Teaching in Thimphu

In case you're interested...

2011-03-20T22:28:00.000-07:00

I've got a new blog with a bit about my new home in Guatemala. Check it out if it interests you. Otherwise, stay tuned for my third adventure in Bhutan some day in the far off future.

Guatemala Blog: Me Encanta Viajar

A Video

2011-01-18T00:54:00.000-08:00

Not much to blog about anymore, but I am missing my students, friends, and the beauty of Bhutan daily. Here's a video I recently put together with various clips from my camera. Enjoy!

UPDATE: For those of you curious here's a a bit of info on the two featured songs.

Song 1: Lok Wonga by Kencho Wangdi (also known as Bonz). A talented musician/songwriter offering an alternative to traditional Bhutanese songs and modern Bhutanese pop which has a bit more of an Indian sound. The song comes from his CD Demissa and you can view the music video here. (Full disclosure that's he and his wife are also friends of mine.)

Song 2: 1234 by Feist. She's already quite popular and you can read all about her by clicking here.

Volcanic Englightenment

2010-10-15T03:19:00.000-07:00

Enlightenment on Balinese Volcano- Mt. Batur 2010

At 130AM, a door creaks open. Devin whispers, “Liz, are you still coming?” “I guess,” I groan and role back over for two more minutes of delicious sleep. Luckily my pack is packed and my hiking outfit’s neatly folded next to my pillow. Within minutes, I’m standing in refreshing middle of the night air dressed in my characteristic happy-go-lucky demeanor.

The plan came about only two days before. In passing, Devin mentioned she’d be climbing Mt. Batur with her house-mate's family visiting from Australia. At the time, I hardly knew Devin but still shamelessly exclaimed “Oooh, that sounds fun. Can I come?????” As luck would have it, there was room for one more person!

Our group of six boards a dark van a little after 2AM. Besides Devin, I have no idea what anyone looks like, and at such an early hour nobody feels like small talk. We close our eyes, and the moonless road winds us from Ubud to the base of Mt. Batur in about an hour.

The volcano sits in north eastern Bali surrounded by tropical jungle. The first documented eruption took place in 1804, and it remains one of the most active and visited volcanoes in Indonesia. The most famous view is on the south eastern side which faces the larger Mt. Agung volcano and beautiful Lake Batur.

The walk up is completely pitch black except for the minuscule field of light from our torches. I hadn’t thought of bringing a torch or any snacks. Luckily, my group brought extra flashlights and homemade cake in anticipation of the dim witted. At 3AM we are some of the first hikers to begin the ascent. Thankfully our head guide, Mangu, has been hiking the path since he was a child and probably could do it blindfolded. He’s our only hope for getting anywhere. It’s a weird sensation though. Besides Devin, I haven’t gotten a good look at our four other hiking comrades, two guides, or an ounce of the scenery throughout or drive or climb. I’m in the dark both literally and figuratively.

We start out a bit cool. A shocking feeling in Bali. But within a few minutes of climbing my jacket’s off. Every so often we pause for a sip of water and look down at the starless view. As the climb continues, a long string of hundreds of lights begin to appear down below. We’re told it’s the other hikers bearing torches. It resembles an army in Lord of the Rings. My competitive spirit immediately kicks in. I won’t let these sons of a guns beat me to the top. My guide explains that the French are usually the fastest. Bring it on Frenchies! Things don’t go the way I hoped. Our group must stick together and not all of them think it’s fun to run to the top of a mountain at 4am. With a tortoise style pace, we arrive at the top in about two hours. It’s still completely dark but with my torch I can see it least fifty people. And judging from the line of ants trudging toward us, there will be a hundred more. Suddenly, I catch sight of a gigantic mass towering ahead of me. “Is that another mountain? I want to be at the top of that one!” Mangu hears me. “I was hoping you’d ask that. It’s a way better view.” Devin, my new found partner in crime, feels the same desire. So while the rest of the group remains at the conventional sunrise viewing point, the three of us gear up for round two.

Although the second peak takes only thirty minutes to scramble up, both it’s difficulty and dubiousness intensify. The initial path appears vertical and is comprised of tiny volcanic rocks which resemble gravel. Our efforts take twice as long because without careful footing we slide right back down. Mangu chuckles, “We call this one step forward two steps back.” Luckily his math is a bit off because eventually we arrive at what looks like the top. It’s still completely dark so I can’t be sure. Mangu sits and lights a cigarette. We do the same and try to look for some evidence of life in the black sky. The light seems to slowly illuminate, but apparently we still have it least an hour till sunrise. I start to shiver. It can’t be less than 50F but after weeks in tropical weather my body feels the same as it did in Chomulhari Base camp (Read that blog here) in the Himalayas. Mangu notices my shivering and immediately propositions us to visit the natural sauna just around the corner. We walk across a narrow crater, with such a steep slope on either side, that anyone want to get on their hands and knees and crawl. We do just that.

After crossing the crater, Mangu disappears. A voice below us shouts, “Come on down here!” I’m about to yell “screw off” after all the adventures I’ve had before sunrise, when I hear other voices exclaim “This is awesome!.” My FMS disease (Fear of Missing Something) forces me to check it out. After ungracefully sliding down a small boulder, a wave of hot steam engulfs my body. Within seconds I’m covered in balmy beads of water and warm inside and out. “Ever had a steamed banana?” Mangu inquires. “Umm.... not sure what you mean.”

Bananas, carefully wrapped in tinfoil are set inside a small cave which shoots out hot steamy air from the volcano’s inner veins. I’m now warm all over but realize I’ll be completely drenched if I maintain my perch for much longer. Just imagine being in a steam room, in all your clothes, without a towel. Within a few minutes, I lumber back up the slippery bolder.

Light gradually illuminates my nearby surroundings. I see my guide is an athletic, lanky, guy around my age with a youthful face. I see a bit of the dry rocky ground I stomp upon. Devin and I snap a picture together and can see our frizzy sauna hair and happy smiles.

We meander toward a cliff just as the sun is peaking outside the clouds. Within seconds it looks like we’ve entered outer-space. The sun is so incredibly powerful the entire sky is a luminous orange. Twenty anonymous shadows transform into Balinese, Brits, Portuguese, Japanese, Spanish, French, Americans, Dutch, Spanish and more all 'oohing and aahing' at our powerful star. We snap pictures, eat steamed bananas, laugh, and sip sugar filled chalky coffee. (Balinese add flour to their coffee to make it last longer.) After knocking back the last bit of coffee, Mangu says it’s time to leave outer-space and return to the mundane. We grudgingly oblige but not before we ask for one more adventure. Instead retracing our steps (boring!) we descend the volcano’s backside, an extra thirty minutes, which means walking across an even scarier crater. We are told to not look sideways or down. “Keep your eyes at your feet. Walk slowly and carefully. A few months ago I had to dig a dead Swedish guy out of here. He ran ahead of his guide.” His serious tone sends a shudder down my spine. Devin holds Mangu’s hand as I silently bring up the rear.

After a few tense minutes, we make it past that crater and are back to the gravel. This time we try something called “skiing.” In other words we recklessly slide down the mountain without picking up our feet. There are more people behind, using a similar strategy, who could easily knock me over so I’m motivated to charge as quickly as possible. We arrive at the first sunrise spot in about ten minutes time.

I pause and examine my surroundings. Lakes, temples, mountains, jungles. Everything appears more vast and grand than I ever could have imagined in the dark. The photographs I snap will not capture the views of Lake Batur and Mt. Agung. Perhaps it’s my sudden development of functioning eyes that makes everything appear so remarkable. Who knows? Just before our finishing the decent, I narrate a cheesy video that’s only a little more normal than the crazy dude's Double Rainbow video on youtube. (Please watch if you haven’t seen.)

By 9:30AM we’re back in the van sleeping just as we began. But this time a little less naive or 'in the dark.' I now know my group members by name and a bit of their stories. I know about the the village where our guide Mangu grew up and how he climbed Mt. Batur barefoot as a small child. I know about some of the many deaths near Mt. Batur through eruptions and human error. As I glance out the window, I now see the windy road's lush surroundings and the scattered tourist traps. And I'm pretty sure this trip illuminated a bit more about myself and I how I want to live in such limitless space. It may not be enlightenment but perhaps it’s one step closer.

Changing Your Plans

2010-10-11T22:39:00.000-07:00

“He still had some doubts about the decision he had made. But he was able to understand one thing: making a decision was only the beginning of things. When someone makes a decision, he is really diving into a strong current that will carry him to places he had never dreamed of when he first made the decision” The Alchemist

I realize the whole thing sounds pretty random. One moment I’m in the Himalayas relishing in a high power lama’s words of wisdom. “In 2010 do not to move anywhere, Liz. You could not be in a more perfect place.” (More on horoscope here) I write how my charos in Bhutan love me more than I ever could have imagined and offer me Drukpa (native Bhutanese) status. I write about loving every moment in such a spectacularly gorgeous country. And then my next post says I relocated to Bali? PS a gecko just crawled over my computer. :)

Well I guess my opportunity to stay began when mommy and I, frazzled and exhausted, embraced in the Denpasar airport. I dizzily stood smiling on heavy dose of sleep inducing anti histamine drugs caused by a Bhutanese bug’s farewell kiss. (Read bug bite story here) She’d been through an hour of hell in a customs detention room.

My mom bore an over-sized bag bursting with antibiotics and vitamins which ignited her customs fiasco. The Santa Barbara based NGO she volunteers with, Direct Relief International, suggested she haul these supplies to a birthing clinic, Bumi Sheat Foundation International. Luckily she was cool as a cucumber in the detention room and managed to get everything through. That’s my mama!

Pastika, a Bumi Sehat driver and lactation consultant, picked us up on arrival and drove directly to the clinic which sits in a small village called Nyuh Kuning just outside of Ubud. Although we spent no more than ten minutes unloading medicine and speaking with the Bumi Sehat team, I instantly connected. Facilities are basic, but the clinic bursts with compassionate staff, volunteers, and grateful patients. In fact, after realizing my salmon colored eye wasn't a birth deformity, they sent me in to see one of their general practitioners who hooked me up with even more potent drugs. Yay!

The following morning we took shuttles, speed boats, and horse drawn carriages to eventually arrive at the Gili Islands. Gili Trawangen, the largest island, has a mix of laid back backpackers, relaxed retired couples, and some diving fanatics. We didn’t meet any mother daughter duos but felt at home nonetheless running around the small island’s circumference in the AM, snorkeling between breakfast and lunch, and sipping beers throughout happy hour sunsets on the beech. Needless to say, I didn’t think about Bumi Sehat or really anything at all. My job was to enjoy being with my favorite person in the universe, my mom. Five days later we returned to Ubud for some city livin'.

The morning of our first day back, my mother and I set out on an aimless walk that lasted all day. Nearing lunchtime, we bumped into Devin, the Bumi Sehat Volunteer Coordinator, who greeted us the day we first arrived at the clinic.

After a sharing a thin crust veggie pizza, our walk transformed into one of my worst nightmares. Ubud’s infamous Monkey Forest. I know the furry guys look cute, but I’ve developed an immense fear of these creatures. A brief encounter with a Bhutanese monkey had left a permanent scar. Horrified, I watched tourists nonchalantly offer these wild beings bananas and laugh as they crawled on their shoulder. I screamed bloody murder when one playfully hit me in the head with her tail. Without pausing, we scurried to the other side of the forest and emerged in the village of Nyuh Kuning. Compared to increasingly congested touristy Ubud, Nyu Kuning looks sleepy and real. The roads are filled with potholes and only a few cafes. Most of the scenery are family compounds, rice patties, a soccer field, a few food stalls, and the birthing clinic Bumi Sehat.

Upon realizing the clinic’s proximity, we decided to pay it a visit and hopefully meet Bumi Sehat’s founder Ibu Robin Lim. Ibu means mother in Indonesian and most certainly describes this world famous midwife. She planted her roots in Nyu Kuning more than 18 years ago and began delivering babies out of her house. About five years ago she opened a free birthing clinic in Nyu Kuning, then one in Ache after the disastrous tsunami, and most recently helped found one in Haiti.

When we entered the clinic, I was again in awe of the simplicity, efficiency, and love that permeated the surroundings. My mother introduced herself to an energetic woman speaking Indonesian with a crowd of Bumi Sehat staff. Ibu Robin immediately offered warm hugs and thanked us for the medicine my mother had hauled over. We lounged on outdoor weathered couches and launched into conversations about malnutrition, genetically modified rice, and Indonesian politics. Robin’s personality, a mix of fiery strength, compassion, and far-sighted vision, is a beautiful recipe for a successful midwife and community leader. I was both inspired and intimidated by her accomplishments and abundant drive to help others.

Just a few minutes into our conversation, Robin jumped up and told us to come attend a young mother’s birth. My reaction conjured up a sensation I’ve felt before performing on stage, going on a blind date, or moving across the world. I wanted to go but I was scared beyond belief. (OK fine I admit I have still never even tried going on a blind date. WAAAY too scary :))

Robin seated us in chairs close to the mother but not in the way of the midwives. The chairs were not to comfort us but to comfort the laboring mother. Hovering intimidates in people in almost all situations and birth is not an exception. The mother looked young. I imagine she was around 20 years of age. She arrived in labor without any previous checkups. Bumi Sehat encourages their patients to partake in pre and post natal check ups, but unfortunately not all patients do. I watched the midwives hold her hand and feed her words of encouragement. Within about 10 minutes, a slimy head and eventually the a tiny little being appeared! Yes, the scene was bloody, graphic, and looked painful, but suddenly joyful air filled the small birthing room. This is the truest form of life and it changed me.

As our hearts connected with Bumi Sehat, I began a friendship with Bumi Volunteer Coordinator Devin, another long lost friend from some previous life. Amazing how I keep finding them! We began to go for walks, hikes, and happy hours. We discussed writing, philosophies on life, travel, and homesickness. We also discussed Bumi Sehat’s projects and their urgent fundraising needs. Only four days before my departure, the clinic offered me the Community Outreach Coordinator position. They’d worked out how to extend my visa for another month, and I could live in the clinic’s ashram. My plans of backpacking through South East Asia for a few weeks were still fuzzy. I could do this! I considered the opportunity for about five minutes and giddily accepted.

So here I am finally reflecting on my Mr. Toad's Wild ride. After almost four months, I still call Bali my home. My role at the clinic has evolved. Much of it’s been spent teaching free English classes to Balinese teens at the Bumi Sehat Youth Center, developing a permanent ESL curriculum, and online fundraising strategies. Some days have been filled with productivity. Others are spent lounging by our pool (moved out of the ashram a month ago to a little bungalow in the rice patties) with new found friends who all share a common zest for life.

I’m returning to the US in less than a month but not before I share more stories. Thanks for reading.

Love to everyone and everything, (even the monkeys)

Liz

The Kecak Dance

Leaving

2010-09-02T22:28:00.000-07:00

July 6, 2010
“BEEP BEEP.” Two obnoxiously loud sounds signify my sixteenth text today, and it’s only 10 am. I sigh and lounge further back on Kueron’s wicker deck chair while staring at gigantic verdant mountains. They were brown and barren when I first arrived 18 months ago. But every summer they throw on an expensive silk dress, pointy heels, and luminous emerald earrings. I say I love them equally, no matter what they wear, but really I’m partial to that sexy summer dress. God I’ll miss that dress.

Instead of chatter and giggles, Kueron and silently I sip instant coffee, filled with sugar and milk powder that I’ve learned to relish. A few minutes later, I muster the strength to examine my blue Nokia’s screen.

Heey u still der?! Need to see you!
Sender: Dawa
87613691
Sent:
6-Jul-2010
9:49:51

I can’t do this. There’s no graceful way to say goodbye to everyone. In less than 24 hours, I’ll leave emma datsi, Himalayan hikes, and life altering friendships. I hate rushed goodbyes. I hate drawn out goodbyes. I hate all goodbyes, and I hate myself for connecting on such a deep level with people from across the world.

Kueron, who in good fun nicknamed me “ditch bitch,” drives us through charming traffic-less Thimphu town for a last minute souvenir shopping spree. I greet shopkeepers, and all other recognizable faces, with strong bear hugs. “How are you doing?” they inquire. “I’m great,” I lie. “Sad but excited. It’s bitter sweet but reminds me of life’s impermanence.” As I explain my feelings, I nearly burst with bottled up emotion. But a cumbersome rock lodged in my throat continues to suppress a flood of tears.

This doesn’t feel good. I’m furious with myself. Why must I always to listen to that nagging restlessness? The voice that tells me when it’s time to go and seek new treasure. It’s tiring and it makes me feel like a quitter.

Kueron and I hurry home just as the afternoon sky darkens. Ten minutes later, more than a dozen people gather on her newly built deck. The group gingerly sips a fruity Austrian pinot noir and watches the mountain view turn to blackness. Meanwhile, Sandy, from Seasons Pizzeria prepares my favorite pie, ‘The Greek’ with olives, feta, garlic, sautéed spinach, roasted red peppers and toasted pine-nuts. Kueron plucks perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes off the vine in her front yard. I quickly mix a spicy vinaigrette and toss it with halved tomatoes, chopped basil leaves, and a pinch of salt and pepper. We eat with gusto and all comment on the most apparent and appetizing ingredient, love.

Half a dozen more friends arrive bearing wine, hugs, and smiles. Yangchen strums any song we ask for and and sings better than Jewel, Sara McLaughlan, or anyone in the world. We laugh, shout, and sing full throttle. Every so often, someone puts their finger to their lips and exclaims “shhh the neighbors!” but our giddiness is uncontrollable. Around 3AM my night owl friends return home and leave me to encounter my most dreaded moment, packing. Luckily, I finish relatively quickly and can indulge in two hours of blurry sleep.

When I wake, I feel like I’ve been punched in the face. Upon brushing my teeth, I realize I was punched in the face! But I can’t remember any sort of fight. A closer examination reveals three enormous bug bites surrounding my left eye. Inflamed, red, puffy tissue begins above my eyebrow and continues half way down my cheek. “Be thankful for your right eyeball.” a friend says. “Without it you’d be blind.”

On our way to Paro airport we stop at the pharmacy. Inside, I remove my shades and unveil a grotesque deformed eye. “OH MY GOD!” the pharmacist shouts. Everyone in the store turns to stare. She prescribes an antihistamine, but it will take a week for my eye to look close to normal again. As we wind through the Paro valley, I try to memorize our conversations, the rivers, the sunshine, and every pothole. I say my final goodbyes at the airport and finally begin to sob. My bawling continues through security, check in, customs, and the passenger waiting area. It is relentless so I sport enormous aviator sunglasses shielding my “Weird Eye Yankovic” appearance and a stream of salty tears.

A day later, I embrace my radiant mother in the Denpasar airport and we begin an indulgent three week vacation. Our airy days consist of morning coffee, walks, discussions on what to do with our day or on life in general, and savoring Gado Gado- a dish of blanched spinach, carrots, beans, sprouts, and a boiled egg served with a spicy peanut sauce. One night we find ourselves in a dusty unloved bungalow apartment just outside of Ubud. The next morning, while trudging through puddles and rain, my mom notices an inviting veranda overlooking golden rice patties. She knocks on the house's front door, and we’re invited inside. An hour later we are unpacking and lounging by our private pool in glamorous but tasteful villa. Its nightly rate is the same as a Motel6 in Wichita Kansas.

Throughout our trip, a Bhutanese rock remains lodged in my throat, but it no longer suppresses tears. Just thinking about mountains, monks, textiles, chili, or anything to do with my Bhutan makes me cry. On one lazy afternoon, we enter a hotel gift-shop and notice an enormous piece of colorful woven fabric hanging on the wall. “Excuse me, is that Balinese?” I ask the sales woman. “Oh no, that’s called a kira. My boss got it from a place called Bhutan.” My mom shoots the woman a glaring “why’d you say that to my baby girl??” look because she knows what will come next. I immediately erupt into uncontrollable sobs and we have to exit the store. It’s a strange sense of loss. A bit like breaking up with someone you deeply love. Time, slowly, heals your wounds but there will always be a little scar.

My mom loves our spontaneity but admits to looking forward to our July 31 departure. After 24 hours on Eva Air, and a drive through LA, she’ll meet an eager golden retriever who will squeal with delight. Two handsome sons and loving parents will call her on her Crackberry. She’ll go back to a job, friendly tennis matches, and book club meetings. She’ll have routine. At some point, I decide I should go home too and get cracking on graduate school applications. Then, 72 hours before we’re supposed to leave, I find a reason to stay.....
To Be Continued.

In Love, Again.

2010-08-20T22:53:00.000-07:00

Just pick something and stick with it.
Be more practical.
You worry us.
At some point you’ll grow up and just work. The perfect thing doesn’t exist.

I’ve heard it. “Thank you for that advice” I roboticly respond with a forced smile. I actually mean "thank you for your depressing advice that would leave me unhappy and unfulfilled." For now, exploration, through work and play, is the only thing I’ll stick with.

Most recently, I swapped mountainous surroundings for lush jungles and sandy beaches. I traded beautifully woven kiras for hand painted sarongs. Brisk dry air for the hot sticky stuff. Misty remote Buddhist temples have become sunny Hindu holy houses. My new roommates: Gail the Gecko and Matt the Mosquito.

I've never loved a place the way I love Bhutan. I doubt I ever will. Why would I walk away from such love? Because change is my chocolate. I’m addicted. It feeds my soul. I’m younger. A curious overwhelmed little kid. I see expansive fields of space. Conventional routine cannot exist because each normal day is an anomaly. I’m an explorer.

In the last of couple months this desire for change, this addiction, consumed my soul. Ironically, much of my life remains unchanged. Owner-less cows, dogs, and cats continue to roam free. I still eat uncanny amounts of rice and chili. I continue to teach students, and I still encounter new challenges, friendships, and experiences on an almost daily basis. I’m still writing. And when you say "Balinese" it kinda sounds like "Bhutanese."

But Bali, my newest home, is different. Leaving magical Bhutan stung. It seriously stung. Later, when I describe the puffy swollen eye I departed with, you’ll understand I mean this figuratively and literally. Entering Bali felt like a deflated dream. I’d always wanted to visit, but I expected a remote paradise only a few fortunate westerners witness. Bali isn’t that. It least not anymore. You won’t feel special here. Abundant tourism created cozy cafe after cafe with free wireless and bright eyed yogis passionately discussing the benefits of coconut oil with every meal. Watch out, they’ll probably ask you to join their energy channeling session. Obnoxiously loud motorbikes squirt mud on your white skirt. The minute you leave your door someone shouts “You buy. Cheap price. One dollar,” or “Hello lady. Transport? Maybe tomorrow?” I suddenly changed my mind and wanted no change. I wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t Bhutan.

As always, the pleasant stuff happened when I remembered expectations never serve me well. I threw them in miles of verdant terraced rice patties and saw Bali for what it is. Paradise! I fell in love again.

Details will come soon. For now just know my heart is wide open.

VAST's Art of Giving Night

2010-06-29T03:02:00.000-07:00

Nobody ever became poor by giving.

Anne Frank

OK, I can't prove Ms. Frank's statement. But I can safely say putting time, money, and energy towards bettering our planet only makes me richer and more fulfilled.

I know there's a lot more I could and should do. Often, the endless amounts of poverty and injustice make my aspirations feel hopeless, but I've found the best way to combat my waves of apathy, defeat, or laziness is to spend time with those making a difference.

The founders and members of VAST Bhutan (Voluntary Artist Studio) are the kind of people I seek for a dose of inspiration. Through creative workshops and social projects, they inspire positive change amongst Bhutan and within my heart.

Over the past few weeks I've helped arrange their inaugural Art of Giving Night and, meanwhile, intensified my passion for giving. I realize most of you readers will not be able to kayak across the pacific, and hike through the Himalayas, to reach the event on Thursday night, but please read through the invitation (written by yours truly) which explains what the evening benefits. If you'd like to show your support or read more about VAST do so on their website http://www.vast-bhutan.org/. Information on how to support VAST at http://www.vast-bhutan.org/help-vast/

For those of you who can make the night I look forward to enjoying Thursday evening together! Feel free to post comments on my blog or stop by VAST with any questions. :)

Dear ________________,

We’d be delighted if you could join us for a delightful evening of food, drinks, film premieres, and artwork at our inaugural Art of Giving Night on Thursday, July 1, 2010. A delicious dinner prepared with love from our favorite restaurant, Musk, will be served to arouse your senses. Funds raised on this occasion will directly support those Bhutanese-in-need thanks to VAST’s network of projects.

Despite its uniqueness, Bhutan is no stranger to the contrast between affluence and poverty. Witnessing individuals who lack basic needs, such as food and clothing, is a call to action for our small-scale projects, which including the Rice Bank, Build a House, and Make a Wish. While we appreciate and laud individual efforts to alleviate poverty, we realize these projects will not, and cannot, end this problem alone. Instead, our aim is to instill social responsibility within Bhutanese youth to provide a long lasting impact in the fight against poverty.

Please read on to learn more about The Art of Giving Night and how your contribution can make a big difference.

At a Glance

When: Thursday, July 1, 2010 at 6:30 P.M.

Where: The new VAST Studio by the clock tower

Donation: Minimum Nu 500

Your attendance will support our projects

Rice Bank

VAST Rice Bank aims to break the vicious cycle of debt that farmers in villages experience through the most basic commodity in life: rice. We started this project in three villages in Punakha, and we hope to expand.

Build a House

During one of our trips to a village in Kabesa, Punakha, we came across a family living in a dilapidated hut. Ap. Khen and his wife have four children between the ages of four and 13. The father is currently recovering from Hansen’s disease and his hands are partially deformed. The mother is living with a terminal burn injury. The family lives on a very small land holding and is solely dependent on forest products and crop sharing for subsistence. With their limited means, they have not been able to send any of their children to school. The family is now one of the beneficiaries of our Rice Project. Inspired by this meeting, we launched a Build-A-House community programme so that impoverished families may live comfortably. Ap Khen and his family are the first recipients of this programme. In 2008, we raised enough funds to build a one floor mud house for Ap. Khen. With the left over funds, we constructed an accra one floor house for Aum Zam in Tamidamchu, Punakha. We are currently raising funds for another home for Lham and her family of five in Thamji, Punakha.

Make a Wish

There are many issues between young and old people emerging as Bhutan goes through rapid changes. Some of these issues are directly related to the generation gap and not having activities that usefully engage the youth in understanding their elders.

“Make a Wish” project is designed to link young and old from rural and urban areas. Through an age old Bhutanese tradition, the young serve their elders and regenerate a lost connection. This pilot project took place on 1 September to 8 September 2009 in Bumthang, Punakha and Trongsa for 128 senior citizens (60 plus) from Kabji villages. During our visit to the region, locals expressed the wish to visit important religious sites in central Bhutan. Ten young VAST volunteers from urban Thimphu accompanied them to temples and other cultural heritage sites in the region. Most of the rural participants had never crossed the boundary of their district.

Young Monks of Phadjoding

The World Monument Fund placed Phajoding in the top five most endangered cultural monuments in the world, but a recent trip to Phadjoding shows us that it is not only the building that needs support. While over 26 monks currently live within the monastery, government funds only cover 14 bodies. Many of these young monks come from economically disadvantaged families, and their basic needs, such as food and clothing, are just barely met. VAST ‘s newest project will connect its young volunteers to the monks of Phadjoding by having them offer warm clothing.

What the night will look like

Short Film Premiere

In June 2010, renowned film-maker and film school director, Michael Brown, ran one of his Adventure Film Schools in Bhutan (http://www.adventurefilmschool.com/). This film school is a 12 day program for international film students. Two Bhutanese student film makers, Tenzin La and Thinley, were invited to join this 12 day film school free of cost.

To take advantage of resources rarely available in Bhutan, The Institute of Language and Culture Studies (ILCS) hosted the post-production workshop conducted by editor Sharyn Smith. Three additional Bhutanese were also invited to participate. Smith provided mentorship and feedback on their projects and developed technical editing and story telling/narrative skills.

We are delighted to premiere the five short films produced and edited by the Bhutanese who completed the workshop. The film makers will be present at the event for Q&A sessions and any informal feedback.

Film makers

Tenzin La ILCS Audio Visual Unit

Thinley Vast Member interested in film making

Kezang Chuki Film maker

Tin Tin Pema Tshering Vast member and artist

Tashi Gyelsten Script writer and film maker

Silent Art Sale

Throughout the night you’ll have the opportunity to bid on pieces of art created by VAST members and local artists. Because the artists believe in artful giving, many of their works are donated. By purchasing their pieces you will again directly fund our projects.

Attending the Art of Giving Night is an opportunity to show your support while enjoying beautiful art, food, and company. Along with all of the art that we hope you’ll purchase, a minimum donation of Nu 500 is requested. We look forward to seeing you there!

Live Entertainment by various Bhutanese musicians

P.S. The night is about giving so please feel free to bring anything you do not need or want.

Rinpoches, Rain, and Realizations

2010-06-02T01:17:00.000-07:00

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Cold rapid rain flows with force. In the midst of a torrential downpour, Yangzom and I stand hours waiting for our blessing. My cheap tego, a light jacket worn over kiras, does its best to act as a rain jacket. A drenched cotton scarf covers my wet hair. Monks stand shivering in soaked cotton maroon robes. Women tightly wrap babies inside their shirts. I scan the thousands for one non Bhutanese face with no success. What on earth am I doing here? This is a recipe for pneumonia!

Yangzom explains that the rain will wash away all our sins and test our commitment to the Buddhist faith. In my drenched state I’m not sure what to believe. Yet, something tells me to pay close attention. The line is deceiving. After an hour of waiting, the temple appears only a few meters away. But when we turn the corner, the building we thought to be a temple is not. Hundreds of bodies, in beautiful wet kiras and ghos, stand before us.

A large woman pushes my back and steps on my kira. I move to the side, and Yangzom instructs me to get back in line. I quietly whisper why I moved. Without hesitation, Yangzom turns and directly tells the elderly lady she won’t obtain her blessing any faster by pushing me. My face turns bright red but both women immediately laugh. Their direct communication, lacking defensiveness, is refreshing.

Just when I decide I can bear it no longer, we enter a courtyard and finally the small charming temple. Our line rotates clockwise starting on the left side. Yangzom enters first, and I do my best to copy her every move. I bend my head down at an altar, and a monk taps me on the back. “Madam, you must put your forehead all the way to the altar.” So I place my forehead onto the altar like he asks and continue doing so at each holy spot. Many have come to see sacred relics which will not be shown to the public for the foreseeable future. I’m too overwhelmed to know what to look at. We leave with blessed yellow strings and tie them around our neck. The entire sequence takes less two minutes.

Afterward, we run through the rain, and puddles of mud, back to Yangzoms car. Inside the car both of us attempt to discretely change into something dry. We hysterically laugh as laymen and monks glance our way and quickly turn their head with shock filled faces. We huddle by the heater with large grins. It’s nearly six and the smoky gray clouds darken. What good fortune to receive such a special blessing so late in the day! As the car begins to move, Yangzom and I give each other a hearty high five.

Naturally, a grand traffic jam erupts as we leave the parking area. A police man suggests we take a short cut and points to our right hand side. Giddy from our adventure, we immediately follow his instructions and power up a rough mountain road. A line of five cars follow our ‘short cut.’ Again, we burst into a fit of giggles when we are on a road to nowhere. The entire line of cars then follows our lead as we turn around and head the way we came. So much for a short cut.

After such adventures we are both craving a nice cup of coffee. In Paro town we find a newly opened cafe with delicious cappuccinos and cakes. After inhaling such luxuries, we return to the car with a new predicament. Yangzom’s car doors are locked and the keys sit tauntingly in the ignition. Blackness begins to overwhelm the sky and I worry. We are an hour and a half drive away from Thimphu where our friends live. Without an American Automobile Association (AAA) to call, what will we do? Yangzom laughs, but I sense a twinge of worry in her cackles. “I always do things like this and they work out. We just need a strong wire,” she explains. As we search for a tool, or someone to help us, I reflect on my old and new home’s differences. My absent mindedness also places me in these sorts of situations, but I wouldn’t ask a stranger to help and I wouldn’t wander down alleys for flexible strong wire. I’d immediately call some sort of service. As Yangzom reaches her hand inside the minuscule window opening, a few people ask if they can help.

Within a few minuets, a crowd gathers all offering their input on how to retrieve our precious keys. Men and woman, old and young, stand by our side assisting simply because they want to. Eventually, someone realizes by ripping off the rain guard the window opening will enlarge enough for an arm to reach through and grab the keys. When Yangzom holds the her key up in glory, the entire crowd jumps up and down cheering. Witnessing such community support moves me.

We traveled to Paro because it was the centennial anniversary of the late Rinpoche Kyabje Dilgo Khyentse. A three day special prayer ceremony, conducted by over 300 monks and dozens of rinpoches, took place to pay tribute to the holy figure's accomplishments. The fourth King, royal grandmother, two queens, prime minister, and the opposition leader all attended the ceremony’s first day. The Rinpoche’s sacred relics made a rare appearance in the temple for public viewing.

While I appreciate all this, I doubt years from now I’ll remember the temple’s painting, relics, smells, and chanting prayers. Instead, I’ll remember peacefully standing beside so many devoted Bhutanese in the midst of a downpour, getting lost on a rough road, and observing a community’s determination to open one woman’s car door. Once again, the journey proves to be my true blessing.

Affirmation Astrology

2010-04-16T19:47:00.000-07:00

Is it a good year to have a baby? When should I move houses? Will my business make money?

When Bhutanese encounter questions of consequence, they often consult an astrologer. Local newspapers list which days are auspicious for buying things, moving houses, trying something new, and when to be careful. Sometimes people wind up waiting weeks for a day that’s OK to move their things from one house to another. Three enlightened royal astrologers decided November 6th, 2008 was an auspicious enough day to hold the coronation of King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuk. Astrologers devote nearly a lifetime of study in monasteries, and those who master the profession are considered healers, psychologists, spiritual practitioners, and Buddhist teachers.

Needless to say these practitioners aren’t your average western fortune tellers. I’d been trying to see one since last year, but they are not easy to find- especially good ones. Most are reluctant to preform readings on foreigners who do not understand Dzonkha. After hours of intense concentration, imagine the explanations, recommendations, and questions that could become lost in translation. I’d just about given up seeing one. That was until recently...

A couple of Fridays ago I dug into some fantastic spicy cauliflower curry, saag, alu dum, rice, and dal with my Santa Barbarian friends, Peggy and Annick, who were visiting Bhutan. When my second cup of masala chai arrived, Peggy asked if I’d like to join them for an early morning trip to Pangrizampa, a School of Astrology about 6 kms north of Thimphu. “Hum..” I considered. “An early Saturday morning monastery or a late Friday night at the bars?” I didn’t let more than a second pass before I jumped out of my seat, nearly spilling my tea, exclaiming “I’d love to come!” (And because I don’t like to miss out, I also paid a visit to the bars that evening.)

Now please make swirly hand waves as I flash back to Saturday morning.

Peggy picks me up around 8:30AM, and I pound my flask of coffee. The curvy car ride gives me a headache, but it’s is forgotten as soon as we step out of the car.

Two huge white buildings surrounded by a grove of cypress trees stand in front of us. Just outside of the monastery gates elderly men and woman circle prayer wheels softly reciting sacred chants. As we set foot in the courtyard, more than 100 little boy monks, huddled over ancient text, turn to look at us. Before becoming a school for astrologers, Pangrizampa once housed Bhutan’s national hero and founder Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyal. The structure is more than 500 years old.

We receive blessings from two temples and then sit down in a quiet corner with one of the head lamas. Our friend, and translator, Karma explains, “this won’t be your full reading. That would take too much time. Later, you’ll receive a written horoscope, translated into English, with more extensive details. For now you’ll have a simple reading to see what’s on the surface.” “La so la” we nervously mumble. (A polite way to say yes sir.)

Peggy goes first. Her reading rings true with her soul, and she takes his advice very seriously. Even I notice how the Lama seems to already know her personality. Next it’s my turn.

The Lama chuckles and then hysterically laughs. We stare with blank faces and but soon join in on the laughter. It’s uncomfortable laughter. What could be so funny about my future and past?

After scribbling calculations in a small sand block, he flips through an ancient book with Tibetan scribe. He reads, chuckles, takes deep breath, and suddenly fires rapid Dzonkha at Karma.

I sit up straight leaning in to recognize words throughout their intense conversation.

Karma explains, “your lucky number is eight. This is also the King's number. Your element is water and your colors are yellow, white, and green.” When Karma takes a breath, I interject.

“Are there particular elements which I should look for in partners?” It’s not that I’m on the prowl, but I figure it’s good to throw it out there.

Karma repeats the question, and the Lama smiles. “This is a very important and good question.” But instead of answering he continues to scribble on the sand in front of him.

Soon the conversation continues. I decide to enjoy the ride and find myself smiling as they illuminate the rest of my story.

“You are very fortunate Elizabeth. You have three deities looking out for you. Elizabeth, your life’s been a particular way till now, but 2010 will be different. It will be your best year to date and life will continue to improve each year thereafter. You could be considered Lady of the Year. You could even eat poison and survive.” I chuckle. Fat chance I’ll test that one out, but its nice to hear. The best part comes next.

“In 2010 stay put! You could not be living in a more perfect place.” Happy tears stream down my face. What a relief. Yes, I’m happy to be back in Bhutan, but I still question my decision. The Lama’s words bring me the affirmation I did not know I needed.

Next he explains, “Although you are living in the right place, there is evil in your neighborhood. To ward off this evil visit Changanka temple as much as possible, build a Buddha statue, and wear a locket at all times. You must also build your piousness through mediation. This will be a way to communicate with your three protective deities.” I scribble down the suggestions as though they are the clues to a hidden treasure.

The lama then returns to his sand block and ancient astrology books. The next phase of his reading will focus on my past lives. As he speaks with Karma, I catch the word ‘Drukpa’ and nothing else.

“Elizabeth, welcome back to Bhutan!” Karma exclaims. “The Lama sees three lives including your present one. In your first life you were a boy living in the rugged wilderness where there was no religion. He believes this to be Bhutan.” My smile is abnormally big. So often I feel as if I’ve been in Bhutan forever. My friends laugh at the things I do, mostly my chili eating habits, and say I am so distinctly Bhutanese. Once again the Lama offers affirmation.

“After your Bhutanese Boy days, you were in God’s realm, and now you are you.” “God’s realm? Wow! How’d I get to where I am now?” I consider. I learn later that being born a human is the highest form of life. Even higher than God’s realm because humans have the opportunity to become enlightened and end the rebirth cycle. What we become in our next life depends on the karma we cultivate in our current life.

Next Karma explains the Lama’s words on my current life. “At the age of 50 be careful. Some sort of incident will occur, but don’t worry too much. You have 23 years to prepare. The lama sees you having a long and peaceful life with two homes. If you do choose to marry it won’t be for it least three more years.” “You got that right Lama!” I silently exclaim.

He continues, “Lama says you need to be involved in artwork. You will be good at some sort of craft where you use your hands. You are very bright. If you become ill you will be quick to recover. Your attitude appeals to others. You respect your elders. You have the opportunity to become a very respected teacher.”

Wow! As I scribble notes and try to digest his remarks, the Lama begins to look at my afterlife.

“You have the chance to born as a human woman again or in God’s realm. Build, or purchase, a Buddha stature and have some attachment to it.”

He ends with Annicks reading. She’s got a wonderful life ahead but her afterlife reading brings more laughter. “Annick, you can change this, but as of now you will be born as a pigeon or a cuckoo bird.” Talk about being specific!

I hope this inspires you to cultivate your karma and make sure you are enjoying your current human life!

Love,

Me

Liz, You Came Back?!

2010-03-18T03:27:00.000-07:00

“Liz, you came back!!!!” or “Liz, you came back???”

Although I hear these exact words almost everyday, the tone varies. Some are inquiring, but most say the phrase out of pure excitement. Either way, I don’t really have a chance to answer because the conversation continues.

“When did you get back?”

A few days ago, a week ago, or two weeks ago. At this point I’ve almost reached the three week mark. Longer than most people’s vacations to Bhutan. Not that my return could be compared to any vacation. Starting a daycare is nothing of the sort. Overall, an enriching experience but certainly not about relaxation. More on that later.

Next question....

“What’s it like to be back? Are there any surprises? How did you feel about coming back?”

Now these are the fruitful questions. The ones I should reflect on. My answer depends on how much time we have to chat. I longed to be back when I first reached the US. Bhutan was my new home. Then, after two months leisurely enjoying life in my old home, I experienced apprehension about beginning Thimphu part two. Was it really as great as I imagined, or more importantly was it going to be as great as it was last year? How on earth would I start a daycare? Were my wonderful Bhutanese friends really my friends? Did they miss me and would they take me back? Where would I live? Would it be hard to adjust to life again without central heating, coffee beans, and 3000 different wines to choose from?

Yes, some of it is tough. Each day, I drink Nescafe, but I miss my mother’s morning espresso with a splash of soy milk. I miss grabbing wine from a local vineyard near my hometown, and I know that when December arrives I’ll be dying for some central heating. But those are just material things. When I long for the ocean, I look out at the majestic Himalayas. When think of my mom and my dear friends, I remember they miss me too. Because I store all my California comforts deep inside my heart, I can’t really miss them. They are a part of me.

I cried. OK fine, I sobbed uncontrollably when my mother and I said our goodbyes in the LAX airport. Throughout the hour long security line, I wiped salty tears from my cheeks. Then unexpectedly I bumped into a friend at my gate who was also on his way back to Bhutan. We shared a beer and reflected on all the magical aspects Bhutan offers. The ghos, kiras, mountains, prayer flags, Dzonkha sayings, music, and festivals. It got me excited, but I still worried. Would I feel lonely? I certainly would, but loneliness can be a good thing. Welcome it, reflect, and learn to see its humor, helpfulness, and beauty. The 18 hour direct flight to Bangkok both figuratively and literally flew by thanks to a glass of wine and a sleeping pill. “How on earth did you sleep 12 hours?” the jealous man next to me inquired.

7am hit and we landed at BKK. On a Sunday morning there was no traffic, and I quickly arrived at my lovely hotel. My meals put CA Thai food to shame. I was exhausted, but feeling pretty hopeful. Then 330am, the following morning, hit and it was time to board a taxi bound for the Bangkok airport. Ugh, I felt like a zombie. But when I boarded Druk air flight KB 123, heard Zdonkha music, and saw beautiful Bhutanese woman in kiras, I shed more tears. This time out of pure joy. “Kuzuzangpo la,” I exclaimed. These people knew I was saying! For breakfast I ate alu dum and puri. It was airplane food, but I hadn’t had such a thing for soooo long. Delicious! I was back. On the plane I read the Druk Air magazine which had an article I’d written all about my trek to Chumulhari. Although I wasn’t asked, or informed, if my blog entry could be used, I couldn’t help but smile. I felt like a somebody. I was part of Bhutan.

After offering my answer, another question arises.

“Are there any surprises since you came back?”

Well, I knew what it would look like. I knew how the languages would sound and of nearly every Thimphu inhabitant’s proficient English. I was aware of the strikingly beautiful people and the stylishly dressed Om bar patrons.

But there was one major surprise. I was, and am, more loved than I could ever hope for. At home I have friends and family writing and checking in with me constantly. I feel their love and good wishes across the world. And then there are my incredible Bhutanese chharos. With a huge smile, but not as big as mine, they express their gratitude for the respect, appreciation, and joy I bring Bhutan. “I’m not a chilip” they explain. "I’m a Drukpa." There love is sustained and constant. Not only do they know my name, they know my story, and they all seem thrilled to share more adventures together.

What a wonderful surprise to encounter. This year’s filled with unknowns. Not all will be as pleasant. So for now I relish such a delightful one.

I send love, love, and more love back to those I know, have only just met, and to those I don’t know at all.

All my best,

Liz

Surprise!

2010-02-16T10:19:00.000-08:00

The suspense builds. What in the world is Liz Warren up to? Will her blog die? Did she die? Should she modify the "Teaching in Thimphu" title? Nope! I'm headed back to Bhutan in one week! This year I'm part of a team opening Thimphu's newest preschool Tiny Toes! Chapter 2 soon to begin!

The Motherland

2010-01-16T14:20:00.000-08:00

Where was I...

My departure from Thimphu wasn’t emotional. Nobody cried at our school’s farewell Coronation Park picnic, or throughout any of my goodbyes. At the picnic, Kueron gave the going away speech. She began with “this year, we have two teachers leaving The Early Learning Centre which would be sad... but it isn’t because they are getting married. Congratulations Liz and Sonam!!!” Sonam, our introverted Physical Education teacher, turned bright red. I loved it because I’m a huge fan of awkwardness and kept telling everyone what a beautiful family we were going to have. Awkward picnic, awkward coffee, awkward whiskey, awkward speeches, awkward sushi. It just makes laugh.

For almost a week, I lived large in Thimphu town. Then out of nowhere Tuesday, December 22 arrived, and I boarded a Drunk Air flight bound for Bangkok. I mean a Druk Air flight.

This gave me two nights and one day to rest up before my flight across the world. As you probably guessed from one of my latest postings Bangkok truly overwhelmed me. The street food was amazing in China Town, and the Thai food paired with a tower of beer amongst friends near a trendy shopping area was a nice finish. It just felt way more intense than all my previous visits.

From Bangkok I flew 7 hours to Tokyo and then 12 hours to San Francisco. In total I may have watched 8 movies. Seriously. With an hour left till landing, I started celebrating. I brought home Bhutanese drums which stood up and banged to create an awkward drum airplane scene.

My seven hour layover in San Francisco was actually pretty sweet. One of my dear friends, Whitney, scooped me up at the SFO arrivals terminal and took me for bagels and coffee. I demanded avocado which was not on the menu but she took one look at my desperation and magically found some. In the airport I found my flight was two hours delayed so I slumped in my chair and felt sorry for my lack of sleep. I looked up when I heard the words “hey Liz.” It was none other than my creative, intelligent, tall dark and handsome younger brother Kyle. My mom told me he was already in snowy Park City but she’d actually booked him a seat next to mine. Obviously, I made another inelegant drumming scene in the airport.

I was told a shuttle would pick me up in Salt Lake, but that was another fib. When we got off the plan in Salt Lake City, I found my grandparents and mother holding a gigantic sign with the words WELCOME BACK TO THE USA ELIZABETH!!!! There was a pot of seafood gumbo and champagne waiting for me in our condo along with a colorful Christmas tree, my happy go-lucky golden retriever and my happy-go lucky youngest brother Brian. What a Christmas Eve! Throughout the next week we just relaxed, skied, and caught up much needed family time.

For New Year’s Eve my high school sweetheart (kidding) travel buddy, Emily, who will make you die of laughter, and too much wine consumption, met me in Park City. We snowboarded (almost) and danced 2009 away in a lumber yard party. I’m serious about the lumber yard part.

Next, I headed back to San Francisco to meet my papa and all my amigos still living in the area. The food was incredible and the people were ok. Just joking about that part too. Everything was great. Highlights were seeing my longtime roommate Stacy’s beautiful one year old daughter, Logan, for the first time and many good walks, talks, and times with friends. Brian’s 21st birthday was towards the end of my trip and he drove up for a night of family time, a great Vietnamese meal, and bar shenanigans.

I’m now back in Santa Barbara enjoying structureless days filled with walks on the beach, hikes, cooking, and watching premieres of Project Runway and American Idol.

I write on my mom’s porch admiring dozens of palm trees, bright green grass, pink flowers, and Bhutanese prayer flags blowing in the wind. It rained all last night so the air feels crisp and clean. When the wind touches the palm trees it sound as if it’s raining but I also hear the soft ding of chimes and ocean waves crashing in the distance. The temperature, 67F or 19C, is lovely in the sun. Soon I’m off for a hike in the beautiful hills which boast views of our quaint town and the sea.

More to write soon about my volunteer work at Direct Relief International and my presentations on Bhutan.... XOXOXO

Sorry Honey, Things Just Got Weird

2010-01-12T01:15:00.000-08:00

At one point, we all hear these lovely lines. “I was into you but....” “I think we should try being friends.” “It’s not you, it’s me.” “I need sometime to think...ALONE.”

I admit it. (and it wouldn’t be the first time) I’ve gotten a little weird lately. No, my blog didn’t ask me to make a commitment (blogs don’t talk), but I came close to dumping Mr. Blog for a few reasons.

1. The Name: I call it Teaching in Thimphu, but I’ve done nothing of the sort in the past month.

2. My Readers: Grandmommy and Granddaddy aren’t the only ones reading anymore! Yes, that was obvious from the get go, but all this lovey dovey/mundane stuff I’m about to share is slightly embarrassing to picture just about anyone reading besides my family.

3. The Content: I won’t be trekking to the second highest virgin peak, visiting a monk who’s meditated on the top of a mountain for 15 years, or attending a sacred festival anytime soon. Although I’ll be back in Thimphu within a couple months, I do not currently reside in a dreamy Himalayan Kingdom. I’m in a cozy house in Santa Barbara. I watch movies with my mom, eat popcorn, and go for walks on the beach. I roast carrots for fun. - which you should try by the way!

Anyway, if you have not gotten totally weirded out by my weirdness you can keep reading about all the random little days I’ve had since I came home. In my next post....

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

2009-12-23T08:42:00.000-08:00

Sitting in my hotel room in Bangkok. I left Bhutan yesterday and for some reason I am having trouble facing fascinating Bangkok. I feel sad, but what is there to be sad about? I’ll be back, but I suddenly feel lonely.

I’ve been in a constant sea of familiar faces, and now I’m all by myself in the enormous city. I love traveling all by myself, but I must be out of practice. In Bhutan you are a somebody. Everyone, even if they pretend otherwise, has some knowledge of who you are. Or if they don’t have any idea, but are curious, they will easily uncover anything they want to know. When I first arrived in Thimphu, I hated the fact that I couldn’t go to a coffee shop by myself and stay by myself. Someone would always sit down next to me. I dreaded walking outside and hearing the calls. “Madam!” “Aunty Elizabeth” “Mam Liz!” There were screams out of apartments, cars, parks, or across the street. “Where are you going?” they’d ask, and I felt violated. Wasn’t that a little too nosy or even rude?

Over time my attitude changed. I took a little responsibility and realized if I didn’t want to see anyone I could just stay home... do a little cleaning for once.

Then one day I started to like being known. I now look forward to a walk in downtown Thimphu because I’m sure I’ll see my many friends, students, and acquaintances along the way. I crave the recognizable faces. When I read the paper, I usually know the person who wrote the article or the people in the article. When I post a new blog people stop me on the street and ask me about it.

Now, instead of ducking behind bushes when I see someone I know, I shout their name ask them where they are going. Apparently liking things is all about what you are used to. Cheers Bhutan.

Laughter, Beauty, Trust

2009-12-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

“Liz, wakey wakey. eggs and bakey.” Kueron lovingly says through the door around 630am Saturday morning. “Aaaaaaah” I painfully reply and then go straight back to sleep. My head aches from one too many fermented grape drinks the previous night, but it’s graduation day and I know I’ll pull it together.

Annually, The Early Learning Centre holds a graduation for their class VI students. Many of them have attended the Early Learning Centre for over eight years. The campus is colorfully decorated and the children wear blue graduation caps and gowns.

The teachers arrive around 730am for last min preparations like gown fitting and setting up chairs before the 10am start. Our chief guest, who is also a parent of one of the graduates, drives straight from Paro airport to the school. Upon his arrival the show begins. All 32 students proudly give a speech in their royal blue robes. Some of the teachers dance to a graceful traditional Dzonkha song and a playful Nepali tune.

Mid way through the graduation, I’m called to the podium for my speech. Here’s the version I planned on saying although I’m sure I said it a little differently on the big day.

Kuzuzangpo la.

Before I arrived in Bhutan, I worked with a small primary school in San Francisco. I was nervous to tell the principal about my decision to quit my job and move across the world, but I didn’t need to be. I couldn’t have received a more positive response. In fact, she asked me to share my story at their school assembly. So, I stood in front of a group of teachers, students, and parents like yourself and told them that I’d always dreamed of coming to Bhutan and I was making dreams come true.

If you want something badly enough you really can make it happen. All it takes is a little patience, perseverance, and a faith. Class VI students you have the ability to make anything happen if you want it badly enough. Dream big and don’t be afraid to try many different things!

My dreamy year in Bhutan focused on three simple words. Laughter, beauty, and trust. Consider your own lives and see where these three words take you.

Laughter- Anytime you try something new you are likely to make many mistakes. But in my experience mistakes equal laughter. I’ll never forget the day I walked into the Center for Bhutan Studies storytelling conference. While everyone sat quietly waiting for the Princess’s arrival, I tip toed inside slightly embarrassed for my tardy entrance. As I scanned the crowed for an empty seat, I heard a loud bang. “What was that” I wondered. “Whoops that was me!” I’d knocked over the ceremonial bowl carefully perched in the center of the room. At tea time, I asked some of the ELC teachers if anyone saw the catastrophe. “Liz” they hesitated “there was not a single person in the room who missed that.” After the initial shock, we laughed and laughed about such an awkward, clumsy moment.

All these novel experiences have brought about laughter I’ll carry with me on the car ride to Paro, plane flights to the US, and into my mother's arms. Class IV students, you are about to embark on a new adventure similar to mine. You may fall down, but please remember to get up and laugh.

Beauty. Maybe it was all that laughter but I have to say this place is drop dead gorgeous! The landscape blew me away as I flew into Paro town, amazed the pilot could actually land a plane sandwiched between two gigantic mountains. The tsechus with their colors, jumping dances, horns, cymbals and drums have a magical beauty. And then there are the people. Again, it’s possibly a result of the frequent laughter you caused, but I am in awe of the stunning elegance Bhutanese people encompass. Don’t forget to notice your incredible surroundings. The rest of the world only dreams of seeing them.

Trust. Most importantly, there’s trust. Yesterday, I walked into a market and purchased some of the necessities. The price was Nu 350. “ Nu 350! Oh no I only have 300!” I exclaimed. “No problem” the shop keeper chuckled. “Just pay later.” “Really that’s ok?”

Here at ELC my students and fellow teachers shared dreams, secrets, and laughter with me. All of this was because of our mutual trust. And someone here in Bhutan trusted my eager emails and enthusiasm enough to provide such a wonderful opportunity. Madam Deki you have made me richer, stronger, and happier. I cannot thank you enough.

Class VI, congratulations and tashi delek!

Dear Bhutan, this is why I love you.

2009-11-18T05:03:00.001-08:00

sun- I’m reminded of its power here
colors
gray areas- nothing’s black & white
lack of packaging
trust
impermanence
seasons
heat
cold
mountains, ridges, summits, and views
children
teaching
hospitality
unexpected invites for tea, dinner, lunch, villages
Showing up at someone's door is polite
Cheese Momos
emadatsi
kewadasti
nakedasti
shamudasti
red rice
alu dum
puri
alu parata
sounds and smells...
of pujas (The name for a variety Buddhist ceremonies) entering my window, onto my bed, and into my ears and nose while I dose
and rain washing away dust, thoughts, and brining something new
flowers
green
kiras, and ghos
knowing the owner of just about every place I patron
yet still meeting new people all the time
“hi madam liz” shouted out of windows, cars, or streets everywhere I walk
witnessing such respect for land, politics, traditions, religion, deities, and philosophies
stories, folk-tales, and history lessons
reflection
Buddhism and my many blessings
walks
hikes
treks
students
kids
surprises

letting go....
of expectations
comforts
and what I was convinced was the right answer
karma
laughter
Kueron
connecting with loved ones at home
pictures
no driving
colorful markets
cooking
eating
mediation
languages
silence
realizing it’s my home
feeling loved- here and there
inspired Bhutanese seeking change, embracing change
writing
reading
laughter
laughter
laughter
villages
Thimphu
Paro valley
prayers
song and dance
counter cultures
smiles
surprises
rapid fascinating changes
wonderful friends

Colors, Contrasts, and Contradictions

2009-10-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

Bhutan- Colors, Contrasts, and Contradictions

Contrasts. Colors. People. Ways of existence. Pink, yellow, orange, black, white, red, purple, blue, green. Green mountains with white prayer flags. The brightness is like sitting in a movie theater for the first time.

And then the contradictions. Rural and urban life differ everywhere, but it appears more drastic in this mountain kingdom. For the over fifty generation their childhood is quite incongruent from luxuries they now live amongst. “It’s like going from the medieval times to modern day all within a few decades, ” a friend explains.

Except for colors, much of this is only what I see. I haven’t really tasted them. But I observe disparities within Thimphu on a daily basis. Fancy cars, gyms, two dollar cappuccinos, pizza with goat cheese, olives, and arugula, trendy clothes, and opulent new york style hotels are increasingly popular. There’s binge drinking and dancing at swank bars, or down to earth pubs, with the latest tunes (on repeat). For the most part, I live with my comfortable western amenities, and from what I’ve seen, indoor bathrooms, refrigerators, washing machines, stoves, and warm water are Thimphu standards.

On Sunday, I climb to a radio tower perched above the town. As l pass an elderly woman dressed in a dusty kira with a woven basket on her back lugging grain, I notice a woman watching TV on her balcony while running on her treadmill. Two ladies burning calories in very different ways.

Groups of monks walk by with cell phones playing Akon. Children may never leave their remote village, but the ones at my private school spend months at ski resorts, beach houses, and visit Disneyland. Their parents obtain masters from Oxford or Harvard, and they have high aspirations for their youth. While children the same age stay at home taking care of babies and cleaning houses.

I’m told this is the world’s youngest democracy. That citizens have the power to ask for what they want. But when I first arrive I’m given an orientation. “Do not discuss political matters. Do not voice your opinion. Do not become involved in any sort of controversy or you will ruin the teaching opportunity for future applicants.”

There is so much to be thankful for. I am joyful each and everyday for a life here. So following these orders is not a problem. But aren’t they conflicting? Bhutan is told to think critically. To be critical. And sometimes they are. But disrupting status-quo is well... disruptive. Who knows what you’ll find when you look under your couch cushion. Probably some warpers, crumbs, maybe even rodent droppings. Then again, there’s also a chance you could find some change, jewelry, or my personal favorite, that random belonging you thought you lost.

Coffee with Lizzy!

2009-10-08T05:48:00.000-07:00

Episode 1: Coffee with Lizzy,

“Good morning folks and thank you for tuning into Coffee with Lizzy!”

That’s how I addressed The Early Learning Centre on Tuesday. It was my class' turn to preform at our weekly school assembly. The whole idea started a few weeks ago when my class 3s wrote fables. After story framing, drafting, editing, and creating books, I decided we needed a special way to display their work. So the logical idea was to host a talk show. I made up a theme song on the spot and the whole concept worked wonders. Each child individually came up on stage, in our live studio, and read their latest book. I’d usually start the conversation with this.....

Me: Good morning and thank you for coming on the show! Is this your first time on TV?

Student:Yes.

Me:Well congratulations! So I hear you’ve written a book can you hold it up and read the title? Wonderful! Alright now it’s time start the show the way we start every show!
Everyone sings: Coffee with Lizzy is all I want to see. Coffee with Lizzy is the best thing on TV! (and then we all throw our arms up)

The kids then read their stories with a makeshift microphone (usually a pencil box) that encouraged voice projection. Afterward we’d open it up to questions and comments. To save my energy, I named one student my tech helper who’d go around with another pencil box microphone allowing the audience to ask their questions. Each time a commenter stood up I made them create their own name, age, and place they came from.

Ex.
Hi there! What is your name and where did you come from today?
My name is Dechen and I’m from Paro.
Wow Dechen from Paro! So happy you could make it to Coffee With Lizzy! Can you tell our international viewers where Paro is? And Dechen how old are you?
I’m eight years old.
Eight years old and you are already on TV! Good for you! What is your question Ms. Paro?
My comment is I thought your story was really great, and you are a really great writer. My favorite part is when they find the wishing tree. My questions are how did you think of your idea, and are you going to write any other books?

It was quite adorable. I leave you with a few pictures and a few of their stories.

Raven and Takin
Once a raven started his journey to the village, but didn’t find his way. Then the raven saw a takin. Then the takin was very hungry, and the raven had food. The raven gave food to the takin, and the takin showed the way to the village. The moral is- If you are nice to a person he will be nice to you.

The Hardest Test of Harry
Once upon a time there was a boy called Harry. He liked to play tennis. One day when he went to school his sir said “tomorrow you have a test.” Harry studied so hard but forgot the answers on the test. He thought and thought but he didn’t get the answers. One boy also didn’t know. He thought that Harry was the smartest in the class. He copied from Harry. The next day sir gave back the test papers. Both Harry and the boy failed. Moral: Don’t copy from others. The End.

The Lion and the Monkey
Once upon a time there was a lion and a monkey. The monkey was the slave of the lion. The monkey wanted to take a small break, but the lion would not give a break. One day when the lion was sleeping the monkey ran away. When the lion woke up the lion could not find the monkey anywhere. The End.
The moral of the story is never to be mean.

Well that concludes another episode of Coffee with Lizzy. Tune in next time!

Trekking's Tests and Triumphs

2009-09-13T04:04:00.000-07:00

I won’t lie. I’m a pretty huge fan of beds, pillows, warm water, and flushing toilets. But do we really need all that. Well.... plenty of people go without it, and trekking was a good reminder of what we really need. But for now I’m happy to be back writing with a laptop in the land of electricity after a much needed six day walk in the wilderness.

It took three muddy rain filled days to reach Chomolhari base camp, and there were a few setbacks. I managed to twist my ankle on day two, my brother Brian had a terrible cold and Ryan got some sort of awful food poisoning or altitude sickness. So that left us with Injured Liz, Sick brother Brian, and Ralphing Ryan which equalled a Grumpy Mad Mother who worried for her darling children.

The first three days were wet! Upon the initial downpour, I smugly pulled out my rain jacket. As I walked, I realized that I was increasingly drenched. I then looked at the coat’s fine print which read “wind breaker not waterproof.” Damn.

But we made it, and I would do it again if I had the opportunity. Another spectacular view from Bhutan. Here’s a journal entry of mine when I slipped away at Chomolhari base camp.

September 8, 2009
Don’t you love it when you can’t figure out what day it is. Or when you can’t decide which picture to capture or which view to soak in while you jot notes in your journal. Sure my ankle may be slightly twisted, and I’m getting a little cold. Oh and my legs and shoulders are sore, but these are currently the extents of my problems in Bhutan.
I found the spot. Soaking up infinity starting at a waterfall. The only disruptions are rushing rivers, clinging bells from horses trotting, and a “yaaah” the horseman shouts.
“Kuzuzangpola” I turn to say. I am in this gentleman's territory, but it’s unnecessary. He’ll let me be invisible which is clearly what I want. This is half a mile away from my home for the night. Chumlhari base camp.
My mom’s words cross my mind. “What will you do next year?” “Not sure mom,” I reply. I want to say leave me alone but her response makes me smile.

“Your life is like reading a book. I’m just dying to know what comes next.”

What would I title my 2009 chapter. Journeys? Unconventional? Uncertain? Becoming myself- comfortable with uncertainty?
The sun hits. The yellow purple and green that surround me illuminate like artificially boosting color to a photo. I have arrived. It’s impermanent but it’s here.
Tomorrow will be 09/09/09 Those don’t come so often. In the morning I’ll add an extra four hours of hiking to my day so I can view high altitude lakes with some yaks.
Today I saw a school with beautiful children. 8 of them and one lopen. There were Zdonka and English words on the wall. “A fi gachimo” (what is that) I asked. “Snake” they exclaimed. “Eeeh, a fi gachimo?” I repeat as I point to another word. “SHOES.” We all then point to our toes.
My karma. My destiny. Here I am lucky Liz. Alive. I am thankful for my pen and paper. My ability to record. My legs to take me here. The money that got me here. Who cares about money. "Money can’t buy me love" I hum. But it can get you to Bhutan. It can pay the army to allow for a trek up to Bhutan’s second highest peak. It’s a way to help you see the world and certainly provides flexibility. But it may vanish in a moment’s notice.
I am continuously curious. And for that I am thankful. It takes me to far away places. I don’t need to snap a photo and be out, but I am pulled to live. All this unfamiliar turf means growing pains. But I see the humor in my mistakes and fall into hysterics with the way it all works out. I was meant to write, learn, fall down and get back up. I’ve been hiking for three days and the rain has stopped! Why did I have to travel across the world to find beauty already in my backyard. I didn’t. I just wanted to.

Full Circle in World's Youngest Democracy

2009-09-01T08:51:00.000-07:00

Once again my life seems circular. That sounds abstract but read this and you’ll get it.

Last Saturday, I attended The Bhutan Center for Media Democracy’s (BCMD) Media Literacy Forum for Teachers. The NGO developed in 2008 in response to Bhutan becoming the world’s youngest democracy. Only eight years prior mass media’s power flooded both rural and urban Bhutan with the release of television and the Internet. Things are moving quickly here which is both exhilarating and frightening.

Democracies come with responsibility. They require us to not only stay abreast on current news. We must learn, digest, and question information mass media delivers. Because Bhutanese are increasingly inundated with ads telling them what to want, news telling them what to believe, and programs (usually made outside of Bhutan) explaining what’s cool, it is an opportune time to use critical thinking skills and become media literate.

This is what drives the Bhutan Center for Media and Democracy. Their mission reads “BCMD is dedicated to helping democracy come alive in Bhutan. We promote a true understanding of democracy as governance by the people based on open discussion.” Check out their website to learn more http://www.bhutancmd.org.bt/index.php

Ok now story time

I have to confess I am never a fan of Saturday morning workshops, especially when they end an hour later then planned, but this is an exception! As I sit back and listen to the founder and guest speakers’ presentations, I flash back five years and remember how these subjects fascinated me throughout college. Then my flashback intensifies....

“How did you wind up in Bhutan?”

In my seven months living in Thimphu that question’s asked on average once per day. I almost always starts out like this.

“Well.... it started with a class I took on globalization at UC Davis sometime in 2003. My professor, John Theobald, showed us a documentary on Bhutan’s thoughtful approach to globalization. I began telling everyone about the Gross National Happiness concept.”

Then my story usually discusses my mother’s trip to Bhutan a few years later. Her pictures, masks, prayer flags, and stories left me even more intrigued. There’s also the bit about my longing to leave my wonderfully comfortable life and try something new. Push myself, travel half way across the world, and see the magical Himalayan kingdom first hand. And I like to end it with “the stars aligned” or “the doors just opened right when I asked them to.”

Well as the guest speaker, a journalism professor from Stonybrook University, presents, I realize he looks peculiarly familiar. At some point, he explains his background. “Prior to teacher news literacy, I was a reporter for twenty years. I actually visited Bhutan 10 years ago when I reported on a story for a show called 60 minutes.”

Ding, Ding! A light bulb turns on! This is the guy who introduced me to Bhutan! Here he is in the flesh. Goosebumps run across the skin. What are the odds? During the break he approaches me and asks that famous question.

“So, what brings you to Bhutan?”

I have to laugh. I begin my story the same way and then break the news to him. After the initial surprise, he smiles and offers “wow I’m glad to hear that story still has a life.”

So that my friends, like my wallet story, is what you call things coming full circle. I can’t imagine what else this magical land will put in my lap.

Liz Luck or Karma

2009-08-25T09:13:00.000-07:00

I’m a loser- but I feel like a winner.

It’s Saturday afternoon, and I cheerfully walk from my house to town with an orange knit messenger bag full of fabric. My Ipod blasts Bob Marley tunes, and I smile thinking about my dynamic day. In the morning I attended a workshop The Center for Democracy Media focused on developing media literacy for Bhutanese youth. (a blog on that later this week)

I take a muddy short cut, cross a few streets, and enter the hustle and bustle of Thimphu town. "Shamu, shamu. Ema, ema" shout the seated ladies selling produce on the the bustling street. I push through the crowds of Hong Kong market and meet Kueron in her car outside of Benez, a local pub we often frequent. It is time for a trip to the tailor. As I remove shiny olive green, royal blue and black and gold fabrics from my bag, I realize something rather important is missing.

"Uho, where is it?" I sigh.

"What did you lose this time?" she replies.

"Shoot, maybe I left it at home." I wonder.

"What is it!" She thunders.

"I think I lost my wallet" I began.

"LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZ! Let me see your bag."

“It’s empty. Oh man, oh man.”

Now I’m going to tell you a secret. Between me and whoever reads this... since I've been in Bhutan I've managed to lose a phone, the keys to my classroom, a passport, a camera (in Thailand), and my PO box keys. How can one person be so forgetful? So irresponsible? Well, as unbelievable as it sounds it is possible.

I begin retracing my steps. “The wallet sat in my bag perched on top of fabrics. It could have fallen out or someone could have taken it,” As I contemplate, Kueron offers me a ride home and we scour my apartment.

"Did you check under the couch?" my roommate Katrin politely asks.

"NO, I WAS NEVER NEAR THE COUCH!" I retort.

"Well you should check everywhere." She calmly replies.

The rain begins to pitter patter and dusk turns to darkness. As the falling water’s intensity increases, I grab my torch and begin retracing my steps. “Oh, wallet, please come out wherever you are. You have my credit card, my ID, my month’s salary.”

No luck. That wallet is a goner. I hunch my shoulders, sluggishly walk home, and start planning my next steps. Cancel the cards, use a pencil box for a wallet, and get on with it. No use feeling sorry for myself. Maybe somebody found the money who needed it more then I. Much worse things happen every second around the world. When you are me, things just come and go. I could have lost everything in a fire. I could have no money to lose.

I get on with my night, and I receive a few sympathy free drinks. My friend Galey explains when you lose something dear, your bad luck goes along with it. The idea makes me laugh because of all the dear things I’ve misplaced over the years paired with abundance of good luck I also experience.

Then Sunday morning comes, and I set out for a nice walk. My pace is brisk but my mind is faster. I think about my family, friends, my first few days here, why walking is soothing, what it will be like to leave Bhutan, how my experience changes as I grow in Bhutan and grow up, and what the world’s newest democracy has yet to encounter. It is the opposite of meditating. My mind is jumpy and full. But it feels nice to let it run wild. Then suddenly my two hour walk is over and I am back on my doorstep. Back to reality. My wet laundry needs to be hung.

I stand on my small balcony, overlooking a quiet street, and begin removing my roommate's dry clothes to make room on our limited clothesline space. Just as I start to take my roommate’s underwear off our garment hanger, I notice a man in the driveway, with a gun, staring at me. Now stares are normal when you look like a foreigner almost anywhere. I usually try to shrug it off. But this guy with a gun just will not stop staring at me. “Did I do something wrong? Is he going to tell me my clothes line is an eyesore and I better remove it at once? Is it the underwear that bothers him? We can put everything inside if he likes. What is it?” I question.

Finally he breaks his silent intimidating gaze with “Do you live here?”

Should I say yes or no?

“Yes” I reply with all honesty.

“How many people live here?” he inquires.

“Who is this creepy guy?” I wonder... I don’t know how to respond. We had three until a week ago. Now there’s two, but my roommate’s boyfriend kind of lives with us.

“Three people live here,” I reply hoping I gave the correct answer.

“Where are you from?”

“California”

“Canada?”

“No, The United States”

“Eeeeeh (Dzonka for yes). What is your name?”

I hesitate wondering where this strange encounter is leading.

“My name is Liz”

“Les”

“No, Liz”

“Les”

“YES. Ok, fine Les it is,” I mumble under my breath.

“Les, is your last name Warrner?”

“No. Yes. No. It’s Warren.” “What did I do? How does he know me?” I wonder.

“Did you lose a purse?” he inquires.

“YES!!”

“I have it with me right now,” and he points to his pocket.

“Oh my god, I’ll be right down!”

I almost fall as I sprint down the stairs in my socks. The gentleman pulls out a wet wallet and begins to count my soggy money. “It’s all here” he explains. “And here is your insurance card, your license, and your credit cards. Sorry they are mixed up. My child was playing with them.”

“Namey Saame cadrinche la” I exclaim! (thank you beyond the sky and the earth)

“Chi gi ming gatchi mo?” I inquire. (what is your name?)

Sadly, all I remember is his first name Tshering which is perhaps one in ten peoples’ names in Bhutan. But... if my hero Tshering is reading this please know I am forever thankful.

How did he find me? Why did he want to give all of it back? I doubt I’ll ever know all that, but it sure makes one hell of a story.

Cheers for wonderful karma! And meanwhile giving back to others!

Tell Me A Story

2009-08-12T03:38:00.000-07:00

“What is written in ink can fade away with a single drop of water. But
what is written in the heart will last forever.” This Tibetan proverb
cuts to the heart of my tale.

Over a month ago, I attended Bhutan’s National Story Telling
Conference. Native folklorists, academics, politicians, teachers, and
Bhutanese youth gathered to examine oral storytelling’s effects on
Gross National Happiness in this Himalayan Kingdom. As mass media
permeates Bhutanese homes, storytelling traditions are endangered.
Reading a book, watching a movie, or observing the nightly news, feeds
you information, but storytelling empowers the speaker.

The Center for Bhutan Studies along with US based Center For
Ethnographic Studies co-hosted the three day event. Discussions
focussed on reviving forgotten folk tales and the storytelling art. It
filled me with inspiration, and I now enthusiastically look for ways
put oral storytelling in the education mix.

In fact, Yangree and I have switched the OCBC (Om Cafe Book Club) to
the Om Cafe Story Telling Club (OCST). In September members will
participate in our inaugural storytelling contest! They’ve spent the
past few Sundays finessing their storytelling skills. When we first
introduced the idea, chatter box children turned silent. Standing up
and sharing a story was like telling the boys and girls to hold hands.
eeeew Gradually their eagerness to participate has increased.
Naturally your confidence level improves with each giggle or “ooooh”
your audience utters. All it takes is practice. We’ve asked the group
what first place should receive. So far top choice is a washing
machine. haha

The End

But wait.... This blog focussed on story telling, and I haven’t really
given you much of a story. So here’s an attempt to entertain you....

Once upon a Sunday morning I painstakingly turned off my 6:46 am alarm
and dragged myself out of bed. After a late night for Shane and
Rebecca’s going away party, I dizzily put on Kueron’s beautiful Kira
and pounded some water. The tardy bus, filled with my coworkers, picked me up on the side of the road and we wound through Thimphu,
over the river, to grandmother’s house- just kidding we went to The
Center for Bhutan Studies (CBS).

Together we entered the tightly packed conference room. Eager faces
and attentive bodies dressed in their colorful delicately woven kiras
and ghos waited for the beautiful royal princess's arrival. She would enter to any moment to give her welcome address.

I admired the packed house but suddenly felt strangely alone. Where
were the seven teachers I entered the building with? “Oh! There you
are” I silently exclaimed. They’d all found seats in the middle. No
room for me though. As I turned to scan the left side, I heard a
disruptive,

BANG!
What was that? I pondered.
Oh damn, that was me.

In the midst of my turning to find a seat, my bag hit the ceremonial
bowl in the center of the room. The carefully placed stick (not sure what it's called or
what it represents) flew to the floor. All eyes turned to me. I fanned
my burning pink face. “My God it is hot in here,” I thought. “Please
stop staring at me. Please stop staring at me,” I begged.

John Doe, in a front row seat close by, picked up the missing stick
and said “Ha, I’d like to see you put this back in.” I heard nothing.
I offered no chuckle. No thank you. I saw no humor and no kindness in
this mysterious man’s gesture. I simply bent down, picked up the stick, and held it out for him to take with a blank pink faced stare.

Quickly, I found a seat in the very back row and eventually began to
snicker at my classic maneuver.

Over tea the teachers and I dished over the details.

Me: Did anyone see me?
Teachers: Yes, there was not one person who missed that.
Me: Who was that guy who I gave the stick to?
Teachers: One of the most prominent people in Bhutan.
Me: Whoops. My bad.

Well, this is still not as embarrassing as backing into my bosses
brand new parked car but it beats the time I fell in the mud during
Spanish class.

The moral of this story...... No use crying over spilled ceremonial bowls.
Or how about this.... LAUGH AT YOURSELF.

THE END

Please stay tuned for blogs on student written fables, a youth
centered conference hosted by the Bhutan Observer, and all the live
music I’ve seen. (I’ll even be singing in a show this Saturday!)

Shout out to Aunt Currin for becoming my 50th follower! You win a post card if you send me your address.

Oh and if you have a good story to share post in in the comment section!

Mucho love!

A Once In this Lifetime Experience

2009-07-22T03:07:00.000-07:00

Check it off the list. It’s 2009 and I already witnessed the longest solar eclipse of the 21st century. That pic was taken from my balcony!

A few hours before school closed on Tuesday a teacher entered my classroom with some breaking news. “School’s canceled for the solar eclipse tomorrow!” “Whoooo!” I exclaimed. Following my lead the whole class jumped up and down in celebration. After school Kueron and I had an adult celebration of eclipse beers by the clock tower.

Beers, a day off, and a total eclipse were in my favor, but there was still one problem. I had no way to safely view this event. Most students, teachers, and friends I talked to were all going to watch it on their TVs. But I mean come on! I didn’t come across the world to watch this on the tube! Lucky for me my persuasive skills/luck/charm provided me with stunning yellow welding goggles just in the nick of time.

On Wednesday roommates and I woke up around 630 am and posted on our porch. Slowly, the sky darkened. Then suddenly there it was! A total eclipse! The birds went to sleep. Cool air quickly moved in and stars miraculously filled the sky. Once again, I began jumping up and down shouting “Oh, my god! Wow! There it is! This is so cool!” And it truly was spectacular.

Our neighbors peered out their windows with a look that read “shut up” but they could not have been too upset. Some Bhutanese believe that evil spirits are attacking the sun. In order to retrieve our star you must chase these beings away by blowing horns, clashing cymbals, chanting and yelling.

Three minutes felt like three seconds, but I’ll never forget the magic I witnessed. Wish you all could have been there too. Perhaps you can catch the next one 135 years from now. Many blessings!

Blogger's Block

2009-07-19T04:34:00.000-07:00

I’ve been suffering from a dreadful disease called Blogger’s block. I’m also still relishing in my two week asian vacation. Sadly, I left my camera on the airplane and have had no luck getting it returned. Snap shots of geishas, beers and smiles on trains, turquoise oceans, beautiful meals, plus more are missing. I’ll do my best to make my stories colorful.

The land of epic mouthwatering meals, drinks, laughter, and irresponsibility began with a few party filled days in Thimphu for Shane and Rebecca’s departure. They’ve lived in Bhutan the past two years, but Shane recently got new job in the Caribbean. This means I have additional stop on my list of places to visit next spring. Coincidentally, my expat buddies, Shane, Rebecca, Rob, and I, all wound up departing Bhutan on July 1st for various adventures. I accompanied them on one last hike to Paro Taktsang. We hit the Paro airport together and had a fun night out in Bangkok (where we met more Bhutan expat buddies) before parting ways.

I purchased a hotel room in Bangkok but only used the shower because I needed to be in a car at 320 am bound back to the Bangkok airport. Here I caught a six hour flight to Tokyo. My father and his friend Willie were waiting for me at baggage claim when I arrived. We had an amazing sushi dinner that night compliment’s of a friend’s recommendation. I’m keeping the restaurant’s name a secret unless you are dying to go. In which case you should comment and perhaps I will send you the card.

We giddily sipped light, dry sake from wooden boxes and ordered omakase (which means chef’s choice). I drank a snail out of the shell and consumed fresh wasabi. (much more mild and delicious then it’s pickled counterpart.) After dinner the sushi chef and owner walked us across the street to a hidden champagne bar and we toasted even though I was already toasted.

The following day was an outing to Tokyo’s famous fish market. The market opens at dawn when the famous tuna auction commences. Even a bucket of water over my head would not have gotten me out of bed to witness this, but apparently it’s a lively hour filled with loud Japanese voices shouting bids for the best grade tuna. What I did see was the most clean, organized, oder-free fish market imaginable. The Japanese know how to keep their places nice. The bathrooms (all with electric toilets) the subways, trains, taxis, streets, restaurants, and locals were also all impeccably tidy and clean. My cousin Laura would fit in great here.

The Japanese were incredibly hospitable, but I did feel large in this country. I tried to go shopping for shoes but after entering a few department stores, and many shoe specialty shops, I found there are no Japanese shoes that fit a lady with women’s size 9 feet. Later, I was told there are special plus size shoe shops for people like me. ha

We took the bullet train to Kyoto, and I fell in love with the rich culture and pace of life. I took a break from the boys and spent the day photographing geishas, temples, the bamboo forest, and narrow quaint streets. When I travel, I crave quiet hours where I am a stranger to everyone soaking in my surroundings. I shamelessly eavesdrop. I write. I read, and most of all I try to remember. Remember to treasure my experience, enjoy my moments, and pay attention so that my stories are richer. Alone time works wonders.

After a week in Japan, we said goodbye to Willie and my dad and I made our way to Thailand. We spent the first part of it on the beach in Phuket. But this wasn’t your average Phuket experience. I did not stay up past midnight. I did not drink cheep vodka. I did not meet any Australians or even a person in their twenties. Instead we stayed at a beautiful resort on the beach and spent three wonderful days playing tennis (I beat my dad and in a tie breaker), body surfed, soaked in sun, drank thai beer, swam some more, did yoga, and even a two hour meditation class. Yes, I got my dad to go to this, and yes I still tell him to use his deep breathing technique when he looks hungry or irritated for some other reason. hahaha The three days were heaven and very recuperating. The greatest part was the food. We got to know our amazing chef, Da, and even went inside the kitchen to learn how to make crab green curry with fresh coconut milk. I stuffed myself for every meal, and it was always worth it.

Our last day in the land of smiles and full bellies was a credit card day in Bangkok. Half way into my spending spree my dad commented “this feels like you are shopping for the dorms.” I purchased a mattress pad, dvd player, speakers, new shoes (thailand didn’t make me go to the plus size department) makeup, champagne, fruit, dried fruit, chocolate, and more. Although I looked like a “hill billy” carrying all this to the airport, I’m happy to have all of it now.

My apa (dad) came to Bhutan for the three days before I started school. Highlights were the hot sweaty hike to the Tango monastery, eating a wonderful Bhutanese meal at our friend Ratu’s home, and watching traditional Bhutanese dancing.

Now it’s back to the books. School started on Thursday and I’ve been busy ever since. Last night I went with Kueron and her family to watch a Bhutanese movie my friend Namka stared in. It’s too new to have subtitles so I kinda just watched the bright screen blankly. However I found I was good at guessing what it was about! Tonight I’m off to a fondue party with some swiss expats. It’s good to be back!

I have a new camera and pledge to be a more consistent blogger. That’s all for now!

Ama visits!

2009-06-29T10:27:00.000-07:00

My mother’s trip to the land of the Thunder Dragon was a spectacular time for all. Now I’m not the only one longing for her joyful presence. All of Thimphu keeps talking about how great she is. Last weekend I had a stranger approach me at a local bar and say “wow, your mom is gorgeous.” I responded with “I KNOW! SHE IS HOT”

I could go on and on about our trip so I’ll stick to explaining all the pics I include.

Momo’s with Mom: In my classes we are writing collaborative Bhutanese cookbooks with each child’s family recipes. (Don’t worry, I’ll post the recipes later) One of my students, Jambay, took it upon herself to prepare her special cheese momos (not a quick thing to do) for my mother’s arrival. My ama and I enjoyed them before our first night’s dinner. Yum!

School Celebrity: I brought her to school and I’ve never seen my kids so excited. She read one of my favorite books, The Lorax by Dr. Suess, and the kids became statues with enormous transfixed eyes. When the bell rang, a crowd of it least thirty shoved pens and paper her way shouting “Madam, your autograph please. Your phone number please!” The phone number part freaked her out a bit and students came to me saying “Madam, your mom is feeling shy, no?”

VAST: After leaving school, my mother and I walked downtown and up the five flights of stairs to the VAST studio to see their watercolor exhibit. VAST (Voluntary Artist’s Studio, Thimphu) is an NGO that nurtures the artistic creative talent of Bhutanese youth. They also offer children outward bound wilderness experiences and provide aid to impoverished Bhutanese through things like rice banks and house building. I could go on and on about how amazing they are, but you should check out their website if you want to learn more. www.vast-bhutan.org/ (they have an excellent blog!)

Not surprisingly, both my mother and I were enthralled with the VAST surroundings. After making our rounds oohing and aaahing, we joined founder Asha Karma and his son Tashi Namgel for the best masala tea in Thimphu. Tashi recited his picnic poem and caused continuous group laughter. Later, we joined Kueron (his mother, Asha’s wife, and my dear friend) for a gin and tonic on the comfy outdoor patio of restaurant/bar called The Zone. For dinner I prepared Bhutanese dishes for my mama and some charos. (friends) The laughter continued into the late evening.

Welcome to the Jungle mom! Our school musical, The Jungle Book, took place on Sunday, and my wonderful mother sat through it like her child was on stage. Although I was outside keeping the kids under control, I hear my students did an amazing job. At some point I hope to get a copy of our professional DVD to see for myself. After the musical, the younger classes each performed a few Bhutanese dances which were adorable. Kids in this country sure know how to move!

Dochu La: The following morning we took an hour drive to Dochu La with my buddy Rebecca and my mom’s friend Ratu. 108 chortens (white stone monuments) sit on a grassy perch surrounded by prayer flags. Dochu La is the half way point between Thimphu and Punakha. It was created in 2005 to commemorate the deaths of Assamese Indian Militants who were inhabiting Southern Bhutan and flushed out a few years prior. There’s a lot more to say about the history of this compelling place so I’ll save it for another posting.

Ratu is a guide by profession and knew a great hike to take us on. When we climbed the first steep hill we were suddenly surrounded by thousands of prayer flags. We brought some along in memory of our dear friend Stuie Krause who had passed away a few days before. Ratu climbed a tree and my mother grabbed the flag’s other end. All the while I watched as our prayers for Stuie began to flutter in the sky.

As we hiked, two dogs greeted us and showed us the way to a special temple for Guru Rinmpoche at the top of a mountain. It was a misty day, and we got to pondering the edimology of the words myst and mysterious.

The foggy day was a perfect backdrop for such a special hike. After having tea and biscuits with the Lama, we climbed down the mountain to a small town called Tashi Gong where there is a school for monks. Here we were also kindly offered tea and blessings. Back in Thimphu later that evening, we enjoyed a five course meal with Rebecca and Shane at the adorned Aman hotel. Shane, Rebecca’s husband and the head chef, arranged a full vegetarian tasting menu in preparation of us our coming. The soup, salad, and dessert were all delightful but what stood out for me was the pesto gnocchi. There must have been Italian grandmother hiding in the kitchen.

Tiger's Nest: The following day, I had to work but soon after school finished we drove about an hour and a half to Paro. My mom and I enjoyed a nice meal at our hotel and got up early the next morning to hike Paro Taktsang or Tiger’s Nest!

Try googling “Pictures of Bhutan” and images of Tiger’s Nest are the first to appear. It’s one of Bhutan’s icons, and until my mother’s trip, I had yet to see this famous monastery. Completed in 1692, the temple hangs on a cliff at 10,200 feet, 2,300 feet above the bottom of the Paro valley. It all began with Padmasambhava (Guru Rinpoche) who flew here on the back of a tigress and meditated in the Taktsang Senge Samdup cave, contained within the present structure, for three months. Actually most things in Bhutan began with Guru Rinpoche, but that’s another story.

The hike feels much more touristy than my Thimphu or Punakha adventures. Much of the path is made with stone, there are a few vendors selling souvenirs, and a cafeteria serves tea and Bhutanese food midway. We were fortunate it’s currently “off season” and we only saw three tourists throughout the hike.

Of course, even if 100 people were scurrying by my side, the sight would still be spectacular. We joked “even a chimpanzee could take a national geographic worthy picture of the breathtaking temples.” When we completed the steep two hour hike and reached the temples, our friend Palden happened to know the head monk. After receiving blessings in a few of the seven temples, we were ushered into the royal family’s special room. We sat in beautiful wooden chairs, and the monks graciously offered us sweet tea and salty biscuits.

That afternoon we toured the Paro museum which is six flights of interesting pieces of Bhutanese history and culture. Later we went to another special temple where an orange tree bears fruit year round. My mother departed early the next morning and I sped back to Thimphu to make in time for 8am classes. I’m sad to have her gone, but happy I was able to share a little of my life with someone I love so dearly.

Kadrin che la Ama!

Getting Dumped

2009-06-16T08:09:00.000-07:00

Getting Dumped

I decided to teach my kids the pains of getting dumped. In other words, I took 26 third graders on a field trip to the smelly stinky landfill.

In Bhutan, along with much of the world, the trash situation is horrendous and it does not seem to be improving. Not only are Bhutan’s beautiful surroundings threatened with each new chip bag, there also are complex health and sustainability issues. Some speculate when Bhutan takes control of its stray dog population, rat issues and possible plagues will follow.

This is why it’s critical Bhutanese youth develop concern for the country’s environment and why I took the trashy field trip approach.

Before our departure, we wrote predictions on what we’d see. On the windy car ride out of Thimphu the class sang songs and laughed. Suddenly our expressions changed as we pulled up the steep hill toward the dump. Although our windows were closed, the smells of rotten, forgotten junk seeped into our nostrils. While much of our ideas were spot on, the sights were rattling. Stray dogs, flies, and people who spend their days digging through our waste stood on miles of garbage.

When we returned, our class ate our snacks and looked carefully at their chip bags. The next day I saw a few more mangoes and a few less plastic wrappers. We all have a lot more to do but this exposure felt like a start.

Bonfires, Blessings, and Birthdays!

2009-05-27T00:44:00.000-07:00

My birthday was this weekend, and no offense to my loved ones back at home, but this year I had great time without you! :)

The celebrations began Saturday after school. First, I checked my PO box and found 12 letters all from my mom! She sent one everyday till she departed from India, and they all arrived together.

After collecting my mail, I met Yangree for spicy masala tea at her cafe. Then I joined more friends for a lunch of momos (these are delicious Bhutanese dumplings) and more tea by the clock tower. Kueron and I had a henna hair appointment at 3:00 pm, and we brought our new friend Lisa along. As the three of us arrived at the hair salon, we saw our beauticians leaving for a late lunch break. We thought about sitting around and waiting for them... Instead, Kueron offered her nearby house as a spot to wait and drink a delicious french white wine she’d been saving for a special occasion. We thought Saturday at 3pm, before a beauty appointment, the day before my birthday was pretty darn special.

When we returned to the beautifying salon, hot mustard oil massages were first to commence. That lead into our henna application. Just imagine what it looks like to have mud covering your scalp and you’ll get the picture. Then we sat under steamers where toxins, like the white wine we recently consumed, poured out of our skin. Afterward, we all received head massages while they rinsed the muddy mess. Then it was time for hair cuts. I brought back my fringe back! All the while, we laughed, told stories, and gossiped like ladies should in a salon. It felt like adults getting ready for prom.

Three hours later we realized we were late for dinner plans! So we drove directly to Kueron’s husband, Asha Karma, sister’s place for her housewarming party. Their home is lovely and the food was delicious. Although I spent most of my time hanging with Thai artists around the bonfire, I observed dinner was a major group effort. At one point I saw 10 people working in the kitchen! Eventually the food was ready and around 30 something people feasted, laughed, told stories, sang, and danced Bhutanese dances. I made it home before the rest of the crew because I’d promised myself at 6am the next morning I would embark on an all day birthday hike to some distant monasteries.

When my 5am alarm went off, I wished I’d cut back on the vino the day before. But this was my birthday, and I wasn’t going to let any fermented grapes stop me from enjoying my plan. After accidentally spilling oats all over the floor, I managed to brew a delicious cup of Peet’s coffee (thanks for the package mom) and gobble a breakfast of champions.

Soon after, a friend knocked on my door at exactly six to give me a ride to the trail head. The morning was perfect. Crisp mountain air and the steep quiet trail put me at peace. I saw a few Bhutanese hiking but for the most part it was just me, birds, and my thoughts. Each time I caught my breath, I opened one of the cards my mom sent and snapped a cheesy “Norman Nomates” photo. (inside joke but you should get the idea.... Norman has no friends so he takes photos of himself by himself.)

The first leg of the hike went by quickly, and I arrived at the first temple, Phadjoding, by 8:45am. My friend, Lemo, slept at the monastery the night before, and I greeted her at the mediation center. We sipped tea and got ready for an early lunch. I had no idea lunch they’d have lunch for me, and let me tell you food never tasted so good. My squashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich looked liked minced meat. Instead, we feasted on Naakay dasti (fiddle head ferns with Bhutanese cheese and cooked chilies) shamu datsi (fresh shitaki mushrooms with chili and Bhutanese cheese), spicy kewa (potato) and red rice (of course).

After lunch, we received blessings inside Phadjoding. Then we hiked another hour and a half to more temples with two lamas. Around 2pm we descended the mountain. This was the hardest part. My legs shook and my eyes were heavy. After a steep decline for three hours we suddenly reached a green wide open meadow. We planted ourselves in the grass and wished for the power to fly. Lemo called our ride who was waiting for us at the bottom and told him we were taking a break. About 10 minuets later we heard what sounded like a car coming through the forest. It was an answer to our prayers. The driver and his truck had somehow barreled up the hill and scooped us pooped girls inside. On the way home Lemo invited me for tea and I laughed in her face. There was no way I was going anywhere but the shower and my bed.

After my shower, I snoozed, but not for long. My birthday energy pushed me out of bed and I went to the kitchen to start preparing a delicious simple meal: Rustic Potato Cabbage Soup. I found the recipe on one of my favorite cooking websites, 101cookbooks.com, and I highly recommend you give it a try.

Around seven a feast began with my neighbors, Shane and Rebecca, Kueron, and of course my roommate Annette. The table overflowed with rarities like freshly baked whole wheat baked bread, mixed greens with sweet strawberries and blanched asparagus tossed in a homemade balsamic vinaigrette, and spicy goat cheese and spinach thin crust pizza. During dinner I received calls from my mom in India and Aunt Susie and Uncle Joe, fellow Gemini, in Michigan (that’s where you were right?).

Following the meal, Annette brought a candle lit chocolate cake she baked, and everyone sang happy birthday. The evening ended with champaign and many toasts to good health, friendship, and future adventures. The only thing that would have made my weekend better was to have some of you around! Here’s to my new year and yours!

2009-05-16T06:10:00.000-07:00

Last week Santa Barbara Monarch Butterflies flew across the world to tell my students their migration story in Thimphu, Bhutan!

In reality, author and illustrator Polly Caldwell Bookwalter spent a morning at The Early Learning Centre reading her children's book Butterfly Beach! Polly and I began emailing a few months ago before her trip to Bhutan. She had a trek planned with her family but wanted to spend a morning sharing her story with my school.

Polly’s colorful tale begins at my old stomping ground, Santa Barbara's good ol’ Butterfly Beach, and illustrates the Monarch Butterflies’ migration patterns. Around the same time elderly folks shift their things from the cold northern winter to sunny Florida, Monarch Butterflies migrate to Butterfly Beach. However, as humans inhabit and change the Butterfly Beach landscape, the Monarch’s survival is threatened. Polly’s uplifting story shows how a community can work together to bring back the butterflies. Readers receive a lesson on ecosystems and are reminded of our responsibility to preserve our delicate environment.

On Friday, we gathered The Early Learning Centre students in our courtyard at 8:30am before Polly’s 9am arrival. We begged all 150 to stay quite and be polite for our guest. Although the noise level was high, the minute she began reading each child was fixated on Polly’s enchanting words. In the three months I’ve taught I have yet to see them so engaged. We had to cut the question and answer session short and told the fifty something students begging for autographs to go back to class. She left us three Butterfly Beach copies, and they are the hottest item in the library.

Polly, I cannot thank you enough for donating your time, inspiring my students, and writing such a powerful book. I am certain the Butterfly Beach story will fly all over the world. It certainly continues to flutter about in Bhutan!

PS Feel free to check out her website at www.butterflybeachonline.com

Teacher's Day, Hiking, and OCBC

2009-05-12T10:08:00.000-07:00

(OK I won't lie. This blog is a little outdated. It's from about a week ago, but enjoy anyway.)

Happy Teacher’s Day!!!!!!!!!!

Teacher’s Day was this Saturday, but the ELC (Early Learning Centre) celebrated on Friday and gave us a Saturday off!!!!!!!

I spent a solitary Saturday hiking above Thimphu. As I huffed and puffed up a steep turn, a monk named Karma appeared and introduced himself. Excitedly, he invited me to his monastery which was another hour uphill. When we arrived, he instructed me to sit on a deck with beautiful views of town and brought me water, tea, and biscuits. Since I had not planned on hiking so far, I had nothing to offer in return. I mentioned I had no money and he laughed “in the market down there you need money. Here it is free free free.”

We arranged a time for me to come the following weekend. He’ll make lunch and I’ll bring children’s books to help his English. I was smiling my whole hike down. The few people I passed all stopped me inquiring “Where did you go? Did you enjoy your walk? Are you by yourself? Do you live here? What do you do?” It’s funny how your energy captures people’s attention or turns them off. There are plenty of times when I’m sure I do the latter but not on Saturday.

Not only was Saturday’s unexpected day off wonderful, but Friday’s teacher’s day celebration was delightful! Throughout the day students (some I’d never spoken with) were beaming as they handed me their handmade cards. We spent the morning teaching, but after lunch the school all gathered in our courtyard. Chairs were set up for all the teachers like we were royalty. Music began and eight 11 year old boys kicked off the performance with a cute dance to a funny Bhutanese song called “I’m Sorry.” In between the dances class IV students gave appreciation speeches. Suddenly a downpour of rain began. Since there isn’t another space large enough for the students, the show continued. All the kids gathered beside the teachers under a few large trees and watched traditional Bhutanese dances followed by hip hop and freestyle performances. We ended the event with a big dance party together in the rain. The crowd was full of smiles and I had an 8 year old girl come up to me and exclaim “Madam, I think this is like being in a club!”

Speaking of clubs, I’m happy to announce my Book Club is a reality! We call it the OCBC which stands for Om Cafe Book Club. I showed up around 1pm on Sunday and Yangree (my co-book club founder and owner of the Om Cafe) fed me a delicious lunch of rice, sautéed vegetables, salad, and masala tea. We had books, pencils, and scratch paper laid out in front of each chair, and the students all arrived around 2pm. They sipped on apple or mango juice and nibbled on homemade sugar cookies. I began with a discussion on expectations, ground rules, ect. It was adorable to see how attentive and excited they were. We are reading a book called Tashi and the Secret Tomb. Yangree and I took turns reading while the group followed along. When the parents arrived, we all sat together discussing next steps. As each group left they all kept saying thank you for such a wonderful opportunity. In Dzonka reading translates to studying. It isn’t seen as a fun thing, and Yangree and I hope we can change this.

Peace!

Wanted: Music Teacher

2009-04-27T09:31:00.000-07:00

If anyone knows of a music teacher interested in working in Thimphu, Bhutan please let me know! Our magnificent Annette will be leaving The Early Learning Centre in June. We need someone who can play the violin (piano would also be nice.) Please ask around. You’d need to stay until it least December, but we could use you for more the that. Let me know if you have any ideas. Thanks!

Bhutanese Names and Teacher Ego Boosts

2009-04-22T04:43:00.000-07:00

My weeks have been jammed with lessons, grading, planning, and bonding with my students. This week I asked the students to quiz me on each of their names. If I did not know a name, I owed the person a prize. After six weeks it’s unacceptable not to know everyone perfectly, but with over 100 unfamiliar first and last names it’s a struggle.

Except for royal lineages, there are no family names in Bhutan. At birth, a local Lama (or sometimes the parent/ grandparent) gives the newborn two traditional auspicious names. For the most part first names are gender neutral. As there is a limited constellation of acceptable names to choose from, many people share the same combination of first and second names.

So I decided to put the pressure on myself and require them to each write their name along with what makes them mad, glad, and sad on half sheets of paper. Each student held up their name, and I snapped photos. I spent Sunday evening studying their pictures, and it definitely payed off! So far I’ve only owed one prize!

This year, we teachers at The Early Learning Centre implemented a new practice. Each week, one class preforms/teaches something they are studying at our school wide assembly. One of the best presentations so far was Class VI B’s performance on waste management. I’ve included a few pictures. They're skits, poems, songs, and message were all top notch.

Back in my classroom, my students recently wrote essays for the Bhutanese Ministry of Education contest on why you love your teacher. I told them to write about any teacher. A Lama, coach, parent, or previous teacher would suffice. Of course I couldn’t help but smile when some turned in stories about me. :) (OK, I take it with a grain of salt since I was the one assigning the essay.) Here are a few excerpts.....

“She should be a doctor because she can save the universe and travel places to places. She teachers us English. Her name is Elizabeth she teaches us to write. She is from United States of America. I wish she could be our homeroom teacher.”

“I love my teacher because she is funny. I love my teacher because she gives us stickers. I love my teacher because she lets us change our book from the library. I love my teacher because she has a wonderful name and her name is liz. I love my teacher because she taught us how to make name tags.”

“I love my teacher because she is very kind and she is very intelligent. She lets us draw. She is funny. She is fun and she lets us play outside. She is beautiful from the inside and the outside. She has blue eyes. She is tall.”

“I love my teacher because she is full of fun. She is also very kind when we are sick. She teaches us English and we teach her Dzonka. Sometimes she tells us about her life. My favorite subject is English. When we don’t know she helps us.”

“She is good in everything. She is smart in language. I like her handwriting. When I grow up, I want to be like her. I admire her. She is going to be my best teacher forever. I really love her. She is the best teacher I have ever seen in my whole world. She also loves pets.... I like the way she talks she is very beautiful.”

How sweet! I copied a few and stashed them in a drawer for when I need a dose of encouragement.

Some of you may notice the cannabis picture I include. Since spring arose, these weeds started growing everywhere. There are huge bushes of them in every field and outside my house. The Bhutanese consider it pig food and use it to fatten up the porkers.

Other then that not much is new. I’ve invited 10 students to participate in a book club I’ll host at Om Cafe downtown every Sunday. The students are thrilled about the opportunity. It’s cute to see their reading enthusiasm. I’ve also started a creative writing class for a 7th grade student on Monday evenings. This Saturday I’m playing archery and picnicking which is about as Bhutanese as it gets. Love and miss you all!

Paro Tsechu and The King!

2009-04-09T05:58:00.000-07:00

Wow, I am once again exhausted but vale la pena. (Italian for it was worth it)

The most important Tsechu in all of Bhutan took place in Paro this week. Tsechus are sacred festivals purified and consecrated by Lamas and held in Dzongs. The dancers are in a state of meditation and have imbued themselves with the aspects of the deities they represent. This enables them to generate spiritual power during the dances, which cleanses, purifies, enlightens and blesses all those who are watching. Sounds good to me!

The Paro Tsechu begins on Sunday and continues three more days. The highlight occurs on the final day when a enormous religious scroll (thongdrel) is unfurled at dawn and retracted before direct sunlight appears. To witness this event is to gain merit and cleanse oneself of all your sins. Also sounds good to me! Now let me take you back to the first day.

On Sunday morning my Swiss friends pick me up at 9:30 am to see the inital day’s events. We drive through sickeningly windy roads for about an hour dodging cows and trucks. As we approach the Paro Dzong we see an airplane land on Bhutan’s one landing strip which is directly next to Paro town.

Once inside the dzong, we hear haunting sounds of trumpets, cymbals, and flutes. The crowds push and shove to catch a good look at the dancers like the beginnings of a mosh pit. Masked and dressed in elaborate costumes of colorful silk, dancers re-enact visions seen by Bhutan’s Buddhist saints. Apparently, the masks, costumes, and dances have survived unchanged for over 1000 years. Just watching such stamina required for the lengthy dances, paired with the glaring sun, exhausts us. At around 1pm we walk to the nearby archery grounds where temporary food/arts and craft stalls stand. The four of us dig into greasy emadatsi and puri and sip masala tea. After lunch we go for a quick walk down the miniature main street and then observe the final dances. We are some of the last to leave, and our new kiwi friend invites us to his beautiful hotel, Zhiwa Ling, for green tea and homemade cookies before driving back to Thimphu.

I’m back at home around 8pm on Sunday and am totally exhausted. There is no possible way I can plan for the week or grade any papers so I read a Bhutanese fable and fall asleep. The week is tiring, but goes by quickly.

My desire to see the thongdrel pushes me to do some crazy things. After Wednesday's long day of work, I board a cab with two Thimphu friends bound for Paro. Although the thongdel begins to unravel around 3am, I don’t arrive until 6am. This still leaves plenty of time to get my blessings from the lamas before heading back to work. The concentration of people (mostly Bhutanese) is intense but also exciting to watch.

Suddenly a loud speaker comes on stating “The Royal Majesty will arrive shortly. We request you refrain from picture taking.” Two orderly long lines of people form and create an isle for the Bhutan’s fifth king to walk down. Because I have not seen him in person, I am tempted to join the line. However, I reason it’s time to get back for school, and I’ll see him when the time is right. As I walk down the hill the masses of people lessens. All of a sudden I look up and the king, the guy pictured in every Bhutanese house or classroom, stares back at me. I bow. He smiles and asks “Did you see the thongdrel? Did you receive a blessing?” “Yyyyes” I stutter. He then smiles again and offers “You look very nice in your kira.” I forget every piece of my limited Dzonka and stumble back with a shocked “thank you.” He turns to leave and I awkwardly call out “kuzuzangpo la,” which is a polite way to say hello. He turns back, smiles, and shoots a “kuzuzangpo la” my way. I still have a goofy grin on my face just thinking of the entire surreal experience.

I hope you enjoy the pictures and the stories. This week was yet another reminder of how fortunate I am to live in this enchanting country.

Scottish Dancing, Dreaming of Prayer Flags, and Ghost Stories!!!!!

2009-04-04T07:08:00.000-07:00

So who would have thought the first time I’d learn some Scottish dance moves would be in Bhutan?

Apparently the tradition started many years ago by Scottish expats living in Thimphu. There are no longer any Scottlanders but various foreigners still meet every two months to partake in the fun.

Those of you who know me will not be surprised to hear I was nominated most uncoordinated person to ever attend Scottish Dancing Night. I stepped on people’s feet, knocked over small children, and continuously forgot the next move, but I still had fun. It reminded me of square dancing without the twang. And yes, I debated including the disturbing picture of me dancing but figured I had to.

On Thursday I went to Om Cafe for the Dreaming of Prayer Flags book premiere by the author Karma Singe Dorji and artist Sandy Shum. You should definitely check out their beautiful book and website at www.prayerflagsbook.com! Karma read excerpts from his work which is he calls his love letter to Bhutan. The dreamy images that follow Karma’s heart warming anecdotes are created by Sandy’s impressionistic photography. She takes Polaroid pictures and then draws over them while they are hot. She demonstrated this process and let us practice. As the book talk began to wrap up, Karma questioned his audience about our backgrounds. It was refreshing to see how his success keeps him humble and genuinely interested in the world. He currently lives in Bhutan half the year and spends the other half in San Luis Obisbo. He was thrilled to hear about my SB roots, and we reminisced about avocados, wine, and the central coast’s lovely landscape.

Karma also kindly accepted my invitation to come speak to our school about his book! We both hope to inspire future Bhutanese writers, and I know Karma’s presence will help our goal.

My highlight throughout the school week was Ghost Story Day. In class III we read The True Son which is a Bhutanese fable about a demon child. I figured ghost story telling was a perfect connection. For homework each student wrote a spooky tale. On Friday, I closed all the curtains, turned off all the lights, put on a mask, and began a improvised ghost story. OOooh hhahahaha the kids were hilarious. They kept asking “Madam, is this fiction or nonfiction?” and cuddled together screaming when I preformed my evil laugh.

After finishing my narrative, I had them read some of their stories aloud. Here are a few examples.

Haunted House
Once there was a family that had a beautiful house. But one person came and said please can I stay here. Then they said ok. They gave the whole house to him. Now the family went in search of a house. Luckily they saw a beautiful house but it was a haunted house. They went in the house but the girl wanted to go to the toilet and when she looked at the mirror, there was a ghost with white long hair and blood coming out of her mouth. The girl was so frightened and she died on the toilet. Her mother cried, and called her father and he cried too. She was their only child. Then they left the house and went looking for another house. The mother could not bear the loss of her daughter and she died too. Now he was all by himself. Sometimes he could hear them whispering to him.
The End

Once upon a time there lived a old woman. She lived in old house and that house was haunted. Every night she always heard a small baby crying in the living room. One day when she was going to the toilet she saw a baby in the living room then she went to the baby the babies face was very scary and she run away but the baby was following her and she was very scared and jumped from a cliff and she was dead.

Yikes, I hope those don’t give you nightmares! I actually told another ghost story the day I assigned their homework. In that version I go to the toilet and see a ghost. Inevitably most of their stories involve something spooky happening in the bathroom. So be careful the next time you need to relieve yourself and stay away from haunted houses!

The End!

PS I just returned from the Paro Tsechu which was amazing! Stay tuned for colorful pictures and stories at some point this week.

New York City or Thimphu?

2009-03-25T01:50:00.000-07:00

Although I have been sick with a sinus infection, I’ve managed to toss on a scarf, zip my boots, dab some lip balm, and experience the fancy-schmancy parts of Thimphu.

Two weekends ago we hosted a shindig for Kueron, Annette, and Rebecca’s birthdays at my house. Most of the pictures are from our midnight cake celebration.

Saturday night I went out for Rebecca’s birthday at one of the fanciest accommodations in Bhutan called the Taj. The enormous orange structure stands out amongst the modest Bhutanese shops. Inside you enter the lobby of a posh NYC hotel. We ordered martinis and nibbled on finger food. Later the chef, waiter, and manager sang Rebecca happy birthday with a piece of candle lit chocolate cake.

Last week, I was under the weather and wound up visiting the emergency wing of the hospital. Luckily a doctor recognized me as a teacher at his child’s school and immediately put me in touch with a Canadian volunteer doctor. She asked me a few questions, wrote a prescription for some sort of miscellaneous antibiotic, and I was out the door.

The rest of the week I struggled going to school and then coming straight home to bed. I am still behind in planning and correcting papers. And while I love reading their work, I despise the necessary recording and filing.

This weekend I drank a glass of chardonnay in the lounge at Thimphu’s other opulent hotel, Amankora. The Aman is seated in the hills above Thimphu and maintains a serene minimalist feel. Later in the evening I went to Om Bar with some new friends Amanda and Katrin.

It’s beginning to look a lot like spring time. Take notice of my attempt to capture the many blooming flowers. I took a few more pictures of my students presenting new vocabulary words and eating their lunch. I tried to upload a video of them performing the Macerena while I hum the song but for some reason it won’t load. It’s hilarious so I’m sorry you have to miss it.

Well that’s all for now! Peace.

Silly, Side-Splitting, Sayings on Shirts

2009-03-22T06:56:00.000-07:00

Thimphu T-shirts can be quite amusing. At some point I hope to host a Thimphu T-shirt party. For now here’s a short blog with a few of the shirts I’ve seen. Stay tuned for a blog with last week’s parties and classroom happenings!

Hiking and Happiness!

2009-03-15T10:19:00.000-07:00

Total exhaustion. I lie on my bed with a big, ridiculous grin on my face. Covered in dirt and sweat, I can’t even drag myself to the shower after today’s seven hour hike to monasteries above Thimphu. This is my roommate Annette’s birthday present to herself, Rebecca, and me. Although it was painful, distance from the hustle and bustle of Thimphu paired with such spiritual sights brought me joy.

Last night we had a few Bhutanese expats over for cake and poker to celebrate Annette’s birth. Tonight we’ll eat momos from our favorite restaurant, Center Point. Then I’ll read picture books about magic rings, demon children, and rivers who run away. I use many Bhutanese folk-tales in class which provide cultural insight. Reading them before class is the perfect substitute for the dumb TV I could otherwise zone out with.

I also look forward to reading my students’ writing. As a teacher, my job is to get them thinking critically about how they relate to the world. This week, class IV wrote letters to someone they miss- dead or alive. Their authentic voices filled these letters with sadness, anger, confusion, and joy.

In class III I want them to think about what Bhutan’s Gross National Happiness means. For homework they wrote 20 things that make them happy. Here are some answers.

When somebody helps me
When I am with my family
When I get money
When my father buys new cars
When I eat good foods
When I share with my friends
When I make new friends
Visiting the zoo and children park
Helping mom in cooking
Seeing good dreams.
Getting my back scratching
Making friends
Smelling flowers
Feeding stray dogs
Telling stories
When it snows
When I hear good news
When I celebrate my birthday
When I dance
When I sing
When I buy new cloth
Cricket makes me happy.
Music makes me happy.
When I do break dance
I am happy to write letter to my mom and dad

I also asked them to tell me what happiness means...

happiness means like when we laugh
happy means when we be friends with each other and when we make very very best friends.
happy means glad
Happy means laughing, feeling good, finding funny, playing with friend and joking.
Happy means not being sad.

For me happiness is teaching, learning, writing, living in Bhutan, trying new things, laughter, and knowing I have so many loved ones to miss. What about you?

PS the pictures are a random assortment of hiking, birthday celebrations, an outstanding picture one of my class 3 students drew of the fifth king, and a walk last Saturday.

Oh the first days of School

2009-03-04T17:44:00.000-08:00

"Hello, I'd like to introduce you to our newest teacher! All the way from California we now have Madam Elizabeth. " And that's how it all began.

I made it through the first week of teaching. It is not easy but incredibly rewarding. Here are a few ancedotes.

On the first day we held a large assembly where all the teachers sang cheesy poems like
Good Morning
Good Morning The Sun is Up Today Good Morning to my friends at school it's a lovely day
My roommate and our music teacher, Madam Annette, preformed beautifully on the violin. We ended with their prayer and national anthem which are lovely songs the students all happily belt.

When I enter any classroom every student stands up and shouts “Good Morning Madam.” I respond with “Good Morning students. Please sit down.” The class responds with “thank you Madam” and takes their seat. This may indicate that they are the most respectful children on earth, but no.... They are still kids with abundant energy.

During lunch and tea time students fight to offer me their food. It’s quite nice when you are hungry, but it's impossible to take 100 student's food. So I told them what I really like is fruit. Now I have a constant supply of watermelon, bananas, grapes, tangerines, and I'm sure it will only improve come summertime. :) Every child brings these amazing lunch boxes that keep their rice, vegetables, and chilies steaming hot. They all bring table clothes and spread out to eat their lunch. Very cute.

I had the third graders break up into pairs and write 10 questions they’d like to know about their new teacher. Here are some of them.

Madam do like a dog?
Madam do lick to play wat me?
Madam do you have baby?
Madam do you like to teach us?
Do you like our fifth king?
Do you like it her in Bhutan?
What is your bother name?
Do you have a son?
How is your father?
Do you have a mather?
Do you have a cat?
How is your best friend?
Do you love flowers?
Can you do good thing?
Is your house beautiful?
Do you have some boyfriend?
Do you have fun?

One of the pictures is of a little birthday celebration we had for Kueron at our house.

Anyway, I’ll keep this entry short because I’m so tired. Hope you are well! I encourage everyone to write some comments!

AAAAAh Phunaka

2009-03-01T01:35:00.000-08:00

Kuzuzangpo everyone. I cannot believe how quickly the days are flying by. It’s March! Here’s a little flashback on the past ten days.

My trip to Punaka begins at 8am on Saturday after a late night out in Thimphu. The roads wind through layers of foliage and vibrant colored flowers like magnolias and poinsettias are in full bloom. Lemo, my new travel agent friend, is filled with knowledge on Bhutan that you won’t find in a Lonely Planet. We speak the entire way about Buddhism and Bhutanese history.

Upon arrival a small riverside camp ground, we immediately dig into a Bhutanese picnic lunch of rice, emadatse, and fried eggs. After filling our bellies, the staff prepares for the 20 students and two teachers arrival the following day. I take a leisurely walk along the road and make it to bed by 8:30!

The next I awake to a rattle on my tent and a hand slides me a steaming cup of sweet, milky, masala tea. After washing in the river, I accompany Lemo on some of errands. First we visit a school for young monks where Lemo inquires at about current needs- mosquito nets- which she’ll bring them shortly. Next we meditate in a temple neighboring the Punaka Dzong, and shop for produce and baked goods in Punaka’s small village. After finishing our errands, I observe a meeting between Lemo and 10 impoverished farming families which focuses helping their children go to school. Many farmers in rural Bhutan do not own any land and remain in a cycle of constant debt and hunger. They need their children to help them on the farm and cannot afford to buy school uniforms. Lemo and others are working on ways to change this and believe education is part of the solution.

The Singapore American High School students arrive in the afternoon, and we devour a gourmet lunch together around a bonfire. Later Lemo and I hike to a temple looking over Punaka dedicated to the fifth king.

The following day the entire group awakes at 630am and begins a steep three hour hike to a special temple. We then sip butter tea and eat lunch with a lama who’d been mediating there for 16 years. Inside the temple chanting, drumming, and horn blowing fill the air as monks preform a ceremony we mediate to. Outside we explore a neighboring cave where monks have meditated for centuries and drink holly water for a long healthy life.

After a good nights sleep, we leisurely wake up at 9am the following day and head to a neighboring farm to help locals plant emma (chilies). I work in the field for a while but drift to the children. We play hackie sack with tied up leaves, dance, sing, and take pictures. Their laughter and playfulness fill me with joy.

During the afternoon, farmer’s children rotate through activities such as yoga, jewelry, making, card tricks, twister, and calisthenics run by pairs Singapore students. The students also also donate shoes, socks, flashlights, and books to the farming community.

That night I receive a call from Kueron inviting me to accompany her family to her husband's, Asha Karma, village for two nights during Losar (new year). About two years ago a windy, steep dirt road was built to Asha’s village which overlooks Phunaka. They pick me up from camp and we begin the drive uphill. Unfortunately, the recent rain makes the road so muddy we must get out push the car a number of times. Those of you that know me well won’t be surprised to hear I fall flat on my face the first time we start pushing. whoops.

Two nights at Asha’s sisters house in the village are relaxing and unlike anything I’ve experienced. Although everyone works incredibly hard without the luxuries we are accustomed to, constant laughter permeates their home. A major highlight is my hot-stone bath. Aaah missing it already.

After a grand holiday, I am thrilled to be back in my apartment and take my first shower in 6 days!

Since then I spent the past few days representing my school at a government run English teacher training, which proves interesting and useful.

School starts on Tuesday which means one more day to prepare. Wish me luck. (Tashi Delek)

Punaka Dzong
Cute Kids
View from our campsite

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM AND THE FITH KING OF BHUTAN!

2009-02-20T03:06:00.000-08:00

WARNING: This is a very long blog entry. If you are just interested in looking at the pics scroll down to the bottom for explanations. I know you Americans are busy people :)

I’m sitting in a comfy recliner, listening to funky techno, and sipping a cappuccino at Thimphu’s newly opened Karama’s Coffee! They serve real expresso which is rare (you typically drink instant with lots of milk and sugar) and they have free wireless which is unprecedented! I already see how quickly Thimphu is changing. There is construction everywhere although it is apparently down from last year. Most Bhutanese I speak with say I need to get out of Thimphu to see the real Bhutan. The good news is tomorrow I’ll be doing just that!

The fifth king, HM JigMe Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck’s, birthday is tomorrow, and everyone receives three days holiday. Then Losar (Bhutanese New Year) takes place on February 25 and 26 which means two more days off.

I met a travel agent named Lemo who’s invited me to come with a group of high school students from the American School in Singapore on a camping trip to Punaka (a town east of Thimphu.) We’ll have the opportunity to meet farming families from the surrounding villages and hike through a special pilgrimage called Goemtsa pho. More on that when I return.

This week I finally visited the Royal Education Council (REC) who played a major part in facilitating my teaching exchange. One of their leaders, Tashi Wangel, spent much of the afternoon introducing me to all the his REC colleagues. Their offices are beautiful with plenty of space to accommodate their continuous growth. I was impressed with the high level of intelligence, focus, and vision that permeates their buildings. Bhutan’s government and king have made it a priority to improve education. In fact, a few days ago the king made a speech to the graduating teachers in Paro. Their passion to throw out “chalk and talk” and switch to a child centered classroom is refreshing. It’s actually reminding me a little of the Obama “yes we can” campaign for change. :)

I received my classes assignment, year (year means grade) 3 and 4 English, and curriculum materials. Funny that I filled my suitcase with manuals from a teacher supply shop. The Early Learning Centre has more English curriculum materials then I could possibly read. Last year they began using XSEED which is filled with innovative hands-on learning, but was also too restrictive. So this year we have the flexibility to create our own curriculum based on the standard skills each year is expected to master. This approach excites me but it will take a little more brain power then going off of one text book.

Throughout the two weeks I’ve spent in Bhutan it is easy to the prominence Buddhism plays in its lifestyle and culture. I’ve been wary of religion in school but Buddhism's acceptance and personal responsibility match what we are trying to teach our students. I’m enjoying learning their prayers and traditions.

OK if you are still reading here’s some picture explanations...

In the first few pictures you’ll see pictures of me and my teaching colleagues dressed in Kiras and Ghos outside a nearby monastery where we prayed for our Australian sister school and all of the victims of the Australian Bush Fires.

As a way to get to know each other, I suggested we have a teacher’s “potluck” (a new word for most of them) which was a delicious success!

There is a huge “weekend market” where farmers from all over Bhutan travel to Thimphu to sell what’s in season.

On Sunday morning men’s celebratory shout’s travel through fields and windy roads into my window. The cheers are either for an archery game (Bhutan’s one olympic sport) or a version of outdoor darts.

Here’s a nice shot of the Thimphu Dzong. Dzongs are beautiful government buildings found all over Bhutan designed in the 16th century by Trashi Chhoe Dzong Precint the founder of Bhutan.

All female teachers wear Bhutan’s national dress, a kira, to school. I had mine made by a local taylor. It’s aditcting to have clothes made to fit you perfectly!

I spent all day cleaning my classroom and this is the final product!

Everywhere I walk children giggle and shout “hello Madam.” Even though I’m starting to feel like a local, I must stand out. Even when there appears to be nobody on the road I hear shouts from windows saying “HI.” It’s actually fun to feel like a celebrity. The boys in the picture were some kids who stopped me with a similar conversation.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading!

Learning the Ropes

2009-02-10T03:18:00.000-08:00

“The Purpose of Education is not to fill the student’s mind with facts. It is to teach them to think.” - My new favorite quote by someone smart.

Well I’ve been in Bhutan for over a week! My first week of work went well. I moved into my new place and have included some pictures of the living room, dinning area, bar :), and my bed. Please check out the blanket. Yes it does read “Off To Bed Little Angels.”

Here’s a quick description of how my day looks....

After a 15 minuet walk down hill with views of Thimphu, my training at The Early Learning Centre begins at 9 am. 22 teachers shuffle inside the school’s library and sit cross legged in a large circle. The principal, Madam Deki, shares her findings from a recent leadership training at a school called Riverside in Darjing India. The school focusses on common sense learning taught for multiple intelligences. Throughout our discussions, I realize exciting it is to be here with so much change. We watched an excellent movie called tare zameen par about a young boy in India who struggles with undiagnosed dyslexia in a conventional education system. Bring some Kleenex if you are a crier like me!

On Monday Kim, a a woman working with the Ministry of Education to incorporate arts in Bhutanese curriculum, engaged us in an all day arts integration workshop. We did all sorts of fun activities like drawing portraits, photographing the alphabet in nature, and making popup books.

In regards to my social life... :) I had my first night out on Saturday with two American friends, Rebecca and Shane, and Kueron. Rebecca was a teacher last year and is volunteering this year, and Shane is a chef at a nice hotel in town. The next day we went for a hike overlooking Thimphu that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I blame it on the altitude. :) But I did feel way better when we stopped for a picnic of curries, rice, and some delicious Southern Bhutanese bread .

Touring Thimphu

2009-02-03T23:07:00.001-08:00

Kuzu zangpo! (Dzongkha for hello although there are over 10 different dialects in Bhutan!) I am here sipping ja (tea) in an internet cafe. I left my hotel in Bangkok on the 30th at 430 am and boarded my Druk Air flight to Calcutta and then to Paro. We flew over Mt. Everest but unfortunately I was on the wrong side of the plane to see it from my window. :( It is ok though because I hear that the view is way better if you fly from Katmandu.
The principal of my school’s husband, Kinzang, picked me up and we had an hour long beautiful drive to Thimphu.
Upon arrival I we we ate cheese omelets at the Swiss Bakery with a second grade teacher from my school, Kueron, and her 7 year old son Tashi. After lunch I spent the day touring Thimphu and meeting all their friends. That evening we had a beautiful dinner of Emadatse (chili and cheese), Bhutanese red rice (the rice is less red and nutty then the variety we sell in the US) and plenty of vegetables and chilies.
Since then I went to Tashi’s birthday party on Saturday which was was also an event for kids at an art camp called VAST, Voluntary Artists Studio of Thimphu (http://www.vast-bhutan.org. (Thanks for the corection!)
On Sunday Kueron and I drove about 30 minuets out of Thimphu and trekked through a national park to join the VAST students on their overnight camping trip. The scenery, feasts, and campfire conversations were all wonderful! However, it was a chili nights sleep, and I was glad to arrive back in Madam Deki’s house for dinner and a warm bed.
Yesterday I moved into my new apartment with a German music teacher named Annette. Stay tuned for pics of the apartment.
Tomorrow is my first day of work at the Early Learning Centre, but we have the entire month of February to prepare before the students arrive in March. Few!
Miss you all!

Back to Bangkok!

2009-01-28T19:43:00.000-08:00

Hello there!

Well after a day being on hold with Blue Cross, Bank of America, and AT&T, an all night packing session, and over 24hours of traveling I made it back to Bangkok! I'm resting/reflecting in an adorable hotel before tomorrow's 7am flight to Paro, Bhutan. Actually, I just finished a $9 hour long massage. aaah Thailand. I love you.

The drive to LA and flights to Tokyo (11hrs) and Bangkok (7hrs) were uneventful which translates to awesome since many things can go wrong while traveling. Getting through an hour long customs line at 1am in Bangkok and then getting ripped off by the cab driver were less then happy memories but there are over with.

The best part of my journey was arriving at my hotel, Phranakorn Nornlen. If you are headed to Bangkok you must stay here! I stayed here a few weeks ago at the end of my backpacking journey and fell in love. Upon my 130am arrival I was greeted at the door with "Elizabeth! WELCOME HOME!" I've included some pics of the hotel which does not do its understated beauty justice but you get the idea. I also have not figured out how to make comments about my pics. (Please comment or email me if you know how.) For now just know there are pics of my room, bathroom the eating area/garden, massage area, ect.

Getting Ready to Go

2009-01-22T00:47:00.000-08:00

I've got less then a week before I embark on a 10 month adventure to the beautiful, magical, mountain kingdom of Bhutan!

For the most part preparations to leave the US for a year were easy! Live the Dream/FUN! After returning from my South East Asia backpacking trip, I spent time visiting friends and family in Powder-Filled Park City, Utah, Decision Maker DC, Never Sleep NYC, and Sunny San Diego.

Am I ready for my January 27 departure? Well... No I'm not quite packed. :) But I'm there mentally! Oh and I have a Bhutanese 12 month visa!!!!!!

I feel fortunate, exuberant, and convinced my next 10 months will bring joy. Hope you enjoy the blog.