Bhutan - Superstition, daily life and great groups

May06

The last 2 months in Bhutan were great, we were strolling through the buerokratic jungle and the winter like mountains, everything is slow and cumbersomely...

I have read a book on superstition in Bhutanese daily life, I am not marvelling anymore. If one really wants to go for all the signs and act accordingly one can't do anything else anymore. And I have heard many scuh stories from good friends also. First U have to check if it is an auspicious day for your plannings – which is usually not the case – then U have to see if the astrological singns don't counteract with the specific work – which is usually the case – but if everything seems to be allright and then one coincidentially (I don't believe in coincidents) passes an empty milkcan, everything was in vain and the day or plan is under a bad star.

Some of the stories are explainable, some are just strange as this one: A pregnant woman shouldn't step over a rope with which a horse is tied as she would be pregnant not only for 9 months but as the horse for 12 months. Talking with many friends showed me one thing: many of them say, that it's all nonsense, but some things one should believe, specially the ones that happend to him/herself... .

In this book was also mentioned, that one should talk about needles and nails when suffering from a hickup. Maybe once I will try!

After arriving in teariness, additionally shocked by the luxury I live in now – geezer, beds, guestrooms, washing machine, micro wave, freezer, car and a cleaning woman – I am quite well now, but still sometimes staring in the hole of past, where only I see a face from the valleys, from where only I hear a playing sitar or smell a fresh walnut bread.

After the fully integrated, warm life in the valleys I feel a little lonley amongst the cool Bhutanese people, who don't even hug eachother for hello or shake hands.

But this feeling was gone when the Tyrolean group arrived. A funny, warm hearted crowd. Soon we came along much better ,much more intensive than the usual "tour guide – group-relation". First they bribed me with Speck (smoked meat from my contry), Parmesan cheese (the one which is usually melting on top of Italian spaghetti), Schnaps (a destilled alcohol made of either fruit or grain in my country Austria) and chocolate. But soon this was not necessary anymore. I enjoyed the time with these 8 people, though there was quite a lot of work to do as they came with an Indian bus overland to Bhutan and the driver happend to have forgotten his ID card at home. The worst thing that could happen to Bhutan were Indians without ID who might go astray and stay illegal in the country. Though we ensured to chain him to his seat as it was also not our wish to see him diss,olving in the air like the national saint Guru Rimpoche the officers gave us a hard time. Finally, with a lot of help from great people we managed to proceed – at every single checkpost and there a many of them!

During the long busrides we were not only talking about Bhutanese history and Buddhist iconography, but also about personal things, along with a great portion of humor. Many of them were interested in Pakistan and the Kalash, so I told a lot – I guess too much – but I was happy to talk with country fellows on my personal experiences there. At the end of their trip, when they handed over an envelope to the driver and the guide, there was a 3rd one for the Kalash. I was really haoppy about it and I guess even more happy will be the people in the valleys.

But that was not the end. I got big bags full of useful things and medicine to take along to Paksitan and somethings for myself - like chocolate, which would melt in Lahore's incredible heat.

What I myself am most happy about is, that they got friends and we will meet again.

At the same time there was another group from Vienna, the capitol of Austria. After the fist meeting on CheleLa Pass, where the first bottle of sparkling wine was opened, I heard statments like: "oh, the Viennese.." by the Tyroleans and "well, the Tyroleans..." by the Viennese. Clichees in Austria. But, and I hope none of them feels humiliated, I found out both groups were great.

With the Viennese we couldn't go for the opera, but to the cinema in Thimphu. The posters promised the first Bhutaneses produktion with a Western main character. A friend told us what we will have to expect not to be left alone with Dzongkha and off we went. Great fun, really great fun. Michael, an artificially blonde giant with brown beard and die-away glance got lost on a trek up to Laya, a part of which we would also go with the group. After 2 more or less terrifying nights in the forests, in an area where it is hard to step aside, he hurts his leg. Unable to move he starts pathetically crying "Help me!" repeatedly, which got the motiv for our own trek. And surprise, surprise, he is found by a beautiful yak herder lady who treats him for some days to regain strenght and health. Many minutes are killed with verbal misunderstandings as they both don't speak the others language. As he finally admits his love (I love U), she hands him over a radish (lovup in Dzongkha). But they are lucky, her sister, who speaks English appears on the scene, clarifies the misunderstandings with a lot of laughter and finally succeeds in bringing them toghether. The sisters' stagecraft was surpassing Mike's for a good part, his painful cries when one tried to touch his leg allowed the thought of a pornostar. He really got the job in Bhutanese way. The original actor refused on last leg and recommended his friend.

So Mike is sitting on green pastures between yaks and girls, flirting and in well health after a while. In the meantime on sees the tour operator who organises the army to search the forest in single file. Eventually the 3 get caught, he is taken away by force under tears but it would not be copied from Bollywood if there were no croony songs and a Happyend. What finds place in a few lines here (I did't skip anything} takes 3 hrs at the cinema, maybe a little more due to some poweer outages.

The Bhutanese audience was sometimes quite astonished, when we chilips (Westerners) always started laughing at the saddest or most heroic scenes. Who has ever see a bollywood movie knows why, the others should not waste time and watch one!

Well, at least we knew how to act if something goes wrong on the trek. Roam the forest, cry "Help me!", then the beautiful yak herder would come for rescue.

Before we started I assured myself if there was one who did not want to be searched if he/she got lost, but rather go for the Laya pastures...

With the help of only a horseman in stead of cook and assistants Martin and me went first from Bumthang to Ngaglhakhang, where we pitched the camp and went to meet the group on half way coming from Ugyen Choling in the next valley. Through rain and snow we marched through colourful rhododendron forest, one hand in the warming coat, in the other one a rope. We had to take one of the horses along for lunch. It was not as stubborn as feared, jumped happily across stones and roots and was the first one to scent he packhorses of the approaching group.
After a cold night we had to remove snow from the tents, even when we left the camp it was still snowing a lot. But the group was pretty well, shipping the wet snow away with a big smile on the face.

As an award for all these anemities the preordered birthday cake for one of the guests had really arrived at the next hotel in Punakha, though this settlement is not really acknowledged for good patisserie. A bottle of sparkling wine found it's way up from thimphu – we had experience, as out of the 10 guests 4 were celebrating their birthdays during the 3 weeks trip.

From Punakha Mo Chu Valley another trek started up to Gasa and down to the hot springs, where I have not been before myself. This time we had no snow, but daily rain. The path to the Dzong, which most of the time seem near enough to touch throning on the opposite ridge, is winding in and out side valleys and gorges for 5 hrs and finally does an impressive tiring climb up to the last district center without road access at the bottom of the fortress. The advent of electricity last November is clearly visible, the naked bulbs are proudly alight day and night on the verandas.

The path and then the campsite at the TsaChhu was occupied by an army of leeches but none of us was attcked. I found some approaching my shoes from the frontside and whiped them of with my sticks – if they would be a little more clever, they'd try it from the back side, there I have no eyes.

In the early morning the sound of "brother Jakob" reached my ears through the thin tentskin – are you sleeping? Along with the group there was a member of the "Wiener Philharmoniker", a famous classic orchestre. He was hornist and had a easy transport- and packable travelhorn made of a soft plastic pipe and a funnel with the original mouthpiece. All the kids were highly interested and amused, the monks who play a kind of long horn were impressed. Playing Radetzky he announced the commence of the last trekking day.

The nice sound consoled our minds which were worreid about the dirt near the hotsprings, unusable, incredibly dirty toilets and the rubbish which is thrown everywhere. The graffiti on big stones, talking of clean nature and avoiding pollution has not yet penetrated the Buthanese minds.

Back in Punakha again we had to dry everything, but still everyone was laughing.

Probably because of this and their open mind, Guru Rimpoche had strewn some diamonds between the raindrops to please this group. Exciting views from CheleLa to the Bhutanese Himalayas, colourful maskdances and a thohdrol (huge thangkha) at the closing ceremony at Paro TseChu, relaxing hot baths between leeches, funny birthday parties in remote places, a new born baby takin, romantic picnics near the riverside, a private invitation to a farmhouse on the trek and an abundance of rhododendren as colour spots in grey rainy weather.

Again this group left a lot behind, not only the smile on our faces when we remember them. I will go for the Kalash Valleys with overload and a lot of plans for new projects.

After their departure it got more quiet again, but work had not finished. Martin is writing a guide book on Bhutan for which I help to collect facts and edit legends. Both is not really easy here. For every theme there a re more than 2 legends and facts... what was that again?

Not even the size of the country is the same in all sources, how should it work with yearly changing parameters? A little help is the recently published Census of Bhutan which contains the first official population count. Most of the resulst are still not out, but at least we know, that there are (not as mentioned in the CIA fact book 2,2mio or 1 mio) not as the 5 year old estimate of 740.000 are spread over mountains and jungle but only 634.982. The statistic per head in come increased – what a surprise – which made some Bhutanese experts state: "There will be a fictional rise of GDP per capita in Bhutan, but this does not mean that our income will increase today because of the census results"

After some 2 weeks of fact searching – and sometimes even finding another group arrived and we planned to join the for a 2 weeks trek. They started at Paro, we took the alternative route up to Lingshi from Dhodena near Thimphu. It was quite difficult to pursuade a horse man to join as it was Cordyceps season. Cordyceps is a symbiosis of a worm or caterpillar and a fungus. If the fungus gets in contact with the worm it will start growing from it's head. Bhutanese say, in Winter it is an animal, in summer a plant. This thing however is said to have healing power, for overall health, stamina, allegedly agains tuberkolosis and cancer and – what makes Chinese most interested: sexual power. It's called a natural viagra. What the Bhutanese excites most is it's value. For one peace they get around 1 EUR or even more, but only during the official collecting time which is 4 weeks long and starts in mid May. If they are experienced they find around 10 a day. You need good eyes and a lot of time.

Our horse man was only accepting after long discussions and a high price. But he was worth it, a nice man, and a good cook, taking care of things which is not really common.

5 minutes after leaving, a small cute dog was walking next to us, sometimes a little a head, but always around.Maybe the horsemans dog? He couldn't speak English nor Hindi/Urdu, but he made clear it was not his dog. So we feeded him a little, called him Wasti and I guess this was enough for him to see us as his new family. He joined the whole trek long, guarding the tents at night, running around us during the days. Never nasty, never barking except animals approached the tents at night, which was fine.

We reached Lingshi a day early, the horseman was happy – he could go for h is Cordyceps now. We stayed a day at the camp below Lingshi Dzong after crossing the first high pass the day before. I had expected it to be harder, but it was quite an easy walk up crossing yak pastures, passing small lakes and finally descending from the 4850m pass on a slippery snow field. Wasti had allegedly never seen snow before and was behaving like a new born goat. Jumping, catching snowballs. Rolling around.

So we waited in Linghsi I was about to tell. At that camp there had been one of the few houses for trekking crews. They had been built along this route to shelter staff and kitchen. 3 years ago ithad still been used. Then the caretaker was killed by a bear and the Lingshi people dismanteled the house. Everything usable was gone. Now there are only stone heaps left.

As the group arrived the other day, Wasti was even more friendly with them – they had Austrian "wurst" with them, precessed and dried spicy meat saussages. He was sleeping in front of their tent from then on. Only 2 of 4 came, the other couple had had to descent because of altutude sickness. Sometimes it happens, that the body can't adjust at all. After 4 days with puls over 120, the lady decided to go back from 3500m, as the path was even climbing higher. Her husband joined her. So we were left with the 2nd couple, experienced trekkers and great card players from Austria.

The next day led us through Lingshi village and other small beautiful settlements with stone houses. Most of them are owned by yak herders and still inhabitet, the nomadic season was only about to start. They would leave their houses, shut everything and move with their animals from pasture to pasture. As temporary shelter a thick cloth of yak wool or a modern plastic sheet would be fixed on a small stone wall.

But we still met people in these dwellings. With the feeling of turned back time we strolled through them, seeing fresh yakskins, dried meat, the last bunches of stored hay and straw, dirty but healthy looking children playing with even dirtier calves, old women sitting in the sun spinning wool. Though it was raining again – like every day – we enjoyed a lot. To interesting are experiences like these to get turned down by unpleasant weather.
Our camp we pitched near one of these villages at Chebisa. A small stream coming from the end of the valley separated our settlement from theirs, but we explored every corner and were awarded with a gorgeous waterfall at the end, where is also a little eremitage for meditation. What a place. At night I was amazed to see small lights – bulbs. What I haven't seen in my excitement the last afternoon were small solar paneels on each roof – made in China, as almost everything here. The area is much easier reachable from Tibet than from the rest of Bhutan. It took us already 5 days and there were 6 more to go back to the road on the other side. For locals it might be a little less, but nothing to compare with 1-2 days to Tibet. From Laya it would even be only 6 hrs by foot.

Each day now a pass was to be climbed up, the last before Laya took us even above the 5000m line. In rain and hail we slowly made our way up to be greeted by snowcovered prayerflags on the top. It was a quite tough path, and I was watching the small hail corns jumping back from the stones like gum. With this view it was almost kind of meditative, one more step, 1000 more little ice balls. The air was thin up there, we – the lady and me – were the 2nd group to reach the top wet from top to toe. Her husband was already up there, climbing even higher on some rocks ascending left from the pass.

The weather made us leave after a few minutes and some pictures – now view as on all the other passes. Anyway, we were hungry and descending fast to find the cook who should wait with packed lunch somewhere. In the dense fog we suddenly saw a small red spot – the cook's jacket and went towards it as I heard a sudden: "Look up left! Wow!" I raised my eyes and found us presented with the most magnificent view of Great Tiger Mountain, who gazed through the fog. It's top surrounded by clouds, but slowly coming out. Once again I thought how ridiculous it was to complain about bad weather, wet cloths, steep climbs or what so ever. Nature alone can offer gifts like this and with eyes lowered to the ground because of rain you won't even see them. Sun joined us, soon we were dry again and the mountain grew bigger and bigger with every second of disappering fog. Would we have also been that happy if we had have sun and views like this every day? I guess not.

We sat down to eat some noodles from the hotcase, Wasti joined and slept right away. On the other side of the pass he had been chasing Blue Sheep for more than one hour up and downhill, making them cross our path more than once right in front of us. A welcomed close sight of these rare mountain animals.

At the camp it was raining again, but no worries – we were playing cards in the dining tent with tea and rum which made us warm soon. Wasti was again sleeping after some bites of "wurst" and chicken soup with rice.

It was always fascinating how fast vegetation was changing while crossing the altitude lines up and down. From thickest cedar forest, juniper bushes, rhododendren in pink, red, yellow, white and orange and small shrubs to grass land and back. The treeline is at 4200 meters here, but a variety of tiny flowers and moss one finds everywhere. And further down the abundance of flowers in all colours creates a fairy land around you. Magenta and yellow primulas, blue Iris, green and dark red Himalayan Lotus, and thousands of (to me) unknown kinds. I felt like I was walking in a dragon's wonderland.

Coming towards Laya we saw many people, man and women on "Mission Cordyceps". To me it seemed like a Mission Impossible. Sitting in the grass, staring and waiting to see one of moving slightly strange. There only we came to know, that this caterpillar or worm is underground, just the small fungus is out and looks like an around 2 inch long dried grasshalm, a be a bit thicker. The worm is still alive and is moving underground a little bit (not crawling around, but maybe turning or twisting) and this one has to see...

At a yak herders tent – one of the few families which had already started to move up to the high pastures – we were offered some for treating one of the babies against bad cough. It was sitting outside, without shoes, without socks but with the clearly visible signs of a bad cold hanging from it's nose. Mom and grandmom, both Layaps with their beautiful thick black yak skirts and unique bamboo hats with an erected piece of carved wood on top and serveral strings of plastic beads to keep it on the head were happy and proud and invited us for butter tea and biscuits. That's one of many beauties on trekking in Bhutan. Yak hearders are warmhearted, giving people who one understands without words. I remembered my first trek in Bhutan 3 years ago when I had also been invited by a yak herder. We couldn't speak a word, but though it was not uncomfortable to sit there for almost an hour, her warm smile and open body language was almost the same as the one of these Layaps. They curiously inspected my Kalash bracelets of plastic beads – which I had never taken off since I left the valleys - as they resembled the ones on their hat. I remembered another one at home, so I gave the 2 which I had to them. Their eyes lightened even more up and another 3 Cordyceps worms were put in my hands.

Approaching Laya a few days later, which is embedded in green hills on 3800m in front of a background of snowcovered mountains we saw many new houses, a lot of Chinese goods and our tired horses. All the result of Cordyceps. For few years now the collection of this animal plant is legal and the Layaps are hard working for their profit which they need for the new houses and the Chinese goods – there is even a road from the Tibetan side to the Bhutanese border, so only six hours walking for fancy shoes, solar panels, Pullovers and beer. The tired horses are another story. Though they were booked for the group from Paro to Damji for the whole distance of the trek, the horseman had started complaining about tired horses, long days and what so ever. In Laya they wanted to turn back. Though it were only 2 more days to go and the way back over the mountains was much tougher, they had another excuse: We are too young, we have never done the lower, easy way back to Paro from Damji. All these excuses finally allowed them to go back via the Cordyceps covered high mountains – the horses running ahead...

We had to find new means of transport and Laya people are as said good business men – and they knew we had no other chance, so they charged triple prices.

On the outskirts of Laya we visited a small school where Layap students were memorizing english texts – methods are not really advanced even here, but there are enough rooms, a teacher for each class, food for the boarding students provided by government and UNICEF.

The little girls in their traditional clothes, the thick yak skirt, a nice shirt and the woven bamboo hat had all the signs of the natural beauty of mountain people. Big dark eyes, high cheek bones and an enchanting smile.

After the first beer for the ones who like it we stumbled down to the army camp to spend another night with playing cards, eating "wurst" and delicious products of the camping kitchen. Sometimes it was funny, what the cook made out of what we had bought with completely different thoughts, but I guess if you would give rice, a lot of chilis and cheese to a Westerner, none of them would create Ema Datshi with out reciepe.

Many bought items we never saw on the trek – they were presumably sold to someone for betterment of the cook's financial situation.

A last climb down to leech territory and up again on stony or muddy paths led us through rain and sunshine on the last pass on 3900m just to rapidly descend again to Gasa on 2900m, where we pitched the last camp.

The other couple, which had spent some nice days around Paro, Thimphu and Punakha came up the 5 hrs from Damji that day to join us for the last camp night. As the staff team had some internal troubles we had to cook at a small restaurant in Gasa city, where we had already been with the last group. Martin and me didn't pitch the tent as it was wet anyway but slept on the floor in this cosy restaurant. Wasti, the dog, aside me taking the better part of available space, but he seemed to be happy. For some days we had been talking about what to do with him at the road end where our cars would wait. Still it was not decided.

In the morning we went down to the road head, with a smiling an crying eye. Though the weather had not been much better than in monsoon time it was a great trek and we were happy, that all the group members felt the same. Going back to "civilization" has always been difficult.

Wasti came along and after cleaning him from all leeches he sat at my feet on the codrivers seat. He was brave, but as it was his first ride, he vomited after speeding up the car leaving the bumpy road behind.

At the near hotel we parted from the group and went back home to Thimphu. Wasti's look said clearly where he wanted to go, so he sat again at my feet – I was happy but a little bit concerned how he would feel in Thimphu after we both left.

I was covered in blood as the leech bites did't stop bleeding for hours. His face on my legs with a look that said: "I am more than afraid, but if you say it's Ok, I will stand it!"

Sometimes we both felt a sleep for some seconds and after 2 hours I could open the door to set him free at his new home.

The houseowners dog, who is a really nice, calm, lazy brown animal was more then upset. I tried to greet him first, but as he smelt the blood he wouldn't come near me again, barking half the night.

Wasti carefully stepped inside the house, I brought him to one of the bathrooms, made some rice with chicken soup and found him asleep on the soft carpet. He hungrily swallowed his food and fell back in the same position with out moving till the next morning.

His first exploration of the garden was suspiciously watched by the second dog, but soon they faced each other nose to nose with wagging tails – friends. The houseowner even asked to keep the dog as it seemed to be a good watch dog, calm, not barking but knowing of how to protect something. He was given a little demonstration when I pitched the still wet tent in the garden to dry it under the sunrays. Wasti must have thought we are on the trek again and protected the tent – agains the brown dog that did't know what happened to him. His friend turned into enemy? But the tent was dry soon and their friendship restored.
I was more than happy to know that Wasti would have a great place to stay and I will see him again after returning here. Though it was not easy to leave him there. He understood well that I would leave and was howling. Martin writes now, that he was searching me in the beginning, but found many friends outside the garden – the dog gang, but doesn't (or has not yet) joined them on their tours. He just sits at the corner of his new house. No one has ever told him to come, stay do this or that, but he seems to know what he wants.

The group has gone on to Bumthang, where they will stay at the Swiss Guesthouse, which is the first place in Bhutan to offer draft beer. Mr. Maurer, the Swiss guy I was sometimes writing about – the one who initialized projects like bee keeping, weissbeer, gouda cheese, the Bukhari stove, a mechanican training and Chrueter (destilled herbs alcohol)has handed over the guesthouse to his son who just came back from the Swiss army. With his Bhutanese wife he runs the Guesthouse. In the Swiss army he was cook and he learned logistics and an effective way of organising things – sometihng which makes him quite outstanding here. Additional he has selfmade speck (smocked pork meat), real bread, Swiss Roesti, Raclette, Fondue and Berner Teller on his menu and in summer time he is out in the forests to collect strawberries for jam.

His German is broken, but he speaks fluently Swiss German, Bumthangkha and Dzongkha. A funny mixture. While talking with him on the last visit, i got hickup so I started talking: "Maybe you know – hicks – this Bhutanese – hick – book about superstition. It says – hick – that one should talk – hick – about nails and needles if he has hickup, so do you mind if I tell you something about needles? Or do you somewhere have a nail?

I had not noticed, but the hickup was already gone. It's all nonsense, but some things one should believe, specially the ones that happend to myself...

Some pics again, the ID is isa_friegs, Password acchigom

Bhutan Trek pics