Bumthang Part III.

Prayer Wheels

We returned to Jakar from the Choekar Valley along the bumpy but just-passable road, and went straight to our work site at the Koenchog Sum Lhakhang, where we were to volunteer for three days. I wrote about this experience for our group blog here, but there are a few more details I'd like to share with you. The Lhakhang (Lhakhang translates to 'house of god,' but that isn't exactly what it means) burned down a few years ago when a curtain blew into the flame of a lit butter lamp and caught fire. Reconstruction is expected to be finished in 2018.

moving rocks to the upper level of the Lhakhang

We were tasked with either transporting rocks to the upper level of the construction to be used for the walls, pounding dirt to be used for mortar, or moving rocks into the lower level to be used to make the courtyard floor. I was really excited to do some manual labor, because I was eager to contribute to this project, and also because I wanted to prove myself as a hard worker and one tough woman.

a monk standing at the source of the mortar

I was dressed in my work clothes-pants, t-shirt, bandana, gloves, cap, and so attired, felt ready to get into action. According to one of my friends, I really "bro-ed out," as in, I looked like a boy. Oddly enough, I was pretty flattered by this comment, but it also made me acutely aware of how much my appearance seemed to confuse the regular workers. It is possible that the mere presence of women on site, and the fact that we were doing the same heavy-duty tasks as the men, with the same level of ability, was a new experience for them. I would venture to say that I met less outright sexism on this site than I might predict at such a place elsewhere in the world, but there was a definite atmosphere of wariness about gender during our time at the worksite.

I'm really fascinated by the gender roles of Bhutan, and have yet to solidify any observations. Excitingly, one of my classmates is doing his research paper on this topic, with particular focus on views of homosexuality in Bhutan. The gender roles do seem pretty rigid, for example in the commitment to the traditional national dress. Yes-both boys and girls do both partake in t-shirts and pants when they wear Western clothes, and yes-what it means to be 'manly' or 'womanly' is defined differently here. For example, it is very normal for men to hug, sit on each others' laps, and share beds here, while these wouldn't be seen as normative 'manly' behaviors back home. Yet, on some level, I think it was very confusing for the men of the construction site (I didn't meet any women outside our group there) to engage with us. I think, because we were pushing the gender roles, and especially since I wasn't dressed particularly 'like a woman,' many of them couldn't gender me, and this earned me quite a few stares.

"Rock Stars"
photo by Bruce Owens

I admit, I took some satisfaction in this, and it motivated me even more to keep truckin the rocks along the rickety scaffolding, and working my muscles to the furthest extent I could. A few of the other women in our group experienced some snide comments about becoming the workers' girlfriends, and I was proud at how cleverly they deflected these remarks. My favorite, an exchange that took place entirely in Dzongkha between Sara and a male worker, in which he asked if she wanted to be with him, she hauled up a rock onto her shoulder, looked him dead in the eye, smiled and said simply, "Mitup." It translates somewhat to  "no thanks," but has a pretty wry connotation.

a building next to the construction site

Social trickiness of the work aside, it really was rewarding to contribute to a building that will hopefully exist for many centuries. The Lama and the Master Mason were incredibly appreciative of our help, and I was glad that we had been able to be a part of it. It occured to me that in the States, it probably would've been impossible for us to volunteer like we did (especially in the somewhat safety-lax conditions we did) because of liability or other restrictions. I like the attitude here that if you can and want to help, you can go right ahead and help. This is not to say though that Bhutanese life is restriction-light; quite the opposite in fact. At least in my opinion, many GNH policies and other government work are WAY too centralized and regulated, but perhaps that is a topic for another time.

in front of the construction site at the end of the work days
Photo by Bruce Owens

After the three days, and many rocks moved and many cartloads of mortar made, we took the long road back to RTC campus. Surprisingly, the 11 hour bus ride went by very easily. I still don't understand the rules of driving here: I think people use blinkers to signal each other when it is safe to pass, and I still do double takes when I see an empty seat, or a kid sitting in what I think is the driver's seat. No, Carrie, they drive on the other side here. Get it in your head.

So, many hair pin turns and several eco-zones later, we made it back to our temporary home in Ngabiphu. I do miss my real home, though. Many adventures lie ahead of me before I return there, however, and I am looking forward to them.

Bis bald,
Carrie


P.S. I forgot to mention: I was in the newspaper! Check it out here.

Bumthang Part II.

Ravens and dogs. Dapham Dzong is off in the distance in the top left.

After the Tsechu we continued on to Jakar, the main city of the Bumthang district. The rain continued with us, probably as a result of a typhoon heading in over India. Jakar is very small compared to Thimphu, but as a friend of mine here once told me, Thimphu is 30-50 years ahead of the rest of the country development wise. He said this with a bittersweet tone of voice, so I’m not sure how to feel about the rapid modernization happening in Bhutan. If I am ever lucky enough to come back many years from now, I’m sure the changes will be astonishing.

Looking up the Choekar Valley from our Farm-stay

We would return to Jakar later in the week to spend three days volunteering at the Koenchog Sum Lhakhang, but our true destination at this point in the trip was into the Choekhor valley for another farm stay. I had heard rumors that hot stone baths were available at this farmhouse for a small cost, and I was excited to try it out. The house itself was larger than the other we had stayed at in Chumey, with the whole upper floor dedicated to bedrooms. (Often, all the action takes place on the “first floor”—second floor to Americans—of traditional Bhutanese houses, and the ground floor is reserved for storage and housing the livestock. I imagine this is to conserve heat, but I’m not sure of the exact reasons.

The Tub

I was not to be disappointed by the availability of hot stone baths, though I was nearly boiled alive. The bath took place in a little enclosure where there was a wooden tub big enough to seat two or three people. The tub was full of herbs and sweet-smelling bark, and a compartment at the far end of the tub held the hot stones. The man who tended the tub for me was one of the older men of the house, whom we called Apa, which can mean Grandpa. He stoked a large fire not far from the bathhouse and carried the red-hot rocks from the pile underneath the fire to the tub using heavy iron tongs. This alone was impressive, but let me tell you, so was the heat of the water when he put the rocks in the tub. When I got in, the water was already very warm, but comfortable. Apa puts in one more rock. Oh boy, this is getting pretty warm. Apa puts in another rock. Whoooa baby. Heat! I sit in this for a few minutes, thinking back on other similar experiences like the sauna at the Schoolhouse in New Hampshire and the Sweat I participated in on the Blackfeet Res in Montana. Then Apa comes along, and drops another glowing rock in the herbal water. I do my best to try and persist, but it came to a point where I was a few degrees short of being a cooked lobster, and I gave in. The good news was that I smelled awesome afterwards, and basked in having such loosened muscles. Mmhmm.

choeten at the end of our exploration

Most of the "B-team" by a stream-powered prayer wheel.

The days at this farmhouse were my favorite part of the trip. Being in pretty rural countryside, I was able to satiate my desires to go proper adventuring. I and my fellow members of the B-team, as we dubbed ourselves, went exploring along some horse paths and pastures until we came to a choeten surrounded symmetrically by prayer wheels and flags. We had been warned not to cross past here because there was a military installation where heavily armed people might ask us for papers we didn’t have. Walking back, Ben and I played an excellent round of spear-golf, and upon our return to the farmhouse, we enjoyed yet another meal of excellent home cooking.

Following cows on the way to Dapham Dzong ruins

The next day we set out on a full-day hike to the ruins of the Dapham Dzong, through an area that will become the site of a proposed “GNH Centre,” where people can come to practice meditative retreats or other pursuits. This hike was just what I wanted it to be, a full-on excursion where I could literally stop at any point to look at some tree or flower or rock or mushroom and then catch up with the rest of the crew, all while enjoying unmatched views of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. The mountains seemed to grow throughout the day, as the rain clouds lifted and we could see more and more of their lofty peaks.

I hope you can / have experienced the sheer pleasure I felt this day, engaging in this environment with my whole body and all my senses. Also, it was pretty nice just to be off the bus for one day. One especially exciting part of the hike was the crossing of the river in a gondola-like basket that whizzed across the rapid-filled river below on a steel cable. Getting the whole group across in this way allowed those of us who went across in the first volley to spend some time building cairns on the riverside, an activity I always recommend. However, we had to be sure to only build cairns containing auspicious numbers of rocks.

river crossing via gondola
photo by Ana Brenescoto

river cairn!

Ruins of Dapham Dzong
photo by Ana Brenescoto

The hike led us up a steep hill to the ruins of Dapham Dzong, the name of which I believe means “enemy’s defeat.” It is easy to imagine the defensibility of this dzong, and most others, with their hilltop perches and steep ascents. The walls are punctuated by narrow outlets that allowed archers inside the dzong to shoot down at their opponents with little chance of being shot themselves. I can tell you I wouldn’t want to try to storm a dzong, especially this one. Now, however, it lies in ruins, with wooden logs doing their damndest to hold up what remains of the crumbling pounded-mud walls, and tattered prayer flags stretching over the weed-covered courtyard floor. It is a current archaeological site, and must hold many mysteries. It certainly held an aura of long memories and pride. One unsolved mystery for me: the whole place smelled like tomatoes. I’m still stumped on that aspect of it.

The Lhakhang up the Hill

At the end of our return hike, Tsewang hurried us to change into “Dzong-appropriate” clothes and start heading up the hill behind the farmhouse to a secluded Lhakhang. Tsewang’s “root guru,” a figure important in the student-teacher lineage of his training, was being celebrated at the Lhakhang. It was the root guru’s death day.

We scurried up the rain-slicked road, which Tsewang remarked was brand new since he had last been here a few years before, and entered the Lhakhang. We received the most hospitality there I have yet encountered in a Lhakhang, with tea, snacks, and ara served. Then we were invited to the shrine room where the death day rituals were being performed. The room was abuzz with noise from the drums, horns, and singing of prayers. One of the monks invited us each to light a butter lamp on the altar, and whether objectively or with the aid of the ara, this was a tremendous moment.

Traditional trumpets and drums in the shrine room

Two other truly special events about this Lhakhang occurred while we were there. First of all, we were permitted to take pictures in the shrine room where we were served tea. This was shocking, and we all seized the opportunity, as it was our only chance to get pictures of such a site. More importantly, however, was that we were allowed into a very special shrine room where one can encounter the local protective deity. This was unheard of, for us, as chileps, and for me as a woman, to be granted this permission. Tsewang explained, that the Lama of this temple believed that since Guru Rinpoche’s consort was allowed to go wherever Guru went, women should be allowed into this room too. Plus, he noted, this local deity didn’t really mind. The room was full of ornately patterned cloth on the ceiling and walls, as well as stock full of shields and weapons ranging from spears to modern rifles. The altar held a statue of the local deity and other figures.

door into a shrine room

 
Feeling thoroughly moved by this whole experience of the day, the Dzong, and the Lhakhang, not to mention good and drunk off the ara, I skidded my way down the mountain back to the farmhouse, reciting every poem I have memorized to myself. I couldn’t exactly tell you why I did this, but in the moment it was very exciting and felt right. I want to memorize more, as I’ve got a pretty sorry repertoire right now, and I admire the monks for their extensive rote learning of their texts. It’s an ongoing process, my friends. I am learning all the time. My hope is to remember it all too.



One poem I’d like to add to the repertoire:

“I saw a man pursuing the horizon”

by Stephen Crane

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
"It is futile," I said,
"You can never-"

"You lie," he cried,
And ran on.

P.S. Bonus picture from the BBQ sponsored by His and Her Majesties at RTC!

Alec, Annie, Sara, Ben, me!
Photo by RTC photographer

Another entry to finish up the spring break excursion to be uploaded soon!
 -Carrie

Adventures in Bumthang

A painting of a Dakini, or female deity, outside Chimmi Lhakhang in Punakha

Hello once more! You may have read the blog entries that my fellow Wheaties and I have been writing over at our group blog, but I would like to take this space to include more of my own personal stories and thoughts about our spring break trip to Bumthang from April 19-27, 2013. I finally got a camera, so I have pictures to share again. Hooray!

Upper Choekhar Valley in Bumthang

Bumthang is often considered the "Switzerland of Asia" because of its valley and mountain views, and while I will not experience Switzerland in person until July, I must admit that this area of central/eastern Bhutan is spectacular in sights and all sensory experience.

We did not arrive immediately in Bumthang, but traveled first to Phobjika, the Valley of the Cranes. Unfortunately our stay in Phobjika was almost entirely in the dark, but there were none of the famous endangered black-necked cranes to be seen, since they have all migrated north to colder climes in Tibet for the summer. Rumor has it that these cranes are so beloved by the people of the Phobjika valley that for some time, when the nation was working on electrifying all the dzongkhags (districts), the people in Phobjika wanted to refuse transmission lines, for fear that they would interfere with the crane habitat and migration patterns. Thus, the electricity plans were modified so that most of the electrical lines in Phobjika are underground, and those with poles above ground are painted green to appear less intrusive. While I wish dearly we'd been able to see the cranes, this is an impressive commitment to ecological preservation. It gives me hope that Bhutan will hold fast to its environmental aims and conservation of its lands and resources, both biotic and abiotic.

Punakha Dzong

Our next stop was in Punakha, and we passed the stunningly picturesque Punakha Dzong, where the Royal Wedding took place between His and Her Majesty in 2011. It sits at the convergence of the Mo Chu and Po Chu (mother and father rivers) and was adorned to the T with blooming flowers and the traditional art that is typical of dzongs. We also stopped at one of Drukpa Kunley's famous sites: Chimmi Lhakhang, where this beloved and wild Buddhist saint once subjugated a demoness and made her the protective deity of the area, rather than the malevolent and human-eating being she had been. If I have not told you stories of Drukpa Kunley before, please ask, or give him a search, because he is by far one of the most unusual and fascinating folklore/religious figures I have ever learned about. For now, all I will say is that he is known and loved for his supernatural powers and ability to tame the evil forces of the world with his "flaming thunderbolt of wisdom". Either metaphorically or literally, to be understood as you please: flaming thunderbolt of wisdom means big powerful penis. He's not called the Divine Madman for nothing.

Handicraft shop in Punakha

Phalluses abound in Bhutan, however, and it's no big deal. You become sort of inured to it, and it no longer becomes shocking or perplexing to see flying penis carvings hanging at the corners of homes, or to see spurting erect not-so-private parts painted on the side of nearly every building in sight. These are often homages to Drukpa Kunley, but are most commonly present in order to ward off bad spirits, and to promote fertility. The school of Buddhism most prevalent in Bhutan is Vajrayana, also known as the "diamond path." Vajrayana practice does not include some of the stereotypical facets of Buddhist life, especially for monks. For instance, vegetarianism is seen in positive light, but is by no means mandatory. Celibacy for monks is also not always required. The main goal of Vajrayana is to achieve enlightenment in order to come back to this world and help other sentient beings achieve enlightenment, and thereby escape the suffering inherent in the wheel of life. In most Vajrayana rituals, a brass vajra is held, and paired with a special bell. Together these instruments represent the male and female respectively; the vajra symbolizes the ability to cut through ignorance (like a diamond thunderbolt) while the bell symbolizes containing enduring wisdom.


On our way to Jakar, the main city of Bumthang, we stopped at many more sites: the Trongsa Dzong, where giant living bee hives hung ominously and impressively among the windows and rafters, and rhesus monkeys scampered intimidatingly across the lawns and branches around the dzong; a roadside spring rumored to improve one's singing voice; and the famous Burning Lake. While this lake was more of a ravine where the water had carved out swirling pools of deep water than a proper lake, it is a revered site.

The Burning Lake

Many centuries ago, a terton, or treasure seeker dove into the lake holding a lit butter lamp. He emerged from the water carrying many treasures, with the butter lamp still burning strong. I was tempted almost to the point of indulgence to jump into the frigid water, but sorely resisted, given Tsewang and Prof. Owens faces and many warnings not to do so. I kind of wish I had though. We certainly did not spend enough time at this fascinating spot. All I wanted to do was crawl around the strangely eroded and carved rocks, but unfortunately we were rushed away in order to have to time to visit yet another Lhakhang.

The trip was a combination of hotel and farm stays, and though hot showers were only available at the hotels, I much preferred the farm stays. We enjoyed some of the best food by far in the country, with red rice, dahl (a lentil soup), and fiddlehead dishes that far surpassed the food in the mess. At our first of two farm stays, the girls were allowed to sleep on the floor in the shrine room. We were warned however, that no farting was allowed in the room! Bahaha. We spent much of the evening in the living room with the family, watching a body-building contest streaming live from Thimphu, of all things. It was pretty gross—protuberant muscles flexed to the extreme and slicked up with enough grease to fuel a fleet of tractor-trailer trucks, all accompanied by the most wild and scary facial expressions these men could muster, but to each their own in TV viewing preferences, I suppose. Still-it was a shock that this kind of competition has caught on enough for this to be sixth annual show.

Our first Farm-Stay in the Chumey Valley

Luckily, we had the welcome distraction of learning how to twist the fringe on the ends of our rachu and kabne, the formal cloth women and men drape over their shoulders during special events like festivals or in the presence of royalty. While Tsewang told us that this was typically women’s work, we were all eager to learn, despite our collective clumsiness. Leki, our driver, countered Tsewang, explaining that in his home in Tashigang (one of cities in the furthest east of Bhutan), it was very common for men to do this task, especially when the work in the fields was finished. The process consisted of twisting three bundles of threads in one direction, and then twisting them together into one larger bundle. We patiently did our best, and felt like we were making slow progress, but soon enough, the women of the house tired of watching us do a poor job, and took the work into the kitchen. I followed to watch, and they worked like lightening. They must have finished in ten minutes what would have taken us well over an hour. I do wish they’d given us a longer try though!

We left, offering our hosts our thanks for their generosity, and I could not help but wish I’d spent a little more personal time with them. I understand that they wanted to make our stay as relaxed as possible, but I wished they had accepted my offers to help cook or even engage in lengthier conversation. This has been an ongoing struggle for me, and I think it’s a combination of my difficulty in pushing for these interactions, and the cultural and linguistic barriers. I really envy multi-lingual people, and hope that my efforts with German do pay off with fluency someday. So far my skill with Dzongkha is limited to a smattering of words and phrases, and I am not confident with even those. Ah well.

Our next destination was the Domkhar Tsechu, which was very similar to the Paro Tsechu we attended in April, but much preferable in my opinion. Although there was no Thongdrel (the building-sized tapestry dropped at certain festivals) at this Tsechu, we did see some of the same dances as in Paro, plus additional ones. The scale of this Tsechu was must smaller-perhaps only about a hundred spectators, and it was a much more intimate experience. There are dances performed by women, which are much more subdued and solemn than those performed by the monks. The monks are elaborately costumed in twirling yellow skirts and animal masks during the Drametse Nga Cham dance. They wear perhaps even more elaborate dress during the Skull Dance, when they don multi-colored robes and large terrifying masks, showcasing the wrathful faces of some deities, crowned with carvings of human skulls.

Women Dancing at the Domkhar Tsechu

Drametse Nga Cham Dance at Domkhar Tsechu

Unfortunately, it seems that the spectators don’t take the dances performed by the women very seriously. I can’t tell if that has to do with the meaning of the stories in these dances, or if there is a divide concerning gender here. The masked dances are certainly livelier, so perhaps the answer in why the attentiveness of the crows is so varied is as simple as the entertainment value. I doubt it though.  

Each of these dances represents different stories and conveys deep religious meaning to those who know their backgrounds. I’m afraid this element of the festival was lost on me. The dances go on for hours, oftentimes, and the movements are both thrilling and confusing to watch. It is no wonder that the Drametse Nga Cham dance was named a UNESCO Intangible World Heritage event. I do admit that while the dance is happening, and the monks and abbot on the sidelines are beating on the deep resounding drums and clashing cymbals, and producing bone-resonating monotone blares from their telescopic horns and thigh-bone trumpets, it is easy to forget that these are not, in fact, deities performing before your eyes. During the dance, it is easy to blend the man behind the mask with the deity he represents. Part of me began to think that perhaps it was not all an allegory, an illusion. Perhaps, in the moments of the dance, the deity is there.

Skull Dance at Domkhar Tsechu

Many of my Bhutanese peers have no trouble balancing the contradictions inherent in living in a modern, continually developing world where ghosts, demons, and local deities are still unquestionably real. Their world, our world, is very truly populated by these beings, and I have heard comments more than once, that the presence of ghosts and spirits on RTC campus is the reason why the dogs bark so incessantly at night. In my classes with Professor Owens, we talk about this relationship between the people and the otherworldly, especially in the context of Buddhism and daily life. But, as much as we discuss it, we don’t really approach answers.

That seems ok.

 Although I still cannot feel committed to any doctrine or religion, I am taking many lessons of Buddhism to heart. In regards to the supernatural, it seems to me that the atmosphere of Bhutan (I will not explicitly link it to Buddhism, though it’s a close connection) doesn’t ask you to believe in deities and demons, or any specific belief for that matter. Certainly, it encourages you, and I happily oblige, and attempt to soak in as much meaning as I can from the Lhakhangs that we visit, and the teachings we have had. The atmosphere of Bhutan seems to ask only for you to be awake. I am stealing this sentiment from Linda Leaming and her book, Married to Bhutan, but I do think she is spot on.

And so, I am doing what I can to live up to this encouragement.


I tell myself, and my surroundings tell me:

Be awake. Look for what you want to see.

Some apt advice on a shop sign.

More to come on the rest of Spring Break very soon! And then more current updates too. Holy crap time goes by quickly.

Videos to be uploaded as soon as I get a better internet signal.

Tashi delek!
Carrie