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.
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.
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.
