Chilips on the Loose: Haa! Haa!
There’s a story floating around town about two chilips (foreigners, chi = outside), let’s call them Edna and Suzy, who eluded the watchful eyes of their minders to spend an unmediated weekend exploring Haa. The strict control of foreigners, both tourists and resident expats, in this country requires that foreigners are always accompanied by a Bhutanese guide, driver, friend or colleague. Even among resident expats, it is extremely rare to go anywhere without the assistance of a Bhutanese friend. Thus, it is with surprise and glee that the story of two chilips on the loose passes on whispered lips among the expat community.
Professional obligations, and – let’s face it – curiosity drew these two to Haa, which as recently as 2001 was closed to foreigners, as it lies on the sensitive Indian/ Tibetan border. (Btw, be sure to check out the amazing protests of the Beijing Olympics currently happening in Lhasa.) A borrowed car allowed them to travel without a Bhutanese driver, and official road permits allowed them to dispense with a Bhutanese guide. Their first inkling of the incongruity of foreigners traveling on their own came when the reached Haa town, and began to search for the dzong. In most district headquarters towns, the dzong dominates the landscape. Edna and Suzy headed toward the largest building they could see, surrounded by the Indian military’s golf course, but it lacked the tell-tale red stripe of a religious building. People entered casually without the scarves required for entrance into a government building. Rather than the yellow and orange on the diagonal of a Bhutanese flag, the flag out front had three vertical bars of orange, yellow, and orange.
They began asking passers-by for directions to the dzong, and received conflicting and contradictory answers. In response to the question of the location of the dzong, one woman began describing her aches and pains and asked for medicine. Were they pronouncing ‘dzong’ wrong? Were their Dzongkha-speaking skills lacking precision? After crossing the river in the center of town several times, they finally stumbled on the dzong, a rather humble building hidden away behind the bazaar. They made contact with their official counterparts, and after dinner, agreed to meet the next day to carry out the work. The next morning, however, their colleague was indisposed, and subsequently unavailable for the rest of the day, resulting in a rare day of freedom in which Edna and Suzy were left to their own devices.
After completing the work for which they had journeyed to Haa, they began exploring farm roads and side valleys. On a prominent knoll, they spied a large building with the red stripe and golden pinnacle of a lhakhang (temple). Parking the vehicle at the road’s end, they climbed through fields toward the lhakhang, where they were met by a young English-speaking man, who offered the traditional Bhutanese greeting of “where are you going?” He asked after their guide, and expressed surprise that they were traveling alone. The lhakhang of their destination turned out to be his family’s private temple, but after some conversation, he invited them inside. The altar room was as huge and elaborate as that of any government-sponsored temple, hung with rainbow-hued banners and thangkhas (paintings of religious figures sewn into silk frames), and enormous golden statues of the Buddha, Guru Rimpoche, and other historical figures.
The real treat and surprise of this building lay below the altar room, on the ground floor, where a large chorten (Buddhist structure containing relics, typically found on a hillside or pass) stood, surrounded by gigantic, intricate thangkhas. At two meters by three meters, these thangkhas were the largest that Edna and Suzy, both of whom had considerable experience in the country, had ever seen. The thangkhas were ancient, but in good condition, un-marred by the butter-lamp smoke that so often darkens paintings. The young man didn’t know how old the temple was, but it had been in the family for generations. He and his brothers were part of a hereditary lineage of religious leaders that extended back past his 85-year-old grandfather. The downstairs room also housed huge masks, representing local deities, that would be set on straw figures and used for religious festivals held at the temple. The aura of the room was one of serene sanctity. Edna and Suzy complimented the young man on the good fortune of his family to possess such treasures. He replied that it was also a burden, as they were constantly on guard to protect their treasures. Two leaping and snarling guard dogs chained outside attested to the seriousness of this requirement.
Journeying onward, Edna and Suzy found a small monastic school up another side valley. Most of the students and teachers were gone for the weekend, but two young caretaker monks and a large number of ravens were in residence. The monks led Edna and Suzy in to worship in the 89-year-old temple, and shyly answered questions asked in halting Dzongkha. Though these lhakhangs might well have been visited in the company of a Bhutanese friend or guide, the sense of exploration and discovery, and the unmediated and un-interpreted conversations with locals, made the journey that much more enjoyable for the two. Rather than following a set itinerary, they were following their instincts and curiosity, allowing the journey to unfold, a rare treat in Bhutan.
Professional obligations, and – let’s face it – curiosity drew these two to Haa, which as recently as 2001 was closed to foreigners, as it lies on the sensitive Indian/ Tibetan border. (Btw, be sure to check out the amazing protests of the Beijing Olympics currently happening in Lhasa.) A borrowed car allowed them to travel without a Bhutanese driver, and official road permits allowed them to dispense with a Bhutanese guide. Their first inkling of the incongruity of foreigners traveling on their own came when the reached Haa town, and began to search for the dzong. In most district headquarters towns, the dzong dominates the landscape. Edna and Suzy headed toward the largest building they could see, surrounded by the Indian military’s golf course, but it lacked the tell-tale red stripe of a religious building. People entered casually without the scarves required for entrance into a government building. Rather than the yellow and orange on the diagonal of a Bhutanese flag, the flag out front had three vertical bars of orange, yellow, and orange.
They began asking passers-by for directions to the dzong, and received conflicting and contradictory answers. In response to the question of the location of the dzong, one woman began describing her aches and pains and asked for medicine. Were they pronouncing ‘dzong’ wrong? Were their Dzongkha-speaking skills lacking precision? After crossing the river in the center of town several times, they finally stumbled on the dzong, a rather humble building hidden away behind the bazaar. They made contact with their official counterparts, and after dinner, agreed to meet the next day to carry out the work. The next morning, however, their colleague was indisposed, and subsequently unavailable for the rest of the day, resulting in a rare day of freedom in which Edna and Suzy were left to their own devices.
After completing the work for which they had journeyed to Haa, they began exploring farm roads and side valleys. On a prominent knoll, they spied a large building with the red stripe and golden pinnacle of a lhakhang (temple). Parking the vehicle at the road’s end, they climbed through fields toward the lhakhang, where they were met by a young English-speaking man, who offered the traditional Bhutanese greeting of “where are you going?” He asked after their guide, and expressed surprise that they were traveling alone. The lhakhang of their destination turned out to be his family’s private temple, but after some conversation, he invited them inside. The altar room was as huge and elaborate as that of any government-sponsored temple, hung with rainbow-hued banners and thangkhas (paintings of religious figures sewn into silk frames), and enormous golden statues of the Buddha, Guru Rimpoche, and other historical figures.
The real treat and surprise of this building lay below the altar room, on the ground floor, where a large chorten (Buddhist structure containing relics, typically found on a hillside or pass) stood, surrounded by gigantic, intricate thangkhas. At two meters by three meters, these thangkhas were the largest that Edna and Suzy, both of whom had considerable experience in the country, had ever seen. The thangkhas were ancient, but in good condition, un-marred by the butter-lamp smoke that so often darkens paintings. The young man didn’t know how old the temple was, but it had been in the family for generations. He and his brothers were part of a hereditary lineage of religious leaders that extended back past his 85-year-old grandfather. The downstairs room also housed huge masks, representing local deities, that would be set on straw figures and used for religious festivals held at the temple. The aura of the room was one of serene sanctity. Edna and Suzy complimented the young man on the good fortune of his family to possess such treasures. He replied that it was also a burden, as they were constantly on guard to protect their treasures. Two leaping and snarling guard dogs chained outside attested to the seriousness of this requirement.
Journeying onward, Edna and Suzy found a small monastic school up another side valley. Most of the students and teachers were gone for the weekend, but two young caretaker monks and a large number of ravens were in residence. The monks led Edna and Suzy in to worship in the 89-year-old temple, and shyly answered questions asked in halting Dzongkha. Though these lhakhangs might well have been visited in the company of a Bhutanese friend or guide, the sense of exploration and discovery, and the unmediated and un-interpreted conversations with locals, made the journey that much more enjoyable for the two. Rather than following a set itinerary, they were following their instincts and curiosity, allowing the journey to unfold, a rare treat in Bhutan.
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