The Great Dassain Adventure

Thursday was Dassain, a holiday celebrated in Bhutan, Nepal, India, and Sikkhim (now part of India) that commemorates good’s inevitable triumph over evil. This day, while in reference to Hindu and Buddhist tales innumerable, has its own set of lore and traditions. Once such tradition includes a renewal of communal ties, which I think accurately encapsulates the spirit of how I spent the day. At the insistence of some of my Class 6A students, I promised weeks prior to accompany them on an adventure. The following is an account of the day’s events.

This photo was taken a minute's walk from my house

The morning of October 22^nd was like dozens of days before it: blistering hot in the sun and freezing cold in the shade, all thanks to the high-altitude sun. I dressed accordingly and met a group of my students at a playground on the school campus. They were abuzz with excitement for the day’s promise, eager to spend time with their foreign teacher. As I looked around I soon realized I would be the only adult on this odyssey, but no matter, Bhutan is a world unto its own and lives by its own rules. In a way it is refreshing to know parents trust their children and surroundings enough to let them chart out plans and walk miles upon miles sans supervision. This was the world I grew up in which no longer exists today in the U.S.

               Despite being a holiday, the children were dressed in gho and kira because our target destination was a temple. They joked around and talked while others watched as a boy played games on his phone as we waited for latecomers to arrive. Eventually, with the lot assembled, we were off. We piled into a Bolero taxi like clowns in a tiny car. We’ll never all fit, I remember thinking, but somehow they managed to squeeze all twelve of themselves inside whilst I was directed to take the passenger seat, which was remarkably spacious.

               We slowly trudged along on the rocky dirt road for nearly an hour, winding with the contour of the mountainside. The kids were unfazed, however. They sang Dzongkha songs while a few managed to sleep (how that’s even possible on such a bumpy road, I’ll never know!). Meanwhile I drank up the view as we neared Konbar, a small town opposite Mongar before the car ascended higher and higher toward what my students referred to as heaven itself.

               At long last we arrived outside the Takchhu lhakhang (Takchhu temple). Takchhu literally means tiger water, as one guru once saw a tiger drinking from a lake on site. Looking around it was hard to believe we were in tiger territory, but as my mammal field guide notes, tigers can live as high as 4000m in Bhutan. We paid the driver and he drove off, which is when it occurred to me we would be returning on foot. No matter, I told myself, this is all about the journey.

               At the temple we ditched our backpacks and went inside the lower temple. There we prostrated thrice to the teacher’s seat, then thrice more to the Buddha statues before giving a small offering (the students brought the makings of butter lamps and incense) and we received our holy water, which smelled of jasmine. As is customary, I sipped a small bit, threw the rest over my head, and wiped my face with what remained. We then circumambulated the temple, spinning dozens of prayer wheels before proceeding to the higher shrine and repeating the process once more.

View from the lhakhang

The upper temple

               Entire days are planned around 10-minute events like this, and although we had already checked that box before 10 a.m., there was still plenty in store for us. We put on our shoes and backpacks and prepared to leave. One of the girls sliced an oversized cucumber and divvied it up among our company to fuel us for the journey ahead. We walked over loose rock downhill for a few minutes before coming upon a structure of wood and colorful ribbons. I had seen this kind of formation once before just below my house where the principal of Konbar elementary school had died in a car accident earlier this year. The students explained that these formations are made at the site of one’s demise and serve as a location to hold the various Buddhist funeral rites that follow. Perhaps by no coincidence this one was set on a steep cliff overlooking the village of Wengkhar. The view was spectacular.

               As we walked further down we neared a plot of land that belonged to one of the student’s aunts. The girl yelled from a great distance toward the farm and had a short conversation in Sharchhop before informing me that her relatives would like us to join them for tea. So we took a side road and arrived at their farm. The farm was fairly large and isolated from other houses. What a remote place to call home—and the view! Our group was greeted by a man in his 50’s, who dressed in simple farmer clothes (patchy, worn trousers and a second-hand shirt). I shook his hand and thanked him for his invitation. He disappeared to prepare the tea and the students beckoned me over to observe some unknown spectacle. They all crawled into the brush fighting over small little red fruits. What they pulled out looked like a giant raisin though red in color with a slightly bumpy and hard outside. They showed me to tear away the skin to reveal an oozy inside with large seeds. Its actual innards looked a lot like passion fruit, but the fruit itself was visibly different. Its taste was sweet with a hint of perfume.

               Eventually I was ushered by ‘Uncle’ to a sitting room. The room was spacious with a low ceiling, kept very neat. On one side was the family altar and on the other were two small carpets for sitting. There I sat with a few children. A couple students broke out their phones, while others sang and joked. I decided to add to their fun ‘time-pass’ by introducing them to my Nintendo handheld. A few of them got into it playing Mario Kart while I pulled the wooden shutters to the side and looked out the window. From there was the most beautiful view of Mongar, which looked incredibly small from this height and distance.

View from the window

               Some of the kids brought in tea and snacks to munch on and the host mentioned since I had not brought a packed lunch (my students had failed to mention this requirement) that they’d like to make me some. I refused but they insisted and I eventually relented. We passed the time talking and laughing until one girl suggested playing truth or dare. I was suspect of this as I know what truth or dare entails for most 6^th grade kids, but Bhutan is so very different so I made an executive decision to let it slide with the caveat that it would stop the moment things start to get weird. Fortunately it never came to that point. Truth questions were indeed who likes who, but dares were silly demands like “sing a song” or “act like so and so”. They seemed to have a good time.

               After some time lunch was served. The uncle apologized for the meager fare but this gesture was incredibly gracious of them and the food looked (and tasted) amazing. There was rice, kewa datsi, and cooked cheese in oil served with a kind of sour buttermilk beverage. They had made enough for everyone so we all ate and expressed our profuse gratitude. Afterwards the students swept the floors and we thanked our hosts once more before setting off onto the road again.

               We decided to take some shortcuts. Everywhere I go there seems to be at least 3 ways to get there so I figured why not. We went off the road and followed the faintest hint of a path, eventually cutting through another farmer’s land who showed us the quickest way out. Taking the switchbacks would have taken a great deal longer, but these students were energetic and not bothered in the slightest by the prospect of getting lost so down and down we went. It ended up working out quite well for us as before we knew it we were in Konbar. Concerned about their exertion and the sun at its peak, I asked if the students had brought any water for themselves to which they said no so I stopped by a shop and bought them a variety of snack foods and bottled waters. They seemed shocked at this simple gesture saying how great and kind I was, despite my generosity being far eclipsed by their own.

A local and her adorable granddaughter whom we met along the way

               We continued down from Konbar another 5 kilometers on the dirt road in the midday sun, stopping occasionally at the sparse patches of shade for a water break or to look at Mongar from across the valley.

Mongar

               Sometime after 1 o’clock we made it to the swimming site. Gangula River runs right over the road there and just below it people had constructed a kind of waist-high pool where kids love to swim. By the time we arrived, there were already dozens of people there including some of my students from Class 6C. They waved and we talked for a bit before the 6A kids insisted we cut upstream. So we went up a bit to where the river coalesces from two smaller streams and the kids jumped into the water. I looked on as they played in the natural pools, splashing water on each other and generally act their age. Taking myself out of the moment I realized I was in a jungle covered in vines and trees with old river stones. This place is totally natural and yet so unreal all the same, having come from a world of swimming pools and lifeguards and floaties and swim caps. 

               One of the students asked if I could start a fire. From a single match, I thought, probably not, no. Sadly I was never trained in this art. A certain memory of a friend and I just last year trying to light a fire with a lighter and a pile of newspapers came to mind. We used her whole supply just to get the thing lit! I admitted my impotence in the situation and they said no problem. One of the boys came over and started a fire in under a minute, from one solitary match. It was impressive, but I had to ask why they needed a fire. “Because after swimming we are cold!” I touched the water. Damn right that’s cold water!

               After a bit we came back down to the road and everyone got out their packed lunches. Despite being totally full from my first meal a student gave me some of her rice and everyone proceeded to dish out their curries around. I asked them if they do this during lunch time at school. They seemed confused by the question, “Of course”. True potlatch style, I like it.

               By this point it was around 2:30. I told them they could go swim for a while longer but we’d need to set off by 3 in order to get back to town before it got too cold. Once the sun dips behind the mountain by about 3:45 the temperature drops significantly. So they swam and played with their other classmates until it was time to leave. They picked up everything and put out their second fire and we set off on the road.

              

               We had roughly a 6km trek back to Mongar. During that time we joked around and the kids got in the habit of standing like statues on the side of the road when the occasional car drove by, giving them thumbs up and wishing them a peaceful journey. Truly benevolent children. By this point we were all a bit tired from the sun and walking but we tried to make light of it and pushed on. It’s easy to be entertained with such strange and funny company. They asked all kinds of questions and I returned with my own queries on Bhutanese life and customs. All in all it was a lot of fun. When we reached the national highway (just below my house) around 4:30 we said our goodbyes and the troop continued on to their respective houses, thoroughly satiated from an exciting day.

               One of the girls asked if she could write a journal of the day’s events and read it to the various 6^th grade classes. I said sure. Here is her take on the day’s events, unedited:

“Today I am going to read out the journal what we did on Thursday the 22^nd of October. Early in the morning, we all gathered at school at children park. When we go from here we go inside the car. We went singing until we reach Takchhu. When we reach at Takchhu Lhakhang we collect Ngultrum and gave to the driver. The driver went back and we went to visit inside Takchhu Lhakhang.

We gave butter lamp and insense for lower Lhakhang as well as butter lamp and insense for upper Lhakhang. We came back from Lhakhang. When we come back we went to Aunti Lhamo’s house. Auntie is not there so his husband welcomed all of us. While uncle go to call Auntie we took some fruits. We raced at auntie’s house. Auntie and uncle gave us tea.

While uncle and auntie were making food for us we played truth or dear with our sir Reese. After some time uncle brought food for us. After we finish eating we thanked to uncle and we came back taking short carts. When we come back sir buyed some junk food for us and three mineral water. After some time we reach to Wengkhar and we saw other friends swimming. There are also Kedhikhar students. We joined them to swim. We ate lunch there and while we are eating lunch some boys are coming. They also joined to swim. After eating lunch we went to swim for some time. At 3:00 p.m. we came back. Sir read us one poem. When we see vehicles coming we gave them thumbs up and we said Pelden Drukpa lha gaylo.  That means to say drive peacefully without any problem.

When we reach near Changshingpeg sir went to his home and we said good buy to him. Even we also went to our home. We enjoy a lot you know. We would like to thank sir Reese for letting us to enjoy a lot.”

Through the Looking-Glass and What Reese Found There: A Solitary Cup of Tea

It was a sunny afternoon, nothing out of the ordinary for the time of year. The wind had picked up on schedule, right around 1:30. I was sitting in my office, which I shared with the two vice principals and assistant principal. The staff insisted I take this area instead of the crowded teacher quarters below, despite repeated attempts to turn down their offer. Admittedly it was cozy, largely due to the fine interior design. A few plants were expertly placed around the room in pots, with a couple small climbers traversing the back wall. There was a large homemade bookshelf near the door which housed encyclopedias, miscellaneous literature, and religious texts. Above it was a kind of altar where students would restock the incense, chalices, and butter lamps daily. And looming over it all was a large and stunning tanka painting—a kind of hand-painted textile scroll of a Buddhist deity, in this case the historical Buddha atop a pedestal shaped like a lotus flower.

I was half ruminating on upcoming plans for class, half zoning out when a coworker, Dorji, pulled me from my reverie as he entered the room.

“Sir, why don’t you come to my house this afternoon for tea,” he said. Half requesting, half demanding.

“Uh, sure. Yeah okay.”

So after school I packed my things into my oversized bag and made my way toward his house. It was a short walk over grass and earth, up a ladder, and through a winding path past small, quaint residences. Dorji’s place was not unlike those nearby, shoddily constructed from thin wooden panels, beams, and plaster, painted white with a blue trim. He and his family certainly made the best of their circumstances, however, as evidenced by the neatly piled stacks of wood, clothing lines swaying in the afternoon breeze, and small garden. Kind of like a hobbit hole, only above ground.

Punctuality in Bhutan is a rookie mistake, even I knew that, but at times I can’t help but heed the call of my cultural instincts. In addition to being early, I wasn’t quite sure where to knock as there was no front door. I pulled the short gate ajar and stepped inside an open air room with one small shack to the left and a more sizable structure to the right. I turned right and knocked on, what turned out to be, the living room door. 

A woman answered, her features sharp and eyes kind. She bid me inside through her curt and jumbled English, insisting I first take off my shoes. She directed me to the couch and said Dorji would be returning shortly.

The woman, whose name I did not catch, promptly left the room. I sat in silence, my posture straight, scanning the room for visual stimulation. The set up was certainly comforting. Benches and chairs around a coffee table with a TV in the corner and religious relics and pictures lining the walls. It was humble as everything here seems to be.

In the absence of conversation I twiddled my thumbs and started counting the number of the King’s portraits. 3, 4, 5. Five. No, 8 if you count the small photos tucked in the corner and the calendar on the wall. Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wanghuck, known affectionately as K5 for being the 5^th king in the line of Bhutan’s monarchical lineage, is adored by all. He is a charismatic man in his early 30’s with a movie star smile, known as a real champion of the people. Few people have yet to meet him in the country—which is amazing considering the 21-hour travel time from one end of the country to the other, not to mention the sheer remoteness of certain regions.

A minute later Dorji’s wife returned and put the TV remote in my hand. I dutifully began to flip through channels, passing Hindi soap-operas, national news in Dzongkha, and Animal Planet. I finally chose a movie channel showing an old action flick and left it there for its familiar noise.

A young girl, say 8 years in age, popped out from behind the curtain. She seemed just as surprised to see me as I her, expressing her embarrassment in the all-too-common scratching of the back of her head while sticking out her tongue—a social tick picked up by the youth of Bhutan via foreign cartoons. She quickly ran away and hid, though I could hear her whispering to her sister about the strange chilip in her house.

A moment later the host had arrived. Dorji, a fellow colleague of mine was a regal looking gentleman. Tall in stature with a shaved head and lines of wisdom etched into his face. He apologized for arriving late and we spoke for about a minute before he, too, disappeared.

Some time later I was served a scalding cup of milk tea with a hint of ginger by Dorji’s wife, a drink locally known as naja along with a bowl of zao—dry, baked rice comparable to Rice Krispies. After taking a sip of the delicious tea I turned to thank my hosts, but they were nowhere to be seen.

I waited a few minutes out of politeness to touch my cup. Perhaps they went to pour themselves a cup. But they didn’t come. 5 minutes passed then 10. Eventually I decided to just drink my now tepid beverage and snack by myself.

Twenty minutes in my mind began to wander. What an odd prospect, my inner voice narrated, to be entertained solitarily. When next a person came into the room I did my best to cajole them into a nearby seat, but they’d have none of it. “Please, sir, enjoy your tea.”

After I finished I twiddled my thumbs some more until Dorji and his wife returned to collect the dishes and exclaim simple pleasantries. And that was it. Visitation complete, as odd as it was for its lack of human interaction.

Only when I stood up and put on my shoes was I engaged in conversation, for a good long while in fact. Dorji and I spoke on a myriad of school-related topics until my antsy-ness came to a breaking point and I bid farewell, passing through the gate and up the make-shift staircase composed of slate and slanted earth.

On my way home I replayed the events in my head, trying to make sense of what had transpired. Tea time in Anglo cultures is an opportunity for social bonding. Apparently here not so. In months to follow I’d encounter this ritual time and time again, for all its awkwardness. Friends explicate it as being a gesture of kindness to leave us to our thoughts and treat the guest as if royalty. Hospitality is the greatest gift the Bhutanese can display and they do it elaborately, albeit strangely through the eyes of a western visitor.

A Series of Differences #2: Writings on the Wall

Life in Bhutan has many quirks that make everyday living odd and whimsical all the same. One of them that I particularly enjoy is graffiti.

Graffiti often carries a negative connotation in American culture due to certain iterations that express obscenities just for the sake of being offensive or sexually suggestive invitations that are often demeaning in nature. But in certain urban environments graffiti has become an opportunity for artistic expression, satire, political revolution, and inspiration.

Bhutan’s version of graffiti is nowhere on this spectrum, but I assure you it is awesome. There are four types of graffiti I have encountered thus far, which I will expand on below. While at its heart these are innocuous (once you understand the background behind them), if you are easily offended, perhaps it is best you steer clear.

Type 1: Mantras

               Mantras are Buddhist teachings chanted in repetition. Saying them is somewhat equivalent to the spinning a prayer wheel (which themselves have mantras written on them), circumambulating a chorten, or putting up prayer flags to flap in the wind—these all generate good karma for oneself and for all sentient beings, effectively lessening suffering in the world and compounding ‘spirit points’ to ensure in your next life you will continue to be born a human and with it, a better chance of achieving enlightenment and escaping the process of rebirth.

               The exact meaning of individual mantras can be difficult to explain as their explication may take hours or years to fully comprehend. But nevertheless they are widely accepted expressions of complex texts through condensed, easy-to-memorize phrases. And while you certainly can just say them, it seems people enjoy writing them as well on random rocks, road sides, and sacred religious sites. The one I most encounter, seeing as it’s the only one I can actually read in Dzongkha, is the famous om mani peme hun. Here are a few examples:

 

Type 2: @#$%!

               Sure this variety is all too conventional, but what this lacks in this case is proper context. Swear words are an entirely different beast in Bhutan. They are not used to insult, even in Dzongkha, though they may arise when expressing frustration at a situation. Mean-spirited verbal projections have no place in Bhutanese society because people tend to say what they think to each other’s faces without it causing a problem. I’ve heard people tell others to their face they don’t like their behavior, attitude, and work ethic, and yet they can still share a laugh and spend hours together in close proximity without any sign of discomfort. It’s awesomely weird. Lying and withholding complaints or grudges are counterintuitive to a collective society and Bhutanese logic, and after being in this environment, it makes me kind of question why we do it.

               I’m getting off track, though. My point is swearing is no big deal. It isn’t meant to be rude and most of my students can’t even comprehend how the word ‘shit’ can be offensive. I’ve heard 9-year old girls say “oh shit” when they make a mistake in their notebook. It’s hilarious. Admittedly I was shocked at first, but I quickly learned it doesn’t carry the same weight here as it does to my homeland and to reprimand them for my own cultural bias would be wrong (though I did explain my culture’s perspective on the matter should they interact with other foreigners).

               So to see these dreaded 4-letter words carved into rocks and painted on streets is not so offensive after all. If anything it shows a kind of curiosity and exploration—if not a naivety as to its true meaning and intent.

Type 3: The Phallus (NSFW)

               Phallic imagery is rife in Bhutan. Again it shocks, but like type 2, there is no cause for alarm. You see, in the late 15^th century a Tibetan lama by the name of Drukpa Kunley came into Bhutan to spread the message of Buddhism, but he did so in a most unconventional way; he used obscene humor, alcohol, and sex to preach the dharma. This kind of teaching helped to loosen the hold of strict Buddhist traditions and the hardcore ascetic route to enlightenment. And, well, he really liked to use his “thunderbolt of flaming wisdom” (a euphemism he used for a particular appendage if you catch my drift) as part and parcel of this teaching. The Divine Madman as he is called, found that phallic imagery deterred evil spirits and thus the tradition of depicting penises near the entrance of houses and establishments was born—which carries on to this day. While most are done professionally using colored paints, it is also common to see amateur renderings on rocks and walls.

Type 4: Expressions of love

               This is by far the most unique graffiti of the four. Before coming here I never thought graffiti could be an expression of simple kindness, but it perfectly mirrors the Bhutanese outlook on life. Virtually every person I’ve met is epically humble, generous, and grateful so it makes sense that this comes out in their artistic expression. But to see it in kids—to have young, rambunctious and sometimes devious children allot time to scrawl “I love my parents” on the wall—is incredibly heartwarming.

Now that I've posted this, I really wish I had taken more pictures of Bhutanese graffiti. I will keep my eyes peeled and update this page once I find more.