Previously on The
Summer Sojourner: our group of BCF teachers along with 2 packhorses and our
wonderful Brokpa guides hiked a grueling
11 hour trek over a 4200m pass, through the forest and over rivers, finally arriving
in the town of Sakteng just as the sun was about to set.
The Summer Sojourner, Chapter 6: The
Secret Garden
Sakteng is a large city considering
its remote locale, with several thousand residents. Despite this fact there are
no cars, only tilling machines akin to oversized lawn mowers pulling carts though
horse, mule, and ox-led carts are more common. After we crossed the river
toward Sakteng, we weaved our way into the town which was ankle deep in thick
mud. It wasn’t long before we reached our quarter for the next two nights. The
quaint building was simply constructed from wood, nails, and concrete. The
inside was modest to put it lightly and the doors had wooden hinges—a feature I
don’t think I’d ever seen before, but it was a place to rest and the sight of
it was most welcome after half a day of hiking.
We looked out at the town as the
sun dipped behind the mountains and went into the gathering room for tea. After
unpacking our things we were invited back for dinner and more arra. We took them obligingly and spoke
wearily about the day’s events. Needless to say it was not a late night.
The next morning after eating our
breakfast we crossed the street to visit a local school. We met with the
principal and, with his blessing, visited some of the classrooms, speaking to
the kids and explaining our roles in Bhutan. They were a healthy mix of shy and
curious. While neither Merak nor Sakteng have ever hosted a Western teacher, I
personally would happily be placed in either one, but the likelihood of anyone
being stationed this far out is small considering their remoteness and limited
health facilities. Similar to Merak the boys wore red ghos and the girls sport their embroidered vests and dresses.
After ample perusing we went for a
stroll down to the main temple. It was closed unfortunately, but nevertheless
we made our rounds by spinning the small prayer wheels. We aimlessly wandered
further visiting larger prayer wheels and another temple which was also closed.
Eventually we made it to the streets, which are utterly medieval. The roads are
cobblestone and dirt, narrow, and full of plant and insect life. These little
alleyways had to be my favorite thing about the town; they were straight out of
a fairytale.
After lunch we split up into groups
based upon what we wanted to do. I went with a small group up to a temple high
in the hills behind Sakteng. The hike was strenuous but beautiful—unlike
anything I’ve ever seen before. We passed cows and horses, all the while having
a perfect view of the city behind us. Forty minutes of huffing and puffing and
Alex and I, the first of the group, made it to the temple just as the rain began
to fall. How the hell did they get the materials up here? This is a question I
often ask in Bhutan. They must have been really motivated.
As there was no one present at the
temple the two of us sat at its steps under a roof as the drizzle became a
pour. In our field of vision was a small stone fireplace underneath a thatched
roof, a young calf, and rooster milling
about. We caught our breath and passed the time in conversation as the rest of
the party arrived. We’d come to learn the temple owner was out of town and for
the third time today we had no access to the inner temple. But our spirits are
no less discouraged and we played with what must be a newborn calf, surely no
older than 2 weeks. After a good hour of loitering we set off down the
mountain, intent on making it to our soccer match on time.
Down by the school we met up with
some of the other BCFers and a growing group of Sakteng Lower Secondary School
students. We split up the teams and began an intense soccer match on an uneven,
potholed, untrimmed grass field. My motivation was high at the onset, but as
the game progresses I grow more and more breathless, surely due to the altitude
of 2200m (not terribly high, but still higher than Mongar) and dispiriting
rain. Still it was less “oh my god I’m going to die” than the match I played in
Thimphu back in early February.
After a good game we shook off our defeat with hot tea, a shower, and a change of clothes. As I was taking a shower I realized (without my glasses) there was a foreign entity trying to dig its way into my body. I promptly ended my ablution and had a friend confirm that, indeed, a tick was dead set on burrowing into my right hip. Once again my bee savior, Holly, came to the rescue. She expertly pulled out the tick before it got too deep.
The evening’s events would be quite
similar to the cultural exchange we experienced in Merak, but this time with
the Sakteng locals. The process consisted of the same essentials: arra and singing. This time the
Americans pulled out Smash Mouth’s classic “Gold”. We never got to the dancing,
but I was thoroughly entertained by our guides getting nonstop refills of arra and some of our groups’ terribly
off-key renditions of songs.
The next morning we packed up our
things after breakfast and set off on our final hike. In order to get back to a
navigable road, we had to hike a good 3 hours through the forest. We said our
farewells to our hosts and trekked through hills, trees, waterfalls, and rocky
cliff overhangs. It was a lovely walk with a few tough spots. I used this as an
opportunity to chat with one of the guides and catch up on all the drama with
select parties. During our trek two other teachers and I decided to come up
with Western names for our guides in return for Bhutanese ones. We decided on
Hannah for Pema Choden, as the name seemed to aptly encapsulate her perky
nature and good humor. We named Yongten Dema Emily, which just seemed to fit for
no particular reason at all. Meanwhile we received our Bhutanese names.
Since there are only some 60
different varieties, Bhutanese names can appear commonplace. But underneath
their mundane sounds are rich translations: great eon, lotus flower, indestructible
one, spreader of dharma, gentle voice, ritual dagger, jewel of the sky. Names
here are given to people via village lamas who ordain them by esoteric means.
There are no last names in this country, only given names. Generations ago only
important families had more than one name. Now most have two or three names. I
don’t recall the names given to the other chilips
(foreigners) but I do recall what Hannah named me: Reese Jamtsho (jahm-tso).
The translation being “ocean of compassion”.
By lunch we had made it out of the
forest to the beginning of the road, running into a Japanese couple taking
their 5th trip to Bhutan along the way. They must be rich to afford
the tariff again and again! We had a picnic lunch on the grass before we hopped
in our Bolero trucks headed back to Lingkhar Lodge. Before we could make it
there, however, we had to drive around rockslides and through waist-deep water.
It was heart-pounding good fun and on the way we even stopped to gawk at an
immense waterfall. As always the views were eye-popping. Comes with the
territory, I suppose.
At Lingkhar the vibe was more
relaxed. We sat out on the veranda and schemed our next steps. Nakita decided
she’d be doing a 5-day meditation retreat at the nunnery we had visited earlier
and our Australian matriarch, Lynne, was going back to Trashiyangtse. The rest
of us aside from Tim, however, were headed west. We booked an 8-person taxi and
settled our bills before getting a good night’s rest.
We woke up relatively early the
next morning to load our bags and say our goodbyes. I was mostly sad to say
goodbye to our Bhutanese guides. I gave them big hugs and a couple gifts as
thanks.