Bumthang Journey (November 4-8)

Just back from a fantastic five day excursion to Bumthang, a district located approximately 10 hours east of Thimphu. I had the great joy of experiencing the breathtaking beauty of this remarkable country, sharing in the fantastic spirit of its people, and relishing one of Bumthang's Tsechu's (festival) and many sacred sites. For those that want to read more you will find a detailed report below. Pictures will follow very shortly!

Bumthang Trip: November 4-November 8

How could I put into words the sights and sounds of this unbelievable country. This amazing landscape, and these beautiful people that I cross paths with every day.

I have just returned from a five day trip to Bumthang and what is especially difficult to explain is that above and beyond all the breathtaking, exhilarating landscapes that decorate this remarkable place on earth, what was most moving during this trip was the spirit, joy, openheartedness and generosity of the people we met.

So many wonderful individuals whose names I don’t know, but whose faces are etched in my memory, whose kindness and sweetness runs love and gratitude through my veins.

Sure, sometimes they look at us, the chillups (foreigners) with a mixture of curiosity, reverence, shyness, embarresment, and lighthearted mockery, but time and time again, the people I’ve met give and give and give, whether it be material or in an effort to help and provide assistance in whatever way possible.

November 4th, 2009 – On our way to Jakar (Chamkhar), Bumthang

Woke up very early Wednesday morning, got my stuff and was picked up by Youmi and Anne with a Taxi and headed towards the bus station down by the bridge to catch the 7:00am bus, with a 6:30am reporting time.

When we got to the bus station and located our bus the first thing that caught my attention was that there was a man in a gho standing on the roof of the bus packing up the luggage of the passengers, so I proceeded to move towards the rear of the bus and happily threw up my bags and sleeping bags. He would catch these bags on the roof and place them on top. After everyone’s bags were up top, he tied the bags with sturdy ropes and covered them with a plastic tarp. Kathrin, Youmi, Anne and myself grabbed our seats at the front of the bus, which were marked, and situated ourselves getting ready for the 10 hour journey to Jakar in the district of Bumthang.

I noticed that in the front to the left of the driver and all through the middle path in the bus were peoples’ bags, as well as packages big and small, soon I would discover exactly what these were doing there. One of the most wonderful things that happened during the course of the ten hour trip, is that we both dropped and picked up stuff along the way. Sometime in very remote villages on the way, a person would wave the bus down, and we would stop, and hand them over a package, which must have been sent this way from family members. This we did on many occasions along the route. Sometimes people would wave the bus down seemingly in the middle of nowhere, and then hop on the bus, who knows how long they were waiting there, but obviously they knew where to wait and they knew the bus would come at some point. This was quite something to watch, women and men on the side of the road waving us down, walking towards the bus, and the driver going through the various packages in the bus looking for the right one, and then handing it or throwing it through the window. In fact, on the way back, we dropped off a young child, couldn’t be older than two years old through the window to the hands of a woman. He must have been cared for by family on the journey and handed over when we got to his village.

On one occasion, quite close to Jakar already, after nearly nine hours of driving, a woman flagged us down and asked for a package. The driver couldn’t find it on the bus, and so he had to step outside and climb the roof of the bus and look for it amongst the luggage. Only to discover, that the package was indeed in the bus all along, as a fellow passenger found it. What was remarkable to behold was the endless patience and generosity. No one seemed to be bothered by this, not passengers nor the driver. And it’s not as if he was tipped by the receiver of the packages, or as though this was part of his job. Yes it had been a long day, but no one was really stressed out or in a huge hurry, nor was anyone concerned about having to stop all the time. After the package had reached its owner, he hopped back into his seat and off we went. Can you imagine this happening on the bus ride from LA to SF?

It is hard to describe the feeling of joy and contentment that ran through every fiber of my being as I sat by the half-open window, wind blowing in, on a clear clear blue sky day. A bumpy ride, Bhutanese popular music blasting through the radio speakers, our bodies bouncing up and down, moving left and right following the rhythmical patterns of the bus, which was carving its way through this rough terrain; up and down tall mountain passes and steep drops into the valleys. All around us, luscious forests, streams, waterfalls, small hamlets, rice fields and exhilarating views of mountain range upon mountain range, sometimes as many as seven or eight different ranges visible at a time, with the highest mountains’ shining snow lit by the sun’s perfect glow.

For lunch we stopped at a restaurant in the middle of nowhere, where we were served the incredibly spicy ema datsi (the national dish of chillies in cheese sauce) with red rice. Our fellow travelers made a very clear and special effort to invite us in and make sure we were cared for. We were offered to eat in a private room separate from the normal dining area, probably out of respect, because we are guests, but we declined and asked to eat with everyone else. I sprinkled some of the cheese sauce on my rice and that was spicy enough, I wouldn’t dare touch the chillies. And before the four of us even noticed, all of a sudden we were the only ones left sitting in the small restaurant. Somehow all of our Bhutanese fellow bus riders, had finished huge plates of rice with ema datsi in incredible speed and were on the bus waiting for us to finish. We hurried our way through the meal, and hopped back on the bus.

Along the road, we saw monkeys, wild boar, yaks, cows, dogs, people, small villages, hamlets, and few cars, occasionally passing by. Though the roads were indeed very narrow, with very dramatic drops and endless blind turns, for some reason they were not frightening this time. Perhaps it was the size of the bus that provided an added sense of security, or the sure hands, and slow pace of the driver who did a marvelous job turn after turn after turn after turn after turn.

I thought to myself, “does it get any better than this” and I was happy as can be for the entire ride, couldn’t imagine being any other place, doing any other thing. The here and now were it.

When we arrived in Jakar, the first thing that struck me was how seemingly tame the landscape was in this particular valley. It seemed much more familiar and less demanding than the landscapes I had seen thus far in Bhutan, including Thimphu itself. Knowing that almost every Bhutanese we talked to spoke with such high praise of Bumthang, often citing it as their favorite place in Bhutan, my friend Pia and I had exchanged speculation about the reasons. Could it be, that the break from the impressive and daunting terrain in the rest of the country is the reason that Bumthang is liked, because the valley has a kind of calming, relaxing effect? Later on when we began traveling across the district outside of Jakar, we discovered that only that particular valley deceives you somehow in it’s tame landscape, but that the rest of Bumthang was as dramatic as any other part of Bhutan. Well, there could be many other reasons to like Bumthang. One such important reason is the fact that you would be hard pressed to find so many important sacred places all in such short proximity as you would in Bumthang anywhere else in Bhutan.

When the four of us were met by the rest of our friends for this journey, who had actually arrived in Jakar already two days prior, they pointed out that actually there was no electricity in town. Somehow, perhaps because we arrived at dusk, I hadn’t noticed it. But, soon as darkness took over, the town of Jakar became a kind of medieval Bhutanese ghost town with its wooden doors, candles lit inside restaurants, and locals walking the streets dressed in their ghos and kiras; Only the moon was shining light on its streets, and the sky filling up with countless stars.

In conversation with locals we learned that actually the power supply in Bumthang is quite unreliable all year long, and this was an important introduction to life in Bhutan outside of the big city, Thimphu, which generally has quite reliable electricity. When the power goes out here, it usually comes back within the hour. But, all over the countryside, and especially in remote villages, lack of electricity can be a real issue.

Knowing that Bhutan’s main export (90% I believe) is electricity, which it produces thanks to hydro-electric plants, and sends to India, I must say that it appears quite ironic, that it cannot provide stable electricity to its own people. However, it appears that this might not be because it’s sending too much to India, but because the infrastructure in Bhutan is not sufficient. Either way, the power kept coming in and out all throughout our stay, with its longest absence being close to 24 hours straight.

We planned this Bumthang trip around the very special Tsechu which happens once a year in Jakar, in early November. It’s a festival that has many features similar to the other Tsechus all around the country, such as the Thimphu tsechue that I already attended and wrote about, presenting pretty much the same religious dances, etc. But it’s much smaller in size, so that while in Thimphu, it took place in the very large Dzong courtyard, and thousands came to watch, making it feel quite spectacular and formal, in Bumthang, it felt a much more informal and had a small town back yard feel. In that sense it is probably much more representative of the way these festivals feel everywhere outside of Thimphu (and maybe Paro).

Furthermore, it also has some very unique features. One such feature is a very sacred naked masked dance that we heard lots about ahead of our trip. From what a local person told me, this dance came to be at a time when a monastery was being built but would not stand, and the dance was an important ritual to appease the local deity and to make sure the Monastery would not be destroyed.

Our friends had gone to watch this dance the previous night and told us that it apparently would be happening every night of the festival this year, so we set off to catch it the night we arrived as rumor had it that it would be the last night. One could never know for sure if and when this dance would take place. Apparently, because it is a sacred dance, the dancers wait for the crowd to be sufficiently thin, without gauking tourists, and masses of people watching, because traditionally it had been a sacred and somewhat private dance. All we knew was that it would happen sometime late at night. The previous night, our friends had gone to the Tsechu grounds to wait from about 8pm, but ended up freezing themselves in the cold until approx. 1:30am when the dance finally started.

We decided to make our way around 10:30pm, where there was already a small crowd gathered round a pile of wood in the middle of a small stone courtyard. Shortly after our arrival the fire was lit, and young men began to gather round the fire, turning their backs to the fire heating themselves up on this very cold night. We learned from our friends that we had to come prepared for the cold, so we put on as many layers as we brought with us, and came with a large blanket that we wrapped around us as we stood and waited. The dance finally began around 11:45pm, and approx. six young men, all but one extremely thin, came out wearing only a white mask. Two of the men wore underwear, the rest were naked. It must have been freezing, but I guess that’s why the dance takes place around the fire.

At first, the dance was quite comical, with the naked dancers challenging one of those wearing underwear to take it off, comicly trying to pull the underwear off. They circled around the fire, with one of the men beginning a move that we had been warned about. You see, it had been recommended not to be in the front row, and thankfully we listened. This naked young man began running straight towards the crowd, going deliberately round the entire circle of watchers, running and then thrusting his entire body, and particularly the lower body up into the crowd, though he didn’t ever appear to make contact (though I can’t be sure). This particular ritual happened at least once more during the dance, the second time conducted by a man who had a balloon (or was it a blown up condom) attached to his penis, as he too, thrusted his private areas towards the crowd. At one point towards the end of his rounding the courtyard, we heard a pop, followed by laughter, his balloon had popped. Indeed laughter from the crowd accompanied this stage of the dance, but eventually things began to become more orderly and more coordinated and perhaps a bit more serious. Various moves round the fire, across the fire, and between the dancers were conducted, with the necessary intermittent pauses for heating themselves by the fire. Thankful that we didn’t have to wait until 1:30am to watch the dance, we made our way back from the festival grounds to the city center around half past midnight.

November 5^th, 2009

Since now our group (nine) was too big to fit into one car, we hired a taxi driver for the day to help Kinga and Kunzang our Bhutanese friends who drove the three who had arrived earlier. We began by visiting the Jakar Dzong, which is the “administrative seat of the district and, since 1998, has a Drukpa monastic community. Jakar dzong sits on a little spur overlooking the valley. The ‘dzong of the white bird’ is very elegant and more modest in size than many of the other dzongs” (Pommaret, 2007).

This was actually my first time inside a dzong, so I had nothing to compare it to, but it was tremendously impressive. Built in the mid 17^th century, it indeed reminds me of some of the fortresses or castles that I’ve seen in Europe. It is awesome, in the true sense of the word. Perched up on a hill, with a terrific view of the valley and beautiful architecture inside and outside. I found it quite wonderful that this was not only a historical monument, and preserved as such, but that it’s also a functioning building, where work is conducted, and monastic studies take place.

In one of the halls, I noticed very steep wooden stairs going up to a different floor and I decided I would go up and see what was up there. I was greeted by a very young monk, who invited me to come along with him (Pia and Kathrin followed) and we all climbed an additional steep flight of stairs when the monk who had called an older monk unlocked a very sacred altar room for us. This was a magnificent room, walls covered with sacred paintings, golden statues round. We were blessed with holy water, and felt blessed indeed to have been allowed into this room that we stumbled upon only by chance really.

From the dzong we made our way to Wangduchoeling Palace, “built on a site called Chamkhar, already inhabited in the eighth century…this palace was constructed in 1857 by the Trongsa Penlop, Jigme Namgyal, whose son, Ugyen Wangchuck, the future 1^st King, was born here”. (Pommaret, 2007) Outside the palace grounds a group of young monks were playing football (soccer in US), and as in my visit to Haa, I couldn’t resist joining them. Five of us played a nice friendly match with them, and we had a lot of fun running around, although the altitude was quite noticeable, as it was quite tiring rather quickly.

From the palace we drove to the Kurje Monastic Complex, one of the most sacred sites in Bhutan “as Guru Rinpoche meditated here and left the imprint (jey) of his body (ku) on a rock”. (Pommaret 2007). Indeed, in the eighth century, Guru Rinpoche was called by the local king to help appease an angry deity. Guru Rinpoche conducted a very special set of miracles here, including the Eight Manifestations and restored peace in the area. The tale is quite remarkable, and it’s depicted in paintings on the walls of the temple.

Our taxi driver, showed us a rock that had two small holes in it, and suggested that we try to see if we can fit through the holes and make it from one side of the rock to the other to see if we have sinned much or not. According to Pommaret who also writes about this rock in her book: “They offer a way to purify sins. The sinner is supposed to enter on one side, worm his was as best as he can through the rock and come out the other side. If he gets stuck it is because he has committed too many sins and will only be able to free himself by saying prayers”. It appears this process is a little biased towards those who might be a little overweight.

From there we moved to the Tsechu grounds to have lunch and watch the afternoon set of religious dances, on this the final day of the festival. The fair/market area near by, had little metal and wooden shacks serving all sorts of food, with makeshift places to sit and eat momos, bumthang noodles and drink tea. After dinning we moved to watch the dances in the courtyard. Unfortunately there were only two dances left in the program, and after close to an hour the dances were over and blessings were being handed to the crowd which lined up in mass to receive these blessings.

November 6^th, 2009

On this day we made the two hour journey to the Ura Valley, where the village of Ura can be found. It was a beautiful and fantastic journey, with the highlight being the Urala mountain pass at 3,600 meters, from where we had the view of the tallest mountain in Bhutan!!! The Gankar Puensem, which stands at 7,541 meters. What a remarkable sight!

But the entire journey to Ura was breathtaking, with even more views of mountain ranges upon mountain ranges, beautiful valleys, and beautiful people all along the road. The road to Ura, is really the only road to Eastern Bhutan to the towns of Mongar, and Trashigang, which I hope to visit some day, and which I hear are very different from Western and Central Bhutan. And these roads are more reminiscent of the roads to Haa, perhaps a little more frightening than the journey to Bumthang from Thimphu. Indeed, when driving in Bhutan, mortality winks and you just “hope for the best.”

We had lunch at the only restaurant in the small village of Ura, which was really situated on the road to Ura on the other side of the river from the village. After lunch we asked our generous drivers and hosts to take us to the village itself, which we had to approach through a poor dirt road. We made our way through the only road in the village to the temple at the top of the small hill.

Inside the temple grounds, on a windy, cold afternoon a devoted woman was circumumbulating round the chorten and temple. This elderly lady, hunched over, walking slowly, barely able to turn the prayer wheels, all alone in the temple grounds aside from us and the dogs, was the ultimate manifestation of devotion.

Outside the temple, a beautiful array of tall white prayer flags on a small grass filled hill, with cows and dogs roaming between the flags. We also roamed, but at one point several village dogs began barking very aggressively at us, and it became clear that the warnings we had heard about the Ura dogs were not so far from the truth. We made our way back into our cars and started the journey back “home” to Jakar.

November 7th, 2009

On this our final full day in Bumthang, with the rest of the gang already on their way back home, Pia and I planned to do a half day trek up the mountain to visit a monastery called Pelseling Goempa.

Our trek started from the Swiss Guest House where he had breakfast and the nice waiter helped us find the beginning of our trail, he took us five minutes from the guest house, we crossed two small streams, and then he pointed the way and said farewell. We were about to climb up from the valley floor to the top of the mountain where the monastery stood, and the lonely planet book, suggested it would only take two and half hours up to the monastery. Well, after a half an hour of walking on this very steep incline, Pia and I knew it would take us longer than two and half hours to get to the top.

We sometimes felt like we walked for five minutes and rested for ten minutes. The altitude really makes it a strenuous task to walk uphill. But the hike was fantastic. We were all alone in this dense forest, which occasionally gave way to marvelous views of the valley, and as we reached higher and higher on the mountain, new mountain ranges would reveal themselves to us at various vista points. The air was wonderful, and the only sounds we could hear were of our own steps, and the sounds of the forests, the wind, trees, birds and insects.

At one point, about two thirds of the way up, there was a small and yet relatively big meadow with terrific views and we decided to take a rest for water and a snack. I basked in the sun, and dosed off for a few minutes, waking up to discover that I was in this most beautiful place. It’s quite a feeling, to wake up at such a place, because at first when you open your eyes, you’re totally surprised to find yourself where you are, I had forgotten where I was and what I was doing, and this new surprise further heightened the beauty around me.

Slightly energized for the last third of the hike, we finally reached the monastery, where as we were approaching we could hear the horns and drum sounds of a puja. How lucky! After taking a quick walk around the monastery we asked one of the young monks if we could go into the room where the puja was held, and he motioned for us that it was ok. As we came to the entry doorway, the young monks motioned for us to enter the room, where they were all sitting, with their prayer books, and instruments, all between the ages of 5-16 (it appeared). Immediately one of the older monks went to the altar where there were offering plates full of snacks, and placed one of these plates in front of us. Shortly after we arrived they were off to take a small lunch break, it appeared, and all but a few of them stepped out to eat, while the few that stayed behind were busy cleaning. After a few minutes, we decided we would step out and have our own lunch, which we did, right outside the monastery, with spectacular views all around us.

Soon after we sat to eat, a group of young monks came to us, one monk said “tea”, “tea”. And we weren’t sure if they were offering us tea or if they wanted tea. He motioned for us to follow him and said “tea”, “come”. We followed and they took us to a nice small room, where they pretty much offered us everything they had. Very few words were exchanged because these young monks (as most monks in Bhutan) didn’t speak much English. They wouldn’t let us get through a fifth of our tea cup, without coming back to fill our cup with more tea. I thought if I drank a lot fast, they wouldn’t fill it up as much, but that was quite faulty logic, as in reality, they kept filling my cup and I kept drinking. They brought us snacks, two kinds of holy water with which we were blessed, a small round piece of sweet dough (which was also a blessing of sorts, I believe) and watched us from the other side of the room. We asked if we could take pictures, and then I video taped them and then showed the video to them, which they were delighted with. I then showed them a variety of other short videos I had shot already during this trip and they all gathered round and watched with complete focus and satisfaction. I was so moved by their hospitality and generosity and it was really quite a tremendous experience.

It was getting close to 4:00pm and we still had to walk all the way back before it got dark. About half way down the trail, we came across the same three women that we had met right when we started the trail in the morning. There, as we crossed the second stream in the morning, these three women were carrying very large baskets filled with chopped wood and various produce on their small backs. When we came across them again in the afternoon on our way back, I realized that they must live up in the small village (hamlet) that we saw at the top of the mountain, not far from the monastery. They must have gone down to the town to sell and buy goods. It is remarkable to consider that they do this walk at least once a week, if not much more often, carrying heavy goods on their back, and we were huffing and puffing the whole way, struggling mightily both going up and down, with hardly anything on our backs. This is the reality of life outside of the towns and it is amazing to come into contact with, and it really gives me a perspective on life here. They were so friendly, and agreed for me to take a picture with them.

Well, the descent seemed similarly endless to the climb, the sun had already set and it was starting to get dark, and we still had not finished the walk. Pia had a flash light and I had batteries, but it wouldn’t work! Thankfully, I knew we could not be far, the only thing was that there was one split in the trail, and we had to make sure we made the correct turn at the right place. Thankfully, everything worked out and we made it back to the Swiss Guest House, before it got too dark. At the guest house, electricity was still off, and though they were not able to get a hold of a taxi for us, one of the owners’ friends agreed to give us a ride into town.

November 8, 2009

Having to wake up at 5:00am to catch the bus back to Thimphu, I couldn’t help but fall asleep for fairly substantial portions of the drive back. I felt almost guilty sleeping with such spectacular views every step of the way, but I couldn’t help it!

Just a few minutes before Dochila, the fantastic mountain pass, with the gorgeous 108 chortens monastery, suddenly a loud explosion on our side of the bus, and the driver stopped the bus right as we were going up. It was clear that it was a flat tire, so the driver quickly moved the truck to the side of the road, and off the bus we all came. A few of the men along with the driver quickly moved to calculate the damage, and then proceeded to bring rocks from the side of the road to place under the large flat. Then the driver began to drive in reverse and have the tired climb over the rocks, so that they would have enough lift to change the tire. Everyone else took a short walk, and nobody seemed to be particularly concerned, worried or annoyed. Flat tires being a usual occurrence on public transportation here, I suppose. I also took a short walk, and wow, what spectacular views! The whole procedure took no more than 15 minutes, and we were off again on way back to Thimphu, now just an hour away.

Indeed, I was quite grateful to have the chance to experience public transportation and travel in Bhutan with locals, rather than the way most foreigners do with their private drivers and tour guides. The experience of being on the bus, with the people, not separate from them, to really travel how they travel, and to experience their joyfulness and generosity was really great.

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Pictures to follow very shortly -

Noam