#25 - Bhutan (1983) Part III

The original Hotel Mothitang sat at the end of a forest road winding up through farmland from Thimphu.  My spartan room was "heated" by two small electric coil heaters which cast a red glow providing warmth for anyone sitting within a foot.  It was February; freezing in the outside shade.  I had two heaters in my room and wore my down coat, down pants, down slippers and gloves in an attempt to stay warm. As far as I could tell, I was the only guest in the large hotel.

Our hike began from the hotel next morning, crossed a stream and followed a dirt path up through the forest toward Phajoding Monastery (11,500').  It look out from a hillside high above Thimphu.  According to sources today, Phojoding Monastery was one of the richest and most decorated monasteries in Bhutan. We departed around 8am and passed a mani wall marking the Monastery grounds by 1130.  We had our packed lunch on the steps of the Monastery, then I wandered the grounds.  My guide and driver approached while I was observing some wall paintings, said they would meet me at the hotel and walked off.  Shortly thereafter, I turned to retrace my steps, but could not find them.  I was on my second solo hike in Bhutan.

Late afternoon, back at the hotel, the two places that provided some warmth were the dining room and the lounge.  I could relax in these two rooms without wearing my down jacked and down pants.

"Dinner for one, please."

Of course, they knew that already.  I had no problem getting a table for dinner nor did my meal take much time to prepare and serve. Perhaps there were advantages to being the only guest.  After dinner, I wasn't interested in curling up in bed wearing my down clothes, so I looked for the lounge.

It was quiet with low lights.  A man, dressed in a grey Gho with white shirt, sat on one of the colorful wool covered benches along the wall.  He looked up when I entered and invited me to sit with him.  He introduced himself, asked my thoughts about Bhutan and, during our conversation, casually mentioned that he was a member of Bhutan's Court.

"Do you know about the Black-Necked Crane?" he inquired.

"I'm aware of cranes, but I haven't heard of a Black-Necked Crane." I replied.

"Would you like to see some?" he asked.

"Of course, I would." I responded.

Next morning, Dasho Paljor Jigme Dorji (known fondly as Dasho Benji) picked me up at the hotel in his land cruiser and we made the two day drive to the black-necked crane winter roosting grounds in the Phobjika valley.  We spent the night in a farmhouse overlooking the valley and, next morning with binoculars, observed the cranes feeding in the frosty fields.  I learned several years later that Dasho Benji was an advisor to King Jigme Singye Wangchuck, was Bhutan's 1st High Court Chief Justice, founded the Royal Society for the Protection of Nature in 1987, co-authored "The Middle Path" (Bhutan's first National Environmental Strategy) and founded both the Bhutan Ornithological Society and Bhutan Ecological Society.

On my departure day from Bhutan, at breakfast, I was invited to come out onto a flat sunny grass patch in front of the hotel.  I was directed to the one chair.  Soon the clash of cymbals introduced a parade of dancers circling in front of me.  I sat spellbound for the 30 minute masked dance performance for this audience of one.  I was struck by the beauty of the stag dancer's masks and, afterward, asked the leader if such a mask was available anywhere for purchase.  He invited me to their warehouse studio in town and asked me to pick the mask that I wanted from the row of stag masks on their practice room wall.

Our plane taxied down the runway and lifted off through the narrow Paro valley, across farmer's brown winter fields and over the 12,000' passes toward Kolkata India.  I left Bhutan, stag mask at my side, wanting to return.

And I did. I will share a few of those visits in future posts.

Trashigang Tshechu

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"A photograph shatters the glass between present and past."

"Photography books are to adults what illustrated books are to children."

"A photograph is a bullet shot from the past into the present."

Omar Khan, Forward to In the Shadows of the Himalayas (2005)

#26 - Bhutan Part III - Trashigang Tshechu

https://www.youtube.com/embed/rYodPyCwCH0

#24 - Bhutan (1983) Part II

1983. February, Cold, 7332'

My guide, driver and I departed the hotel around 0730 for the hour drive on the narrow two lane road into Paro town and out the other side toward Taktsang Monastery.  There weren't many cars on the road in winter 1983 and we met only by a few pack horses and folks walking into town.  After a half hour driving up the valley on the main road, we came to a small turn off which cars or trucks could use to allow larger vehicles coming in the opposite direction to get passed.  The trailhead up to Taktsang Monastery began on the main road at this point. I stepped out of our vehicle and my guide walked around the back for our day packs.  He grabbed mine, handed it to me, pointed to the trailhead and pointed to Taktsang Monastery clinging to the hillside at 10,678'.

"Have a good hike.  We will see you at 3" the driver and guide remarked before they turned the car toward town. 

"Taktsang, the 'tiger's lair,' gets its name from the story of its foundation.  In the eighth century, Guru Rinpoche came to Taktsang in a miraculous manner, flying on the back of a tigress from Khenpajong in the region of Kurtoe.  According to Bhutanese tradition, the tigress was a form taken by one of the Master's consorts for the occasion.  Guru Rinpoche meditated for three months in a cave at Taktsang and converted the Paro valley to Buddhism.  In his terrifying form of Dorje Droloe, Guru Rinpoche used the religious cycle of the Kagye to subjugate the Eight Categories of Evil Spirits during his stay at Taktsang." Bhutan - Francoise Pommaret 

In Pommaret's book, she states "the fact that the access path to the complex of temples called Taktsang Pelphug is scarcely visible makes its location all the more impressive." Her next sentence states, "for people unaccustomed to the altitude it takes about three hours at an average walking speed to reach the temples."  I am not sure if Ms Pommaret had hiked to the temples before writing that statement, but it took me more than three hours on a trail without guidance or signage.

After crossing a swinging bridge over a river, the ascent began past some villager's houses, through a forest of oak, pine and rhododendron, then reached level ground crowded by prayer flags, where the trail spit to the right or continued upward.  The tea house on the right path had (and still has) a spectacular view of the Monastery. Returning to the main trail, a steep ascent to another level section ended at prayer flags along the cliff edge above Taktsang.  A narrow path on the cliff face continued to the left, crossed a frozen stream in a ravine  toward a ladder with steep steps straight up to the Taktsang Monastery entrance.

We met at 230.  Our drive to Thimphu took three hours on a very narrow winding road, strewn with small boulders in several sections. 

Taktsang Monastery (1982/1983)

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In the monastery courtyard, a red-robed monk was dancing.  His movements were studies, trance-like.  He dipped and turned, balancing on one foot and then the other.  His open arms moved in slow motion as his hands traced studied patterns in the air.  He was barefoot; it was winter.  he seemed oblivious to everything the senses might register except perhaps for the rhythmic skishhhh, skishhhh, skishhh of the small cymbals played by a fellow monk a few yards away under the cloistered porch.
                                                                                                               So Close to Heaven, Barbara Crossette 
 

#23 - Bhutan? (~1977 & 1982/1983) Part I

Everyone had left the dinner party, except Doug, Dean and myself.  We were sitting in the back yard under the trees.  I had, already, agreed to the Royalty Belgium book delivery.

It was a quiet night.

"Bhutan,"  uttered Dean.

"Bhutan? What or where is that?" I asked.

"Buddhist Kingdom. The Himalayas....near Nepal and Tibet.  Newly opened," Dean replied.

I had never heard of it. Both Doug and Dean had.

We made a vow - who could be the first to visit Bhutan.

Doug came in first, traveling with his mother.  I came in second traveling alone.  Dean never made it.

Spring 1982 by road. February 1983 by Drukair from Kolkata.  These two trips are muddled in my mind, so I will take poetic license.  Incidents from both become one.

For history's sake, the land approach to Bhutan began from Bagdogra, India.  I was met by a guide from BTC (Bhutan Travel Corporation), the only inbound travel organization in Bhutan at the time.  We drove to the border town of Phuentsholing where I spent the night in a 1* hotel.  Next morning, the drive continued to Paro over a fairly rough winding road on which we were delayed multiple times by landslides.  Our length of time on the road - extreme.

Drukair began service to Paro from Kolkata in February 1983.  Their first or second flight included the captain, co-captain, a stewardess and two passengers - myself and a Buddhist monk.  We flew in a Dornier Do 228 19 passenger aircraft which climbed slowly out of the Kolkata airport, across the northern plains of India into the foothills of Bhutan and through the mountain passes.  The brown terraced hills were higher than the airplane.  I could look down through the windows on villagers sitting on their porches and in their barren fields and across to the snow-clad Himalayas (Dornier windows are under the wings).  The monk chanted prayers throughout the flight (I assumed they were prayers). We landed, sped down the tarmac, turned around slowly and rolled to a stop.

The monk climbed down the steps, was greeted by a car and drove off.  The stewardess, pilot and co-pilot climbed down the steps, were greeted by a car and drove off.  I climbed down the steps and stood on the tarmac.  No car greeting.  Airplane, runway and I...that was it.  No customs. No passport control. No airport.

The silence was broken by a vehicle approaching down the runway which stopped about 20 feet away.  The driver got out, removed and set down a table and chair from the back of the vehicle, beckoned me forward, stamped my passport, folded the table and chair, returned them to the back of the vehicle, and drove off.

I had officially arrived in Bhutan.

Soon, another vehicle drove down the runway and stopped.  I was greeted by my guide.  We drove to the hillside Hotel Olathang outside Paro town where I was given a 2nd floor room.  I had two twin beds and placed my backpack on one and fell asleep on the other.  During the night, I was joined by mice (or were they rats????) who ate a hole in my backpack and consumed my candy bars.

Tomorrow morning - A Hike to Taktsang Monastery (the Tiger's Nest).  

Taktsang Monastery from distance (1982/1983)

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"One can hardly imagine we are on the main trade route into Bhutan from India.  Today the road has been so bad that literally I have seldom been across worse places when after Ibex in Baltistan.  Riding was out of the question, and the mules had men in front and men hanging on to their tails hoisting them over the worst places.  Even then thee mules must be more like goats to find any foothold at all.  The march was only 12 miles long today but it took us nearly eight hours to negotiate.  The scenery was very fine, when we could take our eyes off the road to admire it, the hills on either side towering for thousands of feet above one, and where not of sheer rock, were densely wooded."  
                                 Captain Hyslop, In the Shadows of the Himalayas,  Kurt Meyer & Pamela Duel Meyer

#22 - Folkways - A Brief, Condensed History Part II

09/11

The impact of this event upon the American psyche is beyond question.  Afterward, American's traveling around home or overseas maintained a constant awareness of their movement within crowds and on transportation systems.

I don't ever remember experiencing such quietness while standing outside.  Air traffic was abruptly stopped - the skies were empty.  Few people were driving on the streets.  The air was hauntingly still.

And so was the telephone.....until the cancellations began.  Every program covering the next two years was cancelled.

Back to the beginning.

Working alone. 

I had a desk, a chair and a computer with plenty of letterhead on Word as well as envelopes and stamps.  And an email list of previous travelers, along with on-the-ground contacts around the world. And files of previous treks, hikes and safaris in Nepal, India, Bhutan, Tibet, Sikkim, Patagonia, Pakistan, East Africa, South America, Botswana and Europe.  And a nice office view.

It was time to pause and wait.

Perhaps, stay small.

After a year or more pause, Mazamas was interested in a club Outing to trek in Patagonia, followed by a couple treks in Nepal.  A birding trip to Bhutan was requested as well as several Bhutan cultural day hikes.  A safari to South Africa and Botswana gained interest.   An opportunity to become reacquainted with folks in Burma allowed a cultural hiking journey to evolve.  In order to simplify office life, Folkways Institute was dissolved and Folkways Travel remained.  A selective yearly travel schedule without staff to support provided time to design and develop truly unique international experiences that could be affordable for small groups of interested travelers.

And so it remains...

Inquisitive Youth - Annapurna Region (1979)

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                   To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heavens:

                      ² A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; 

                      ³ A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

                      ⁴ A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

                      ⁵ A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time 

                     to refrain from embracing;

                     ⁶ A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

                     ⁷ A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

                    ⁸ A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

                                                                    Ecclesiastes 3 (KJV)