Revisiting Trashiyangtse

What a joy it has been revisiting Trashiyangtse. 

The road there was treacherous with hardly any visible blacktop, dense cloud cover, evidence of landslides and rain assisting the runoff over the steep sided edges with almost no barriers. Had it not been Lobzang behind the wheel I think I might have abandoned the trip. He however inspired confidence and got us there within the time frame he estimated without the slightest sign of being stressed by the conditions. 

The rain that seemed endless as we drove in eased and by the time we had done some washing, it had almost stopped. 
We had heard of the desperate need of the farmers for rain so we were both actually glad the monsoon had arrived. 

We found ourselves wandering at large and marveling at how little had changed and even shrouded in clouds and in drizzling rain how spectacularly beautiful the backdrop of the mountains is. The preservation of the traditional buildings and complete lack of development is refreshing to us and makes us feel like we are back in the Bhutan we so fondly remember. The heartland of Bhutanese culture is alive and well. 

We beelined to Chorten Kora and joined the elderly in the spinning of prayer wheels and circumambulating and have returned everyday to do the same. Even early this morning we ventured there and were able to light butter lamps in addition to circumambulating before breakfast. 

It is impossible not to notice the innocence, enthusiasm and curiosity of the students.  Beyond the usual calls of hello hello or bye from toddlers, most students are shy and only a few primary students are bold enough to greet us in the street. 

Having so recently been in the system ourselves, we can ask them relevant questions and their faces light up at just being able to converse with a native speaker. Once engaged they are surprisingly good at sustaining a conversation even though the complete lack of a filter sometimes takes us by surprise and makes me laugh out loud. ‘I can give you a hug’, ‘ Are you a boy or a girl?’,  ‘Where are you going?’ and most often ‘Whats-your-name?’ : spoken as a single word, have all been shouted at us by local primary students still in school uniform. I’m delighted that they are trying to use their English and try to encourage their efforts. 

We have been more than content to just stroll about and observe the local community. Visiting the post office and the bank made us painfully aware of how few tourists reach these regions.

 Dropping in on the College for Zorig Chusum (the 13 traditional arts and crafts) had me wondering why there were so few students present. The showroom and shop was closed which was a bit of a disappointment but it prompted us to return earlier the next day hoping to see more classes in action. It’s a short but pleasant walk out of town and since the sun was out it was also most enjoyable even the second time. The mystery was solved by an instructor telling us most of the students were on “OJT”. Oh how the Bhutanese love an acronym so  we had to inquire: on the job training. 

I don’t want to be a celebrity or a novelty but when you are the only “chillips” in town it’s hard not to be. The elderly, students, shopkeepers and children of all ages were friendly and curious and most welcoming wherever we were when they encountered us. 

Having located an eatery that prepares fresh, authentic Bhutanese dishes from scratch when ordered just hours after arriving, we returned there for almost every meal and were rewarded with hospitality, generosity and friendship. I can say without a doubt we had the best ema datshi I have ever eaten right there and it was not diluted to suit the palate of foreign guests either. My eyes were watering, my nose was running and my lips were tingling but I’m still glad I ate it. Ian of course was in his element. 

That experience made me realise that the hype I’ve heard about Trashiyantse chillies being the best in the kingdom, isn’t hype. It’s true. 

Now we have tracked down and sourced some of those chillies to gift Bhutanese friends and we purchased them just hours after they were picked (not plucked as locals do like to say) too. Even after several shop keepers told us they wouldn’t be available until
next week or next month, we persisted on our mission and were handsomely rewarded by a local store who called around and then got them delivered the next morning. Now that’s service for you! 

Lobzang wasn’t available to collect us for the short run back to Trashigang but would have made a special effort if we hadn’t been able to contract a local driver. However that was easily achieved.

With 36 hours of dry conditions and having contracted a Bolero we were confident that it would be an easy run. 

It was in fact, delightful with blue skies, sunshine and spectacular views all the way.

 

The driver was more than happy to stop so we could take photos and even consented to waiting while we quickly visited Gom Kora. It is truly a special place and we had a magical moment or two with locals there.  

No wonder we think Trashi Yangtse is a gem and always worth returning to

SOUND BYTES:

Random sounds from the city streets and surrounds 

 

An Aussie tourist- “Just get us there and wait. I’ll buy you a drink on the way back!”

Mr Tuk Tuk driver nods and smiles. “Does he even understand?” I wonder but I fear he does. 

 

Recently, every evening a distinctive upbeat dance music arrests our attention. After several audio attacks, we both immediately jumped up to see the source. A very well illuminated, moto flying the Cambodian flag and its rider sporting the best punk cut I’ve spotted in the kingdom, cruises by obviously hawking wares and I wonder, “Is it Prah Hok?” Still I recognize this person and he has cooperated with my snap a shot agenda, before. That’s nice. The orange suited punk has serious entrepreneurial skills. 

 

We were in a half full train carriage heading for Kampot when the train stopped at a little set of two stairs on the side of the tracks. No platform but a scheduled stop and when the doors opened the hysterical, frantic screaming and crying of a child filled the carriage. The whole compartment watched as this distressed, tiny toddler repeatedly shrieked “Baba, baba, baba,” at the top of her lungs. The resigned mother boarded along with several others carrying bags and containers and deposited the still sobbing, screeching child on a seat very near us and opposite a man who had actually made space for them to join him. Mum went back outside for more luggage and the totally distressed child was now banging on the window. Her dejected looking father was waving and trying not to sob himself outside. Frantic looking around seconds later revealed to this little miss that mum was now nowhere in sight either and the ruckus escalated in volume and switched to, “Mama, mama, mama.” Everyone tried to placate the little girl but she was not to be consoled. No one complained and there was a collective effort to distract and cheer up this little one. Even the two kids, who up until now had been boisterously annoying the passengers, returned quietly to their seats. Soon enough she was exhausted and fell asleep and for the rest of the ride everyone in the carriage stole looks at her, assisted mum and generally came by to check she was OK. I was so impressed with the level of concern and support that complete strangers offered this young mum. 

 

 

Despite living in the downtown area, we frequently hear birds and are more than grateful to be able to. We see them too but mostly we hear them: roosters crowing in the middle of the day or night but rarely at dawn, gorgeous little oriental magpie robins chirping away merrily, massive coucals cawing while we swim laps, sparrows tweeting away as everyday background noise in almost every location, mynahs  noisy and invasive even though the variety we see here are Asian mynahs, yellow vented bulbuls, which we refer to as masked raiders as they dart in and out of trees hunting but rarely make any sound though they are frequently visible. However, it is the great hornbills swooping from highly unlikely locations and swishing by with their wings making a whirring sound like helicopter blades on silencer mode that are my all-time favourite sound bite of the inner city, while over fed city pigeons cooing insistently and seeking out ever more intrusive nesting positions would have to be my least. So, while we do miss the regular sightings of kingfishers in the mangroves, the breeding pair of sea eagles soaring over the crab market and the egrets, herons and stilts wading in the paddies, which we often saw in Kep, with a keen eye and a tuned ear birding is still possible in PP.

 

We were sitting reading on our terrace in the early evening when we suddenly heard near deafening Latino music. Instantly we both peered into the street below where a parked quad bike was a one-man festival of flashing lights and pulsing sound. The very next moment a snaking line of about ten connected rollerbladers swished their way up the street towards the river. A solo, speedster leader was up front. A lookout was alongside the team and keeping watch. The lights in their blades and their neon tops were their only safety precaution. They were moving way faster than the moto traffic and it was quite the mesmerizing sight as they flashed by accompanied by music and then the peloton seamlessly fed into the busy traffic on the riverside and were gone. Next, the quad bike was mobile in the opposite direction and we could follow his progress through the neighbourhood for a few blocks via the booming reverberations emanating. Finally, silence reigned and we returned to our books.

 

One of my favourite sounds in this season is the rain approaching. As monsoon storms sweep over the city we can hear the heavy rain on the tin rooves all around us long before we see it on our own terrace or balcony! I love to watch as the immediate surrounds mist over to almost whiteout conditions as the front advances to the point of reaching us. Then, its necessary to take cover from the eye of the storm and enjoy the spectacle of the lightning, thunder and rain unleashing its fury on the streets. It can be over in a flash or drone on in undulating waves with varying volumes for several hours. While it is a delight to observe and tune in to the music of nature from the dry, comfort of home, it is never any fun to be caught out in the middle of a storm whilst wandering. Just yesterday evening while eating in a delightful courtyard setting, one such storm, which we had outpaced to get to our destination, opened up and the skies literally bucketed down on the near full restaurant. Luckily, we could claim a table under cover and even offered to share with a woman who had been eating alone and was in an identical situation when no more tables were available. We met a new acquaintance and spent a pleasant evening together and as the storm began to abate we went our separate ways. Not so luckily, upon reaching home we discovered the bed room windows we had left open and the pool of water on the floor, damp bedding and stained walls from the blue lining of the blinds, which were soaked through and stained blue in blotches too. Oh well another monsoon saga to be told.