Haircut day in Thimphu
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Friday, July 22, 2005
Indian Scissorshands
After the scolding by the headmistress, we wondered if our boys needed a haircut. Well, they needed it anyway, and this was a convenient opportunity to check out the spangled and fascinating barbershop we often pass in the center of town. It's called "Lalon Thakur Saloon" (all barbershops here misspell themselves as saloons) and three barbers from India work constantly with large silver scissors (we mean LARGE) with the speed and accuracy of Edward Scissorshands. Jamtsho warned us about taking our children there, because hair would fly everywhere, but we wanted the local flavor and passed by the ones with posted advertisements for hair products and went to the one where the Indian workers go.
Haircuts cost 30 Nu (75 cents) and take about 3 minutes, but as you can see, with an excellent result. It starts with the BIG scissors and a comb, with a sharp rapid snicking sound, and hair flying everywhere as promised. It even includes the use of a long-handled single-edge razorblade dragged along your neck and around your ears to clean up, and it ends with being powdered with talc in the back of the neck and then whacked smartly with the towel several times, talc clouds rising over the chair.
The boys had haircuts simultaneously in the three chairs by the three different barbers, who talked to each other in Hindi all the while - not a single word of English was exchanged in the entire experience. The room is festooned with mylar garlands in bright colors, posters of hairstyles from the early 1980s with Indian models, and seems busy both day and night with hardly an empty chair, ever.
Haircuts cost 30 Nu (75 cents) and take about 3 minutes, but as you can see, with an excellent result. It starts with the BIG scissors and a comb, with a sharp rapid snicking sound, and hair flying everywhere as promised. It even includes the use of a long-handled single-edge razorblade dragged along your neck and around your ears to clean up, and it ends with being powdered with talc in the back of the neck and then whacked smartly with the towel several times, talc clouds rising over the chair.
The boys had haircuts simultaneously in the three chairs by the three different barbers, who talked to each other in Hindi all the while - not a single word of English was exchanged in the entire experience. The room is festooned with mylar garlands in bright colors, posters of hairstyles from the early 1980s with Indian models, and seems busy both day and night with hardly an empty chair, ever.
School Notes
This week the children have been in school and have regaled us with stories at the end of each day that highlight just how different the educational system is from what we are accustomed to in the US. Mostly this is very good, as the point was to expose them to different experiences, ideas, and expectations. They have learned a lot in one week and have covered some material, particularly in math, that they hadn't seen at home. Given the practical bent of the education, for example, Thompson's 6th-class "maths" for the week have been to calculate simple compound interest and net profit/loss.
On Thursday, each child was offered an iron pill in class by the teacher. Every child takes one, issued by the school, once a week. Schools are also arenas of public health, religious instruction, and indoctrination into national ideals. The sheer number of students in the school is impressive. We estimate at least a thousand in the school between the grades of PP (Pre-Primary) and 8. [Chagangka is one of 31 schools in Thimphu - Kuensel this week says there are 21,000 students in the Thimphu school district.] Class size is 25-30 students per class. I spoke at some length to Madam Karma, Halle's teacher and in her small classroom with barely enough room for her desk and four low square tables there are 24, but she said she often has closer to 40, and one year when they were short on teachers she instructed 63 in that space. Thompson says each room is issued the same amount of chalk, but that his class is running low - the teacher says this is due to the students not taking care of the chalk and that they won't go "begging" to other rooms for more chalk (I guess we know what our parting gift to his teacher will be) - he also describes that one game he plays to amuse himself is tossing his pen up through the holes in the table and catching it.
Discipline is impressive. Shame is a major teaching technique, and I heard the headmistress dress down the entire school body for infractions such as wearing hair too long (boys), failing to be considerate, not giving enough attention to studies, not returning school equipment, not eating a proper breakfast before coming to school, and ignoring other "rules and regulations" by which they are expected to abide. Children are often told how naughty they are, especially boys.
Each of our children has had stories to tell about discipline and shaming in their classrooms - very eye-opening. In Halle's class, the "naughty boy" was hauled before the teacher by his ear. In Jacob's class, children who fidget with pencils are made to stand up and pull their ears. Today he recounted that while the teacher went to the latrine, the class got "restless" and the class captain took initiative and went around "beating everyone with a stick," Jacob included. Jacob felt that since he was talking, he deserved this. Apparently the teacher approved of the class captain's actions. Jacob has been concerned that he hasn't received the same discipline as other children earlier in the week ("Why are they singling me out?") and so he was a little proud of his beating, though clearly uncomfortable with telling us all the details of it. In Forrest's class, he said the teacher told them she wasn't going to issue any beatings, but would take away marks instead if people were naughty. We have heard stories of children having their knuckles rapped for incorrect answers. In Halle's little PP class, she got to sing the "American version" of the alphabet song, which ends "Now I know my ABCs, Next time won't you sing with me." The teacher thought this was charming.... turns out that the final two lines of the one they sing in her class are "Please, Madam, don't beat me/ Now I know my ABC." I'm not making this up. She said she hoped no one in the US would sue them if they heard this version. For Thompson, who continues to have a nose in a book much of the time, his teacher commented approvingly (and in front of everyone) that he likes to read "storybooks," while most of the other boys "only know how to eat and poop."
Jacob's homework one day this week was to make sentences using words given in English dictation, including one that stumped him completely: Diwali (the Hindu Festival of Lights). In a lesson about the seasons which he carefully copied into his notebook, he learned that spring is "when we go to school," summer is "when we get muddy water," in autumn "we go to tsechu in the dzong" (the big annual religious festivals in each dzong district) and in winter "we use bukhari" (the indoor woodstove which is the primary method of home heating). He faithfully copied without a clue what these words meant.
I pick up Halle an hour before the others get out, and she has a couple of standard after-school games to play with the kids who congregate around her: one that involves picking buds and making "stew," and lots of hopscotch. They all know her as Sonam Pelden there, even her teacher. I think every kid in school knows Jacob, though when he told one person his name, something got a little lost in translation and the child repeated, "Chicken?" When we get home, a train of kids (the engine of which is Thinley of course) appear at our house for snacks, drinks, running through our house and amusing themselves with our sets of watercolors and blank paper.
On Thursday, each child was offered an iron pill in class by the teacher. Every child takes one, issued by the school, once a week. Schools are also arenas of public health, religious instruction, and indoctrination into national ideals. The sheer number of students in the school is impressive. We estimate at least a thousand in the school between the grades of PP (Pre-Primary) and 8. [Chagangka is one of 31 schools in Thimphu - Kuensel this week says there are 21,000 students in the Thimphu school district.] Class size is 25-30 students per class. I spoke at some length to Madam Karma, Halle's teacher and in her small classroom with barely enough room for her desk and four low square tables there are 24, but she said she often has closer to 40, and one year when they were short on teachers she instructed 63 in that space. Thompson says each room is issued the same amount of chalk, but that his class is running low - the teacher says this is due to the students not taking care of the chalk and that they won't go "begging" to other rooms for more chalk (I guess we know what our parting gift to his teacher will be) - he also describes that one game he plays to amuse himself is tossing his pen up through the holes in the table and catching it.
Discipline is impressive. Shame is a major teaching technique, and I heard the headmistress dress down the entire school body for infractions such as wearing hair too long (boys), failing to be considerate, not giving enough attention to studies, not returning school equipment, not eating a proper breakfast before coming to school, and ignoring other "rules and regulations" by which they are expected to abide. Children are often told how naughty they are, especially boys.
Each of our children has had stories to tell about discipline and shaming in their classrooms - very eye-opening. In Halle's class, the "naughty boy" was hauled before the teacher by his ear. In Jacob's class, children who fidget with pencils are made to stand up and pull their ears. Today he recounted that while the teacher went to the latrine, the class got "restless" and the class captain took initiative and went around "beating everyone with a stick," Jacob included. Jacob felt that since he was talking, he deserved this. Apparently the teacher approved of the class captain's actions. Jacob has been concerned that he hasn't received the same discipline as other children earlier in the week ("Why are they singling me out?") and so he was a little proud of his beating, though clearly uncomfortable with telling us all the details of it. In Forrest's class, he said the teacher told them she wasn't going to issue any beatings, but would take away marks instead if people were naughty. We have heard stories of children having their knuckles rapped for incorrect answers. In Halle's little PP class, she got to sing the "American version" of the alphabet song, which ends "Now I know my ABCs, Next time won't you sing with me." The teacher thought this was charming.... turns out that the final two lines of the one they sing in her class are "Please, Madam, don't beat me/ Now I know my ABC." I'm not making this up. She said she hoped no one in the US would sue them if they heard this version. For Thompson, who continues to have a nose in a book much of the time, his teacher commented approvingly (and in front of everyone) that he likes to read "storybooks," while most of the other boys "only know how to eat and poop."
Jacob's homework one day this week was to make sentences using words given in English dictation, including one that stumped him completely: Diwali (the Hindu Festival of Lights). In a lesson about the seasons which he carefully copied into his notebook, he learned that spring is "when we go to school," summer is "when we get muddy water," in autumn "we go to tsechu in the dzong" (the big annual religious festivals in each dzong district) and in winter "we use bukhari" (the indoor woodstove which is the primary method of home heating). He faithfully copied without a clue what these words meant.
I pick up Halle an hour before the others get out, and she has a couple of standard after-school games to play with the kids who congregate around her: one that involves picking buds and making "stew," and lots of hopscotch. They all know her as Sonam Pelden there, even her teacher. I think every kid in school knows Jacob, though when he told one person his name, something got a little lost in translation and the child repeated, "Chicken?" When we get home, a train of kids (the engine of which is Thinley of course) appear at our house for snacks, drinks, running through our house and amusing themselves with our sets of watercolors and blank paper.
Surgical Log - Week Four
This has been a pretty challenging week for surgical cases. I will give you just a few of the highlights:
On Monday, I showed up in the operating room and was asked to go into one of the rooms to do the case. It was a man who was already asleep, so I couldn't examine him. His chart had minimal information but it turns out that his hip was dislocated a month and a half previously in a motor vehicle accident. When he was seen initially, X-rays were taken just of his thigh, missing the hip dislocation completely. In general, we like to reduce (i.e. put back in place) hip dislocations within a matter of hours; 6 weeks is certainly less than optimal. It was scarred in place, so I had to make a big open incision to reposition it. His hip socket was completely replaced with scar tissue. Even when I got it back in position, it kept popping out, so I put him in traction after the surgery, and so far everything looks good.
I also treated a young boy with a tibia (shin) fracture where the bone was protruding. He had been treated with a puja (i.e. a religious healing ceremony) only and came in with gross infection. I have also operated on three small children this week with near-amputations of their fingers - fortunately all are doing well so far.
I have been a little disappointed this week at the level of cleanliness in the operating room. We certainly don't have a sterile environment yet and at times it's not even clean. I had hoped that by now (HVO has been sending volunteers here since 1993) we could make more progress in this area. I had to compete with aggressive flies in the wound on most cases I did this week. It's not just the presence of the flies, it's also having to stop and swat them away which is bothersome. We also ran out of surgical gowns and even the surgical drapes a couple days this week, and I did one case in surgical scrubs and gloves but without a sterile gown, with minimal draping. Other examples include seeing a surgical tech washing her muddy feet in the scrub sink, using our only bar of soap for the day. I then had to use that same bar of soap to prepare for my next case. Also I had an anesthesiologist reach into the operative field to reposition the patient.
Today I needed fluoroscopy to pin an open fracture of the hand. The monitor for the fluoroscopy unit could not be moved from another room, so each time I wanted to view an image I had to go out into the hall to see it. My other challenge today was that the two other surgeons both disappeared. As government workers, they are occasionally called away to meetings and take whatever leave is due them, regardless of the surgical or clinic schedule or patient needs. So today, I was responsible for seeing all 70 patients in the outpatient clinic, doing two emergency surgeries, and giving a lecture to 15 physical therapy students on shoulder injuries and treatment. I would be okay with this, except that all three events were happening simultaneously.
On Monday, I showed up in the operating room and was asked to go into one of the rooms to do the case. It was a man who was already asleep, so I couldn't examine him. His chart had minimal information but it turns out that his hip was dislocated a month and a half previously in a motor vehicle accident. When he was seen initially, X-rays were taken just of his thigh, missing the hip dislocation completely. In general, we like to reduce (i.e. put back in place) hip dislocations within a matter of hours; 6 weeks is certainly less than optimal. It was scarred in place, so I had to make a big open incision to reposition it. His hip socket was completely replaced with scar tissue. Even when I got it back in position, it kept popping out, so I put him in traction after the surgery, and so far everything looks good.
I also treated a young boy with a tibia (shin) fracture where the bone was protruding. He had been treated with a puja (i.e. a religious healing ceremony) only and came in with gross infection. I have also operated on three small children this week with near-amputations of their fingers - fortunately all are doing well so far.
I have been a little disappointed this week at the level of cleanliness in the operating room. We certainly don't have a sterile environment yet and at times it's not even clean. I had hoped that by now (HVO has been sending volunteers here since 1993) we could make more progress in this area. I had to compete with aggressive flies in the wound on most cases I did this week. It's not just the presence of the flies, it's also having to stop and swat them away which is bothersome. We also ran out of surgical gowns and even the surgical drapes a couple days this week, and I did one case in surgical scrubs and gloves but without a sterile gown, with minimal draping. Other examples include seeing a surgical tech washing her muddy feet in the scrub sink, using our only bar of soap for the day. I then had to use that same bar of soap to prepare for my next case. Also I had an anesthesiologist reach into the operative field to reposition the patient.
Today I needed fluoroscopy to pin an open fracture of the hand. The monitor for the fluoroscopy unit could not be moved from another room, so each time I wanted to view an image I had to go out into the hall to see it. My other challenge today was that the two other surgeons both disappeared. As government workers, they are occasionally called away to meetings and take whatever leave is due them, regardless of the surgical or clinic schedule or patient needs. So today, I was responsible for seeing all 70 patients in the outpatient clinic, doing two emergency surgeries, and giving a lecture to 15 physical therapy students on shoulder injuries and treatment. I would be okay with this, except that all three events were happening simultaneously.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Faces of Bhutan #2: on my run this afternoon, these three children were playing in the ditch in the running water, and laughed themselves even sillier when they saw this image on my digital camera.
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Small Mercies and Word Problems
Halle wakes up in the night with extreme gastric distress - vomiting, diarrhea - necessitating a change of sheets, clothing, and a midnight shower. The clothes and sheets must be washed in buckets. How does Ratna do this every day? I wonder as I scrub, soak, and suds things in the bathtub in the middle of the night. I am a bucket-laundry novice and she re-does it for me with patience later in the morning while Don and I are nursing Halle with Sprite, a Thai orange-colored sugar drink called Beeber, and strong American antibiotics - all of which work by the late morning. She stayed home from school today, but will go back tomorrow. By late afternoon she is running around outside as if last night never happened. Likely culprit: I'm guessing the cream filling in an unrefrigerated cream puff from the bakery which she ate yesterday. Or peeing in the bushes at school with no handwashing.
Ratna is in and out being helpful while Halle lies on the couch and watches Animal Planet channel - Ratna works in our home from about 10 until the early afternoon Monday through Saturday. She is employed by the hospital to look after the HVO house. She washes the dishes, the clothes, the floors, shakes the carpets and the tablecloth, hangs the laundry on the line, frets over the job that the sickle-wielding hospital grounds men are doing cutting the grass. She is from southern Bhutan so her accent is a little different - she is married, and divorced, with one son aged 11. She divorced her husband years ago because he took a third wife (she was number 2). Today I asked her how old she was, and was startled to hear that she was only 29. I confess she looks older. She told me that her parents, aunts, uncles, were all dead by 53 and there is no one in her family older than her generation.
While were were sitting, watching Halle drink Beeber and thankfully keep it down, she asks me if I have a dishwashing machine at my home. She asks me what it looks like, and to explain how it works. I give a rough discussion of how my dishwasher works, and she just sighs, and says she has heard of them, but never seen one in this country.
From Forrest's math book: ostensibly a lesson on fractional numbers, but actually quite revealing about daily life in Bhutan, too:
--Thukten covered 2/5 of his journey by road, 3/10 by mule, and the rest on foot. How much of his journey did he cover on foot?
--Rinzin lives 3 and 4/7 km away from the school while Gyeltshen lives 4 and 3/10 km away from the school. Who lives farther from the school and by how much?
--Nima had 6 and 3/4 litres of petrol in his scooter tank in the morning. In the evening he had only 1 2/5 litres of petrol in the tank. How much petrol was used by Nima during the day?
Ratna is in and out being helpful while Halle lies on the couch and watches Animal Planet channel - Ratna works in our home from about 10 until the early afternoon Monday through Saturday. She is employed by the hospital to look after the HVO house. She washes the dishes, the clothes, the floors, shakes the carpets and the tablecloth, hangs the laundry on the line, frets over the job that the sickle-wielding hospital grounds men are doing cutting the grass. She is from southern Bhutan so her accent is a little different - she is married, and divorced, with one son aged 11. She divorced her husband years ago because he took a third wife (she was number 2). Today I asked her how old she was, and was startled to hear that she was only 29. I confess she looks older. She told me that her parents, aunts, uncles, were all dead by 53 and there is no one in her family older than her generation.
While were were sitting, watching Halle drink Beeber and thankfully keep it down, she asks me if I have a dishwashing machine at my home. She asks me what it looks like, and to explain how it works. I give a rough discussion of how my dishwasher works, and she just sighs, and says she has heard of them, but never seen one in this country.
From Forrest's math book: ostensibly a lesson on fractional numbers, but actually quite revealing about daily life in Bhutan, too:
--Thukten covered 2/5 of his journey by road, 3/10 by mule, and the rest on foot. How much of his journey did he cover on foot?
--Rinzin lives 3 and 4/7 km away from the school while Gyeltshen lives 4 and 3/10 km away from the school. Who lives farther from the school and by how much?
--Nima had 6 and 3/4 litres of petrol in his scooter tank in the morning. In the evening he had only 1 2/5 litres of petrol in the tank. How much petrol was used by Nima during the day?
House View #1 - front door, daylilies, hollyhocks, etc. The triple window is in the LR, the high one is the kitchen and the next triple window is Thompson and Forrest's room. Roof is sturdy corrugated tin - loud when the kids toss green apples onto it to roll down, and there are pigeons nesting in the eaves making cloo-cloo sounds in the morning.
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House view #2: front door with its semi-permanent resident dogs on the doorstep (Shadow and Polo), and the day's washing on the lines. Prayer wheel to the right of the door, you spin it when you walk in.
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Tuesday, July 19, 2005
School (While On) Vacation
You heard from Thompson's perspective, so we thought we'd add something about the other kids and from what we saw. This was especially meaningful because Halle's first day of school happened here in Bhutan, months before her US school debut. July 18 was the first day back at school for the second term... because the schools are not heated, they don't go in the winter. Instead the school year runs from March to June, exams at the end of June, and then second term from July until sometime as winter approaches. We arrived in Thimphu on the day after exams, and all the schoolchildren have been on 2-week holiday. We decided to place them in school for the start of second term, even though it only means two weeks of instruction, and we signed them up with the headmistress of Thinley's school (to which the June HVO volunteer kids had gone & also the current PT's teenaged boys), Chagangkha School. We purchased uniforms: boys = green gho, white cuffs, navy socks, black shoes. Halle = green kira, red blouse, black jacket, blue socks, black shoes, black hair tie. We outfitted them with blank notebooks and narrow pencilboxes for their pencils, and tiffins - lunchboxes on a strap which contain two round stainless steel tins with lids about the size of tuna cans.
The first day of school Don and I both walked them all the way there - Don arranged to be late to work so he could catch the events of the first day and see the school. The sidewalks during the half-hour (brisk) walk there were full of groups of students of all ages in their uniforms - there are several different schools in this part of Thimphu and the uniforms are all different and the kids looked smartly turned out and adorable. Even the little ones seem to walk to school without adults - there are no crossing guards at the corners - just groups of kids, even tiny ones, independently walking to school.
We were moved and impressed by morning assembly - Don had been to one for Jamtsho's sister a few years ago, so knew that the students lined up and stood at attention when ordered by the school captains, and that house prefects walked along the lines keeping order, and that the entire body placed their palms together as the flag salute and sang the mournful, sweet Bhutanese anthem with heads bowed. It's quite a sight to behold, especially with our children's blond/brown heads bobbing deep in the crowd. One has to be prompt arriving at 8:30 for morning work assignments, and then the bell summons the students and teachers to the assembly at 8:40. Dismissal for Halle is at 2 and for the boys at 3:05, so it's a good long day.
Halle is in "P.P." for Pre-Primary, and both her class and Jacob's are in the oldest building, with very small classrooms, low tables, dim lighting, and tiny plastic chairs. Halle's teacher, Madam Karma, asked me to provide a chair, so I bought one at one of the little hardware stores on the first day and carried it around with me on my errands until I got back up to the school to pick her up. They play outside the building in a large yard mostly remarkable for its dust and lack of vegetation. Halle had a wonderful first day. She was dusty and breathless with excitement when I picked her up. I had been worried that she wouldn't handle the in-floor latrines well, but when I asked her if she had gone to the bathroom during school, she just replied, "Oh, my friends took me, and we peed in the bushes." Imagine that at home; I don't think so! Jacob was instantly taken in by a gang of boys who squire him around with their arms around his shoulders and has had a great time - including his carefully copies Dzongkha lessons. I notice his teacher corrects his capitalization and spelling and doesn't let him get away with poorly formed letters. Excellent.
As for the older boys, their classrooms are spare, crowded, and they sit at narrow desks, two to a desk, on four-legged backless stools. Luckily there are at least two breaks to go outdoors and run around. Their subjects are English, Math, Science, Social Studies, Dzongkha, and Gardening. I love the idea of the last one. Each class has a garden to maintain, and today when I picked up Halle I watched both boys out at work in their respective gardens: learning to use a small hand hoe, plucking weeds by hand, watering the flowers (which for Forrest meant hauling the water from a faraway spigot on the other side of the campus in an old cooking-oil container, along with several other boys who were practicing spitting through their teeth), etc.
In one of Thompson's classes they were assigned to correct the exams that had been taken two weeks before, and the homework was to copy over the exam in one's book with corrected answers. Thinley came over to do homework with Thompson (her schoolgirl crush is a sight to behold) and he made short work of the exam, even though it contained some material he hadn't had yet - some pre-physics concepts like potential energy, and some biology concepts like pregnancy and prenatal health. It turns out this morning that he was the only one in the class who actually had copied over the whole exam for homework, even though some of his answers were a bit creative. For example, the question, "What is contraception?" his answer was "Contraception is a symbiotic connection between an insect and a parasite with mutualistic after effects," showing his parents' lack of discussion with him on this issue - and then turned bright red when we explained the real answer.
One of the things I enjoy about walking the kids to school and picking them up again (besides that it gets me out walking for over an hour each way) is watching the children in their neat little uniforms, playing the simplest of games in the courtyard: double-dutch jump rope, a kind of variation of marbles using pebbles called "ten-stone" popular in Jacob's grade, pickup soccer with rocks for goals, tag - all without any apparent adult supervision. No playground monitors, almost zero equipment, lots of creativity.
The first day of school Don and I both walked them all the way there - Don arranged to be late to work so he could catch the events of the first day and see the school. The sidewalks during the half-hour (brisk) walk there were full of groups of students of all ages in their uniforms - there are several different schools in this part of Thimphu and the uniforms are all different and the kids looked smartly turned out and adorable. Even the little ones seem to walk to school without adults - there are no crossing guards at the corners - just groups of kids, even tiny ones, independently walking to school.
We were moved and impressed by morning assembly - Don had been to one for Jamtsho's sister a few years ago, so knew that the students lined up and stood at attention when ordered by the school captains, and that house prefects walked along the lines keeping order, and that the entire body placed their palms together as the flag salute and sang the mournful, sweet Bhutanese anthem with heads bowed. It's quite a sight to behold, especially with our children's blond/brown heads bobbing deep in the crowd. One has to be prompt arriving at 8:30 for morning work assignments, and then the bell summons the students and teachers to the assembly at 8:40. Dismissal for Halle is at 2 and for the boys at 3:05, so it's a good long day.
Halle is in "P.P." for Pre-Primary, and both her class and Jacob's are in the oldest building, with very small classrooms, low tables, dim lighting, and tiny plastic chairs. Halle's teacher, Madam Karma, asked me to provide a chair, so I bought one at one of the little hardware stores on the first day and carried it around with me on my errands until I got back up to the school to pick her up. They play outside the building in a large yard mostly remarkable for its dust and lack of vegetation. Halle had a wonderful first day. She was dusty and breathless with excitement when I picked her up. I had been worried that she wouldn't handle the in-floor latrines well, but when I asked her if she had gone to the bathroom during school, she just replied, "Oh, my friends took me, and we peed in the bushes." Imagine that at home; I don't think so! Jacob was instantly taken in by a gang of boys who squire him around with their arms around his shoulders and has had a great time - including his carefully copies Dzongkha lessons. I notice his teacher corrects his capitalization and spelling and doesn't let him get away with poorly formed letters. Excellent.
As for the older boys, their classrooms are spare, crowded, and they sit at narrow desks, two to a desk, on four-legged backless stools. Luckily there are at least two breaks to go outdoors and run around. Their subjects are English, Math, Science, Social Studies, Dzongkha, and Gardening. I love the idea of the last one. Each class has a garden to maintain, and today when I picked up Halle I watched both boys out at work in their respective gardens: learning to use a small hand hoe, plucking weeds by hand, watering the flowers (which for Forrest meant hauling the water from a faraway spigot on the other side of the campus in an old cooking-oil container, along with several other boys who were practicing spitting through their teeth), etc.
In one of Thompson's classes they were assigned to correct the exams that had been taken two weeks before, and the homework was to copy over the exam in one's book with corrected answers. Thinley came over to do homework with Thompson (her schoolgirl crush is a sight to behold) and he made short work of the exam, even though it contained some material he hadn't had yet - some pre-physics concepts like potential energy, and some biology concepts like pregnancy and prenatal health. It turns out this morning that he was the only one in the class who actually had copied over the whole exam for homework, even though some of his answers were a bit creative. For example, the question, "What is contraception?" his answer was "Contraception is a symbiotic connection between an insect and a parasite with mutualistic after effects," showing his parents' lack of discussion with him on this issue - and then turned bright red when we explained the real answer.
One of the things I enjoy about walking the kids to school and picking them up again (besides that it gets me out walking for over an hour each way) is watching the children in their neat little uniforms, playing the simplest of games in the courtyard: double-dutch jump rope, a kind of variation of marbles using pebbles called "ten-stone" popular in Jacob's grade, pickup soccer with rocks for goals, tag - all without any apparent adult supervision. No playground monitors, almost zero equipment, lots of creativity.
Tidbits from Tona's Day
--we have water this morning. Didn't have it yesterday - turn on faucet, nothing. So we used the spigot in the yard (different pipe, apparently, from the one that feeds the house). Got promises from the hospital maintenance people to come check it out. Eventual explanation: the water source had been "locked" farther upstream from us, shutting us out of the feed. Hot showers are a good thing, and so is water in the sink for dishes.
--Kellogg's Mango Corn Flakes. Now why can't we have those in the US? Delicious
--Proof of globalization: the only red apples I can buy here are labeled with stickers from Chile. Chile??!!
--When you order something - pastries at a bakery, say, or momos from a restaurant and you want them "to go," here you say "for packing." They usually pack in tinfoil or a bakery box and then wrap that in newspaper. If you buy an article of clothing, they roll it in a piece of newspaper instead of a bag.
--Kellogg's Mango Corn Flakes. Now why can't we have those in the US? Delicious
--Proof of globalization: the only red apples I can buy here are labeled with stickers from Chile. Chile??!!
--When you order something - pastries at a bakery, say, or momos from a restaurant and you want them "to go," here you say "for packing." They usually pack in tinfoil or a bakery box and then wrap that in newspaper. If you buy an article of clothing, they roll it in a piece of newspaper instead of a bag.
The four kids, outfitted with tiffins and pencil boxes and in their school uniform, setting off on the first day of school.
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Thompson's Account of the First Day of School
My parents will write more, but here's from me:
Today was our first day of school (what, you want me to start with something more interesting??). We woke up early in the morning to pack a tiffin, get on a green gho (kira in Halle's case), and put on knee socks and dress shoes. Then we walked down to the Memorial Chorten where we met the other American family's kids, Cy and Graham, to walk to school. The walk takes 35 minutes.
When we arrived at school, we saw a couple hundred other people with green ghos and kiras. Everyone lined up in rows (row of boys, row of girls, alternating) in the schoolyard, facing the flagpole and got addressed by the headmistress. To all her questions, the entire group of children chorused, "Yes Ma'am." Then they placed their hands together and sang the Bhutanese anthem. I was standing next to Cy and neither of us knew what to do. Then the headmistress introduced someone in charge of a health trust fund, which the school had raised 56,000 Nu for, and he gave a long and boring speech on health care policy while we all stood there in line. My back was aching.
Then I went to my 6th class classroom, VI-D, and was scolded by my teacher for bringing in my tiffin. I was supposed to leave it outside the door. In my tiffin, by the way, was fried rice in one container, and in the other a sandwich and a soggy biscuit. My tiffin is purple and has a picture on it of a country farmhouse. I have many teachers, actually, one for English, one for Dzongkha, one for science, one for social studies, one for math, and one for homeroom. Therefore I was introduced six times to the class. In class, I needed to do a lot of copying into my notebook, mostly of corrected exams from last term: an entire science exam from last term, my own English essay, a social studies exam, a math exam, and I learned how to write my name in Dzongkha, and then I did an English exam. All together I used 34 pages out of my new notebook.
At lunch break, halfway through the day, Cy asked me to sit with him for lunch (even though we had offers to sit with many groups of other people), and then later I switched my place in the room upon request from Thinley's group to the "naughty" boy group (which is what the girls call them, I don't know why). They were very friendly to me and helped me during Dzonkha class. During Dzonkha class, we had an interruption by the head boy of the school, who wanted to come in and talk with me about America. I get the impression he can pop in wherever he wants because he was talking about how he had talked with Jacob for a long time too. He wanted to know about my school in America and what sports it offers. This one competes in basketball, volleyball, and table tennis. After which I went to the Dzongkha teacher (who marveled at my English writing) and she showed me how to write my name in dzonkha (while also marveling over the fact the United States speaks English). She was however, very nice and good at speaking English.
While I'm here, I expect to learn many words in Dzongkha and some of the alphabet (today I learned and practiced the first four: Ka, Kha, Ga, and Nga, which sounds like Nyah). I think it's interesting to go to school during my vacation. In the morning we will have to clean the school before assembly and everyone has an assignment, like emptying trash, sweeping the corridors and school yard, weeding or planting the gardens, cleaning classrooms, etc. Maybe I can sign my papers in Stow with my name in Dzongkha - that would be cool.
Today was our first day of school (what, you want me to start with something more interesting??). We woke up early in the morning to pack a tiffin, get on a green gho (kira in Halle's case), and put on knee socks and dress shoes. Then we walked down to the Memorial Chorten where we met the other American family's kids, Cy and Graham, to walk to school. The walk takes 35 minutes.
When we arrived at school, we saw a couple hundred other people with green ghos and kiras. Everyone lined up in rows (row of boys, row of girls, alternating) in the schoolyard, facing the flagpole and got addressed by the headmistress. To all her questions, the entire group of children chorused, "Yes Ma'am." Then they placed their hands together and sang the Bhutanese anthem. I was standing next to Cy and neither of us knew what to do. Then the headmistress introduced someone in charge of a health trust fund, which the school had raised 56,000 Nu for, and he gave a long and boring speech on health care policy while we all stood there in line. My back was aching.
Then I went to my 6th class classroom, VI-D, and was scolded by my teacher for bringing in my tiffin. I was supposed to leave it outside the door. In my tiffin, by the way, was fried rice in one container, and in the other a sandwich and a soggy biscuit. My tiffin is purple and has a picture on it of a country farmhouse. I have many teachers, actually, one for English, one for Dzongkha, one for science, one for social studies, one for math, and one for homeroom. Therefore I was introduced six times to the class. In class, I needed to do a lot of copying into my notebook, mostly of corrected exams from last term: an entire science exam from last term, my own English essay, a social studies exam, a math exam, and I learned how to write my name in Dzongkha, and then I did an English exam. All together I used 34 pages out of my new notebook.
At lunch break, halfway through the day, Cy asked me to sit with him for lunch (even though we had offers to sit with many groups of other people), and then later I switched my place in the room upon request from Thinley's group to the "naughty" boy group (which is what the girls call them, I don't know why). They were very friendly to me and helped me during Dzonkha class. During Dzonkha class, we had an interruption by the head boy of the school, who wanted to come in and talk with me about America. I get the impression he can pop in wherever he wants because he was talking about how he had talked with Jacob for a long time too. He wanted to know about my school in America and what sports it offers. This one competes in basketball, volleyball, and table tennis. After which I went to the Dzongkha teacher (who marveled at my English writing) and she showed me how to write my name in dzonkha (while also marveling over the fact the United States speaks English). She was however, very nice and good at speaking English.
While I'm here, I expect to learn many words in Dzongkha and some of the alphabet (today I learned and practiced the first four: Ka, Kha, Ga, and Nga, which sounds like Nyah). I think it's interesting to go to school during my vacation. In the morning we will have to clean the school before assembly and everyone has an assignment, like emptying trash, sweeping the corridors and school yard, weeding or planting the gardens, cleaning classrooms, etc. Maybe I can sign my papers in Stow with my name in Dzongkha - that would be cool.
Morning assembly at Chagangkha Lower Middle Secondary School, Thimphu - singing the national anthem.
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Monday, July 18, 2005
The kids peering in a window where I am shopping in Wangdi - the shop is too small and crowded for them to come in with me.
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Wangdi Market Day
If you really want to make an impression as an American in Bhutan, evoke comment, and appear as an exotic exhibit, then shop at the weekend market in the cliff-dwelling town of Wangdi Phodrang. Wangdi is known for having had a fastidious district adminstrator, who insisted on streets being clean and who would turn off the town's electricity if it wasn't kept up properly. The town clings to a high promontory over the river, with the dzong perched on the very end of the promontory, and on Sundays there is a busy outdoor market on the hillside. We spend the middle of the day at the market and wandering the main street with its busy shops. There are children buying empty notebooks for the start of school the next day, red-robed monks out doing the shopping, and lots of taxis clustered in the central square. Down in the market the sellers are as interested in us as we are in their wares. There are the kinds of produce seen in Thimphu, though in less quantity, and some that I have not seen: one dark red bud the size and shape of the first appearance of Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors turns out to be a banana flower, and they show us how to peel it (sort of like a giant red endive) and pull out the little flowerets inside, remove the stamens, and then cook them into curry. Well, we are having dinner guests later this week, so we must try this and we buy one.
Back up along the main street, we stroll with our children having sudden fits of shyness and clinging to us, slowing us down so that we look like one giant 6-headed amoeba wending its way along Wangdi's shopfronts. We buy a handful of candy from one of the plastic jars sitting outside of nearly every shop, with individually wrapped pieces: Centerfresh mintgum, Milk-n-Nut (a coconut taffy), and Froote (mango hard candy with a prize wrapped around it). When we ask for a restaurant recommendation, two schoolboys proudly march us to the Kuenga Hotel (hotel in the loose sense here, meaning a public eating establishment), and then join us for the meal upon our urging. Don eats lightly of the stewed beef having seen the meat-house at the weekend market up close. One of the boys has had his money to buy school notebook stolen and is worrying about his mother's scolding. We spring the 50 cents for his two notebooks before taking our leave of Wangdi.
Back up along the main street, we stroll with our children having sudden fits of shyness and clinging to us, slowing us down so that we look like one giant 6-headed amoeba wending its way along Wangdi's shopfronts. We buy a handful of candy from one of the plastic jars sitting outside of nearly every shop, with individually wrapped pieces: Centerfresh mintgum, Milk-n-Nut (a coconut taffy), and Froote (mango hard candy with a prize wrapped around it). When we ask for a restaurant recommendation, two schoolboys proudly march us to the Kuenga Hotel (hotel in the loose sense here, meaning a public eating establishment), and then join us for the meal upon our urging. Don eats lightly of the stewed beef having seen the meat-house at the weekend market up close. One of the boys has had his money to buy school notebook stolen and is worrying about his mother's scolding. We spring the 50 cents for his two notebooks before taking our leave of Wangdi.
Zangtho Pelri
Our weekend trip over the pass to Punakha and Wangdi Phodrang means an hour of winding mountain road up out of Thimphu, including passing through a police checkpoint, to the Dochu La Pass. This is the only route over the north/south range of moutains that cuts Bhutan from its border with India up to its border with Tibet. At 3140 m (around 10,000) Dochu La is clouded in much of the time, including today, and is festooned with prayer flags. There used to be a single large chorten there, but in honor of the king's victory over the terrorists in Southern Bhutan, the queens have commissioned and built 108 chortens on a rounded hill around which all the traffic must flow. We walk around them a number of times and meet the friendly stray dogs padding around at the pass. Then we begin a 2-hour decent on very twisty, narrow & wet roads. Thompson is prone to carsickness (but, oddly, only in Bhutan) and we tell him not to read in the car, but he ignores us and so (natural consequences) even on the ride up to the pass begins to feel ill. On the way down he turns a faint shade of spring green and sits grimly by the van window, making small adjustments in how open the window is. We have to stop a couple of times to let him walk around. Eventually the Dramamine takes effect and we figure out that he doesn't get sick sitting in the front (less bouncing around). Meanwhile the road is dropping fast through semi-tropical rain forest, with primordial ferns and some banana palms, with considerable moisture and some roadside waterfalls. While walking around outside the car, Passang cautions us against leeches.
We reach a cluster of small towns. Don has told Passang we might like to follow the footpath to Chimi Lakhang, an imposing lakhang way out in the open surrounded by green rice fields and small villages. It doesn't look that far away from the road, but it has been raining a lot and once we get out of the car and literally slide off the path because of the 2-inch deep mud, the walk doesn't look like such a simple matter. As we slowly pick our way across the small paths that separate rice paddies, our feet making smucking sounds, the rain picks up a little, and the lakhang, by some illusion of space, seems to be getting farther and farther away. When we finally reach one tiny village downhill, drenched and with muddy cuffs and shoes, we don't seem to be one whit closer to Chimi. We stand for a while under someone's large eaves, watching villagers walk by with large jugs to fill them with water from the one tap in the center of the town. It rains harder. We abandon the plan of going all the way up to the lakhang, and focus all our energies on getting back up to the van through the mud and rice fields... slow, messy, wet progress through the bright green and the rain. Chimi is known for being a pilgrimage site for women whoh are having trouble getting pregnant. I guess this is an unmistakable sign that we are done having children if we can't even get close to the temple at all.
Passang drives us to our hotel, the Zangtho Pelri near Punakha. "Zangtho Pelri" means the heavenly abode of Guru Rinpoche, and it is set high on a hill overlooking the Punakha Chu, very quiet with only birdsong in the lush green trees and the faraway sound of the river... none of the ambient sounds of our home in Thimphu (dogs, construction noise, trucks, Hindi music). We have two rooms in a cottage set on the cliff with nothing below but cowpaths and rice paddies. After we clean up and change into national dress, we go down into the town for some lunch (momos, red rice, dal, some kind of curry, chowmein + sodas = what is becoming a very typical lunch here for us) in a diner with deep piles of dead flies in the corners of the windowscreens. Then we spend the afternoon at Punakha Dzong - I have already written about that - and then head back to hotel. The kids have heard that there is a swimming pool. If so, it would be one of the few in the entire country. There is supposedly an indoor pool in Thimphu, but I have not seen it yet, and swimming is not a common pastime here - the rivers are too swift and the lakes too few, and the ground not level enough hardly anywhere for such a thing to be built. But Zangtho Pelri has one, and the staff even tells us it is open, but I'm glad we didn't change into swimsuits before looking at it - murky and olive green, with insects roiling up from the depths. Only Jacob is disappointed we can't swim in the pool, and cries about it, but Don tells him he'd have to have antibiotics if he went in.
That night, we went to bed in clean sheets thinking how nice it will be to sleep where it's quiet. But you know, it only takes one large noisy fly and two mosquitoes hovering near one's ear but just out of swatting reach to prevent a good night's sleep, and Halle was in bed with us and kept kneeing me in the kidneys from behind - so maybe Guru Rinpoche rests in peace in Zangtho Pelri, but unfortunately not us.
The only other guest at the hotel was a Dasho, the equivalent of a knight in the government, a very trim and gracious man, with his entourage of drivers and guards. We told the children that Dashos are permitted to carry swords and use them with impunity (which is true), and amazingly this worked to keep the noise level down in the kids room; they feared being beheaded without further discussion if the Dasho's sleep were disturbed. We met him in the morning and he seemed rather mild, but we assured the kids that you never know about these things and it's best to be considerate.
We reach a cluster of small towns. Don has told Passang we might like to follow the footpath to Chimi Lakhang, an imposing lakhang way out in the open surrounded by green rice fields and small villages. It doesn't look that far away from the road, but it has been raining a lot and once we get out of the car and literally slide off the path because of the 2-inch deep mud, the walk doesn't look like such a simple matter. As we slowly pick our way across the small paths that separate rice paddies, our feet making smucking sounds, the rain picks up a little, and the lakhang, by some illusion of space, seems to be getting farther and farther away. When we finally reach one tiny village downhill, drenched and with muddy cuffs and shoes, we don't seem to be one whit closer to Chimi. We stand for a while under someone's large eaves, watching villagers walk by with large jugs to fill them with water from the one tap in the center of the town. It rains harder. We abandon the plan of going all the way up to the lakhang, and focus all our energies on getting back up to the van through the mud and rice fields... slow, messy, wet progress through the bright green and the rain. Chimi is known for being a pilgrimage site for women whoh are having trouble getting pregnant. I guess this is an unmistakable sign that we are done having children if we can't even get close to the temple at all.
Passang drives us to our hotel, the Zangtho Pelri near Punakha. "Zangtho Pelri" means the heavenly abode of Guru Rinpoche, and it is set high on a hill overlooking the Punakha Chu, very quiet with only birdsong in the lush green trees and the faraway sound of the river... none of the ambient sounds of our home in Thimphu (dogs, construction noise, trucks, Hindi music). We have two rooms in a cottage set on the cliff with nothing below but cowpaths and rice paddies. After we clean up and change into national dress, we go down into the town for some lunch (momos, red rice, dal, some kind of curry, chowmein + sodas = what is becoming a very typical lunch here for us) in a diner with deep piles of dead flies in the corners of the windowscreens. Then we spend the afternoon at Punakha Dzong - I have already written about that - and then head back to hotel. The kids have heard that there is a swimming pool. If so, it would be one of the few in the entire country. There is supposedly an indoor pool in Thimphu, but I have not seen it yet, and swimming is not a common pastime here - the rivers are too swift and the lakes too few, and the ground not level enough hardly anywhere for such a thing to be built. But Zangtho Pelri has one, and the staff even tells us it is open, but I'm glad we didn't change into swimsuits before looking at it - murky and olive green, with insects roiling up from the depths. Only Jacob is disappointed we can't swim in the pool, and cries about it, but Don tells him he'd have to have antibiotics if he went in.
That night, we went to bed in clean sheets thinking how nice it will be to sleep where it's quiet. But you know, it only takes one large noisy fly and two mosquitoes hovering near one's ear but just out of swatting reach to prevent a good night's sleep, and Halle was in bed with us and kept kneeing me in the kidneys from behind - so maybe Guru Rinpoche rests in peace in Zangtho Pelri, but unfortunately not us.
The only other guest at the hotel was a Dasho, the equivalent of a knight in the government, a very trim and gracious man, with his entourage of drivers and guards. We told the children that Dashos are permitted to carry swords and use them with impunity (which is true), and amazingly this worked to keep the noise level down in the kids room; they feared being beheaded without further discussion if the Dasho's sleep were disturbed. We met him in the morning and he seemed rather mild, but we assured the kids that you never know about these things and it's best to be considerate.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Hangen family in national dress in front of Punakha Dzong on the day of cremation of Je Khenpo, 6/16/05
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The three boys making the crossing over to Punakha dzong on the footbridge (shaky, shaky)
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Cremation of a Je Khenpo
Two Sundays ago, we visited the Royal Botanical Garden and walked out a path to its terminus at a large wooden picnic pavilion with a roof. From this vantage point we could see out across a deep green gully. On the far hill was a yellow-roofed lakhang and it was decorated with buntings and banners, which we could see flapping in the breeze even from this great distance. Thinley told us that one of the retired Je Khenpos had died and that his body was lying there in state. She told us that his body had not decayed nor would it, because of his great holiness. The state religion of Bhutan is officially the Drukpa Kagyu lineage of Himalayan Buddhism (according to my Lonely Planet guidebook), and its highest religious leader at any given time is the Je Khenpo who serves for a period of 5 years. This retired Je Khenpo was considered a very holy man, and his body had been lying in state for some time since his death in early June.
On Saturday we took the opportunity to take a weekend trip out of Thimphu, over a high moutain pass and down into a neighboring valley called Punakha - this is the winter home of the National Assembly and the monastic body. We hired the implacable Passang and his comfortable Toyota van to drive us there. This turned out to be a very auspicious weekend to be in Punakha, because the body of the Je Khenpo also made the journey over the high pass and down to Punakha, to be cremated at the dzong there.
We arrived at Punakha dzong, situated at the confluence of two rivers, mid-afternoon. It is not accessible by vehicle, but only by a gently swaying wooden footbridge suspended over the swift-flowing wide Mo Chu River, draped in fluttering prayer flags. Our dzong permits passed inspection and Don had put on his white kabney with some help from Passang, and we were admitted into the courtyard where the ceremony, it seemed, had just concluded. Sweepers with short-handled twig brooms were coming along and sweeping up the wrappers and the dust and leaves. Special ceremonial tents had been constructed in the courtyard, four of them surrounding a central tent with a dzong-like tin roof and turret. Inside this central tent, with red carpeting, flowers, bowls and tables piled high with offerings, and elaborate tormas (butter sculptures), was a central podium shaped with a Tibetan chorten. People were circling this central podium, so we joined the clockwise flow and slowly made our way around the tent, and then around the offerings inside the tent. Two monks were handing out reprinted photographs of the late Je Khenpo, His Holiness Je Nyizer Trulku. We realized as we passed by it, that the "chorten" in the center was in fact the pyre, with a kind of bread-oven opening on one wide blackened with smoke - smoke that was ever-so-slightly still drifting up into the air.
We stayed inside Punakha dzong for about an hour - we were ushered by friendly monks into two of the treasure rooms, where they let us light butter lamps and where we received scented water blessed by the monks in our outstretched hands (touch to mouth, spread on the top of your head...). One of the monks explained that there would be a puja starting at 5 - a collective recitation of prayers, chanting from rows of monks, beating of the tall ceremonial drums with curved red sticks, trumpets, bells, fluttering oboes. We stayed until it started and then when two small novice monks went by us with their arms full of wood we realized that the continuation of the ceremony also meant a continuation of the cremation inside the chorten. Thompson was a little horrified. Maybe the other kids didn't really realize what was going on - in any case, no body could be seen and the chorten wasn't really "body-shaped," so it was all a little mysterious.
The chants rose and fell across the courtyard; rows of people in their best clothing came in to perform ritual bowing: hands pressed together, touched to the top of head, the face, the chest in rapid succession, then kneeling and touching forehead to the ground, rising and repeating, and then took seats under the large tent and began to read the prayers in Dzongkha while the monks kept at their own prayers at a different speed and rhythm. The murmuring of both, punctuated with the unison drumming of some twenty gigantic drums, followed us out across the bridge and out of the spectacular Punakha dzong.
On Saturday we took the opportunity to take a weekend trip out of Thimphu, over a high moutain pass and down into a neighboring valley called Punakha - this is the winter home of the National Assembly and the monastic body. We hired the implacable Passang and his comfortable Toyota van to drive us there. This turned out to be a very auspicious weekend to be in Punakha, because the body of the Je Khenpo also made the journey over the high pass and down to Punakha, to be cremated at the dzong there.
We arrived at Punakha dzong, situated at the confluence of two rivers, mid-afternoon. It is not accessible by vehicle, but only by a gently swaying wooden footbridge suspended over the swift-flowing wide Mo Chu River, draped in fluttering prayer flags. Our dzong permits passed inspection and Don had put on his white kabney with some help from Passang, and we were admitted into the courtyard where the ceremony, it seemed, had just concluded. Sweepers with short-handled twig brooms were coming along and sweeping up the wrappers and the dust and leaves. Special ceremonial tents had been constructed in the courtyard, four of them surrounding a central tent with a dzong-like tin roof and turret. Inside this central tent, with red carpeting, flowers, bowls and tables piled high with offerings, and elaborate tormas (butter sculptures), was a central podium shaped with a Tibetan chorten. People were circling this central podium, so we joined the clockwise flow and slowly made our way around the tent, and then around the offerings inside the tent. Two monks were handing out reprinted photographs of the late Je Khenpo, His Holiness Je Nyizer Trulku. We realized as we passed by it, that the "chorten" in the center was in fact the pyre, with a kind of bread-oven opening on one wide blackened with smoke - smoke that was ever-so-slightly still drifting up into the air.
We stayed inside Punakha dzong for about an hour - we were ushered by friendly monks into two of the treasure rooms, where they let us light butter lamps and where we received scented water blessed by the monks in our outstretched hands (touch to mouth, spread on the top of your head...). One of the monks explained that there would be a puja starting at 5 - a collective recitation of prayers, chanting from rows of monks, beating of the tall ceremonial drums with curved red sticks, trumpets, bells, fluttering oboes. We stayed until it started and then when two small novice monks went by us with their arms full of wood we realized that the continuation of the ceremony also meant a continuation of the cremation inside the chorten. Thompson was a little horrified. Maybe the other kids didn't really realize what was going on - in any case, no body could be seen and the chorten wasn't really "body-shaped," so it was all a little mysterious.
The chants rose and fell across the courtyard; rows of people in their best clothing came in to perform ritual bowing: hands pressed together, touched to the top of head, the face, the chest in rapid succession, then kneeling and touching forehead to the ground, rising and repeating, and then took seats under the large tent and began to read the prayers in Dzongkha while the monks kept at their own prayers at a different speed and rhythm. The murmuring of both, punctuated with the unison drumming of some twenty gigantic drums, followed us out across the bridge and out of the spectacular Punakha dzong.
The central tent in the courtyard of Punakha dzong where Je Khenpo was cremated. The table in front is piled with packages of cookies, fruit, bread, other offerings. The chorten-shaped object is the crematorium.
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Ashti Sonam Pelden
Bhutanese parents do not name their children. Instead, they take them to a lama at a lakhang once they are born, and the lama (based on Buddhist astrology, his mood at the time, or some kind of calculation that has to do with birthday - I get different answers from different people about this) gives the child a name. One thing that all my informants agree on is that the parents never dispute the name, or try to influence the decision, and they just accept that this is the child's name, period. There is no family surname in Bhutan and no one changes a name at marriage. Sometimes people receive one name from the lama, sometimes two. And, there are only a limited number of names, which are not gender-specific & can be used interchangeably for first or second names. This is so different from our Western ideas about naming: individuality, uniqueness, expression of family relationship or personality, etc... none of that.
Here are some Bhutanese names: Chimi, Choedden, Dawa, Dorji, Gyeltsen, Jigme, Karma, Kezang, Namgay, Norbu, Om, Passang, Pema, Rindzen, Sangay, Sonam, Tashi, Tenzing, Tshering, Tshewang, Thinley, Tobgay, Zangmo, Wangdi, Ugyen. This does not exhaust the list, but gives an idea of what names are like - pick any two in any order, and you've got a name.
We have had our children named, most of them by Tashi's uncle, a prominent lama - in fact, he was one of four lopens at one time who were the assistants to the Je Khenpo, the highest religious leader in Bhutan, on par with the Tibetan Dalai Lama but certainly not as internationally well known. Uncle Lama named Thompson when he was a baby here in Bhutan in 1993 = Sonam Tobgay. Forrest was named by a lama who was visiting the United States for a Bhutanese textile exhibit in Salem in 1995 = Sonam Tashi. Jacob was named in absentia by Uncle Lama the last time Don was in Bhutan = Sonam Wangdue.
We had hoped to meet Uncle Lama in person on this trip, but he is in meditation for a prolonged period of time, in a small one-person hermitage high up in the mountains somewhere near Thimphu. He does not speak during this time, but can communicate for one hour a day by writing. Tashi's cousin visited him last week, and was kind enough to take up some gifts from us: a white silk kata or ceremonial scarf (traditional gift for the meditating lama who has everything), some tea & jam, and some photos of Don and Halle, and we asked him in a letter if he would please give her a name.
This evening Tashi came to say that his answer had arrived - I suppose with the cousin, but it could also have been by carrier pigeon or flying tiger, the way she said it had "arrived." Halle is Sonam Pelden. Translation: Sonam = merit, luck, positive energy. Pelden = glorious. Fitting? We think so. Ashti is princess, so she we added the title, making her the Ashti Sonam Pelden. She was thrilled with her name, and with the six "lucky" silk threads Uncle Lama sent in an envelope, one for each member of our family to wear around our necks. Such an honor and something that we have looked forward to about this trip for a long time, that she could be named.
We like the name, too, because now it will be so easy to call the children in for their supper of red rice and dal: just yell "Sonam!!" out the door.
Here are some Bhutanese names: Chimi, Choedden, Dawa, Dorji, Gyeltsen, Jigme, Karma, Kezang, Namgay, Norbu, Om, Passang, Pema, Rindzen, Sangay, Sonam, Tashi, Tenzing, Tshering, Tshewang, Thinley, Tobgay, Zangmo, Wangdi, Ugyen. This does not exhaust the list, but gives an idea of what names are like - pick any two in any order, and you've got a name.
We have had our children named, most of them by Tashi's uncle, a prominent lama - in fact, he was one of four lopens at one time who were the assistants to the Je Khenpo, the highest religious leader in Bhutan, on par with the Tibetan Dalai Lama but certainly not as internationally well known. Uncle Lama named Thompson when he was a baby here in Bhutan in 1993 = Sonam Tobgay. Forrest was named by a lama who was visiting the United States for a Bhutanese textile exhibit in Salem in 1995 = Sonam Tashi. Jacob was named in absentia by Uncle Lama the last time Don was in Bhutan = Sonam Wangdue.
We had hoped to meet Uncle Lama in person on this trip, but he is in meditation for a prolonged period of time, in a small one-person hermitage high up in the mountains somewhere near Thimphu. He does not speak during this time, but can communicate for one hour a day by writing. Tashi's cousin visited him last week, and was kind enough to take up some gifts from us: a white silk kata or ceremonial scarf (traditional gift for the meditating lama who has everything), some tea & jam, and some photos of Don and Halle, and we asked him in a letter if he would please give her a name.
This evening Tashi came to say that his answer had arrived - I suppose with the cousin, but it could also have been by carrier pigeon or flying tiger, the way she said it had "arrived." Halle is Sonam Pelden. Translation: Sonam = merit, luck, positive energy. Pelden = glorious. Fitting? We think so. Ashti is princess, so she we added the title, making her the Ashti Sonam Pelden. She was thrilled with her name, and with the six "lucky" silk threads Uncle Lama sent in an envelope, one for each member of our family to wear around our necks. Such an honor and something that we have looked forward to about this trip for a long time, that she could be named.
We like the name, too, because now it will be so easy to call the children in for their supper of red rice and dal: just yell "Sonam!!" out the door.
Quest for Takin
I asked Tona if she wanted to join me for a run tonight. I don't know why she said no; I'm sure it had nothing to do with being at 7500 feet starting on the side of a mountain with a planned 850-foot climb, nor with running through a town with an estimated 5000 unclaimed dogs (source: Kuensel weekly newspaper 7/16/05)... nor the fact that it was getting dark and we're in the middle of monsoon season with rain always imminent.
My run was pretty much uphill, on winding roads and occasional muddy paths with a goal of reaching Motithang and seeing the legendary takins. We've mentioned takins in a previous blog entry - they are the national animal of Bhutan and a small herd is kept in a preserve above Thimphu city. Forrest wanted to do a school report a couple of years ago in Stow on the takin, but was told by his teacher that takins were mythical beings and he had to choose "a real animal" for his report topic instead. As it gets darker, the dogs become bolder and I turn up the volume on my I-pod... maybe if you don't hear a menacing growl and bark, it doesn't happen, right?
I have been up this path several times before but since I am losing light, I ask a number of people if this is the right way to the takins. People look at me strangely and point in different directions, but I continue on the path that I am quite sure leads to the preserve. Towards the end, I take a path with a couple of log river crossings; the brush is pretty dense here, but at least I recognize that this is definitely the way... it's only when I get to the entrance of the preserve that I see a new, paved road leading straight there.
I don't see the takins at first. I find an old man sitting outside next to a woodfire, unravelling a bag used to carry rice and tying the ends together to make string. He has no teeth, speaks only Dzongkha, and is barefoot. I point in the direction that I think the takins are, but he leads me up to a muddy slope to a point where we can both see the herd. Bhutanese say the takins have the head of a goat on a cow's body - or is it the head of a cow on a goat's body? In the darkness, it could be a head of moose, or bear, and I really don't care. I'm happy to see any funny-looking head on a funny-looking body and get on with my descent back into Thimphu.
I'm expecting mythical knee pain when I wake up tomorrow morning.
My run was pretty much uphill, on winding roads and occasional muddy paths with a goal of reaching Motithang and seeing the legendary takins. We've mentioned takins in a previous blog entry - they are the national animal of Bhutan and a small herd is kept in a preserve above Thimphu city. Forrest wanted to do a school report a couple of years ago in Stow on the takin, but was told by his teacher that takins were mythical beings and he had to choose "a real animal" for his report topic instead. As it gets darker, the dogs become bolder and I turn up the volume on my I-pod... maybe if you don't hear a menacing growl and bark, it doesn't happen, right?
I have been up this path several times before but since I am losing light, I ask a number of people if this is the right way to the takins. People look at me strangely and point in different directions, but I continue on the path that I am quite sure leads to the preserve. Towards the end, I take a path with a couple of log river crossings; the brush is pretty dense here, but at least I recognize that this is definitely the way... it's only when I get to the entrance of the preserve that I see a new, paved road leading straight there.
I don't see the takins at first. I find an old man sitting outside next to a woodfire, unravelling a bag used to carry rice and tying the ends together to make string. He has no teeth, speaks only Dzongkha, and is barefoot. I point in the direction that I think the takins are, but he leads me up to a muddy slope to a point where we can both see the herd. Bhutanese say the takins have the head of a goat on a cow's body - or is it the head of a cow on a goat's body? In the darkness, it could be a head of moose, or bear, and I really don't care. I'm happy to see any funny-looking head on a funny-looking body and get on with my descent back into Thimphu.
I'm expecting mythical knee pain when I wake up tomorrow morning.
Kitchen view 1: Cooking supper (fried rice) in the kitchen. This is my two-burner propane stove, the sink & counter & the one window in the room.
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Kitchen view 2: water filter, bottled water, fridge, dish/food cupboard, and pots&pans, and necessary shopping bag for groceries! (Always bring your own bag...)
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