What I Did On My Summer Vacation: Phongmey to Merak, Day 1

As every student's speech in Bhutan begins with a quotation (or a "thought for the day") which has absolutely no relevance to their speech, here is an introductory quotation for this posting:

"Tourists don't know where they've been. Travelers don't know where they are going." --Paul Theroux

But this is relevant.

When my friend Brick Root and I began talking about spending our abridged summer break in eastern Bhutan, I had an inchoate notion about where we might go. I'd heard it was wet, it was remote, it was too far, it was rife with hideous leeches and, most compelling, it was "the real Bhutan."  

Punakha is somewhat derisively referred to as "the city" by my eastern compatriots. There are paved roads; a hospital; restaurants; and, most coveted of all, internet access. But to those from the west, Punakha is hardly a city. It has all those things, for sure, but it is still a large village surrounded by rice paddies where cows sleep in the streets and chickens come in one's front door. That doesn't happen in New York. Not often, anyway.

Thus, the thought of somewhere even further removed from what we've come to call civilization was very appealing, and Brick and I decided we would head east after our retreat in Bumthang and go as far as time and weather and roads (which are often blocked by landslides and flash floods) would permit.

The dzonkhag of Tashigang is the farthest east one can get and still be in Bhutan; it shares a border with Arunchal Pradesh, now part of India but not too long ago a kingdom in its own right that was traditionally considered by China to be "Southern Tibet." Indeed, the sixth Dalai Lama was born in Tawang, the area just on the other side of the of the Merak-Sakteng Wildlife Sanctuary. This preserve was established in 2003 to maintain wildlife and botanical diversity, but also to protect the habitat of the Migoi, better known in the west as the Abominable Snowman. Really. It was at first opened to tourists but then closed almost immediately. It has just recently been reopened for tourism, so very few westerners have been there. This was where we decided to go.

After a two-day taxi ride from Bumthang through Mongar and into Tashigang (for western travelers, taxis are an affordable form of transportation but they are too expensive for most Bhutanese who take the crammed, cheap buses I wrote about in my Phobjika entry), we rode the last leg of the long journey without incident, over mountain passes that were blanketed in impenetrable mist, along pitted, tooth-rattling roads, and into the city of Tashigang. Tashigang is the most populous of all the dzongkhags in Bhutan, which seems counter-intuitive since Punakha and Thimphu, the capital, are both in western Bhutan. It didn't appear to be populous: we walked around the entire town in about fifteen minutes. Apparently, most of the population is in the villages which are larger than those of the rest of Bhutan, and Sherubtse College, the oldest college in the country, is there as well, adding to the state's numbers. After a night at the KC Hotel, highly recommended by our eastern BCF colleagues, we headed for Phongmey, a tiny town virtually at the end of the west-east road. BCF teacher Becky Story is a teacher there, and she kindly offered us her "mouldy hut", as she calls it, for the nights before and after our trip into the Merak-Sakteng reserve.

We arrived there in a driving rain that threatened to cut off access to the town. When it rains in Phongmey, the road, which goes right through a river (not over it), is flooded, in which case one has to climb into a metal cage suspended on a cable and pull oneself hand-over-hand from one side of a very steep gorge cut by the torrential river to the other. I was secretly hoping we would have to do this, but, alas, the road was navigable, though just barely.

If you look very carefully, hanging over the river--which is in the middle of the road--is the cable car
(it is painted yellow).

A car crossing the river in the road from Phongmey

DAY 1: From Phongmey to Merak, July 5

When we woke in Becky's sodden concrete-block house, it was still raining. Hard. Through the local high school Vice Principal, we had managed to arrange to have a high school student, whose brother lived in Merak, guide us. Sangay Tshering, 15, arrived at 6:30 am, an hour earlier than we'd planned, dressed in flip-flops, track pants, and a thin sweatshirt, carrying a small bookbag. I sheepishly crammed my fancy backpack with layers of fleece, a sleeping bag and pad, some Wai Wai noodles (ramen) and Oreos, extra water, toiletries, and an umbrella, all of which, when compared with Sangay's spartan accoutrements, made me feel like I was wearing a diamond tiara to a mud wrestling competition.

I admit I was reluctant to embark on this crazy adventure: it was pouring; I am sensitive to altitude and on day two we would be hiking from 3000 feet to 14,000 feet in one day; there was no map (maps are uncommon in Bhutan); and our guide was a bashful 15 year old I'd never met who spoke only a few words of English. But what the heck, you only live once.

So we went.

Almost immediately, the trail--actually, a dirt footpath made by cow-herders and farmers to avoid walking on the rutted, rock-strewn unpaved roads--became vertical. In the driving rain, the path was like potter's slip, covering our boots and making our footing unreliable. Sangay marched confidently up in his flip flops as though he were on concrete, stopping every once in a while so we could catch up (we came to covet his flip-flops: he easily and frequently stopped and washed off the mud, and wet flip flops dry almost instantly. Hiking boots don't).

The path crossed the road every now again, and after about a half hour of steady climbing, I heard a tractor coming up the road. Tractors in Bhutan aren't like tractors in the States. They are actually motors with a seat to which one can attach a trailer for carrying goods or people, or a roto-tiller, which is what they are most commonly used for. At the wheel was a jolly, bearded farmer and in the attached trailer was his young daughter; both were going up the mountain to check on his workers in the fields. Neither seemed a bit affected by the rain or by the horrific condition of the road. He gestured to us to hop in, so we did, and what ensued was a hilarious butt-bruising, slurry-soaked trip that nearly catapulted each of us off into the road. We had to get out twice to push the tractor out of the mud, but we eventually made it to his farm. He told Sangay in Sharchop (easterners do not speak Dzongkha) that we were invited in for tea, but we demurred, eager to keep the momentum going. We bid him a warm and appreciative farewell.

We hiked up and up, banked by orchids and rhododendrons, plucking leeches off one another, my boots full of water. After three hours, soaked to the skin, hungry and tired, we came to Kharbaling, the first village we'd encountered which is, according to trekking websites (hikers beware!), the site of a guesthouse and a recommended overnight stop. Fog and mist drifted eerily, obscuring any view, making it impossible to see if there were even any houses.

Karbaling

In Karbaling.  Sangay had changed into his gho to make hiking in mud easier.

Sangay assured us there was a big house and we could ask there for shelter while we ate lunch. We literally stumbled across a deserted one room stone house where a skinny cat yowled and ran. Sangay found the 'big house', but it too was deserted. The guesthouse was ramshackle and locked tight; its roofed porch, where we decided to huddle, was covered in animal dung. We scraped away enough pooh to sit and have a lunch of hard boiled eggs, carrots and cheese and crackers. And then we pushed on. Up and up.

The rain began to abate, thank the gods, and the path became rockier and wider. A dilapidated wooden gate marked some sort of dividing line between the upward hike and a blessedly less steep trail.

Mysterious gate

 Huddled under a tree, drinking cheap Bhutanese rum was a man with a rainbow umbrella and a pack horse. Sangay addressed him in Sharchop but the man was a mute; he grinned and gestured and somehow Sangay understood everything he 'said.' He and his horse became part of our bedraggled convoy and he and Sangay kept each other company all the way to Merak.

Our silent companion

Eventually, the trail wound around until it paralleled the sometimes wide river valley of the Dongme Chhu. Here, finally, we came across the official sign for the Merak-Sakteng Wildlife Sanctuary.

Brick at the "entrance" to the Sanctuary. I don't think very many people,
other than locals, have seen this sign.  It reads: "Welcome to
Sakteng Wildlife Sanctuary. Entering to (Migoe) Bigfoot Valley"

The trail paralleled the Dongme Chhu (or Damnongchhu) for many kilometers.

Beyond that point, the landscape changed and the hiking became more like walking and the rain stopped. Then, unaccountably, there by the riverside in what felt to us like the middle of nowhere, someone had painted stunning, detailed portraits of the Buddha, Guru Rinpoche and Chenrezig, the emanation of compassion. The paintings weren't quite completed; the staging the painter was using was still there, as were some of his tools. At the edge of the river, the painter had erected a rude shelter with a tarp and some branches, the floor strewn with juniper boughs (burned by Buddhists as offerings) and we sat under the tarp to appreciate his art. I would have been content to sit there for a long while; my back and shoulders were knotting up miserably and I couldn't adjust the pack to fit better--but Brick was anxious to get moving: the sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains, so we continued on.

Sangay insisted we were getting close to Merak, but in Bhutan "close" and other references to distance have little meaning, so we didn't give credence to his assurances. We came across a man in bright blue gumboots carrying an empty bamboo basket that most farmers use to carry everything from cattle feed to manure (carrying an empty basket is considered bad luck; maybe he had something in the bottom of it because after we met him, our luck improved markedly). He also joined our parade, chatting now and again with Sangay and the mute man with the horse and smiling at me and Brick in that warm, welcoming way Bhutanese smile.

Somehow, we came to a point where Sangay knew we were only 6 kilometers from Merak. As our shadows lengthened ominously and my back screamed in pain and my energy flagged, I asked the mute man if I could put my pack on his horse for the last leg of our trek. Sangay negotiated, and in the end, the man with the blue boots took my pack, affording me indescribable relief. The sun, hidden for the ten hours we'd been hiking, suddenly emerged from the mist, warming our soggy bones for the first time in days.

We entered a tiny village called Gangu, and off in the distance in a wide, treeless expanse hanging off the side of the mountain, we could see Merak.

The whole group (except Brick; he took the photo)
and a local at Gangu.

At this point, even Sangay and Brick admitted they were spent, but the promise of a place to rest and eat and sleep pushed us forward. We stopped at the first building we came to, a brand new community center built by the Swiss government just below the Gup's office and said goodbye to our friends.  I tried to give the man who carried my pack some money, but he shooed it away, bowed slightly, and disappeared. The man with the horse headed for home. We were hoping to ask the Gup (the local village leader) about how to get a bed in the government guesthouse we'd heard about, but the Gup was not in his office. A young man in the community center, a brash, serious college student home for summer break, assured us that the guesthouse caretaker was not available, so we'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Bone-tired, we asked the young man where we would find the Principal of the local primary school. Since we are teachers, school administrators are a reliable source of information and assistance all over Bhutan, so we were relieved when the young man pointed to the archery range and said that the man in the black jacket was the Principal.

Entering Merak.  It is said that one of the stones on the
path into Merak is where Aum Jomo, the local deity,
stopped to rest and left the print of her vagina
on the rock.

The sun came out at the edge of Merak.

Brick went to talk to him as Sangay and I rested, and when he returned we had a place to sleep: the floor of a classroom.

First night's lodging.  Sangay went to stay with his brother.

 The Principal also told us that after we stashed our gear we should come to his house to get a water boiler so we could heat our noodles. When we got to his house, warmed by the fire in his Bukhari, essentially a wood stove vented through the ceiling, he took pity on us and had his wife and niece feed us eggs cooked in at least eight tablespoons of butter, saag, rice, tea, and, for Brick, a form of Batu, or meat soup with homemade noodles. We could barely keep our eyes open seated by the warm, dry fire with full bellies. It was splendid.

We went to sleep at 9:30 with a plan to spend the following day exploring Merak. Blessedly, as we nodded off, there was no sound of rain.

A train of pack horses from Tashigang entering Merak. All goods
have to be packed in except what can be grown or made in Merak.

Me and Brick.  Very wet.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, Part I: Chamkar & Tang, Bumthang

Bhutan's history is peopled with foreigners who have had a lasting effect on the culture here. Canadian Jesuits are responsible for bringing public education to all of Bhutan beginning with Sherubtse College in the far eastern dzongkhag of Tashigang; the Swiss, happily, brought cheese and imported Jersey cows and established bakeries in Bumthang, now known as 'the Switzerland of Bhutan" for its wide, green river valleys surrounded by rolling, misty mountains. Buckwheat is the main crop, versus wheat, rice and maize in other parts of the country. The cows surely help define the landscape: honey colored bovines bred for their fatty milk.

The Tang Valley in central Bumthang

Rounds of Bumthang gouda

How grateful were we Bhutan Canada Foundation teachers, after two weeks of invigilating (proctoring) and scoring exams, to be whisked away for a three day retreat in Chamkar, Bumthang? We were coddled at the River Lodge, a small European style hotel near the Bumthang Dzong just down the road from Tharpaling Monastery, one of the most important Nyingma monasteries in Bhutan. On our arrival, we were greeted with gin and tonics with ICE, wine, cheese and salami and crackers--all provided by BCFs friend and former BCF teacher Mark Laprarie, now the World Bank rep in Bhutan. We danced the night away, keeping the three hapless hotel employees awake far past their bedtime. It was the first time the two groups of BCF teachers--those from the east and those from the west--had seen one another since our orientation in Thimphu in January. It was a very happy reunion, followed by hot showers (oh, how we love hot showers!) and comfortable beds. A delicious beginning to three days of sight-seeing and reflection on our Bhutan experience.

The River Lodge

Early the following morning, we were driven to the Tang Valley, said to be the most beautiful of all the valleys in Bhutan. On the way, we stopped to visit the sacred Merab Tsho, or Burning Lake, visited by pilgrims from all over Bhutan. 

Heather Robertson crossing the bridge to the lake

Senge La meditating by Mebar Tsho

We were headed to Ugyen Choling, the preserved estate of one of Bhutan's great religious and feudal families that is now a museum. It is also the home of Kunzang Choden, a highly respected author and historian. She is a direct descendant of the original family that established the estate.

Entry to Ugyen Choling, looking into the courtyard

Kunzang Choden, author, historian and
owner of Ugyen Choling

Main house from the side--the house is
too big to fit into one frame from the front

The history of Ugyen Choling is worth retelling. In the 1300s, one of the most important Nyingma Buddhist rinpoches, Longchempa (rinpoche means 'precious one'; it is a title given to reincarnated high lamas, also called Tulkus, or to very highly regarded Buddhist masters), built a small retreat on the land that is now Ugyen Choling. A hundred years later, one of his followers, Dorji Lingpa, also settled there and is said to have discovered many significant Buddhist treasures in the area (thus he is known as a Terton, one who discovers texts or religious implements or sacred places that were deliberately hidden by previous Buddhist masters for him or her to discover). He and his descendants are credited with spreading Nyingma teachings throughout Bhutan.

In the 19th century, 15 generations removed from Dorji Lingpa, Trongsa Penlop Tshoki Dorji built the house that still stands at the top of a hill overlooking the Tang Valley. The villagers, who used to be the serfs and servants for this family, still refer to the house respectfully as "the dzong" and their families continue to populate the small village just below the house.

When we arrived at Ugyen Choling, Kunzang Choden herself welcomed us with an introduction to the estate. We spent a few hours exploring the many rooms that have been kept as they were in the 20th century (which to western eyes look like the 15th century).

On the property is an impressive lakhang (temple) that is still used by the villagers. Inside it, a very old, nearly blind monk was reciting prayers as we prostrated to the three imposing statues of Guru Rinpoche ("the second Buddha"), Buddha and Chenrezig, an emanation of compassion. The artwork on the walls and the altar seemed to me to be purely Tibetan in their artistic expression, untouched by Chinese and Indian influence.

The Lakhang at Ugyen Choling

Blocks for printing the house's library books

A collection of hand made bamboo and hemp baskets.

A reading bench and seat.  Religious books are still made this way--
they are printed on both sides on long rectangles of hand made paper and
then covered with cloth and tied with cotton rope.

The mask collection.  These are ritual masks used in religious rites. These masks are very commonly used
today, and are made by hand by artisans trained at the National Institute for Zorig Chusum 
(the 13 Bhutanese Arts--google 'Zorig Chusum'; it is fascinating).

Doesn't this look remarkably like a Shaker style box?

After we had all completed the tour of the estate, we were treated to an impressive Bhutanese lunch in the yard overlooking the valley. We ate piles of khuley, the heavy buckwheat pancakes slathered in Bumthang butter the area is known for, potato curry, ema datse (of course), and a number of other homemade Bumthang dishes. We posed for a group picture in front of the family chorten, surrounded by prayer flags.

Matt Stretton and Heather Robertson at lunch 

Lunch at Ugyen Choling

Bhutan Canada Foundation contingent, 2013

***

The next day, Matt Stretton, Lucy Hopkins, Bob Chisholm (all Aussies), Senge (U.K.) and I hiked from Chamkar to the mountain ridge that parallels the Chumey Valley and then across to Tharpaling Monastery. The trail was nearly vertical, topping off at 10,000 feet. Crazy Bob Chisholm, whose wife teaches in Bumthang, got it into his head to be the first human to push a bicycle up to the ridge and there is no reason to doubt that he was.  He carried it down the other side to the beginning of the road at the gate to Tharpaling and rode it home.

Matt, Senge, me and Lucy pre-hike

It's steep! (And there's Crazy Bob Chisholm with his bike!)

A moment to savor the view from the ridge

Lucy goes over the top

When we reached the prayer flags and the statue of Longchempa above Tharpaling, Bob's family and BCFer Heather Robertson and her husband Rob, visiting from Canada, met us with a welcome picnic. We all hiked down to the monastery together. The buildings are being renovated to provide more warmth in the winter; sitting in meditation for hours on end in the cold can take a toll on your average monk. [We left Senge at the monastery; his summer vacation, after three days of partying with the BCF crew, was spent meditating and "monkeying around" as he calls it, at Tharpaling and Gangtey monasteries, two of the most important Nyingma sites in Bhutan.]

Tharpaling Monastery
(I did not take this picture)

A note about Nyingma Buddhism: There are four 'schools' of Tibetan Buddhism. The Nyingma school is the oldest; in fact, the word itself means "old school." Each branch of Buddhism is associated with a lineage of teachers who all had the same religious objectives but who followed slightly different paths to reach those objectives. Longchempa and his followers/descendants, such as Dorji Lingpa who established Ugyen Choling, are the lineage holders of the Nyingma school. The other schools are Gelug, Sakya and Kagyu. Most of Bhutan's lakhangs and monasteries are Druk Kagyu (the Bhutanese version of Kagyu). The most well-known and fascinating of the Kagyu rinpoches are Drukpa Kinley (the Divine Madman) and Milarepa, one of my personal heroes. Their stories are well worth reading (see The Life of Milarepa by Tsangyon Heruka, translated by Andrew Quintman and Divine Madman translated by Keith Dowman) ! The Gelug school is associated with the Dalai Lama and followers of Gelug practices can be found only in eastern Bhutan. The Sakyas are found mostly in India.

Milarepa. Note the hand to the ear, and the green skin
(from living only on boiled nettles)

"Mila Repa, Drukpa Kunlek and other poet saints of the Kagyu-pa order are depicted sknging and holding their right hands to their ear.  The same gesture is characteristic of the epic hero, when identified with the bard or when receiving revelations from the gods.  The gesture expresses both religious and poetic inspiration in the saints' case, too, at the same time symbolizing their receipt of the oral transmissions" (R.A. Stein, Tibetan Civilization).

Random Stuff #2

Because I have writer's block and thus can't seem to write about my incredible week in eastern Bhutan, here are some more random shots:

Yes, this grows like, um, a weed in Bhutan.  In the States, we call it...weed.  

A swallowtail butterfly--they are everywhere, and come in
blue, yellow, white, red. . .The caterpillars REALLY creepy
and poisonous..

Crazy Aussie Bob Chisholm, husband of Andrea, a teacher in Bumthang,
decided he wanted to be the first human to push a bike up the
nearly vertical trail to Tharpaling Monastery at 10,000 feet in
Chamkar, Bumthang.

A typical Bhutanese shop in Phong Me. Here, one can get chips, doma, potatoes,
gum, shampoo, noodles, umbrellas. . .Just about all the basics.
Nearly all shops in Bhutan look like this.  The young woman
was the salesperson, the daughter of the owner.

My dear friend Wangmo weaves, as do many of the women in Bhutan.  Here are three examples of sticks she wound with colored yarn to create a sample pattern for a kira material (some sample material is in the upper part of the picture).  Many women in Bhutan own hand made looms.  Nearly ALL textiles in Bhutan are hand crafted; the rare exceptions are inferior synthetic textiles imported from India or China sold mostly in Thimphu.  The yarns are also made and dyed by hand one step at a time, as they have been for centuries, using local wool and organic dyes.

A beetle.  They grow 'em BIG here.

Spring in Punakha is marked by the blooming of the lavender jacaranda trees;
at the Dzong, they are especially dramatic.

The Bhutan Canada Foundation teachers at our summer retreat at Ugyen Choling, a preserved grand estate in Bumthang where
we began our summer holidays.  Second from left in the back row is Kunzang Choden, the owner of the house (which has been in her family for many generations) and
a highly regarded author, historian and feminist in Bhutan.  Also pictured are BCF staffers and friends.

Tsa tsas (mini-chortens made to create good karma) piled up at
Merab Tsho, or "Burning Lake" in Bumthang.

A few words about Bumthang: The central dzongkhag of Bumthang is often hailed as the most beautiful state in Bhutan, and there are few reasons to dispute this claim (except that after we were in Bumthang, Brick and I went as far east as we could get and visited Merak and Sakteng--arguably more beautiful but in an untamed way. More on that in another post).  We had our summer retreat at the River Lodge in Bumthang, and were treated to hot showers (!!!!), wine, gin and tonics, real beds (!!!!!!) and a field trip to Ugyen Choling in the Tang Valley, a stunning, green, broad valley that encapsulates the Bhutan experience.  I will write more about Bumthang, and in particular the village of Ura, in another post.  

A Selection of Somewhat Random Photos from the First Six Months in Bhutan, Batch #1

Since arriving here in January, I have taken an impressive number of photographs.  Many are not worth sharing, but there are a few that I think might help convey my experience here, as well as the changing landscape of the Punakha Valley from January to June.  I thought I'd post these in small batches so as not to overwhelm.

The Himalayas on the Border of Tibet from Gasa (north of Punakha)

Cat in Punakha Dzong

Dechen, me, Wangmo and Gakey wearing our gift from the King after the Royal Visit

Morning Assembly at school: Girls are wearing their red rachus over their shoulders
and boys are wearing their white linen kabneys. This is formal
wear for the day of our school rimdro when the building was
blessed and purified by monks. Note the sleeping dog.

Prayer flags looking south from Chime Lakhang, the temple of Drukpa Kinley,
the Mad Monk of Punakha. It is believed that if a woman is blessed here
by being tapped on the head with a wooden phallus by one of the
resident monks she will become pregnant.

Thubten Senge walking over the bridge to Khamsum Yulley Namgyal
Chorten (a new temple built across from Kabesa on the Mo Chhu)

I bought this mug in Thimphu!

Why I could not go running on the track today

His Majesty the Fifth King of Bhutan's livestock were grazing on the track/soccer field. Tomorrow they will be herded north to Gasa for the summer.

On the soccer field

The real meaning of playing with donkeys

The King's newborn colt

Moo.