Early the next morning we were off to the second day of the Trongsa tsechu. Advance warning: with the festival being such a feast for the senses, I've got a lot of pictures and videos in this post. Take a deep breath and plunge in. With parking at a premium, the bus let us off a short way from the dzong.
The plastic tarps are temporary shops, bars, and videogame parlors. One of the snack and beverage establishments was run by the wife of Tshering, our driver. For now she lives in Trongsa with the four kids while Tshering, for his job, lives in Thimphu. It's not easy, but they're working hard. Here is Tshering with his two youngest.
People were beginning to gather at the main courtyard, where the performance space was marked off with red carpets. Some of the choice spots were already filling up.
Soon the procession of local notables began.
Here, the Guru Rinpoche figure is seated along the far wall, where he will remain for three or more hours, and an early segment of the dance of the Eight Manifestations of Guru Rinpoche has begun.
Here is a closeup of one of the figures.
Everybody dresses up for the tsechu.
If you're going to keep your spot, you need snacks, especially for the kids. Here is a brief closeup of a dancer and Guru Rinpoche.
A grandmother ponders the passing atsara.
This family group has it all, including pink mittens.
Those horns you've been hearing? Here they are.
The viewers sat or stood in the courtyard and along either side, while some perched on the wall of a higher courtyard. Here's the view down to the show.
As the time grew closer for the offering of blessings, the crowd grew thicker.
Here is a zoom-in of the blessings being offered.
Joan and I decided to take a break from the show, and wandered among the shops. We visited Tshering's place, watched a jeep almost get stuck in the mud near the darts range, and also glanced at some dice games. Here is another perspective on the rows of stalls.
When we returned, the line for offering respect and receiving blessings was as long as before. The dakinis have great stamina; they did their slow steps for hours.
Here is a closeup of a dakini. Although they are female celestial beings, they are played by men.
The apron and cuff ornaments are made from bone. This is a reminder of impermanence. Lo and behold, shortly after we reentered the courtyard, finding the rest of our group, Tsewang came up to us. The man has connections. He had acquired a blessed string (reddish shade of orange, with a knot in the center) for each of us! He gave us basic instructions for wearing it, including that it should be worn for at least three days. I'm a couple of days away from a month, and mine's still in good shape. Here, a policeman tries to squeeze past Guru Rinpoche as the saint takes his last circumambulation of the courtyard, and the attending atsara is not amused.
After the blessings, the Guru Rinpoche figure is escorted out of the courtyard.
After a morning full of sight and sound, it's time for us to leave and get lunch. The view leaving the dzong ...
After lunch, Tsewang and Jen pass through the gate at Yangkhil Resort.
Our bus awaits, clean and shining.
Our long afternoon drive was back up to Pele La, and then taking the side road into the Phobjikha valley, a winter home of the black-necked cranes. Along the way was one of the locations used in the filming of the movie Travelers and Magicians.
We arrived at Dewachen Hotel in Phobjikha after a very full day. And you're probably glad to finally reach the end of this post! Congratulations.
The next morning was the last one where we would awaken in a tent. Outside, one of the many Bhutanese dogs rested. Stray dogs can make a living in Bhutan because most Bhutanese will practice compassion for sentient beings by feeding them. There is a movement for neutering/spaying dogs, but it hasn't really taken hold yet.
Here is one of the orange trees growing at Nimshong. On the roof to the right red chilies are drying.
More onlookers.
In this photo, ponies approach us along the road. Our route down to the Mangde Chu was partially footpaths, and partially this road. The utility of the road has been diminished by Cyclone (hurricane) Alia, which hit the Bay of Bengal last May (2009), and dropped a lot of rain in Bhutan. The bridge across the Mangde Chu for this road, finished just a couple of months before, was completely washed away in the flood, as we will see.
Here we are making progress in our descent to the river. You may notice a small solar panel on the roof of this house. It was not uncommon for us to see an arrangement on this trek whereby a solar panel kept a small battery charged up, which would be enough to run a fluorescent light or two in the dark hours. But modernity is coming to this valley; along part of the route between Korphu and Nimshong a modest (by Western standards) right of way was being trimmed for electrical lines. I don't know how or if the lines will affect the future of the route for the trek, but I'm sure the villagers are looking forward to the juice.
Here we have reached the bottom. An abutment for the previous bridge is visible to the left; until it is rebuilt (higher), a temporary bridge lets us cross.
Joan waves as she crosses.
The air down in the valley was dusty, very dusty, from the road blasting. The finest particles appeared to stay suspended for days, and the foliage had a brown, fuzzy coating. From the river crossing, a wide but still unpaved nouveau road switchbacked up to the paved north-south road. My binoculars, camera case, and glasses all needed a cleaning when we got back to Trongsa. On gaining the road, Tsewang gave each of us a white scarf to congratulate us on completing the trek.
We had a final trail lunch.
Yes, that's a trail lunch! And then we said goodbye to the trekking crew before heading back to Trongsa.
On the far right is Toh (phonetic spelling), the camp boss, known to all as "the Hammer." At one spot, where the road had dipped down close to the river, the May floods had left nothing but a huge boulder field. The bus slowly bounced through this zone on a temporary road before regaining the pavement. Although December is off-season for road work, there was the occasional laborer here busting large rocks into a pile of medium-size gravel, by hand. As we drew closer to Trongsa it became clearer that we would get there too late to see the first day of the multi-day tsechu (festival). We would have all of the next morning to attend the tsechu, so everybody was content to get back to Yangkhil Resort to clean up and to repack yet again, stowing away trekking items and reorganizing the rest.
We awoke the next morning to our alarm, did our usual inside-the-tent routines, and waited for the hot tea. It seemed to be running late, and when voices began to draw closer, it didn't sound like the usual guys who brought the tea and hot water. Then one of them said, "Ho ho ho." It was Santa Namgay, wearing a cotton beard and bearing chocolate!
We learned later that delay was due to two things. It took a while to borrow the red jacket, which belonged to a monk (still asleep) that a lady in town knew. Also, the beard kept falling off. All was forgiven when this smiling visage bearing chocolate appeared. There was another surprise at breakfast.
This one was really yummy too. Today we took our breakfast plates to an overlook gazebo, separate from the dining pavilion.
The view into the valley was grand.
The trail on to our next destination, Nimshong, passed again through Korphu. Of course, some children noticed us.
As we walked by the house we had visited yesterday, our host called out to us, and a dialog ensued between him and Tsewang. Although we were running late, we went inside, and it was a fabulous experience. They were taking a break from the ABC (annual blessing ceremony) and offered us butter tea. I have never had butter tea before, and this was good. The butter is churned into the tea so thoroughly that there is not an oily film, just a rich texture. Tsewang is right to say that it's excellent for chapped lips. If the butter had been around too long, then the flavor would be off, but what we were served was excellent. Here the monks look on as the host assembles his family for us, to pose for a photograph.
This video clip of the same action gives you an idea of the sound of Bhutanese speech.
Here is the assembled family. The patriarch and matriarch are on the right.
As we stood up to leave, I got a better view of the monks. You can see some of the tormas on the altar in the upper left of the photo.
As we trekkers assembled in the courtyard the ceremony picked up again.
Korphu was a high spot of the trek. We had been greeted warmly, as welcome guests, and serendipity had smiled again in the variety of experiences given us. Today's hike would be to go downhill, almost to the valley floor, and then back up, reclaiming some but not all of the downhill, and then a rolling "level" until a final climb through the village of Nimshong. Shortly after starting the descent, a view opened up that explained why the fields of the Nabji/Korphu area are often called "the peacock tail."
Along the trail, we came upon a golden langur. Check out the length of that tail.
As we stared in admiration, the family came up to join him.
Twenty minutes later, we were treated to three male rufous-necked hornbills chilling out in plain view. Binoculars were useful, as the birds were not immediately by the trail.
Another twenty minutes down the trail, and we encountered the female.
Jillian takes a stretch.
At this point, a pony and his boy catch up to us.
As we got closer to Nimshong, agricultural terraces began to appear.
We paused to study a spot that had a lot of bird activity. In this photo, the barred underparts point to a lesser yellownape woodpecker, while the crest suggests a greater yellownape. Life is uncertain.
The village of Nimshong is spread out vertically, as you see, and our camp is at the top.
As we climbed up through the village, we got permission to take a picture of this family processing this year's grain, winnowing and grinding.
A view of our campsite from the dining area.
That evening, around the campfire, we did some singing. Joan, always a showtunes fan, sang "Oh What a Beautiful Morning." Tsewang expressed a fondness for the Beatles' "Eight Days a Week," which the group limped through -- my eternal weakness is remembering only snatches of lyrics. So in case you encounter Tsewang in future, here's a study guide.
Ooh I need your love babe,
Guess you know it's true.
Hope you need my love babe,
Just like I need you.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
I ain't got nothin' but love babe,
Eight days a week.
Love you ev'ry day girl,
Always on my mind.
One thing I can say girl,
Love you all the time.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
I ain't got nothin' but love girl,
Eight days a week.
Eight days a week
I love you.
Eight days a week
Is not enough to show I care.
Ooh I need your love babe,
Guess you know it's true.
Hope you need my love babe,
Just like I need you.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
I ain't got nothin' but love babe,
Eight days a week.
Eight days a week
I love you.
Eight days a week
Is not enough to show I care.
Love you ev'ry day girl,
Always on my mind.
One thing I can say girl,
Love you all the time.
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me.
I ain't got nothin' but love babe,
Eight days a week,
Eight days a week,
Eight days a week.
And that was a very eventful Christmas Day. Its glow increases in memory as I review it for this post.
It was a sunny morning, and although it was cool, one bull seemed to be seeking the shade. Hay was drying on platforms or in trees.
Our first visit, not far from camp, was to the temple dedicated to Guru Rinpoche.
This temple, in addition to holding a teacher's chair, the shrine, and its offerings, encloses a large stone impressed with the thumb- or hand-prints of two kings, and of Guru Rinpoche, who mediated a truce between them. I should mention the two universal features of temple etiquette. One, take your shoes off. Stocking feet are OK, and I often wore two layers to defeat the chill. Two, photographs are not allowed inside the temple building itself (courtyards are fine). It turns out that Nabji is within one of the areas of Bhutan for which Google Maps has high-resolution images. View Larger Map Here's a good view looking down the valley as we descended towards the river.
Inscribed stones are all that remain of an ancient stupa; little is known about its original location.
Jen found the hollow of this tree to be a perfect fit.
As we hiked down, we were often passed by villagers also on their way to Korphu. A ceremony performed at prescribed intervals for a recently deceased person was taking place at the temple there. Soon we reached the bridge across the Chamkar Chu and reached the other flank of the valley.
It was a steep climb up to Korphu, with plenty of switchbacks. Tsewang did give us opportunies to catch our breath, thankfully. My next photograph is looking uphill into the beginnings of Korphu village.
You may notice the interesting artwork at the first level of the house in front. I've been postponing this topic, but if you're still with me after a week in Bhutan, you're ready. You will see these exuberant phallus paintings on Bhutanese houses; they are commonly considered a sign of protection, derived from the stories of Drukpa Kinley/Kunley, the Divine Madman of the 15th Century, who is supposed to have subdued evil spirits using his phallus as a weapon. Some scholars point out that the phallic presence in Bhutanese culture considerably antedates the Divine Madman. Whatever its origins, it is omnipresent and not pornographic. I leave further exploration of this topic to you and Google; however, more such photos will appear. They are part of the landscape. (We will visit the temple dedicated to the Divine Madman in a few days.) Another house is decorated with swords of wisdom and the animals of the four directions (snow lion, garuda bird, dragon, and tiger).
Here we are about to enter the 'main street' of Korphu, with the temple courtyard just beyond the portal.
The kids appeared, and we and they had fun with the photos. Jen and Jillian got us started.
Once you've snapped their picture, the kids dash up to see how they look.
Some were sitting on the second level and just watching.
Through the doorway was the courtyard of the temple where the CFMRD (Ceremony for Family Member Recently Departed) was being conducted. We were allowed to peek inside, but there was no photography. After a while we walked down an elevated path on our way to the camp.
The campsite is one more good climb above the actual Korphu townsite. I paused to take a picture looking back, partway up.
And here's multi-level camping, as seen from our tent. For some reason they put Joan and me far away from everybody else ...
After lunch we had time to explore Korphu. On the way down, I made a quick clip of this long column of prayer flags. If you turn your sound way up, you may hear them rustling in the breeze.
Our first stop, if I recall correctly, was the cooking house for the CFMRD. The family of the deceased, as part of sponsoring the ceremony, supplies great quantities of food to the monks and attendees. Here a large sack of rice is being poured into a cauldron of boiling water.
The merit from the generosity of the family is dedicated entirely to the deceased person, benefiting him or her in the next life. I understand that a few of the poorest people in Bhutan, such as the transient road workers, have converted to Christianity to avoid the financial burden of traditional Bhutanese Buddhist ceremonies such as this. Next we visited the house of our local Korphu guide, Karma. We took off our shoes, sat down, and were offered ara. This was, I should note, our second encounter with ara, distilled liquor, or, having grown up in Tennessee, what I would call moonshine or white lightning. We had sipped at our first cup last night after dinner, in Nabji camp, and been introduced to ara etiquette. You always appear take a sip or three, but it isn't necessary to actually drink if you don't want to -- going through the motions to be polite is good. Being cautious Westerners, if the cup looks like it had water of unknown provenance sitting in the bottom as the ara was poured, we would not ingest. At Nabji camp and here at Karma's house, we did ingest, and everything was fine. Also, you always allow the host to add a second splash to the cup, even if you aren't really drinking. And at Nabji camp we learned that -- at least for informal campfire drinking -- one is supposed to come up with a one-word description after the first sip, such as "sweet" or "strong" or "bitter." Traditionally, the word you utter describes the housewife who brewed the stuff. I did find that ara was smoother than the white lightnin' I remember. It can be made from anything fermentable; grains or fruits are often used. After leaving Karma's house we paused in the temple courtyard, and encountered a fellow who conversed earnestly with Tsewang. Soon we were headed down the block to his house for snacks (the Bhutanese equivalent of nuts and chips) and, yes, ara. Monks were at work creating tormas (elaborate sculptures of flour, butter, and coloring) in preparation for a house blessing to be held tomorrow. It turns out that our gentleman host was a previous headman of Korphu village who now lived in Trongsa. He and every family member who possibly could came back to the old family home in Korphu to host an annual blessing ceremony, usually held during the slow winter season. This is a strong tradition all over Bhutan. In his front yard a musical instrument for tomorrow was propped up against the fence.
After this visit, it was time to hike back up to camp and have supper. The clouds that had built up over the mountains every afternoon had gotten even thicker today, and while supper was being prepared, a gentle rain began to fall. It did not interfere with dinner, nor, as it continued to soften, with another wonderful facet of our Korphu experience. A dozen or so young ladies from the village came to the campsite, wearing their good kiras and, by firelight, began to perform several traditional songs and dances. The rain stopped. After several dances they urged us to join them, and even to a dancing-impaired person (me) it was clear that participating was the thing to do. It was tough to follow the dance steps, even though they were not complicated, because I couldn't see their feet. The kiras obscured the only clues for us novices! At one point, the girls suggested that we show them a dance. Here I must give credit to Jim and Jillian, as Joan and I were drawing a blank: we did the hokey-pokey, most assuredly not a folk dance, but fascinating and amusing to our dancers. Then, it was time to retire. It was Christmas Eve.
