Rantum Scoot, Nga Shey Di Jo Mi

 Fellow BCF teacher Sarah , who is an english teacher in Punakha, reads a lot, etc. picked up a term from the whaling days on Nantucket Island. The whaling community had developed its own dialect and “rantum scoot” seems to me to mean random wandering, walkabout, aimless stroll. In Bhutan recreational options are limited, very few Bhutanese have any interest in physical activity as recreation, especially walking, hiking, trekking, whatever one might name it. However, they do

have a response to the ever present question, “going where sir?” My answer is “nga shey di jo mi”, I around am going. This is a perfectly acceptable answer, everyone is satisfied and no lies have been told. Many of our short weekends involve a rantum scoot on Sunday. This past Sunday we decided to explore the valley above the old town of Punakha.

We headed up the road out of town and soon set our sights on a Lakhan which sits atop a ridge high above. All the roads in Bhutan are new and there are always “shortcuts.” Often one is asked, how did you come down, by road or shortcut? Shortcuts are walking paths that cut the switchbacks or take another route all together. As we headed up the road, keeping to the route that kept climbing toward our ridge top temple, we were able to peek into valleys unseen from below and to spot Lakhans perched on ridge tops ever higher and more distant. The ever present summer clouds were playing on the summits, everything was green and growing like crazy, a perfect summer day in the foothills of the Himalaya. After walking far enough to begin to feel it we

ran across some boys watching a few cows and climbing around in some fruit trees. A bit of a visit saw us on our way with several persimmons and small pomegranates to fuel out travels. I was traveling particularly light on this day, camera in my pocket, so the fruit was much appreciated. We continued to climb steadily the cloud line playing hide and seek with the higher ridges but blue sky and sunshine at our level.

Three and a half hours of steady walking brought us to our intended Lakhan only to find it was construction site. The Temple, Choekar Khaling, had been damaged significantly in an earthquake and was being replaced. The monk’s

quarters were newly finished and the foundation for the temple had been laid. There was a crew of about a dozen laborers working on the project. All materials that could not be obtained from the surrounding forest had to be brought up the long slippery road in a trailer behind a farm tractor. We were talking with the foreman, a monk in civies who had done many things including some work as a guide, his english was quite good and he seemed to be interested in and comfortable with speaking with chilips. He invited us to have a cup of tea, again a welcome refreshment since I was carrying nothing. He told us many little stories about his life and the temple. He also pointed out a foot path which would take us down through the forest in a much more direct route than the one we had followed on the way up.

A ways down we upon an area that had been roto-tilled by wild boar. We heard animal sounds in the not too distant brush which sounded like boar. Yep, we walked a little faster and I was happy to get onto part of the trail which was a wonderful pine needle strewn path with no sign of porcine earthmovers. As we neared the valley floor we encountered houses. Trails in Bhutan are created solely by traffic and so anytime a house is in the vicinity all paths will lead to the house, not necessarily in the direction in which you want to continue. At the first house we were greeted by an older woman who offered tea but it was getting late and we moved on. A ways below the houses the trail seemed to evaporate and we did some serious bushwhacking and paddy crossing. All part of the scoot, eventually we ended up on the road that we had travelled earlier in the day. A mile down the road we are across from the Dzong where I can put my 20nu down and get a cold, yes out of a fridge, liter bottle of water. I often feel this moment is the best 20nu ever spent in Bhutan as the

liter of cold water slakes my day long thirst and forgives me for traveling quite so light. So far this

year we have many memorable Sunday scoots. Rating them is hard as each has it’s own charm but

this one earns style points for many reasons. I am very fond circle or point to point walks. This one was a very nice circle. This one offered fruit and tea along with a near boar experience. This one covered new territory, offered new views and great views of our lovely Punakha valley. The other day I learned this derivation for the name:

Pung – heaps or mounds, could be grain,  Thang – ground or plain, field,  Kha – identifies the dialect. So,  PungThangKha – the fields where the mounds of grain are stored, in the Kha dialect, morphed into Punakha.

All in all I give this scoot a high rating and look forward to the next one on Sunday, which isn’t so random as we already have the destination picked out and plans have been made. Meanwhile, should anyone ask, nga shey di jo mi.

Paro, Puja, parents and porridge

We headed for Paro on a Friday afternoon, the trip is about 140Km (87mi) which we anticipated to take about 4hrs which means we planned to average around 37Km/hr (23mph). Nearly all of the trip was on main highways in Bhutan illustrating how twisty and slow the roads are, throw in some areas under construction and a few stretches of poorly maintained road and it is no wonder it takes so long. I was traveling with a friend who is a teacher at Gaselo LSS, Zimba Gyeltshen. Bhutanese make a clear distinction between home, where one was born,  and where one currently lives. If you ask someone if they are going home after work they are likely to tell you no, their home is somewhere else. His home is a village very close to Paro and his parents were having the annual cleansing ceremony, or Puja, on Saturday. Every building, institution, and house in Bhutan hosts this ceremony, we had one for the entire school in the fall.

Traveling with us was an 11^th grade boy, Tshering Gyeltshen, whose aunt was the hostess this weekend and with whom he had lived for a good part of his life. As we neared Paro we stopped at the only main intersection on the trip to wait for another relative who was arriving on a bus. While waiting for him a cab pulled up with two young women inside who were part of the family coming from Thimphu. So it goes in this tiny country where everyone is related to or acquaintances with what seems like half the country.

We arrived at Zimba’s home to find his parents in the kitchen, the main room of the house. His father was deftly cutting beef on a round chopping block seated cross legged on the floor. Each swipe of the sharp blade cleanly cut another chunk which was added to a growing pile. Eventually this pile of beef chunks was added to the very large pot cooking away on the open fire in the “kitchen” out back. This is really a large shed 2/3 of which is a stall for the two cows with the remaining 1/3 a cooking area with the open fire in one corner. The pot contained a large batch of “porridge” to begin the next days festivities. Bhutanese define porridge as rice cooked in excess water until it becomes a thick broth, spices are added, notably thingnea pepper and then the beef chunks are added as well. All this cooks overnight. I found Zimba’s father tending the fire the next morning when I got up for a bit of a walk before six. Around seven local cheese cut up into pieces was added to  bucketsful of porridge which were distributed to houses of nearby relatives. The family and many guests then gathered in the kitchen to enjoy several bowls of porridge, more guests would filter in and out and I have no idea how many gallons of porridge were consumed. I discovered, as I ate porridge, that the beef chunks were primarily bone, which made the cleaving of the night before all that much more impressive as every stroke cut another piece. The bone pieces were sucked clean and tossed onto plates set out for that purpose or piled neatly on the floor if no plate was handy.

Six monks and a Lama arrived to begin the day long cleansing ceremony, their first order of business was to have several bowls of porridge. The ceremony takes place on a large shrine room or home temple. The shrine room in this house was extensive, intricately decorated, and divided into both the inner and outer rooms. The ceremony is chanting accompanied by horns and drums which lasts all day. Each time the monks took a break the family had a meal ready. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, all rice, chili and meat curries in a variety of combinations. One of the curries had small golden mushrooms in it and was delectable. One of the “aunties” sits cross legged on the floor patiently slicing chilis into quarters longways for hours to provide the mounds of chilies required for each meal.

I took time out after breakfast to go into Paro and do some business at the bank. It took two hours as the bank’s system was down I went and watched some archery and returned some time later to stand in a very slow moving line. I was almost to the window when the guard ushered a blind mind to the front of the line. I recognized him as a local celebrity who I had seen on BBS the night before. We had an interesting chat and finally I was able to make my withdrawal. 

The walk back to Zimba’s home was less than thirty minutes, during the walk I travelled from a busy street full of people, cars, and shops of all sorts, to the heart of the tiny village of Nemjo which is carless, surrounded by rice paddies and composed of only traditional farm houses. The walk was almost like traveling back in time to a Bhutan which had existed in isolation for centuries. However, closer inspection reveals the ever present TV that is always on, the ubiquitous cell phone which is ever present even in the hands of children, and the casual western dress of the younger generations, all of these remind me that I am indeed in the 21^st century in a culture that is stepping from the 1800’s directly to the present. By midday the meals consisted of 4 generations and several shifts to accommodate everyone.

After lunch we rounded up gho, kabney, and the necessary offerings of butter lamp, incense, and a bag of the first rice harvested this year and pounded into edible flakes. This was in preparation for a visit to Kichu Lhakan, one of the nearby temples which is one of the six holiest in Bhutan. When we visit there seems to be an event going on, the parking is full. Inside there is a fairly large prayer session going on, among the monks praying, in song, there are nuns. It is the first time I have seen women participate in prayer in a Lhakan. Our offerings made we head home.

Later in the afternoon I prodded Zimba to go on a walk to prepare for the next meal. He took me around to his apple orchard. The family has numerous apple orchards, rice paddies, and family members occupy five house in the area. Zimba’s plot of apple trees, perhaps an acre or two, is the spot he hopes to build a house one day to and live near to his home. We pluck some apples from the trees and they are tasty indeed. As we are leaving one of his many “uncles” calls from a nearby house to ask who is the chilip stealing apples. After they palaver for a bit and reestablish who is who, Zimba is a bit of a stranger in his village as his teaching assignments have taken him away from home for many years, all is well. 

We continue around to his grandmothers house, she is 88 and does not get out of the house much. She still lives above the yard where her husband, Rinzin, stabled his strings of pack ponies. He was a trader who spent much of his life traveling to Tibet with goods to trade and return to his storehouse at his home near Paro. His wife, Tshering Bidha, can still tell stories about traveling on foot to Lhasa as a young unmarried woman following the man she wanted to wed. She returned to Paro and had a child at which time her mother had to give up on her attempts to thwart the marriage of Tshering Bidha to the trader. The marriage lasted a lifetime and the family established itself as an integral and important household in the village of Nemjo. We have a nice visit and like all older folks Tshering Bidha appeared truly to enjoy the unannounced visit of her grandson and his unlikely companion. As we walked through the rice paddies we could see the rice heading out on the top of the stems, hanging over a bit heavily as the 

grain matured. Some of the paddies were starting to turn a little golden from the vibrant green they had been earlier in the summer. The rice harvest is still a ways off but things are beginning to change as the days grow ever shorter.

Unlike Eastern Bhutan many households in Western Bhutan are essentially dry. In the East the consumption of ara at every occasion, sometimes starting at breakfast, is the norm but not so in the west. So, nearing the end of our circumnavigation Zimba and I venture into town to enjoy a beer, a whiskey, and some conversation. Between the walk and the drinks we feel well prepared for the final meal of the day. 

In the morning we finish up the last of the porridge and bathe in the bathroom out back with water heated in the big pot on the fire. Hooks and hangers, none in Bhutan, I love hooks to keep everything off the floor, if Bhutan is going to adopt one more thing from the west I suggest hooks everywhere. After a bit we have breakfast, then it is off up the hill a ways to a monastery which is associated with the village. The visit to Kichu and especially to this monastery are part of the ritual of the Puja for Zimba. He invites the two younger boys and three little children to go along with us. This trip to the monastery which is quite old and rather small overlooking the village is a fitting end for our stay in Paro. We go back to the house, eat lunch, pack up, at which point Zimba’s mother loads us up with bags full of produce and a bag of rice for Zimba. 

The trip home includes errands in Thimphu and Bajo, a stop for tea this side of Docha La brings us back to Gaselo to enjoy the packed lunch which was sent along. Whenever Bhutanese have a packed lunch whether it is on the trail or on the road it is the same lunch they would have had at home, rice, emma datsi, meat curry, all packed in plastic bags and eaten as is. 

Amusing musings on Bhutanese culture from a chilip’s perspective.

n.b. a chilip is a westerner, likely an American

Americans wear clothing with all sorts of logos and messages displayed in every manner ranging from large print on t-shirts to subtle diminutive logos on a lapel. Americans will also tell you exactly what the message or logo means, they are aware of the messages their clothes convey. Bhutanese will tell you that they pay absolutely no attention to anything which might appear on their clothes. For them the words and logos are just another form of decoration. Looking at the photo of the t-shirt one could certainly wonder how ‘a great regent at the casuals’ is determined.

            We were attending a school cultural program and spotted a young grade school girl on stage in a musical number wearing a t-shirt with a cartoon picture of a bird standing on its head and the words ‘flip the bird’ in large letters. Of the several hundred people watching the performance I am sure we were the only two being entertained by the little girl’s attire. OK, one more in the same vein. A shirt has been spotted with a picture of a cat and the advice ‘please don’t litter, remember to spay and winter’. Every time I see a cat I now wonder how to go about wintering them.

            Upon arriving in Bhutan many of us were eager to explore, to hike in the woods and mountains. All of us were at one time or another cautioned to be careful and to watch out for beer and snacks. As with most things which sound too good to be true we all came to the realization that we were being cautioned about bear and snakes. The pronunciation of bear to rhyme with beer is so entrenched that it was seen as the correct answer on a class XII English exam.

            The school uniform is the traditional gho for men and kira for women. As a nod to the culture I wear a gho to school every day. It is a large piece of fabric which is worn a bit like a kilt. The pleats, length, etc, etc, are strictly dictated by cultural norms. It is not common to see chilips in a gho, especially if it is being worn correctly. I have learned to put mine on and then ask for help to make sure all is well before venturing out. As a result I am often asked ‘do you wear your gho yourself sir?’. They mean to be asking if I am able to put it on by myself but I am always tempted to look into my large front pocket and say yes I think I am the only one in here.

            The verb to take is used to mean to eat and to drink in daily conversation. Do you take meat? Do you take beer? Do you take chilies? would be common questions. We chilips are often asked if we take rice. The Bhutanese do not consider any of the three daily meals complete without a substantial serving of rice. So when I am asked if I take rice it makes me think of taking a prescribed medicine three times daily. I am not a very good Bhutanese in this regard, on occasion I do take rice three times in a day but often I skip it and do not take the food prescribed by Bhutanese culture.

            These observations and many more keep me smiling here in Bhutan. Often times the cultural cross connection can be frustrating but if I can remember to look for the humor I can then smile when I am being told to ‘wait here for some time’ when I was hoping to get going a bit sooner.

Summer Break in Bhutan

          Many folks would consider 17 days traveling in Bhutan to be a full vacation worthy of note. How to explain, justify, even imagine living in Bhutan for a year and having 17 days off in the middle to explore the country? During the school year we are tied down 5½ to 6 days a week, so having a block of time to travel is quite an opportunity. During my two trips to Bhutan I have seen a fair amount of the western portion of the country but had never travelled east to the mythical heart of Bhutan. So east is the direction I wanted to point myself. Fortunately, a BCF colleague, Sarah Shmitt, felt the same way.

My journey began here in Gaselo with four friends who had come the night before. We went to meet our taxi and he had left us, fortunately some of the faculty were out and about that morning and one of them called another driver and we were all headed down the mountain to Bajo about an hour behind schedule. Fortunately the bus which we were meeting was on something close to our schedule and we all loaded up and headed east. The way things worked out that morning is a testament to what often happens when I can let things flow in the way of Bhutan and at the same time a premonition of how things might work out for our summer vacation. We were feeling like tourists in a rented bus picking up BCF teachers along the way. It was a pretty festive air by the time we rolled up in front of the River Lodge in Bumthang. Most of the BCF teachers were there including our compatriots from the east who were avidly heading west. The evening was fueled by Mark’s generosity culminating in many wonderful conversations and a few bleary eyes in the morning. The agenda for the first day of the BCF summer “retreat” was a tour which included Burning Lake, one of the many holy places in this area which is perhaps the spiritual heart of Bhutan, and then on to Uggen Choling which is an old “palace” of one of the landowning families of Bhutan. The buildings have been preserved by the family as a museum after they lost their large landholding in the property redistribution which occurred as reforms began to shape the Bhutan we see today.

The second day of the retreat was a business meeting covering all the necessary topics since this was the second of three times we would all be together during the year. The following day several of us explored the environs, some on a hike to Tarpoling Monastery, some on an excursion up the valley to some of the major Lhakangs in the area. Finally, the following morning 5 of us loaded up in a taxi and headed east. Our first stop was only a couple of hours down the road in Ura, a village which was home to one of the teachers Sarah worked with in Punakha. A visit to the local Lhakang was followed by a village tour where Sarah spotted and old woman moving a large pile of large rocks to her house. The 5 of us pitched in and made a good dent in the pile which concluded with the obligatory toast of ara. We then headed to the home of Sarah’s colleague and were treated to a full meal followed by the obligatory toast of ara. Throughout all these escapades we were accompanied by our taxi driver who seemed to be enjoying the outing as well. Then it was time for some serious travel time. Several hours later after cresting the cloud shrouded high pass on the national highway, Thrumshing La (3780m, 12,400ft), we arrived in Mongar. Driving speeds on the main east west highway in Bhutan are in the 25mph range so it takes a long time to get where you are going. Even at those speeds the excitement is ever at hand, huge cliffs on one side, landslides covering portions of the road, oncoming trucks which take up the vast majority of the roadway all add to the interest level. In Mongar Sarah and I left the other three as they headed north to Lhuntse and we continued ever east, a final 2½ hrs to Trashigang and we called it a night at the local BCF hangout, the KC motel.

In the morning we reconnoitered the town, did a bit of shopping, and arranged a taxi to Phongmey, the end of the road, almost. In Bumthang we had met with a BCF teacher who invited us to use her house in Phongmey while she was away in the west. We managed to find the house, get our gear rearranged, connect with the VP who put us in contact with a student to be our guide, procure a permit for the wildlife sanctuary, and set up a vehicle to drive us as far as possible toward Merak, the first of the two roadless villages we hoped to visit. The morning came with rain, steady rain, the vehicle driver said he did not want to drive in these conditions, we were left with our young guide and a big decision. In the end we headed out. Eleven hours later, much of it in the rain and where the new road construction overlapped the trail we were in mud that was unbelievably miserable. However, the last couple of hours were rain free as we climbed to Merak (3517m, 11,540ft). The last rays of the sun were actually casting shadows as we arrived in Merak. We were really tired, quite soggy, and pretty hungry. The Principal of the local school gave us permission to sleep in a classroom for the night, we then went to his house for tea and dinner which was huge. Sitting around the bukhari and letting the dry heat soak into our beings was bliss. After dinner we retired to the wooden floor of a class room where sleep was overwhelming. In the morning I met three Bhutanese who were travelling the same itinerary. They had arranged for a horse to carry their load over the pass to Sakten, we joined forces and added a second horse to our group. We also located the guest house and the caretaker and moved into a place with beds, bathroom, and bukhari. That meant we could spread out and dry things out in earnest. The villages both have covered tent sites and guest houses which were built for trekkers 10-15 years ago. Since that time the route has been closed to tourists and has only opened up in the past couple of years so these facilities have seen very little use. One of the fellows in the other party was a tour operator and he was doing the trek as research for marketing in the future.

After a wonderful rainy morning spent inside drying out we ventured into Merak, an ancient village whose people are Brokpa, a distinct cultural group within Bhutan. Their dress, language, and customs are all unique to this area. The Buddhism practiced here seemed to be very Tibetan in many ways. At the Lhakang the final day of a 5 day, 100,000 prayer, ceremony was happening. We showed up around lunchtime and were immediately given four huge fried dumplings along with esay so salty I could hardy eat one of my favorite things. Following that we visited the temple and the watched as they demonstrated one of the local dances so that our tour operator friend could get some photos. Quite a day as we poked into one of the shops and concluded that given our limited cooking utensils dinner would have to be instant noodles with the last of the veggies.

Morning dawned with intermittent rain and soon we were sitting on the floor of a local home enjoying tea and warmth. After a bit the horses were packed and we headed out toward the pass, Nyuksang La (4140m, 13,580ft). Several ladies of the village

accompanied us to the first chorten where we were toasted with ara and sung to as blessings for a safe journey. What a send off and what a trail, steadily up through broken cloud and into the mists of timberline and above. A solitary stone hut at timberline with the family out front to check us out is evidence of how hard many lives are in this area. Yaks wander the hillsides as we near the top of the pass, under a rhododendron bush Sarah spies a blue poppy, the rare national flower of Bhutan reputed to have great medicinal qualities. A short way up the trail we see a few more, that is quite a treat. The summit is shrouded in cloud but our elation is unfettered. As we head down past more yak we find a lower elevation version of the blue poppy, clearly a different plant. Down and down, lunch break, and down some more. Up along a ridge through a lot of mud, as we top out we look down into Sakten, a welcome sight after almost 10 hrs on the trail. Once again we locate the guest house and settle in, 7 of us this time as the two horsemen are with us as well, the communal room with the bukhari is cozy indeed.

The next day, our rest day in Sakten, is rainy and the bukhari is stoked with various pots on top cooking all day long. The bukhari here is a cast iron stove about 2½ ft long by 1 ft wide and sits on the floor. There is no door, no flue, and no covers for the two cooking holes, so it is essentially an open fireplace indoors. The eaves are open as well as a raised part of the roof and that is where the smoke is supposed to go. Late in the day the weather pattern holds and the rain stops. We venture out to explore the village which is a muddy mess. Flip flops with frequent washing at outdoor taps or knee high rubber boots are the ways locals deal with the mud. We use our crocs and wash often. The villages are still roadless, so foot traffic and animals are the only things in the narrow alleyways and paths between the houses. That night after dinner we walked under starry skies, nice to know they were still there.

Our final day of hiking dawns grey with a bit of rain. By the time we head out the rain has stopped. We had engaged another student to walk with us to Phongmey, his English was pretty good and he told us a lot about his village. The walk down the canyon was beautiful. The trail was the ancient route used for centuries, the weather was turning almost sunny, traffic on the trail was steady. Many pack trains as everything is brought into Sakten along this trail. The villages did get electricity a few years ago along with cell phone service, the roads are the last link to be completed. At the end of the day we cross a footbridge and come to a roadhead where we have arranged for a vehicle. Across the valley we can see the road being built which will lead to Sakten, these roads will certainly change the complexion of this area. The residents are understandably interested in the roads being completed, access to markets for buying and selling goods is very important to them.

We returned to Phongmey and then to Trashigang. We purchased tickets for a flight from Yonphula to Paro. This airport, the farthest east in Bhutan, has a runway which is bumpy, runs uphill halfway through, and is perched along a ridgetop in the foothills of the Himalaya, the far end drops away very steeply all the way to the valley. Summer, the rainy season is always hit and miss for the biweekly flights. We waited for several hours as the sun played with the clouds over the valley floor thousands of feet below. After a 4 hr wait the flight appeared out of the clouds right at the level of the runway, an amazing landing between two small hills and we were in business. The following day was election day, nothing open which chased us into a cab on homeward to Punakha, the circle completed.

An Away Game in Bhutan

       Most of us grew up knowing that if the school team had an away game it meant they hopped on the bus in the afternoon, played the game, and got back on the bus to come back to school that evening. However, in Bhutan things are a bit different. The roads make for slow travel and the transportation available is about one small bus per school. So, the sports meet for Wangdue was hosted by Gaselo HSS, the school I call home. This meant we began preparations after lunch on Wednesday and worked all day Thursday to get ready. Ready means all the class rooms were emptied of their furniture which was stacked around the outside of the buildings under very wide and useful eaves. Ready also means all the flags are in place, everything is cleaned and all the grounds tidy along with several new cooking pits dug alongside the kitchen to help feed a few hundred more. It also means the football pitch is ready for track and field events as well as football, but most importantly that the grounds are ready for they final ceremony, guest tent, etc etc.

Thursday afternoon the teams began to arrive, something in the range of 50-70 in each group. They came in busloads, “camping” mattresses tied to the top, ready to move in for 2 nights. Each school brought along an allotment of rice and some other basics to contribute to the school kitchen. So, the school kitchen was now feeding 800+, mind boggling. Dinner followed an orientation program and then the students had put together a welcome cultural show which means 16 or so dance performances ranging from traditional to some actual modern dance. Each piece is organized by a student which means they choreograph and set up practices. The show is MC’d by a student, as mentioned in the last entry students perform a huge variety of minor administrative tasks in all aspects of the school which is how this fairly sizeable institution operates with a relatively small staff.

      Friday morning comes after a lot of rain during the night. Most of our student body is up around 3:30am to clear the road, get the field ready, and generally set things up for a morning of track and field events. Six in the morning and we are all watching the track and field events, some muddy spots on the track but most of the kids run barefoot. Eight o’clock is breakfast time and then a full day of events with football (soccer), basketball, volleyball, table tennis, badminton, and chess all going on all day.

       The students wear uniforms for basketball which are purchased locally. They are cheap copies of NBA uniforms with a school name stenciled across the back. Bhutanese wear many clothes, t-shirts, jackets and such with all sorts of logos and messages. They do not care in the least what the message or logo might be. Some are knockoffs of American brands, some are completely random and make no sense at all. The Gaselo girls were wearing Utah Jazz uniforms while their big rival, the Bajo girls, wear wearing Denver Nugget uniforms. I live in Colorado so these are the two NBA teams closest to where I am from. What are the chances?

Dinner is followed by a quiz competition, teams of two from each school take turns trying to answer surprisingly difficult questions, the scores are not too high!

      No rain Friday night, Saturday’s dawn promises a fine day. Following breakfast there is a full on ceremony with chief guest to watch the football final, the premier event. The game is followed by speeches, awards, and finally, lunch. After lunch the students, supervised by faculty and captains, take everything down and by late afternoon the school is back to normal and ready for a new week. The visiting schools have returned home and a huge event has been accomplished by the entire community if Gaselo HSS.