Saturday 21 April 2012

Tough Week for Teachers... Reach for Rilke...

There was a tough week. I was ill and wasn't teaching my full time-table as a result. My throat felt like it had been sandpapered, my head was groggy and I wasn't sleeping well. I could do a lesson or two but then I got knackered and my voice was kaput. Sometimes I felt like a soft westerner. Circumstances conspire to make the Bhutanese hardier than us western folk. Some teenage boys from the country have the muscles of twenty-five year old labourers, their bodies over-toughened by work. The Bhutanese immune systems are probably more effective than ours simply because their lives are more closely allied with the natural environment; they work within it instead of against it like we so often do in the West.

I watched 'Babies' recently, a 2010 documentary film comparing the early development of 4 babies from around the world (Japan, US, Mongolia, Namibia). I'm sure the director had no intention of being partisan at the outset, but you can't blame him for drifting that way by the end. The Namibian and Mongolian boys were hunting lions by the age of two! I'm exaggerating, but we've clearly developed some madness of habits in 'The West' (massive generalisation). Golden-age thinking tends to be simple and crass, but I'm sure we could potentially relearn some things we've forgotten if we allow ourselves to look 'backwards' once in a while. In this case, I guess the point is it's better for children to eat soil instead of licking bleach. But here in Bhutan, in a country that's has taken its development at a leisurely and mindful pace until just recently, there's plenty we can learn. GNH. 


GNH is a process, a middle path to tread for individuals and governments alike, a path of mindfulness and balance. Nebulous at times, but startlingly simple at its foundation; progress with values. Kindness before self-interest. Compassion before greed. Human wealth before capital wealth. Joy in life - happiness before all other things as a goal to strive for. The self-proclaimed responsibility of the government is to provide the fertile ground for its people to achieve this. How refreshing. But unless you live in a rose garden, it can't be all rosy all the time. People are people and everywhere has its ups and downs and differences.    


Some of these differences were difficult to grapple with in the first few months. I had my frustrations. We all did. Rare occasions, like when a teacher refuse to teach a class because some kids were missing because of a big sports meet, but there's still more than thirty left! I got a but huffy and went and taught in my free period, despite only having a few precious frees. I work harder here than any place anywhere before, but I don't mind because the rewards are so high and I enjoy having so many opportunities. So far I've done all the timetabling, initiated school-wide standardised assessment with automated intervention strategies (hah! sounds brutal, but I assure you it was deemed helpful). I'm enjoying being Head of Department and coaching teachers, organising science exhibitions and completely redecorating the science labs to make them exciting spaces to be in. It's generally great... where was I... not all rosy... I'm having difficulty sticking to this track...

Other foreign teachers have had a tougher time than I. I'm fortunate to have a very active, involved and hard-working Principal who has high ambitions for this fledgeling school and gets involved when he needs to, leading by example. But imagine a handful of classes with no teachers, scraps occurring between 8 year olds, kids with fever wanting to go home and no staff members anywhere except you, a foreign contract teacher with a disproportionate workload, good intentions and a limited supply of energy to draw from! The teachers might be there somewhere, in the staffroom relaxing perhaps or maybe even preparing work – but not dealing with the children. I don't quite understand how this can happen. It doesn't dominate, but I have heard about it from every other teacher, so it does exist as part of a culture. 

Allow your judgements their own quiet, undisturbed development, which like all progress must come from deep within you and cannot be forced or hastened by anything.

In other words... breathe people... take your time! There's much we still do not know.

Loneliness is an issue that has become real for some of the teachers out here. I'm in a different situation again. For one thing, I'm pretty good at solitude because I have a certain reverence for it. It's a place of deep thought, a place of quite stillness, the place where the ideas come from, where judgements are slowly worked through and where inspiration flashes its oft-dim bulb. I cherish it, though I'm keenly aware that too much of it can make you go a bit doolahlee.

To retreat into oneself and meet nobody for hours on end—that is what one must be able to attain. To be alone, as one was alone as a child, when the grown-ups walked about involved in things which seemed great and important.


Of course, they never were that important, so love your solitude, and bear the pain which it causes you with euphonious lament.

I also have people around me who no longer seem that different to me most of the time. I guess I've normalised somewhat. Sure, I still sit around the Bukari of a night and have no idea what is being talked about for chunks of time. Last night I tried really hard in vain to catch familiar words as they whistled around me. When I asked my friend Amber what was being talked about, he  told me he had no idea - everyone was speaking Scharshop (sp.), the language of the East. This is not uncommon. In my Year 9 class yesterday, struggling against a critical mass of misunderstanding, I invited the high achievers up to the board to explain to the class why Group 1 elements bonds with those of Group 7. I insisted the first one do it in Dzongkha, the second in Scharchop, the third in Hindi and the fourth in Nepali. Chemistry in 5 languages. I think they all understood in the end, and we had lots of fun getting there! 

Erm... loneliness... yes. I'm fine, though I miss those I love and would like to haul them over here and keep them for a few weeks. But other foreign teachers are way off in the back of beyond with hardly any English-speaking people around them. They meet with generosity and warmth, but real connection is difficult to forge. They can't express themselves freely. There's no easy flow to their banter. Patience is needed in abundance.  So, to you guys out there to whom this refers... my far-flung friends in the wildernesses of Bhutan... take consolation from Rilke, as promised (to a couple of you on the phone)...

We know little, but that we must attach ourselves to what is difficult is a certainty that never deserts us. It is good to be lonely, for loneliness is difficult. The fact that a thing is difficult must be for us the more reason for doing it.


Daily I learn through my sufferings [to which I am grateful] that patience is everything.

One of my friends joked that the next 9 months will be like giving birth to a baby called patience. I love a bit of melodrama, but I guess we need to cultivate patience for the tolerance of other ways of being and doing, even if we might feel that there are rational or even moral reasons to behave differently. And of course we need patience for our own lack of understanding - patience with ourselves. Perhaps then, something new and unknown will enter into us... 

If it were possible for us to see a little further than our knowledge can reach, to see out a little farther over the outworks of our surmising, we should perhaps bear our griefs with greater confidence than our joys. For they are the moments when something new, something unknown enters into us.

All quotes thanks to this very clever inspirer of all things artistic and spiritual:




I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I give myself to it.

I circle around the primordial tower.
I've been circling for thousands of years
and I still don't know; am I a falcon,
a storm, or a great song?

RenĂ© Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke 
or... Rainer Maria Rilke

You, darkness, of whom I am born -

I love you more than the flame
that limits the world
to the circles it illumines
and excludes all the rest.



Sunday 15 April 2012

Playing the Name Game ... Video

These kids came to the porch of my friend Sarah's when I was having tea and reading. They asked me to take photos and sing songs. They asked me for names...



Tuesday 10 April 2012

Sunday 8 April 2012

The End of the Himalayan Road to Tibet... Gasa

After school on Tuesday I took a lift to Chuzom from a colleague. At Chuzom the road splits, one goes to Paro, the other to Thimphu. I left my colleague and jumped into a bus. There I met an American lecturer and we chatted our way to the capital. In Thimphu I stayed in the residence of Mark, the representative of the World Bank in Bhutan. There is no host like Mark. I had Shephard's Pie and salad! Holy Moly! And a G&T, his speciality. And bacon and eggs with real coffee for breakfast. The bed was lush, replete with down duvet and pillows. It was so lush I almost didn't leave, but leave I did. The mountains were calling me... I was on my way to Gasa, the town at the end of the road to Tibet.

The Road to Gasa

From Thimphu it was a 3 hour journey to Punakha, site of the famous dzongh and traditional winter retreat of the royal family. I lingered here for a while after securing a good rate for the final taxi ride up to Tamji where my friend Sarah is teaching; the launch pad for my trip to the end of the road. I visited Noorin, another teacher in Punakha and spent some time in her classroom with the little ones. We had a rousing chorus of 'Choe ton say nia sim baar maar chaar...' After a hearty lunch and some shopping for Sarah, I called the cabbie on his mobile and he picked me up and off we went.

Punakha Dzongh

The road got sweeter and sweeter. The mountains got steeper and steeper. The drops got deeper and deeper. The forest was stunning. It grew dark. Two hours later we pulled into Tamji. Despite my skilful negotiations, I disregarded our agreed price and overpaid the cabbie. I didn't envy his drive back in the dark.

The next day I rise earlier to a foggy day. I eat well and then head off down the road. Within 5 minutes I hitch a ride to Gasa, 12km away! My driver is an engineer from Thimphu. We chat. Turns out he's a screenwriter too. He's had 11 films made in Bhutan and directors now seek him out for scripts. We chat some more. He wants to collaborate on a movie. I'm happy with this. We chat some more. He'd like me to act in the film if we get it finished, but he warns me the shooting will take a month, so it will have to be in the winter break. Shall I be a movie star? What a hilarious and ridiculous question. I decide to collaborate and we agree to meet in Thimphu on Saturday after I've read one of his new scripts.

(I have edited it ruthlessly and as I type now, I'm half an hour from our coffee date back in Thimphu).

Rhododendrons by the Pond
Gasa. The end of the road. The Dzongh here is impressive, set against the backdrop of the Himalayan range. I amble around it, exploring nooks and crannies until I find the altar room, where I prostrate and try to understand the conversation the monks are having. Outside, by a pond with Rhododendrens around it, a policeman asks me where my guide is and I find great enjoyment in replying that I don't need a guide; I live here. I have the freedom of the country because it's my country, for at least a year!


Gasa Dzongh

When it starts to rain I duck into the Dzongh canteen and secure a seat by the Bukari for some tea with the local administrators. I plan two physics lessons and then go walking.

A glimpse

The clouds are swirling above me, blocking my view of the spiky snow-capped peaks I came here to see. I invoke the weather gods with pleas and mantras for the clouds to leave, and they promptly bombard me with more rain. It comes down thick and fast and the world goes milky white. Horses appear out of the mist. The forest drips. Birds are chirping and belching like bullfrogs. I duck into a shop-cum-bar for a cup of Naja and there I meet Dowa Tsering.

Horses in the Mist
Dowa Tsering is from Laya. I ask him the same question I've asked everybody... is it possible to trek to Laya in July? None of the trekking companies go there in monsoon. I've emailed a few local companies and they all suggest different itineries at different times of the year. Some of the school children in Tamji are from Laya and Lunana, and they go home for the midterm break! If a 12 year old can make it, surely I can? So I ask Dowa and he says, yes, it's a good time to go. The Yak herders will be coming down from the highlands and the village will be busy and full of life. What about the weather? There's a few big rivers to cross, but if the bridges are washed out, there are other ways. We'll need horses. There'll be leeches. We camp half way, but it's only 2 days journey. And Lunana? Another 5 days at least. Tibet? 4 days. It's not far but it's up, up, up. My ambition to write a book called 7 Seconds in Tibet might yet be fulfilled.

I take Dowa's phone number and tell him I will see him in July. On the way back I inquire about Dowa's character from the villagers, and they all say he's the right man for the job. Excellent. A screenwriter and a guide in one day. My luck is in!


Tamji

When I get back we eat noodles and head out again, to the local village of Tamji. There we visit a sacred relic – the shoes of the Shabrung. The Shabrung came down this valley when he fled Tibet in the 16th century. He brought Tibetan Buddhism to Bhutan. He united the nation and shares many an altar with the Bhudda and Guru Rinpoche. The shoes are kept in the altar room of an old lady's house in the village. The same family has lived there since the 16th century. The shoes have been there that long too. My day ends with a blessing from some holy shoes. Holy Shoes! I exclaim, much to the delight of myself. 


Not the Holy Shoes - My shoes


Gasa Dzongh


Tamji



The Tree in Punakha Dzongh - 3 stories up! How is this possible?




Tamji





Tuesday 3 April 2012

Taking a Turn in Thimphu, Strolling in his Gho, the English Gent Abroad

I finally got some broadband! I'm in Thimphu, passing through on the way to Gasa, from which I will finally be able to fulfil a long-held ambition to gaze up at a proper 7000+ Himalayan peak and go 'Phwoaaar'. But tonight I am fortunate to be staying in the spare room of the inimitable Mark, World bank man for Bhutan and maker of probably the finest Shepherds Pie for thousands of miles in every direction. He has broadband, so here, after long time festering on my hard-drive is.... a video... hole smokes...