April 24, 2012 - Bhutan
"Beaver one, beaver all, let's all do the beaver call!" Fifteen grown women stuck their front teeth out and made little chewing noises. By the end of the song, our honoree, Judy, was looking at us like we were crazy. Perhaps we were, but how often does a girl get to celebrate her 74th birthday in Bhutan? We were ready to go all out to make Judy feel special.
Judy near the entrance of Jigme Dorji National Park when she was just a young lass of 73.
Judy's day had been special from the start. We took the morning off from biking and instead hiked across Phobjikha Valley to the Gangtey Goemba monastery and temple. Despite dodging cow patties, the walk through the flat rice and/or buckwheat paddies was very pleasant. I'm not sure any of us were entirely clear on the actual location of our destination. There was a beautiful gilded building sitting in the middle of the fields that we thought perhaps was the temple, but we skirted wide around it and continued on. I never did find out why this lovely building was sitting in the middle of the fields.
The local cows did have a lovely view. Perhaps that's a fancy cow byre?
Our group on its mini-trek. As always, I'm at the back.
As with all paths in Bhutan, this one eventually began going uphill. Despite the clenching in my chest, I was in my element wandering through the open woods. (I'd experience similar clenching, very painful, in the middle of my chest as we drove up to over 10,000 feet yesterday. I assume it was a reaction to the altitude. I can only assume the sensation today was from having to breathe deeply, even though I wasn't as at such high altitude.) My physical prowess, and I suspect that of most of my companions, was put to shame by a family we encountered, the adults heavily laden with loads of wood.
The little boy was delighted to get a few Nu for letting us take his photo.
I loved this stone wall that led into town. It was too high to see over; I'm not sure what it was keeping out/in.
After a final steep climb, we reached the town built up around this temple devoted to the Tibetan style of Buddhism. Yeshey told us that Tibetan Buddhists are "yellow hat" followers whose leader is the Dalai Lama. The Tibetan abbots literally wear yellow hats. Bhutanese abbots, however, wear red hats, and so Bhutanese are "red hat" followers. Their leader is the Chief Abbot of Bhutan (the current Chief Abbot is the 68th). Other than the difference in hat color, I wasn't able to note any significant difference between this temple and the others we'd seen. By this time I was pretty confident I could independently identify the main features of any temple: statues of the Lord Buddha, the Second Lord Buddha (Guru Rinpoche), and the bearded man who had united the individual fiefdoms of Bhutan; the 11-headed, thousand-armed Buddha of Compassion; the seven bowls of water given as a gift to Buddha (because anyone can afford to give water); the peacock feather-topped ewer of holy water (the feathers were thought to draw out poisons so that feuding leaders could be confident when tasting the water); and so on and on.
Entrance to the Gangtey Goemba temple.
These flags were different than others we'd seen. Unfortunately, with them blowing in the wind, you can't see the images on them.
I'd love to find a catalogue of Bhutanese deities so I could know who they all are.
Nothing is private when your monastery is a tourist site.
We received another blessing at this temple, although not with anything as unusual as penises. Yeshey tied around each of our necks a string that had been blessed by the monastery's monks. The recipient is supposed to wear the string until it comes off on its own, or at least three days. Since the ones we received appear to be made of brightly dyed nylon, it's unlikely they'll wear off in any reasonable amount of time. Once removed, the strings are not to be thrown away, but instead should be tied around a tree. I assume that leaving it in some other special place would be acceptable, too. If the snow ever goes away, I intend to take mine up to Thompson Pass and leave it under a small cairn.
The bus met us at the temple (yes, we could have driven there). After a spot of tea and bisquits, we took ourselves off the the top of the same pass we'd ridden down yesterday to get to Phobjikha Valley. Today we rode the other direction to Wangdue. Both days there was a very cold wind blowing on the pass. I was grateful to have my raincoat to use as a windbreaker. Yeshey was going to ride with us, but declared the wind blowing up his gho to be too cold. Poor boy!
It doesn't look like the most comfortable riding costume, does it? Yeshey's not even as strong as the Fourth King (he's maybe 60), who regularly rides in his gho.
At some point in time we caught another glimpse of snowy peaks. They never ceased to cause a thrill.
We saw yaks again shortly after we left the pass. There were two hanging out on the road near a spot where it was safe to pull over and stop, so several of us took advantage of this photo opportunity. Vicky kept edging closer and closer to the white-faced yak in the photo below until it finally turned quickly toward her and started to move. I don't believe I've ever seen anyone jump with a bicycle before! I chose to have my photo taken from a distance and with a zoom lens.
At the end of the day, I was in heaven. If I could have taken last night's room and put it in tonight's location, it would have been perfect. Of course, our room at the Kichu Resort was nice, too, but it didn't have the rustic, homey feel of last night's. We were situated right on the edge of a river, I think the Dang Chhu. If it weren't for the red bottle brush plant right off of our deck, it could have been a glacial river in Alaska. As much as I love our home in Valdez, I'd trade it away for a place on water, any kind of water (except maybe a mosquito-infested swamp).
After a lovely vegetarian dinner buffet (the resort owner's son is a Rinpoche - high level Buddhist monk - so no meat is served), we were treated to a birthday cake in Judy's honor, complete with candles (the digits 7 and 4, not 74 candles). We were excited to get a sweet treat, and were disappointed that we didn't. The Bhutanese don't really seem to bake. The bread we had for toast at breakfasts was imported for westerners, and bore too strong a resemblance to Wonder white. I never saw any other sort of baked good except at a small bakery in Paro that was clearly a novelty shop. Judy's cake looked beautiful. It had white frosting with colored flowers, and said, "Happy Birthday Miss Judy..." (I don't remember all the words). Upon eating, however, it proved to be dry and crumbly, as if it were baked with Bisquick or something similar, and not sweet. The frosting was not sweet, either, and also had an odd texture I can't quite describe. It was a welcome novel experience, but didn't come close to satisfying a sweet tooth. Judy seemed pleased at all the attention, even if we did serenade her with a beaver song. The other restaurant patrons appeared to be highly amused.
