to the side. Instead, we are treated to views of sloping valleys now bright with new green growth and just-blossoming fields of rapeseed flowers, brilliant yellow against the gray skies and green rice paddy fields. I love these high valleys, through which two breeds of yak also roam—one normal in size and the other a miniature version with their shaggy heads and long thick pelts—they are about the only living creatures that actually appear to be warm!

Warm Yak

By the time we began the approach into the Trongsa Valley, we were feeling quite exhausted. Happily, rather than continue on to Taktsi that night, I had booked us into a nice hotel for our final night out, and as a way to celebrate Chris’s birthday. The Yangkhil Resort (“resort” being the term used in Bhutan to designate almost any kind of guesthouse, but particularly one’s with their own restaurants), is located about a half-mile from Trongsa itself on the side of a mountain with a fantastic view of the Trongsa Dzong—the largest dzong in Bhutan perched on a spur of land that stretches out over the churning Mangde Chu River far below.

Trongsa Dzong

The Dzong is still an important administrative building, housing the headquarters of the government administration for the Trongsa dzongkhag. Historically, Trongsa town was a strategic central location for the control of Bhutan and for centuries it was the seat of the Wangchuk Dynasty (the Kings of Bhutan) and of penlops (governors) who effectively ruled over much of eastern and central Bhutan. It is also a major monastic complex, with around 200 monks. Even in the ever-present rain (which has made it reappearance as soon as we entered the Trongsa Valley), the Dzong is an amazing sight as it vanishes and reappears in the shifting mists.

Yangkhil Resort in Trongsa

Birthday Dinner

Birthday Brownies

After a dinner in the hotel restaurant, we collapse into the most comfortable beds I’ve had the pleasure of sleeping in while in Bhutan. Usually, beds are only slightly softer than wooden planks—I never knew you could even make a mattress as firm and hard as the ones I’ve encountered in Bhutan—but at Yangkhil Resort, the beds, while still very firm, have at least a modicum of cushioning and sleep comes easily after nearly ten hours of arduous driving. We are almost comfortable—only the anticipation of actually returning to Taktsi makes us both a bit nervous. The best part of this journey has been that we have done it entirely ourselves. No more bus--just the freedom of having our own car and stopping whenever we please. While buying a car is an expense that Chris's salary cannot afford, it transforms our way of life here. I can now go to conduct my research whenever and however I wish. Even the endless red tape of licenses, registration, plates, check-up's, and the "road-worthy permit" cannot dampen the sense of freedom we both notice! I don't feel very good about adding traffic to the streets (given that the car dealership in Thimphu told us that they are selling an average of three to five cars per day!), our car is not in Thimphu, where most of the traffic in Bhutan actually is and where the only congestion is. Instead, we are out in the wilds, and getting to town is now only a simple (heh, heh) one-hour drive.

(See next blog for the actual experience of returning!)

Tooth Relics, Maruti Suzuki, and Roasted Squid Flavor

Our plane swoops down through valleys burned brown by the winter sun, sprinkled with dark green clusters of pine trees. Above the silver wings of the plane, white snow peaks pierce the dark blue of Bhutan’s sky. From this altitude it is easy to see that Bhutan is a country entirely dominated by mountains, from the highest glacial peaks to the foothills stretching down into the Indian plains, there is not a single flat surface to speak of. This is my second time flying into Bhutan, but there is a dramatic difference arriving in February from my first arrival in July. No monsoon clouds obscure the incredible views of the Himalayas, nor do they cushion the dangerous and dramatic landing Bhutanese pilots must make on a daily basis. While home for the holidays, I read in a magazine that the airport in Paro, Bhutan is the most dangerous airport in the world for planes to land. I kind of wish I’d never read it. But our pilot, Captain Senge Wangchuk, maneuvers our plane flawlessly through the steep valleys, finally touching down gently onto the runway, a strip of blacktop known to be the only straight stretch of road in the entire country. I am first off the plane at the back entrance. The sun is warm and a gentle cool breeze stirs the grasses by the side of the runway. Out the front entrance of the plane, a procession of monks in red robes is proceeding down the moveable stairway. A guard motions me to wait as a red carpet is unrolled from the base of the stairway all the way across the tarmac to the open door of the airport building. A host of official looking Bhutanese in full formal dress hurry across the pavement and line up on either side of the carpet with their hands held in front of them palm to palm and their heads bent as the lead monk passes between them. Another group of monks stands near the end of the carpet and the eerie sounds of Tibetan monastic music—the long jaoling trumpet and shorter horn—echo across the airport. I join the line of bent over Bhutanese officials and quickly learn that we have shared our flight with a famous relic of the Buddha—one of his teeth—enshrined in a small golden stupa about two feet in height. One of the senior lamas in the group carries the stupa in his arms down the stairs. As he walks along the red carpet, everyone bends his or her head down to the level of the base of the stupa. I do likewise and quickly feel a sharp bonk on the head as the lama and his procession pass by me. 

After the procession has disappeared into the recesses of the airport reserved for very important persons, I hear from a friend who was sitting in business class that the relic had its own seat. It was tucked in carefully with a bunch of airplane pillows and bucked with two seatbelts. It is the personal possession of the fourth King of Bhutan and had been taken on tour to sites in Thailand so that Thai Buddhists could receive its blessing. I reflect that there was obviously no way that our plane was going to go down, no matter how dangerous the landing! Welcome back to Bhutan, I think, delighted to arrive in such auspicious and, indeed, humorous circumstances. In fact, the whole situation—the warm weather, the sunlight, the snowy peaks, the relic—all make me feel so much better about coming back. I’ve been dreading our return. Not because I don’t like Bhutan, but because I now feel tremendous pressure to get my act together here and get some real work done. It’s been impossible to progress very far with my dissertation so far and that is clearly the result to two factors: the first is that Bhutan is a country that functions through relationships. One cannot arrange anything from outside the country if one is unknown inside the country. Getting to know people, forging relationships, making friends, colleagues and business relationships is the only way to have doors open. This has been my first challenge here and the past six months have mostly been spent engaging in exactly this activity. The second factor was the infrastructure, or lack thereof, in Taktse at ILCS. Not having electricity, water, or a reasonable work environment, not to mention internet connectivity or even phone service much of the time, did not lend itself toward productivity. But things have changed now. The relationships are in place and that alone will hopefully serve to advance my work situation dramatically. As we wind along the twisting road to Thimphu with a friend—one of the young lecturers from ILCS who has come to pick up Matt, our friend who was in business class—I reflect on how different it feels to return to a place, even a foreign place, that one has come to know. There is great comfort in knowing where to shop, where to sleep, how to get around, and how to find the things one is looking for. There is even more comfort in meeting up with new/old friends and being reminded of how much I appreciate Bhutanese people—whose warmth and spontaneous generosity are simply part of their basic make-up.

Since the semester at ILCS is slated to begin on March 5^th, Chris and I have arranged to stay in Thimphu in a guesthouse so that we can prepare for our teaching and I can get back to work comfortably. Since I too will be teaching for the first half of the semester (a poetry course, no less!), it is imperative that we find some quiet time to get back into work mode. The other main objective is to buy a car. The ethnographic element of my research will require me to travel to remote areas in Bhutan that will be unreachable by bus. In addition, living in Taktse, a good hour or more from the nearest town, has been very isolating. Having our own vehicle will give us the run of the country and tremendous freedom to come and go as we wish, as well as to visit parts of Bhutan we’ve been wanting to see.

Our guesthouse has a couple of rooms with attached kitchenettes and we happily install ourselves on the top floor beneath the eaves in a small “apartment.” Outside on the roof, flocks of doves coo and murmur and wind sings in the branches of a group of large pine trees outside the window. We are both feeling the altitude. After nearly a month at sea level, I’ve lost all the conditioning I worked so hard to achieve while living here. Even walking up the stairs to the apartment (five floors) feel grueling. Jet lag too finally takes its toll after being held at bay for three days while we played in Bangkok. By 5pm, we collapse into bed, sleeping through until about 6am the next morning!

The next morning I meet up with Sonam, who has offered to take me to the Thimphu hospital so that I can try to get a series of tests done. I had tried to do these same tests in Bangkok, but the price for all the tests came out to being somewhere around $600 USD! Since health care is free in Thimphu, I figured I’d try again here. Sonam has a friend who is a nurse at the hospital, and again, knowing someone makes all the difference. Upon our arrival Karma takes me into an examination room, enabling me to bypass the long lines and endless processes of getting this or that form filled out and signed. I explain that I am hoping to get a thyroid test and various other blood tests. I’ve been experiencing a lot of fatigue and a kind of fogginess that doesn’t lend itself to thinking “academically.” Since thyroid disease runs in the family and I’ve already been told that I have the antibodies, I want to test my levels. Sadly, they don’t have the reagent to test thyroid. (I ask when they might get it, but Karma has no idea. He can only tell me that it will arrive at some point. Sigh). But he draws blood for a series of other tests and tells me he’ll get me the results by the end of the day. The entire process has taken about 20 minutes by the time Sonam and I walk back to his car. Clouds, which have hung gray and heavy over the city since dawn, are beginning to lift and the sun slants down in gold and pink columns of light. Sonam realizes that he has locked the keys in the car. He is remarkably unfazed and explains to me that this happens to him a lot. Karma attempts to help us by first producing a sheet of x-ray paper that we attempt to slide down between the window and the door, hoping to trigger the lock mechanism, without success. Next, he provides a ruler. We repeat the process, but the ruler is too short. Finally, Karma brings a key to someone else’s car (as if, miraculously, this might somehow work on Sonam’s car) to no avail. So, we give up and walk back to town.

Since I return from the hosptial so early, I am able to catch Chris before he goes to try to buy a car. Because we arrived back in Bhutan on the weekend before the biggest holiday of the year—Losar and the 5^th King’s birthday—there is only one business day in the week, which means that we have only one day in which to get this done. I am skeptical that one can accomplish anything like this in only one day in Bhutan, but we have to try. First we have to get licenses to drive. This requires a letter from ILCS and a couple of different ministries. Thankfully, our friend Yeshe has a friend (!) who works there and Tashi (the friend) is able to fairly quickly issue us temporary permits. It will take a week for the permanent license to be ready. Next, we head to Zimdra Motors, one of two automobile dealers in Thimphu. We already know that we want to buy either a Suzuki Wagonr or a Suzuki Ecco van—a small van with a good amount of interior space. I know Chris wants the van, due to his younger days when he owned a full size van in which he placed a mattress for sleeping out in the forest, etc. I am more inclined to the Wagonr, which is quite compact but has good head room and more interior space than many of the tiny cars on Bhutan’s roads. But the choice will come down to price—we want the cheapest car! That turns out to be the van, surprisingly and we are quickly the owners of a new Maruti Suzuki Ecco van, white in color, with rain guards on the windows, a stereo, and seat covers. The van has to be driven up from Phuentsoling so we cannot even see it or test drive it—an unthinkable situation in the USA if one wanted to buy a car, but we go with it. I even name the van—Khandro—“sky-goer” or one who travels through the sky. Since Bhutan’s one east-west road travels far up across high mountain peaks, it seems like a good name. (Way to personify one’s material possessions, thereby increasing one’s sense of attachment…). And oddly, after all my travails trying to get permission to pay for plane tickets in Bhutan using local currency, the car dealership refuses to take US dollars, insisting that we convert our dollars into ngultrim—go figure. At this point, given that we don’t actually yet have the van in our possession, I can’t quite absorb it. But I do have moments of delight that even though we’ve had to buy a car, we now have so much more freedom. It really makes me feel like we actually live here. Cars here are quite cheap by American standards, and we are told that we might even be eligible for a 30% rebate on the cost if we get a letter stating that Chris pays Bhutanese taxes through his salary, which, in fact, he does. 30% is well worth pursuing. We still have to register the vehicle (one building/department) and have plates issued (another building/department). We also have to get insurance, supposedly simple and can be done through the dealership. There are only two insurance companies in Bhutan—one a government-owned business that used to be the only company, and now a new private company that is giving the government one a run for the money. This is good news for us, since we are told (ahem) that insurance actually works now, i.e. if you get in an accident, you will eventually get money for repairs or medical expenses. “Eventually” is, of course, a bit of an unknown.

When we get back to our apartment later on that evening, Karma is waiting for me with my test results. It turns out that I am anemic. Hmm. He suggests that I eat lots of greens and fruits. When I do some research, I realize that I’m going to have to find ways to get more iron. Supplements aren’t really something that has caught on here yet, but I manage to find an iron supplement in liquid form that tastes something like tangy oranges. I also note that some of the most potent sources of dietary iron are organ meats (out of the question – blech) and seaweed (not readily available in Bhutan, I’m guessing). But to my surprise, when I head into the local “gourmet” (very loosely defined) store, I discover packaged sheets of dried nori imported from Thailand. There appear to be different flavors, but since all the writing on the package is either in Thai or Japanese, even after some moments of scrutinizing it, I cannot decipher the flavor. So, I just buy two different kinds. Later on, when I open the packages for an afternoon snack, I find myself quite enjoying the first flavor even while I have no idea what it is. The second package, however, tastes distinctly like roasted squid, or something like that. Sure enough, when I read the package again, I discover clearly written in English, “roasted squid flavor.” Who, I ask you, wants to eat anything that tastes like roasted squid? And how do I make sense of myself, living in Bhutan far from any ocean, eating packages of seaweed with roasted squid flavoring? Life is often profoundly mystifying.

(Pictures to come shortly)

And a note to my readers--I am sorry for the long delay in postings but assumed that writing about my winter break back in the US was likely to be far less interesting than adventures in Bhutan. Now that I'm back, I plan to continue blogging--after all, there is so much more about to happen! 

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!