We're off to meet a madman today, though
the way I'm feeling, I'm not sure if the madman would like to meet with an 'off
with the fairies' lady. It was a hellish night in our hotel at Thimphu
with lots of groaning, banging of doors and running in and out of rooms - and
that was just in our room. Outside in the hallway and stairwell it
was all yelling, squealing and I'm sure, stair-master time.... judging by all
the pounding feet up and down the endless levels of stairs. My
earlier headache and unease back in Haa and Paro had morphed into full
blown 'cranial crush', 'gut groan' and butt... well put it this way, I was
visiting the little room more times than I cared too. As the sun
rose, I emerged looking like I'd had a heavy night - grog-eyed and
stumbly without the enjoyment of indulging in a glass or two.
Our guide meets us in the foyer and suggests a short hike up a hill then down
dale to the Motithang Preserve - I suggest a lay in the back seat while
we drive there - this doesn't impress the guide any and he comments
that I need to be doing these little hikes to get fit for Tigers
Nest which we are to do at the end of our trip. As much as I could see his
point, I was actually flat out seeing anything as my head is pounding and
just to open my eyes actually hurts. I stumble out to the car and
lay prone as the usual luggage tug-a-war eventuates between Mal and
the hotel girls - they win again.
First stop
for the day is the Motithang Takin Preserve where we are to see the
'handiwork' of the Divine Madman. The Divine Madman - Lama Drukpa
Kunley - is a Bhutan saint of great reverence, but he was
also a 'kidder' with outrageous humour and 'crazy wisdom' and it is
said that he magically produced the Takin, the national animal of
Bhutan. After eating a whole cow and a whole goat, he put the bones together to
make a single animal.
The Takin we are visiting were from the original zoo of Bhutan which
was dismantled by the Fourth King in keeping with the philosophy of
Buddhism and all the animals set free. The Takin however were so tame
they refused to 'run away to the bush' and instead wandered around the city of
Thimphu, getting in the way, searching for food, lounging on the roadway and
generally causing mayhem, so they were returned to the zoo which was made into
a reservation for them... along with some deer.
Just
down the road we come across a lively game of darts - Bhutanese style.
Called Khuru, the dart is an enormous timber ball with a long metal bar
that looks like a lethal nail and is thrown with great gusto at a target
about twenty meters or so away ('stabbed' into the ground
very similar to the archery target) while people stand infront of
it.
As
in Archery, a lot of intensity and concentration goes into it and just
like archery, there's a lot of song and dance too. And bravado as we
watch to spectators jump out of the way of the flung dart...crazy is not the
word.
The Wang Chuu falls away are we climb out of the valley that holds Thimphu and drive up towards Dochu La, past a small village and roadside stalls selling baskets and baskets of apples. Dochu La soon comes into viw - a vision of white and red brick shimmering against a 'confettied' blue sky.
One hundred and white chortens encircled
with strands and strands of prayer flags. Built in 2005 as a memorial to
those who died in 2003 battle against the Assamese Separatists from
India. Dochu La is also a hive of activity with multitudes of cars,
busses, and trucks parked in the middle of the road and a throng of bodies
milling about, taking photos of each other, of the chortens and of a large
building sitting out a hill that looks like a museum. Last night we had
purchased a set of five prayer flags and I'm keen to add to the swathe of
flags already covering the woodland and hillside beside the Chortens. Just
before I get out of the car, I hand a roll of prayer flags to our driver - had
had shared with me earlier as we walked from the Taken enclosure, that his
sister-in-law had passed away, just that morning. We are devastated for him and
I immediately suggest to him that he go be with his family, and I will ask the
tour company for a 'step-in' driver until he returns, but he has
declined. Now I hand him the flags - although a small gesture, I hope it
will convey our sincere condolences. Mal and I follow our guide up the
hill, under the strands of glorious colour to where a group of men are chanting
around a small fire. "they are saying prayers" our guide tells us and
we are just about to move away, when one fellow rises and gestures to us to
come over and hang our flags in the wisps of smoke. "How auspicious"
I whisper and eagerly unfurl the flags. As I hand one end to Mal, our guide
takes it from him and directs me to stand near a tree, he ties the end he's
taken, I turn and go to tie mine, but before I have a chance to finish the knot
he takes the cord from me and proceeds to tie it. I'm far from impressed and
feel a flash of anger - something I would never want associated with such a
sacred piece. The beautiful moment is gone. Mal has already turned
and is heading back to the car park, he too is far from happy.
Back at the carpark Mal had come across a
group of people dressed in bright orange, at first we thing they are defence, but soon learn
they are the DeSuung Volunteers (Guardians of Peace and Harmony) and serve
the nation and community is times of disasters and community
events. I'm eager to also go up to the building on
the other side of the carpark where a lot of people are wondering up to but our
guide tells us we need to get moving. We have much to do.
The
bitumen road soon becomes a dirt track and we find ourselves driving along the
National Highway in full construction mode. It's a bumpy dusty
ride as well as exceedingly slow and we reach a small village called
Sopsokha on the late side of lunchtime.
As
we alight the car our eyes almost jump out of our heads - the
whole town is decorated in phalluses of all sizes, colours,
and differing dancing stances. I want to explore and photograph the
colour and hilarity but we are whisked off the restaurant to eat. The
food is a bland version of Continental done so badly, vegemite
on ricecrackers is a tastier choice. Lunch done I bound out to find
the nearest dancing dick, but our guide tells me we have little time and need
to take a walk through the rice fields to a temple sitting on a far side of the
hillock - Chhimi Lhakhang - the temple that had been blessed by
the Divine Madman after he had lulled a demoness with his magic
'thunderbolt' (hmmm, an interesting moniker for it). We
wander through the fields, watching the men thrashing the rice while the women
lay the sheafs in rows.
It's
beautiful scenery, pretty green fields dotted with golden hay stacks resembling
small stupas with their spire top and waving poles of white remembrance prayer
flags. We arrive to the temple and find a crowd of people enjoying the
beautiful scenery and a large bohdi tree, it's enormous canopy and stone
sitting area offering a cool respite from the afternoon sun. Also there is
Colin, having just received a 'bop' on the head from a monk who used
an ivory phallus and the Divine Madman's bow and arrow, along
with a name for his soon to be born baby. He tells us the name and
it has a poetic ring. He's already rung his wife with the news. We
all leave the temple together and wander back towards Sopsokha, chatting about
babies and parenthood. Our guide calls our names and indicates to us that we
are going to walk in another direction through the rice terraces so we bade
Colin a farewell and traipse into the fields. To our astonishment we then turn,
climb up a terrace and walk almost parallel to the road. And to
Colin. But we are too far up to continue our conversation. I cannot
believe what has happen - our guide has just isolated us. Again. Mal
and I had noted this on another occasion, in a restaurant when we were
directed to sit at the far end of the room, away from all the other
tourists. At the time we thought it a little strange, but this was so
obvious. We returned to the village and the carpark, waved goodbye to
Colin and continued on to visit the beautiful Punakha Dzong.
It's
magnificent. Sitting next to a coursing river of the most vibrant green,
it's claimed to be the 'most beautiful' Dzong in Bhutan. It's definitely
got the most beautiful scenery surrounding it. We stop near the fork of
the river and I go to get out of the car to photograph the scene. Our guide is
at the car door taking my camera as I step out. I tell him it's
right, I can carry it but he insists on taking it - across the road.
Then he raises it and takes the photo. I'm flabbergasted.
Inside
the Dzong is stunning in every way, incredible artwork, gloriously entwined
iron lacework and timber with mother-of-pearl inlay. As we wander through
the corridors we turn a corner and come across a wedding being
photographed. I love how every country I stumble through I stumble
upon a beautiful bride. And here she was looking exquisite against the
beauty of the magnificent whitewashed walls glinting with gold and red.
We leave the Dzong and make our way
towards an enormous swing bridge. It's high and long but I get the
jellies even thinking of walking across it so I remain at the car while Mal and
our guide go for a 'swing'.
The
air is cooling and the afternoon shadows become long. It's too late to
see any of the town of Punakha so we head to our hotel which turns out to be a
good half hour drive from Punakha, or
anywhere else we notice, our hotel overlooks the river and rice fields
and is well away from any towns. It’s very pretty, but
isolated. Just as we are following two very tiny woman lug our enormous
bags up rows of steps and paths to our room, our guide informs us he has just
received a phone call from our previous hotel in Thimphu. I'm
horrified to learn I've left my laptop there. In my earlier groggy
state of altitude haze, I'd left it sitting on the table in the hotel's
foyer. Where's a Divine Madman when you need one...
So as I cajoled Mal into
swinging the hammer and supervised the installation of sliding tracks for the
storage door.... did I mention that I wanted to move the inbuilt cupboard from
one end of the room to the other...? and I set up a temporary office on my verandah, I thought about how I would renovate my life for the better. I'm not normally one for making new year’s
resolutions - I couldn't think of anything more boring than giving up
wine or dieting - bugger that! there's no way I'm giving up croissants or New
Zealand South Island sauv blanc for anyone...not even me. so this
is the list I came up with
... that is, drink
more HOT coffee with OTHER people. I spend a lot of time spitting out cold coffee as I tap away in my little writing cave (or ironing undies) or when I'm at my business' office shuffling through invoices I'd like to set fire to. As both activities are best done in solitude - especially when mumbling expletives over the bills - I don't catch up with my wonderful friends as often as I'd
like. I'm so blessed to have such forgiving friends who understand I'm not really an anti-social hermit, just a self-absorbed dreamer - these
are the same beautiful people who read and re-read and then will re-read again my manuscript
and smile supportively as I babble on about my anaphora infliction or bore them
to near death with my travel pics. They are always there for me, rain
hail and shine with a happy smile and joyful hug. Making sure I keep to this
'resolution’ I pick up the phone and organise a coffee date for this
week with the fabulous Jan Pearson - fellow writer and author of Red Bird
Summer and Tiger Autumn. 
like all writers, I'm a reader,
and like most writers, I struggle to find the time to read and the book pile
keeps growing and growing. Last week I took a peek at the titles
sitting on the table waiting for me to crack the
spine of and decided to sign up for the Goodreads 2016 reading challenge.
My goal for this year is - 30 books. I have to
admit, I’m wondering if I should have picked a smaller number like 10, but when
I think that I easily read 15 books last year, I thought why not double it. It’s a diverse list, with a mixture of fiction
and non, many are authors I saw at last year’s Byron Bay Writers Festival
and whose books I brought and stacked on the floor waiting - beside my overstuffed bookcases - while I read through
the previous year’s festival buys. First book off the pile is Di Morrissey's
– Tears of the Moon. The size of a cheese platter, it's light and fluffy, but absolutely perfect as the years starter as it combines my side interest of digging around the family tree with
travel, more importantly, this year’s travel destination for me – Broome. After that I'll pop on my green boots and go find some ‘Optimism’ with Bob Brown.
A few years back I read a
wonderful little book called '365 Thank yous' by John Kralik – at the risk of
sounding so clichéd – this was a book that literally changed my life, it made
me reassess how I felt gratitude and what made me feel blessed. I’ve always written thank you cards when I’ve
received a gift or someone has done something nice for me, but it wasn’t until
I read this book that I realised why I felt such gratitude. Thanking others makes me feel blessed to have
such lovely people in my life and how appreciative I am because of what others
might have done for me. These days’ hand
written thank yous are becoming scarce as email and texting is more the norm,
then last week I received a beautiful handwritten letter from a person I didn’t
know but felt very grateful to have made happy.
She had read my book and it reminded her of her own trip to Nepal. After receiving this letter, I floated on a
cloud of warm-fuzzys for the next couple of days – not because she had read MY
book, but because I’d brought back to her some wonderful memories of a trip she
had done with family – incredibly precious memories. 
The chief Atsara however is more than just a clown, he is also the manager of the festival from beginning to end, making sure the dancers motions are in sequence or, if the performer makes a mistake - helps them get back on track. If a dancers mask falls off or there's a problem with the fabulous costumes then the Atsara is there to immediately assist.
We leave a mist covered Punakha early and begin a long drive into dust clouds and bone-rattling ruts all the way to Jakar. The national highway that runs through the middle of Bhutan is undergoing major construction, turning it from dual lane to four lane - all at once! We're told by our guide that the government has given the contract to a company who in turn has contracted the work out to many smaller companies; all of which appear to be competition with each other as to who can make the road the most dug-up, rubble filled, need-a-monster-truck-to-drive-it road possible. 
I'm sure the country-side here is breath-takingly beautiful with abundant waterfalls cascading down the mountain side and plunging valleys filled with trees but mostly what we see is the colour of grey. The dust covers everything and when we stop for moment of clear sky I notice that there's a film of fine grey powder covering not only the whole outside of the car, but also all the luggage in the back the car and every crevices of the dash at the front. Even my nose also needs a good industrial blow out! 
As well as all the construction work we need to navigate, our driver also has to hopscotch the tree-fellers along the road who are 'trimming' the sides. We witness lots of creative ways to cut overhanging branches from trees clinging to near vertical cliff-faces, there's absolutely no occupational health and safety here - cutters dangle themselves over the side of the cliffs, wedging their feet against trunks or branches as they saw away precariously with hand saws. Or whole trees are felled onto the road and gangs of cutters chop and cut great chunks of timber into rough blocks which they then lug into tip-trucks or just 'tossed' over the side of the road and down the mountain. 
Near Pele La (a pass of 3420mts) our driver adds dodging Yaks to his navigation skills. In the valley below herds of Yaks graze on green paddocks, some making their way to the roadside where they graze and lounge without a care in the world. They are gentle looking creatures, mostly black with a few sporting white tails, but according to our guide, wild yaks are dangerous and therefore we are unable to stop for a closer look. I find myself feeling a bit sceptical about this, but make do with taking my photos of these doe-eyed beasts from inside the car. We zip past a gorgeous little stupa that reminds me of the Boudanath Stupa in Nepal - it's beautiful - and before I can yell "Stop" our guide turns around from the front seat of the car and informs us that we'll stop here on the journey back from the east and off we continue. 
We do stop however at Pele La where we jump out for a quick once around the Chorten in the middle of the road, and string a line of prayer flags to join all the other colourful flapping good wishes, then off we go again. The road works are getting worse as we bump along and just as I'm bemoaning about my sore backside I take notice of the blue tarped and corrugated iron humpys that dot parts of the roadworks. When I first saw these huts I thought they may be equipment storage huts, but as I peered into an open door of one as we pass I am horrified to see bedding and woman and child sitting on the floor. "People live in there?" I ask the guide. He shrugs and says yes, the workers and sometimes their families join them. He explains to us that many of the road workers are Indian citizens "Bhutanese people don't like to do menial work" he explains " many are well educated, this type of work is below them." I find it hard to comprehend how the ethos of Gross National Happiness this country lives by correlates to the working and living conditions of these workers and their families. I also find myself wondering about the health effects on the workers and their families with all the dust that fills the air - surely their lungs and eyes must suffer greatly.
We arrive on the late side of noon to Trongsa - a town located in the very middle of Bhutan and the power rise of Bhutan's Monarchy. The first kings father, Jigme Namgyal, moved to the area and rose to power in the late 1800's and ever since each of the kings prior to taking the throne are required to undertake a stint as governor (penlop) of Trongsa. The Dzonng of Trongsa is enormous and one of the most spectacularly positioned buildings in the whole of Bhutan, perched on the side of mountain overlooking a gorge with ancient trails. 
Behind it sits the watchtower and our lunch stop. Our weary bone-rattled bodies can barely make the few steps up to the Tower restaurant and when we sit down to eat, I have to admit we wonder why we bothered - the food is dreadful. I really cannot understand how an Asian/subcontinent country whose traditional dish is chock full of chillies, can cook meals so lack-lustre in taste. It doesn't take us long to eat, our meal consists more of a beer than food and then we make way to the Royal Heritage Museum to view among the many treasures, the Raven Crown. The official crown of the king of Bhutan, the one sitting on display in the museum is a stunning piece of craftsmanship and needlework. And if I may be so cheeky to suggest - also an outstanding piece of sugar skull art! The building is beautifully preserved full of winding stars and strange tiered floors and we are banned from taking our cameras into the building and leave them at the 'front' of the tower. We are directed to follow a maze of floors and as we near the end, our guide tells us he will double back to collect our cameras and bags. Just as we're about to exit the back door, a museum official indicates that we should go up a set of stairs to the viewing platform. We head up and are awarded a fabulous view of the Dzong and valley - stunning! 
As we wander back down the spiral stairs our guide runs smack-bang into us, thinking something is wrong we ask if there is a problem, but instead he looks embarrassed and we realise that he doesn't want us 'wandering about' by ourselves. Back at the car, we're told there is no time to look at the Dzong, that we'll stop on the way back from the east. I'm seeing a big lists of things to see on the way back on a very long drive - I also see we'll be missing a lot of them again! We wave goodbye to cheeky monkeys striding near the tower's carpack and back on the road, bumping along to Jakar. As we near the township our guide informs us that there is not much to Jakar and that we'll be staying in the Chokhor Valley, a distance from the town. I find this information about Jake strange and read what the guide book says about Jakar to our guide, but he insists there is nothing to see in the town itself. We soon reach Jakar and instantly I love it - it's a quaint little place, bustling with life and lots of colourful shops, tucked in a valley and straddling the Chamkhar Chuu- I'm eager to explore it but instead we must drive through and off into the countryside to get to our hotel for the night. Again I'm far from impressed about being roomed so far away from the town. 
The next day we're up early and hitting the Festival trail. Today is the first day of the Jambay Lhakhang Drup. The festival is held in a small temple called Jambay Lhakhang and is located in the heart of the Jakar valley. built in the early 7th century, the temple is dedicated to the 'Buddha of the future' - Maitreya - and holds an annual consecration ceremony (unlike a normal consecrate at a temple or church once and that's it) with the highlight being the Naked Dance or Dorling Tercham as is its official name. The temple is delightful, and when we arrive is a hive of activity with preparations in full swing. Men (in full ghos) are on the rooves hanging fabric valances, next door to the temple a paddock is being turned into a market place with makeshift huts going up and tantalizing smells wafting through of roasting meats and lots of chili cheese being cooked. 
In another building tables filled with butter lamps burn brightly and when we walk in there we can only bear to stay a few minutes as the heat is extreme and the smell from the burning wicks saps away breath. But it still looks wonderful. After exploring the temple and its surrounds we take a walk through rural farmlands to a group of temples sitting near a small hill. These are called the Kurjey Lhakhang - a complex of three temples surrounded by 108 chortens, each of the temples are beautiful, but its the last temple, highest up in the complex that I find the most special. 
Upon entering the inner sanctum I find that a group of monks are chanting and many people are meditating. I join them, mainly for the need to regain touch with my inner self, but also to find peace from the claustrophobic attention our guide is bestowing upon us. I am suffocating from his intense attention and constant watching eyes. I don't know how long I sat there staring into my navel, but soon it was time to leave as poor Mal was sitting outside under the Bhodi tree - he was totally 'templed-out' and had decided to sit this one out. I took a quick peek at the treasure of this temple - the hollow impression of Guru Rinpoche (apparently he sat so long in meditation that he left an indent in the rock. When I meet up with Mal again I agree with him that at this very moment, I too am templed out and that we should go in search of a beer and try some cheese. Jakar is famous also for it's Panda Beer of which its brewery is next door to the cheese factory. We tell the guide we'd like to go there, but he takes us to another temple first where we are encouraged to put on some chain-mail and try and make three coras of the temple. 
I can't even lift it, but Mal gives it a go and does the coras without breaking a sweat. We then make haste to the brewery only to find they are not undertaking tours or tasting, we have to buy a full bottle to try. This of course doesn't perturb Mal any, but when he takes his first sip, the noes is wrinkled up and a tight lip pull is formed. We then pop across to the cheese factory and enjoy a small tour of the factory - unfortunately for me, the cheese misses the mark a little - although it's more like a swiss style cheese, I find I've become quite taken with the Bhutan style of feta instead. I'm still not game enough to try the rock-hard little square cheeses we see strung up like curtain-streamers though.
Later that evening we head back to Jambay Lhakhang where we find the place absolutely teaming with people and totally unable to get anywhere near the action is taking place. We stand on tippy-toes and hold our cameras high above our heads in hope to catch something of the dancing that is taking place (and then look at it later) but it is not until the crowd starts following a group of fire holders that we snaffle a spot near the ring. Unfortunately there is nothing to watch as now all the action is taking place in a field on the other side of the temple. 
Malcolm wanders over to see what is going on while I 'stand guard' over our new-found spots. Turns out the Mewang was taking place - the fire offering. Mal comes back all excited and tells me about how a 'bough' exploded into flames and everyone, including people carrying children on their shoulders ran under the sprays of embers. It also turned out that just prior to the lighting of the bough, the black hat dance had taken place (an absolute highlight!) and we had missed it, although I did get a photo of a chap in his glorious outfit as he passed me on the way back to the 'green room'. By this stage it was close to midnight and I was freezing, the temperature had dropped to frigid and try as I might, I just couldn't keep the teeth from chattering . As we readied to go, the Naked Man stormed into the ring to show off their rings to the crowds and I can see it wasn't just my teeth that were feeling the cold. 
I opened the first box and stared at the lovely cover, bright and vibrant. I love this cover so much. The image was painted especially for the book, by a wonderful North Coast artist - Donna Sharam - and it represents every thing that is quintessential Nepal; colour, life, strength and vibrancy. Then it was down to work - within 24hours of arriving home, I'd thrown a couple of boxes into the car and was making a trip around to the book shops in my area - Byron, Bangalow, Ballina....Lismore - in the hope to sell a few. I couldn't offload a one. Not even a single page! Was I disappointed? Not at all... because they had all ordered in the book and there it was, sitting on the bookshelves. I could hardly contain my excitement. 
I'd booked the wonderful restaurant at our local TAFE institution - The Nightcap Restaurant - for the Launch Event where they were to serve the most delicious canapés and yummies and promised to ply everyone with wine for me. The incredible Samba Blissters were to roll the book out with a bang and an art exhibition by the cover artist herself - Donna Sharam - would add extra colour and vitality to the night. As I watched the clock tick over while I unloaded the goodie bags and Kata scarfs I'd brought back from Nepal, I prayed to the bodhisattvas to shine their blessings down on me. On the dot of six, the car park began to fill and lines of guests made their way up the path to be greeted with a Kata and a wish of "Happy Journeys - where ever you may travel in life".
It was an amazing night with over 100 people attending - including my Publisher - Mark Zocchi of Brolga Publishing, who announced on the night, to my absolute surprise and delight, that the book had been sold into the UK. Talk about shrieks of delight! 
