Byers Without Borders

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Bhutan

Farewell & Thank you!!!

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And just like that it’s over. A decade of wishing, a year’s worth of hard planning and scheming, and here we are looking out at the frighteningly short and narrow runway of the Paro airport, awaiting our departure. None of us want to leave, the time went too quick, evidence that our life here was too perfect.

And it was a perfect community of friends and loved ones who made it all possible. Thank you for supporting us with your insanely generous donations. Thank you Hunt Regional CRNAs for working your VACATIONS! Thank you, to all who didn’t doubt, question, or discourage this dream. It is without a doubt that Jen and I are at this place in our lives because of the myriad interactions we have had with each of you along the way. We are a web of lives, each touching the other, pluck one of us and who knows where the vibration will resound. You have all made this trip with us, you have all helped the people of Bhutan.

Thank you our gracious hosts and new friends.

 

Farewell

YoPlay Away! Kids yoga can go anywhere.

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Prior to my arrival in Bhutan, I reached out to the Early Learning Center, in Mothitang, to organize some volunteer work for the girls and myself. Having spent two years teaching English in Japan, volunteering in ELC’s English Literacy class was a no-brainer. However, when principle Madam Kueron discovered my current passion, YoPlay, my true role in Bhutan revealed itself.

Founded by Madam Deki, ELC is a very progressive school (grades K-12) that puts as much emphasis on kindness and respect as it does on academics. Every class period begins and ends with 2 minutes of quiet meditation (they call it brain brushing) because the teachers believe an upset, angry or distracted child can not be expected to learn. Therefore learning is preceded by prepping the mind. Imagine my enthusiasm when they asked if YoPlay could take the place of their performing arts class for the month. Turns out, that class was lacking a teacher during our time here. Serendipity.

Of course it was a mix of excitement and trepidation I felt as I started my first day of YoPlay-Bhutan. Their school culture is so different from our own; worry about how my program would translate sat like a rock in my stomach. Their day begins with morning assembly. Rows and columns of children in the courtyard, standing in near military formation. The National anthem is sung, prayers are said, announcements are made and achievements are recognized (acts of kindness, recycling efforts, gifts to the school). The whole thing can last up to an hour. And then there is the cold! Unlike our schools, Bhutanese schools have no central heating, shivering children are taken outside to “warm up” in the sun. Even answering questions is different in Bhutanese schools. Here children stand up when speaking, and must address their teacher as Sir or Madam. These and a thousand other little differences.

Worry, anxious prepping, nervous introductions…

And it’s was all for not. For all our differences, we are still so much alike. It is a fact that despite country or creed, children can not form themselves up into a circle. Partner poses will always illicit rowdiness requiring shushing and stern looks. And all children, no matter where they are from, love to pretend (a bonus for my guided meditations). Basically we’re all the same; born in Bhutan or Texas, kids are kids. If there is a tree they’ll try and climb it, if there is a puddle they’ll find a way to get wet.

After a month of classes I can say YoPlay-Bhutan soared! The children, so kind and appreciative, would swarm my girls during snack time. Each vying for the opportunity to share their Bhutanese snacks with the foreign visitors. The instructors requested a teacher training that was enthusiastically attended one Saturday. And even after my departure, the school surprised me by posting a yoga video for international children’s yoga day.

Stella often likes to say she has 108 hearts. And she’ll name each one, “My daddy-heart, my mommy-heart, my puppy-heart, my ice cream-heart…”. As the children of ELC sang us farewell at our final morning assembly, my tears and cracked voice were evidence of my very own, new Bhutan-Heart.

Bhutan, Advanced Settings:

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Bhutan, Advanced Settings:

Bhutanese consider it impolite to say no. So they have many different forms of yes ranging from “very unlikely” to “it is certain”. If they say yes three times it’s definitely not happening. 

Bhutanese Ngultrum is the local currency. A one Nu bill is the smallest denomination; there are no coins. So when change of less than one Nu is owed, it is paid in hard candies or throat lozenges.  “Your change sir, 27 Nu and two peppermints”. 

Most Bhutanese parents take their newborns to the temple to receive auspicious names. Unfortunately, the monks don’t concern themselves much with surnames or gender. So Sonam the office girl who helped us with work permits is not Sonam, the boy who took us to Tiger Nest Monastery. Tashi Wangchuck one of my residents is no relation to the royal Wangchucks. 

My typical day starts with a short 20 minute walk to Jigme Dorji Wangchuck National Referral Hospital (JDWNRH). The pinnacle of the Bhutanese healthcare system, and where I will spend the morning in the OT (operating theater), doing hands-on clinical trading with two anesthesia residents. My afternoons are spent lecturing or various anesthesia topics. 

Until very recently Bhutan has been unable to train its own healthcare providers. Instead, doctors were trained in Sri Lanka, Burma, Thailand and Cuba. JDWNRH and the attached Khesar Gyalpo University of Medical Sciences is trying to change this. It is the only teaching institute in the country and it is crawling with students, interns, and residents.


Bhutan Basics

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Bhutan basics:

National Bird- Raven

Favorite Food- Anything with chilies 

Fridge settings-Winter, Summer, Monsoon

Toilets- squat (bring paper unless adept at the Asian bidet, water bucket and a scoop)

They drive on the left, so step off a curb and look RIGHT not left (that lesson comes quickly).

At day 23, life here is starting to feel normal. Everyone is settled into a pleasant routine. 

With only three sets of clothes each (one for wearing, one for washing, and one backup) Jen’s day usually starts with some laundry. You have to hang it out early, so it will dry before the afternoon weather rolls in (cold fingers hanging up wet clothes in 30 degree temps). Our little washer is on the balcony with the clothes line. It took some practice figuring out what the “fuzzy” cycle was about. Also, to power the washer Jen has to unplug the microwave, and run the extension cord from the electric blanket through an open kitchen window, but the chore no longer produces the profanity it did early on. 

On teaching days her and the kids bundle into a taxi and head across town to the school where they teach English Literacy and Yoga. 

Without the rush to make morning assembly, they usually choose to walk back home, picking up ingredients for the evening’s dinner on their meandering. Back at the apartment, Jen is still the teacher, and it is time for the girls to do their own schoolwork. 

On non-teaching days, the girls all head straight to the pine forest above the apartment. Schoolwork is still on their schedule, only now their classroom comes with a view. They always seem to negotiate time to build a fort or play among the prayer flags at the end of their lessons. After, it’s back down into the valley for the day’s shopping, a visit to the telecom office, or perhaps a coffee with another volunteer. 

I normally catch up with the gang around 3:00. After snacks and snuggles, we try to go out on some adventure together in town. A trip to the National Library, Tashi Dzong, the archery grounds, or just a taxi ride up to the telecom reflector tower. 

Evenings… the same dinner, bath, hair-combing, teeth-brushing routine as home. Except it is Indian cable that provides the background chatter instead of DirecTV. Occasionally a power outage triggers some flashlight games. And a game of Uno is never far from reach. 

We certainly are lacking many of the comforts of home here. We’re cold a lot, and we haven’t yet found a decent slice of bread. But there is something to the simple life here. It’s like the difference between those diabetic desserts and those made with real sugar and lard. One is richer and more satisfying.

Lunch with Lamas

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The snows held off. This past weekend we finally made it out of Thimphu, our guide, OR nurse Sonam. 

I couldn’t be more proud of the girls. They stoically endured hours of vomit inducing mountain roads (Jen and Lily were the only ones to avoid a purge) in a tiny car that smelled oddly of lemon Pledge. 

In Phobjika valley, winter migration grounds for the blacked neck crane, the kids politely sat on the floor of a farmhouse and ate red rice, fried fresh cheese, and pork belly. While they didn’t clean their plates, they also did not balk or turn up their noses to our host’s meager offerings. 

In Punakha we visited the city’s Dzong (a mixture fortress, monastery, government offices, and court house). The Lama of the Dzong was impressed that we made the children wear Kira as a sign of respect. So he invited us to celebrate one of his junior monk’s recognition as master mandala maker. Mandalas are the highly symbolic art pieces that are painted on buildings, and canvas throughout the Buddhist world. In some ceremonies, the artists spend weeks creating mandalas of colored sand only to sweep it away in an acknowledgment of the impermanence of reality. 

photo by worldreligionnews.com

For our hosts, the party we joined was bit like an office event, celebrating a promotion. The celebrant’s family was present, and naturally, they insisted we partake of the food. Again, the girls rose to the occasion. Taking cues from the monks, they balled up rice and ate with their hands, in local fashion. They sipped at tea I know they dislike, and Lily sampled an egg of unknown vintage that even I avoided. If diplomacy can survive our current administration, my girls may have a future in it. 

Shangri-La 2.0

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In Dzongkha, Druk Yul is the name Bhutanese give their country. It translates to Land of the Thunder  Dragon. They should call it Land of the Thunder Dog. Packs of stray dogs infest Thimphu. To my torment, they sleep all day and bark all night. The four that camp out at our apartment entrance have become de facto pets for the girls. Gi-gi, Noodles, Grumpy Dog, and Russell. 

Despite difficulties sleeping, Bhutan continues to confound and delight us. In Delhi, Bangkok, Tokyo, or Hong Kong it was easy to find a 7-11, Kentucky Fried Chicken, or Starbucks. Not so here. There are no chain stores, no billboards (other than pictures of the king), and no 6-lane highways. So we buy our produce at the weekend market, fast food is a street vendor selling Tibetan Momos (steamed dumplings), and our coffee is the instant crystal type.  

Unlike other Asian countries we have visited, Bhutan is not rushing headlong into the modern/globalized world. They’ve seen the result such actions have taken on neighboring countries (deforestation, pollution, urban sprawl, crime) and politely said no thank you. Bhutan chooses to enter the modern age in its own time. 

And so, as recent as 60 years ago there were no paved roads connecting this landlocked country with the outside world. The first television signals were not received until the late 90’s. In 1989, as a way to preserve Bhutanese traditions, the government began actively promoting Driglam Namzha, a code of conduct that specifies how to behave like a civilized Bhutanese. The most visible sign of this commitment is the requirement to wear traditional dress (Gho for men, Kira for women) at school, in the office, or when visiting temples. 

The ethos of mindful-modernization permeates the entire culture. As part of its constitution, Bhutan maintains 60% of its land under forest cover. New construction must conform to traditional Bhutanese design. Even traffic lights are an object of scrutiny. When one was installed in the capital, the residents of Thimphu complained that it was too impersonal. After it was dismantled their city became the only world capital without traffic lights, leaving us to decode the movements of their traffic police. 

In tourist brochures and travel shows, Bhutan is often compared to Shangri-La, that fictional Himalayan paradise first described in the 1933 book Lost Horizon. Having seen maroon clad monks with smart phones, in a country that jealously guards its forests despite their economical potential, Shangri-La 2.0 is a more apt description. 

Springtime Snow

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We had planned a weekend excursion to Punakha, the former capital of Bhutan. But the Himalayas had other plans, and surprised us with a spring snow. With the 10,000 foot Dochu La pass to Punakha closed, we bundled up and headed out for the girls first ever snowball fight. 

This was actually the first snowfall of the year in the Thimphu valley, and a national holiday was declared by the King. Early in the day the streets were packed with merrymakers, all wishing us a “happy snowfall”. Groups of Bhutanese, young and old, faced off on opposite sides of the road and pelted each other with snowballs. At home I would be concerned that Stella might get caught up in the crossfire as we made our way through town. But with typical Bhutanese politeness, every group we passed would ask “would you like to play?” before targeting us. Taxies with snowmen frozen to their roofs roamed by, occasionally launching a snowball from an open window. 

Even the memorial Chorten, normally a site of solemn prayer and meditation, got caught up in the playful antics. 

I’ve never seen such a festive and happy celebration of a snowfall. It’s as if the entire city spontaneously reverted to 8 year old  children, free from school on a snow day. 

Please click the link if you would like to make a donation in serving the people of Bhutan.

Himalayan Adventure: Our First Few Days

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98% of a big fat Himalayan adventure is figuring out the mundane. How do you charge a laptop, make a local call, find bathroom cleaner. 

Our first days in Bhutan are behind us and we’re starting to get our sea legs. 

The kids have learned to sleep with vests over their PJs and everyone congregates on the electric blanket when reading. There’s no insulation or central heating so our apartment (at 8600 feet) is pretty chilly. 

We’re slowly getting the hang of making meals for five on an electric hot plate. And no one needs to be reminded not to brush their teeth with tap water (we have a gravity filter the size of a mini-keg that constantly needs refilling). 

It was a pretty productive weekend setting up our home here. We got local phone numbers, internet for the apartment, and made it to the weekend market (the only place to get fresh vegetables). And all of this in a blend of English and Dzongkha, a language similar to Tibetan and heavy with Z and Shu sounds. 

It wasn’t all chores, though. Yesterday we hiked up to Taktshang Goemba (Tiger’s Nest Monastery). This ancient structure clings to the side of a cliff 2700 feet above the floor of Paro valley.

Guru Rinpoche (an aspect of the second Buddha, Padmasambava) is said to have flown to the site on the back of a tigress to subdue a local demon. As such we shared the arduous climb with Bhutanese pilgrims. 

The site of so many blond heads scampering through the rhododendron forest was quite the spectacle for many of these locals, who were all smiles. 

In fact, we’re always a bit of a spectacle when we leave the apartment. There are so few westerners here. And even fewer western children. And I’m sure we’re traveling with the only western twins in the country. Which explains why the second word we learned in Dzongkha, after Hello, was the word for twins… Nima Dauwa. 

Let our Himalayan Adventure continue…….