In the Land of the Thunder Dragon

And now, a break from our regularly scheduled programming: a brief report on my sojourn in Bhutan.

Why did I travel to Bhutan? Well, it was Christmas, and I wanted to get away from my village, from Nepal. But not too far. I wanted to stick to the Himalayan kingdoms. So, making a financially imprudent decision based on obviously infallible logic (When am I going to be in this part of the world again?), I arranged to spend seven days in Bhutan on a cultural tour.

I won't bore you too much with the travel logistics from my site to Kathmandu; it's a tale you've heard many times before on this blog (think clown car, vomit, and moments of terror). The trip really began with the hour-long flight from Nepal to Bhutan. The plane climbed and climbed above the fog enveloping Kathmandu until, all at once, it burst into a clear blue sky, the Ganges Plain on our right and the Himalayas on our left. 

I was sitting next to a former Drukair pilot who had flown this route many times before. Our acquaintance began in the airport when he asked me to watch his bag while he stepped away for a minute. When he returned, he struck up a conversation: we went through the preliminaries--where are you from, what brought you to Nepal, what brings you to Bhutan? I learned that his daughter lives in Hicksville, only 30 minutes from my hometown and the place where one set of my great-grandparents met. Small world. 

When we boarded the plane and found it half-empty, he moved a few rows forward to sit next to me and continue the conversation. For the flight's duration, I received the VIP experience. He knew the lead stewardess (and her husband, the pilot), who brought us special coffee from first class. He took me to the rear window to have a better view of Mt. Everest, explaining that 150 mph east-west winds over the Himalayas this time of year cause the snow to evaporate, exposing bare rock (a process I now know is called sublimation). As we threaded through the hills during our descent, he pointed upward so that I could see we were flying below a monastery.  

Here's Bhutan. Lili says the landscape
looks like Idaho. 

I was greeted at the airport by Norbu, my guide, and Prakash, my driver. Prakash hailed from southern Bhutan and is a member of the Lhotshampa, people of Nepali background who settled in Bhutan as laborers starting in the early 20th century. Norbu and Prakash spoke in Nepali to each other, and since I was off the clock, so to speak, I downplayed how much I could understand (and at times I asked myself, am I understanding anything? It was a different accent than I'm accustomed to). So much for escaping Nepal on this trip. 

Something to know about Bhutan: tourism is highly regulated in a system that prioritizes sustainability. Tourists (excluding those from India) are required to pay a $100/night Sustainable Development Fee, which supports the country's free education and healthcare for its citizens. It is also required to travel with a guide to any monasteries or dzongs (more on these later), as well as anywhere outside the cities of Thimphu and Paro. There are hundreds of tour operators in Bhutan, most offering very similar itineraries. I chose the most reputable at the cheapest price point. 

The tour brought me to a few different areas of western Bhutan: Thimphu, Paro, Punakha, and Gangtey/Phobjikha Valley. Dare I say something completely ridiculous (I'm a bit in awe of how privileged I've become to make this comparison): Thimphu reminded me of Swiss towns; the dzongs of fortresses along the Rhine, especially near Koblenz; and the Phobjikha Valley, of Bavaria. Bayerische Rundfunke, a German public-service broadcaster, made a documentary about the valley and its winter resident black-necked cranes, so there's an affinity there. I'm not the first to notice these similarities, but how much of a jetsetter have I become that those connections even occur to me? 

Lauren, Elle, Helena: tell me this doesn't look like Koblenz!

I saw too much to cover in one blog post; instead, I'll focus on a few highlights. The Punakha Dzong was one, due to its sheer size and fantastically scenic location. I keep mentioning dzongs without any explanation, so let me provide one: dzongs are the political and religious centers of each of Bhutan's districts. Originally built as fortresses starting in the 15th century to protect against Tibetan invasions, each dzong has its own quirks, but there are basic unifying elements that are found in all:

• Location: A commanding position that follows the contours of the landscape, often only accessible via river crossing or steep mountain roads.
• Layout: A series of 2 or more courtyards paved with flagstones, divided between government and monastic offices.
• Architectural motifs: a three-story central tower, called utse; imposing whitewashed stone walls; and covered walkways. 
• Religious Spaces (open to the Bhutanese public and sometimes to tourists): A temple containing the "three guys" (I'll come back to this), offerings, and murals depicting the Wheel of Life, the Four Harmonious Animals, the Six Symbols of Longevity, the Four Heavenly Kings, and the Life of Buddha. 
• Code of conduct: All Bhutanese people must wear their national dress (gho for men and kira for women) within the compound. Together with monks in their red robes, this really contributed to the dzong feeling as if it were from an earlier era. I felt disrespectful and certainly out of place in my cargo pants and fleece jacket. 
• A tendency to burn: Seemingly all dzongs I visited had burned down at some point, with priceless relics lost in the blaze, and were rebuilt piecemeal over the years like the Ship of Theseus. Wooden structures and thousands of butter lamps do not mix.  

Punakha Dzong

Utse, central tower

Kira and gho in the Royal Textile Museum

Coming back to Bhutan and religion: although there are pockets of Christians and Hindus in the south (particularly among the Lhotshampa), the state religion is Vajrayana Buddhism. I don't know how to put this delicately, but this school of Buddhism is a little too out there for me, with its focus on deities, spirits, and demons (holdovers from the pre-Buddhist Bon religion), as well as its worship of spiritual teachers who are themselves reincarnations of revered masters from earlier ages. From my totally Western and highly judgemental perspective, it strays too far from the teachings of the Buddha. 

Despite being a lifelong atheist, I was raised on Long Island and therefore have a certain affinity for Catholicism. Yet my exposure to Vajrayana Buddhism in Nepal and Bhutan has made me sympathetic to Protestants who scream at Catholics, "Where is that in the Bible?" In a way, even with my distaste for this school of Buddhism, it still has worked on me by increasing my compassion for others. Huh, look at that. 

The "three guys" I mentioned earlier, who appear in most every Bhutanese temple, are Ngawang Namgyal, the unifier of Bhutan in the 17th century and the reincarnation of many Tibetan religious figures, Guru Rinpoche (a.k.a. Padmasambhava), the master who brought Vajrayana Buddhism to Bhutan and hid secret messages across the country to be revealed by treasure hunters at a later date, and, everybody's favorite, the Buddha. I heard the Buddha's life story so many times on this trip that if someday in the future I cannot recite it back to you, just know I have been replaced by an imposter or suffered a traumatic brain injury.

All three are semi-legendary figures whose lives blend fact and fiction. Reading about their feats, you realize just how lame America's founding fathers and folk heroes seem by comparison. Where would America be if George Washington claimed to be the actual reincarnation of Cincinnatus, instead of just letting others draw the comparison? I was awed by the story I read in Bhutan's Postal Museum about Garp Lungi Khorlo, a man who rode on the wind to transport messages across Bhutan in one day and defeated a demoness along the way. What did Johnny Appleseed ever do? Certainly, he didn't transform himself into a bird to spread seeds or defeat fire blight with his sword of wisdom. I guess America has Joseph Smith for a treasure hunter but...I won't comment on how that turned out. 

Big Buddha

Milarepa and me in a meditation cave.
That's sort of a tongue twister.

Another highlight (this isn't the right word, unique experience is more apt) was a visit to the Fertility Temple, Chimi Lhakhang, in Punakha, which is probably the second most discussed attraction in the country after the Tiger's Nest Monastery (seriously, google Bhutan and every other image is that monastery). As my guide politely put it, phalluses were everywhere. Phallus worship is a holdover from the Bon religion I mentioned earlier. I wondered how much of it was played up for the delight of tourists, but even so, basing tourism around the phallus still reveals a certain "earthy" aspect to the local culture, as Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck wrote.* 

Inside the temple, I was blessed by a young monk who held a small wooden phallus and bow and arrow to my forehead. There was a scrapbook containing photos of all the babies born after their parents visited the temple and their mothers carried a 30lb phallus around the temple courtyard three times. I gave that thing a wide berth. 

The bow and arrow supposedly belonged to Drukpa Kunley, a mad monk from the 16th century who exposed hypocrisy in the monastic community through satire, sex, bawdy songs and poems, and outrageous acts. He is said to have created Bhutan's national animal, the takin, by combining the bones of a goat and a cow after a feast. Tell me you aren't moved by his teachings: 

"Vaginal fluid may not vaporize under the sun's heat. 

But it cannot be used to brew tea to quench thirst. 

The penis may have a strong shaft and a large head. 

But it cannot be used to hammer stakes into the ground. 

The sacred teachings of Vajrayana [Buddhism] may be profound. 

But sans practice, liberation remains far and elusive."

Follow the phallus to the restroom, please

Chimi Lhakhang

The takin. A big, majestic chiller.

I was surprised by how different Bhutan and Nepal feel. I wish I were more intelligent and better articulate because all I can really say is that the vibes were just different. Nepal and Bhutan are similar in many ways (in short, the same topography, geopolitics, and history of monarchial rule), but the outcomes are so different. Undoubtedly, the standard of living in Bhutan is leagues and leagues ahead of Nepal. Granted, I stuck to the tourist circuit in Bhutan, but I've been to touristy places in Nepal too, so I can at least make a one-to-one comparison there. 

Of course, I can't help but look for explanations, despite my lack of qualifications, and the most obvious one is religion: Hinduism vs. Buddhism. But this is cheap reasoning and a trope I despise in travel writing. It's one of my biggest criticisms of Peter Matthiessen's The Snow Leopard: he writes of the courage and hospitality of Buddhist people in the Himalayan mountains, but his tone shifts as he descends into the mid-hills, where the desperate, scamming Hindus live and give him the stink eye (hey, I'm summarizing him here. These aren't my thoughts). I object to this blanket characterization. But I have to admit (and I discussed this with fellow volunteer Shay) that there is a sort of fatalism in my mid-hill community: things are the way they are and they can't be changed. And now I am going to stop while I am way out of my depth. 

 And that's my trip to Bhutan. I've since returned to my site in Nepal and am enjoying the colder weather. Stay tuned for my next post, and enjoy the photo dump below. 

*This post is informed by my own experience and supplemented by two great books I picked up in Bhutan: Treasures of the Thunder Dragon by Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck and Drukpa Kunley: Sacred Tales of a Mad Monk by Needrup Zangpo. 

Water powered prayer wheel

Wangdue Phodrang Dzong

Dochula Pass

 

Druk Wangditse Lhakhang

Photos of the royal family are everywhere

Here I Yam! in front of the Tiger's Nest.
Could this pass for a split diopter shot?

Going up North

Our small expedition met in Sandhikharka--seven of us, each from our own far-flung corner of Arghakhanchi, brought together for the first time since July. We set out for the Himalayas, those northern peaks that have lately been so majestically defined on the horizon they appear to be matte paintings. The road ahead would be arduous and unforgiving. 

Okay, that was fun, but I'll set aside the travelogue theatrics now. In mid-November, volunteers from Arghakhanchi were asked to travel to Pokhara, Nepal's second largest city after Kathmandu, to receive COVID and flu vaccines. We met in our district center after months apart, each of us prevented from an earlier reunion by trips around and outside of Nepal, the Nepali holidays, and stints in Kathmandu for medical treatment. I love a long car ride and was looking forward to the drive north into uncharted territory. Despite a serious lack of personal space (seven of us were stuffed into six seats), I count it as a successful trip (though the others may disagree). 

We stopped at Ridi Bazaar, at the junction of the Gulmi, Syangja, and Palpa districts, a Hindu pilgrimage destination that I can now cross off my travel list. I wished we stopped at the Kali Gandaki Dam to admire the hydroengineering on display, but by that point everyone was too grumpy, and "go, go, go!" had become the van's mantra. After seven hours, we reached the city I alternate between calling Sodom and Gomorrah and Shangri-La: Pokhara.  

It ain't much, but that's Ridi

What can I say about Pokhara? It's a large city with a spectacular location right on a large lake; everywhere you turn, you see Himalayan ranges, either Machhapuchhre, Dhaulagiri, or Annapurna. It's lacking the ancient energy of Kathmandu (which really means it lacks tight, congested alleyways). Most of the city, especially neighborhoods catering to Western trekking and adventure-sport tourists, is less than 50 years old. Walking through the lakeside district, you'll find clubs, restaurants, and stores for yuppies decked out in brand-new Patagonia gear and barefoot hippies alike. At night, I hated the city. But in the early morning, with quiet streets, a slight chill in the air, and the mountain reflections on the still lake, it was blissful. 

I had one rough night after receiving the vaccines, but otherwise the side effects were manageable, and I was able to do some sightseeing. I visited Davis Falls (or David's Falls or Devi's Falls--there doesn't seem to be a consensus on the English name) and Gupteshwor Cave, twin attractions across the street from each other. The waterfall cuts through porous limestone and dramatically disappears underground. A Swiss tourist drowned there in the '60s while bathing; supposedly the waterfall is sometimes called David's Falls in honor of that tourist. 

The cave was humid, magical, and quite dangerous; I was constantly in fear of slipping and cracking my head or being caught in a crowd crush. Under the Earth, Om Shiva, bow down to the corrosive power of water. It really was quite beautiful down there. 

Gupteshwor Mahadev Cave Entrance

Echoes of the Deep
Photo credit: Alyssa 

I also hiked up to the World Peace Pagoda and the Pumdikot Shiva Statue with my travel buddy Alyssa. We set out early in the morning, taking a short rowboat ride across Phewa Lake to reach the trailhead. The hike was rough, straight uphill on ankle-twisting stone steps. The views from the top were a fitting reward: the entire Pokhara valley, encompassing wetlands, the lake, and the cityscape. 

Fantastic views reward a challenging hike

Shiva: a very erotic depiction

Sometimes, things come together in such a fortunate way that I can't believe it. I had wanted to visit my fellow food security volunteers in the Lamjung district for some time. Serendipitously, the vaccine trip was just a few days ahead of a wild honey hunt in Lamjung. It's a relatively short bus ride from Pokhara to Besisahar, Lamjung's district center, so off I went into more unknown territory to experience a uniquely Nepali practice, though one that is not found in my corner of the country. 

I kicked around in Besisahar for a few hours before meeting with the other honey hunt spectators. (Sadly, I have to admit Besisahar is a step above my beloved Sandhikharka. How did I determine that? I was able to get an actual latte instead of just a milk coffee.) We were a diverse group: Peace Corps volunteers, Nepali tourists, Czech trekkers (say that 3x fast), a Brit volunteering in a school, a Hongkonger doing an internship at an IGO, a Frenchman surveying beekeeping practices across South Asia. We loaded into jeeps and left Besisahar for a small village up in the hills where the honey hunt was taking place. 

Along the way, we stopped at fellow volunteer Mei's house. I tried to make a joke, but it came out sounding like an insult to her house; seriously, I've lost my touch. I'm no longer housebroken. All my social training has been warped.

Some of the crew

We soon arrived at Ghalegaun, and I had to suppress some immediate envy toward the Lamjung volunteers. The Himalayas were right there, terrifyingly close, not some half-seen, half-imagined thing. Ghalegaun is primarily inhabited by the Gurung people, an ethnic group of Nepal, and their architecture is wildly different from that of the Hindu castes in my village: houses clustered together and linked via alleyways and stone paths--it actually felt like a town. Gurungs practice a syncretic animistic-Buddhist religion, and their religious buildings reflect this eccentric mix. Unlike Hindu pagodas, Gurung temples look like boxes with surfboards attached on each edge (this description coming from a fellow volunteer) and are decked out with fish sculptures, faces, and other objects. The wave of envy passed quickly, however, as night set in. Ghalegaun was much too cold, even for me, an arctic creature. It was too unpleasant to shower for the 3 nights I was there (apologies to my roommates Alyssa and Shay!).

Homestays were arranged for us (thanks to Mei, Charles, and Emma!). My host was a wonderful Gurung woman named Vishnu, an active member of the village's tourism committee. She has an unique background: she grew up in Uttarakhand, India, where her father was stationed in the Indian Army. She returned to Lamjung in her mid-twenties to marry. She did not grow up speaking the Gurung language and says she has an accent that her neighbors tease her about. 

The honey hunt was scheduled for the day after we arrived. I realize I haven't actually explained what the hunt is, so here's a primer. Northern Nepal is home to the world's largest honeybee (Apis laboriosa, commonly known as the giant Himalayan honeybee), which builds its nests on cliffs under rock overhangs. The ethnic groups that have long inhabited this region of Nepal, namely the Gurung and Magar people, harvest this honey twice a year to use in religious and cultural ceremonies. Honey harvested in the spring, made from rhododendron nectar, has hallucinogenic properties and is sold as mad honey. 

While some villages have heavily commercialized their honey hunt, Ghalegaun has only recently opened up its hunt to tourists (my visit marked just the third time outsiders had attended). Women, too, have only very recently been allowed to watch. 

Honey hunting is dangerous work. As a spectator, the event was mostly calm, but there were moments of pure terror. Would the hunter fall? Would the honey drop 200 feet to the forest floor? After a puja at the top of the cliff,  the hunter descended a rope ladder to reach the hives, carrying bamboo poles to pry away the combs. It's a delicate balancing act with very little in the way of protective equipment. Although wearing a bee veil, the hunter was barefoot, and I don't doubt he was stung many times on the arms and legs. 

Very skillfully, the hunter first removed the brood from the bottom half of the combs and lowered it down to the men on the ground with ropes; the larva are also used in religious ceremonies. Next, the honey was removed and sent down in a basket. The men on the ground filtered it through a bamboo doko before packing it into plastic containers. The entire process took hours, ensuring the honey hunter's relative safety and making sure that nothing was wasted or lost. There was a short break in the middle of the hunt to eat honey, sel roti, and achaar, and to drink locally brewed rice beer known as chhang (this is not consumed in my village). 

Honey hunter descending to the hives

Honey filter rigged up in the field
Photo credit: Mei

Giant himalayan honeybee comb
Photo credit: Mei

When we arrived, the bees were already agitated by a hornet. You could see the shimmering behavior: bees moving in sync, forming waves like a stadium crowd. The honey hunters were also quite delayed in getting the fire going to smoke the bees and calm them. As a result, we were inundated by a swarm of defensive bees in our spectating position below the cliff. Honey hunters and spectators alike were stung on the head and hands. I somehow escaped without a single sting, which is nothing short of a miracle considering my laxity about protective equipment.

It's no wonder that honey hunting is a cultural practice under threat. The potential for life-threatening injuries and death is too great; many honey hunters are no longer teaching the practice to their children, instead encouraging them to find safer and better paying jobs in Kathmandu and abroad. This is a problem across Nepal. Urbanization and globalization pose existential threats to rural cultures. 

Before departing Ghalegaun, I bought a liter of wild honey to take back to my host family. It has a very rich, earthy flavor that I find quite delicious, though I'm not sure my family enjoys it. It's a good thing honey keeps forever under proper storage conditions, because I suspect I'll be the only one eating it for the rest of my time in Nepal.  

Bees! Honey! 
Photo credit: Mei

After the honey hunt, it was time to return to Arghakhanchi. The return trip was no less dramatic than the honey hunt. There were supposed to be three of us travelling together, but I woke up to a text saying that one of my travel companions had been hospitalized due to complications from the flu (so much for the vaccine). A bad omen for the trip. We had no choice but to proceed home.

On the trip back, I felt muscle aches in my legs, and I knew for certain that I, too, would come down with the flu. (I always feel sickness, be it the flu or COVID, in my legs first.) When I got back to my house, I basically slept for a week straight, much to the concern of my host family. They told me I wasn't taking proper care of my health because I was drinking cold water and showering too frequently (apparently, every 72 hours is too often). That pissed me off to no end, but I suppressed the rage and said thank you for the advice. 

That was a few weeks ago, and I'm basically back to fighting shape. But please, I don't ever want to have the flu again in Nepal. I haven't been that sick since I was a kid. 

And that was my trip up north. Stay tuned for my next blog post, which will cover another trip I have planned. 

Mtn views from Ghalegaun

Oh, while I have you here, I'd thought I would share a year-end list. When I'm stressed or bored, I tend to make lists, either of things I've seen or done, or of trivia like countries and their capitals. During my illness, I took stock of the books I've read in 2025, so here's the list for the curious among you: 

(1) The Well of Loneliness                                    Radclyffe Hall

(2) Underworld                                                      Don DeLillo

(3) Yellow Face                                                     R.F. Kuang 

(4) Madame Bovary                                              Gustave Flaubert 

(5) Lonesome Dove                                               Larry McMurtry

(6) The Sun Also Rises                                          Ernest Hemingway

(7) Kathmandu                                                       Thomas Bell

(8) Song of Solomon                                              Toni Morrison

(9) Middlemarch                                                     George Eliot

(10) Delta of Venus                                                 Anais Nin

(11) Blood Meridian                                               Cormac McCarthy 

(12) Tess of D'Urbervilles                                       Thomas Hardy

(13) The Snow Leopard                                          Peter Matthiessen

(14) Human Nature*                                               Thomas Bell

*currently reading, but on track to finish by the year's end  

Here I Yam! My tolerance for photoshoots is low

'Tis the Season

Monsoon season has ended, and the days now are crisp and clear. I've been listening to the most pleasant sound--honeybees at work in the mustard fields. This gentle buzzing is made all the sweeter after weeks of sonic overload: firecrackers going off morning and night, loud music blaring from speakers, and the general chaos of 20-person family gatherings.  

I just wrapped up my first major festival season in Nepal, celebrating two holidays, Dashain and Tihar, only a few weeks apart, much like Thanksgiving and Christmas. The festivities brought new family, new food, and plenty of new experiences. So, let's dive in!

Mustard in bloom

In my mind, the unofficial start of the season was Vishvakarma Puja. Although not part of Dashain, it was a glimpse of what was to come in the days ahead. Vishvakarma, revered as the divine craftsman of the universe (he forged Shiva's symbolic trishul), is associated with tools and heavy machinery. At my house, he was honored with vehicle worship: my host brother washed his motorcycle, tied on some ribbons, dabbed it with red tika powder, and adorned it with an auspicious swastika. That should keep the bike running smoothly for the next year.

Before diving into how I celebrated Dashain, I should probably share a bit of the mythology behind the holiday. Since I arrived in Nepal, I've often heard just how fun, memorable, and significant Dashain is for Nepali Hindus. Lasting 15 days, the festival celebrates the triumph of good over evil, symbolized by goddess Durga's victory over the demon Mahishasura, who had taken the form of a water buffalo. While Hindus in other countries celebrate Durga's victory to varying degrees, Dashain itself is a uniquely Nepali holiday. 

Rayamajhi cousins @ Supa Deurali 

Nepalis return from abroad and gather at their paternal homes to celebrate Dashain. Over a few days, my host brother's family started trickling in: cousins, brothers, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews. I finally had some twenty-something year olds to hang with, but those first few days were rough. I somehow found that I had very little in the way of conversation. Despite interacting with lots of people every day, my conversations in the village often fall into a predictable pattern, given the general interests of Nepalis and my language limitations: talk of weather, visas, the current crop, skin color, my salary. So when I found myself among people my own age, I realized how undersocialized I was. All I could think of was that old faithful: "This weather, right? Man oh man." But as we prepared meals together and went on a long walk to Supa Deurali Temple, I warmed up and made some good connections with my host cousins. 

The days leading up to Dashain were filled with cleaning. Furniture was taken outside to wash and dry in the sun, all the old wares from the previous year were discarded from the storage room, and the house received a new coat of paint. The men of the village all pitched in on the landscaping around the local temple. Physically and spiritually purified, the festivities of Dashain could proceed. 

The first day of Dashain is known as Ghatasthapana (the pronunciation eludes me). On this day, my host sister rose early and prepared five topari plates with barley (in Nepali, jamara) and soil. After watering them, she took the plates up to the attic and positioned them so they would remain in darkness. Keep the barley in mind, as it will be used in a later ritual. 

Here's the barley all grown up

The next few days were mostly quiet in my village, business as usual. Although there was one incident stemming from the chaos of holiday preparations: the milk scandal. I've taken to drinking a glass of buffalo milk after dinner, as a digestif of sorts. One night, in the chaos, my host sister forgot to serve me the milk, and as I wasn't in the mood for it that night, I didn't ask for it. I retired to my room after dinner and soon heard knocking at my door and pleading for me to take the milk. As it was after 9 p.m., I declined. 

The next morning my family was so apologetic, telling me they felt saddened and angry with themselves for being so forgetful. I had to assure them that all was well; I survived the night and held no grudge. I think this little incident illustrates how strongly my host family cares about being good hosts and my well-being (which I greatly appreciate), but to an almost stifling degree. I am not viewed as a fully independent and autonomous 24 year old woman. 

The Dashain celebrations picked up again on Day 8, known as Maha Asthami. Together, with my host brother and his young sons, we cleaned and blessed the agricultural tools: kutto, kodalo, bancharo, hasiya, and khukuri among them (see, I do know some Nepali words!). 

The next day, Maha Navani, was a jump in intensity. Dashain was now in full swing, which meant animal sacrifices needed to be performed. Our neighbor, the titled Pandit Buwaa, transformed from a herdsman into a Brahmin priest and scholar. He oversaw the sacrifice of four goats and a young water buffalo at the local temple. The goats were sprayed with water, blessed with tika, and then decapitated. Their bodies were dragged clockwise around the temple, leaving a perfect circle of blood, and their heads brought inside the temple as an offering to the goddess. The climax of the performance was the slaying of the water buffalo, the shape taken by the demon Mahishasura. It was struck on the neck, its body dragged around the temple like the goats, but the head remained outside the temple. I watched, somewhat horrifed but mostly numb. The anticipation is always worse than the act. The knife was sharp and cut easily; there wasn't any prolonged pain for the animals.    

After the sacrifice, I spent a nine-hour marathon day with the extended host family. I don't know if I've ever put that many continuous hours in with my own family. I was slightly overwhelmed by the amount of new faces (19 people in total), so I picked a corner and peeled garlic cloves for hours as people drifted over to chat. Dinner that night was the blessed goat meat and rice, and as I don't eat meat at my site, I was served paneer instead.

The next day, Vijaya Dashami, is the most important day of Dashain. It was also a nine-hour day for me with the family. I rose early, took a shower (quite a literal interpretation of pure body and mind), and dressed in a kurta suruwal. On this day, the oldest member of the family applied Big Fat Red Tika and jamara, a symbol of the bond between family and community. After being left for 10 days in the dark, the barley had grown long and pale; the absence of light means the absence of photosynthesis, and therefore the barley was a light yellow rather than a dark green. The tika ceremony was a lively affair, lots of yelling directions and on-the-fly choreography, which had me asking myself a few times, "Have you guys ever done this before? It doesn't seem like it." I was exhausted from the socializing and fell into bed at 8:45 p.m. 

Big Fat Red Tika

Dashain was capped off with a performance of the Sarai Nach dance, a local tradition for Arghakhanchi and some of the surrounding districts. Each village seemingly performed their Sarai Nach on different days; I could hear the music move across the hills in the days before and after ours. Sarai Nach is, finally, a time for the men to show off their dancing rather than standing around and watching the women. They paraded back and forth between temples, chanting and sorta dancing, swords held aloft in a tribute to Durga (or maybe Ram? There's not too much information out there on the symbolism of this tradition. I have to put on my anthropologist hat.). To end the dance, men carried offerings and flags with yak tails to a clearing, where a symbolic sacrifice of a pumpkin was performed. I imagine that this dance originated as a show of dominance on the battlefield and has since evolved into a practice that allows men to play act as victorious soldiers. 

Dance, boys, dance!

Sarai Nach procession

Soon after, the extended family returned to their homes, the kids went back to school, and I had a three-week break until the next holiday, Tihar. But the days passed quickly, and I was thrown into a  holiday mood once again. Tihar is probably more familiar to Americans as the Indian holiday Diwali; while both holidays are a celebration of lights at roughly the same time (sometime in Oct./Nov.), that's pretty much where the similarities end. Tihar is a five-day festival honoring important animals in Hindu mythology--crows, dogs, cows, and oxen--as well as humans themselves. I found Tihar to be a much more joyous holiday than Dashain, with traditions more whimsical and less solemn than the Dashain proceedings. The streets of Sandhikharka were filled with vendors selling colorful tika powder and gift baskets. In my village, people decorated their homes with flashing, multicolored lights, and kids set off firecrackers (to my knowledge, illegal in Nepal, but I'm no snitch).  

Vibrant tika powder

The first day was Kaag Tihar, dedicated to the crow, a messenger of death. My host brother told me that a crow cawing from a green bough is a good omen, but cawing from a dead, dying, or yellowing plant is bad news. The idea on this day is to leave offerings (i.e., rice) out for the crows to distract them. Unfortunately, a member of my village passed away in the early morning of Kaag Tihar. If only she had held out for a few more hours, maybe the crows would have been too busy to deliver their messages of death. My young host brother played cawing on the radio for half an hour in order to attract crows to our house. While it wasn't successful, it did succeed in driving me crazy. 

Offering on Kaag Tihar

Kaag Tihar is followed by Kukur Tihar, a glorious day dedicated to dogs. I loved seeing the village dogs running around with tika on their foreheads, wearing marigold garlands--all of them looking very dapper. I'm sure they were surprised by this sudden reversal in treatment too. A day where they were fed rice and pet instead of kicked and hit by rocks; I'm sure the dogs could hardly believe it. On Kurkur Tihar, my host sister returned to her paternal home to celebrate with her side of the family, while my host brother's sisters and female cousins came to our house. The women were tasked with making garlands, topari plates, and many types of specialty roti for the celebrations in the days to come. The household's wake-up time became 5:45 a.m., and since everyone seemed to decide the best place for a conversation was right outside my door, I was up with them. 

The third day of Tihar is dedicated to the goddess Laxmi, who is associated with cows and prosperity. On this day, Laxmi is welcomed into Nepali homes after dark. We lit candles at the home shrine and at the two walkway entrances so that Laxmi could find her way. We also created a rangoli, a design made with colored flour. Well, "we" is not quite accurate; I was relegated to flashlight-holding duties while one of the cousins etched out the design. 

Rangoli

A debonair gentleman

Who knew dung could be so pretty?

Roti, roti, and more roti!

The fourth day of Tihar is dedicated to manure and livestock. In the absence of cows and oxen, my family worshipped the water buffalo. (As an aside, reading descriptions of Dashain and Tihar online was only somewhat helpful. Rituals are highly localized, so what is true for  Kathmandu is not representative of how these holidays are celebrated in the rest of the country. Rituals happen on different days, in different sequences, and with different materials. More to the point, "Hindu" is only a somewhat helpful label. But I don't have space for a thesis on religion and colonialism in South Asia, so I'll leave it at that.) 

Our buffalo was blessed with water, had white tika powder applied to her body from the rim of a cup, adorned with kush and marigold garlands, and fed sel roti. My young host brother also gathered dung, shaped it into a little hill, and decorated it with flowers. My Dai went around to each door in the house and made three lines on each side (I'm still trying to figure out the meaning of this): one of curd, one of turmeric powder, and one of mustard oil. 

The last day of Tihar is the main event: Bhai Tika. Like Dashain, I took a shower in the morning and dressed in a kurta suruwal. This day is dedicated to the bond between brothers and sisters. Brothers receive tika and blessings from their sisters, while sisters receive gifts from their brothers. There was a mad rush in my family to be prepared for the 11:39 a.m. auspicious tika time, determined by astrological calculations (there must have been an auspicious time for Dashain tika too, but I was unaware). 

The men all sat in a line, while their sisters and cousins blessed them with oil and water, applied a base of curd to their foreheads and seven dots of colorful tika powder, and adorned them with garlands of marigold and makhamali, each action symbolizing everlasting love, devotion, and protection. Finally, the men were given plates loaded with roasted nuts, roti, and fruit to pick at. I was more than happy to be a bystander during the ceremony, but my host brother was insistent that I participate. So, I shadowed the women and was allowed to give each of my young host brothers one dab of tika powder and to place the marigold garland around their necks. 

Bhai Tika

Rayamajhi cousins celebrate Tihar

All day, the outrage was building in me. Men receive food, blessings, and comfort, but what of the women who do all the work in making the celebration happen? But finally, the women were called out a few hours later and given red tika and money by the men in the family (I felt bad accepting 1,500 rupees, but I had no choice but to accept it without coming to physical blows). My rage dissipated. Nepal, you have my permission to keep on celebrating Bhai Tika. 

The day ended with a troupe of tween girls, with their toddler siblings in tow, coming to our house to perform bhailo. Dressed in traditional attire, the girls danced to a few songs (as Nepali songs often last 15 minutes, a few songs can quickly turn into an hour) in exchange for money. They need to renegotiate their rates because they only made 100 rupees for a long performance! Later in the night, an adult troupe of dancers, mostly familiar faces from the women's group, came to our house hauling a gigantic speaker. I almost cried during their performance because I was so moved. Although I don't dance and thus deny a part of my humanity, dancing is so uniquely human (I don't want to hear about songbirds and whatever other animals and their mating rituals. That doesn't count as dancing!). My host sister was pulled into the dance, and she's maybe the most talented in our village. She didn't need a countdown or a lead-in; she was dancing with the best of them in no time. The troupe left after being presented with five 100-rupee bills and some roti. (Aside #2: the hanging of lights, gift giving, along with this dance-version of caroling, instantly made me compare Tihar to Christmas!).

So while Bhai Tika was the official end of Tihar, the unofficial "official" end for me came a few days later with a very special ekadashi. After four months of slumber, the god of preservation, Vishnu, awoke, ushering in a new season full of marriages and good times. After attending three funerals in my village, I'm more than happy to attend a wedding ceremony in the future. Of course, I'm in Nepal after all, there was a special puja to celebrate the start of the season: my host sister covered each internode of a young bamboo shoot with mud, hung a marigold garland from it, and propped it up against the house. Then she decorated the home shrine with red and yellow tika polka dots and swastikas, placed a sweet lime on a stake in the middle of the holy basil, and tied the holy basil together with another marigold garland (yeah, I'm pretty lost on what it all means). And with that, the main festival season of Nepal has ended for the year. 

Decorated home shrine

I thought this was artsy

Oof, that was a long one. I've fallen so completely behind in blog writing, but I hope this crammed together post makes some sense and gives a little insight into what September and October looked like for me. Dashain and Tihar were so fun, and I'm grateful I got to experience them! Thanks for reading and stay tuned as I have some exciting trips planned for the months ahead. 

Before you go, I want to share my list of spooky movies that I watched in October. During the day, I was celebrating the festivals of light, and at night, I was watching scary, violent, and weird movies. This is an annual tradition of mine. This year I gravitated towards flicks from the 70s and 80s. Here's the list for the curious among you: 

• The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)
• The Hitch-Hiker (1953)
• The Cat o' Nine Tails (1971)
• Schizo (1976)
• Demon Seed (1977)
• Windows (1980)
• Prom Night (1980)
• Roadgames (1981)
• The Slumber Party Massacre (1982)
• Opera (1987)
• Dead Ringers (1988)
• Ichi the Killer (2001)
• Sleepless (2001) 
• Climax (2018)

Selfie requested by my neighbor

Dear reader, you have a lovely furch

Here I Yam! with the gang

In the Footsteps of the Buddha

***You've likely heard of the recent political demonstrations in Nepal. All volunteers are safe, as well as everyone in my village. That's all I'll say for now. 

Birthdays are no fun for a neurotic. Behind the cake and celebration is always a low hum of dread. But this year, I wanted things to be different. After all I'm living in the land of the Buddha--who better understood change and impermanence and overcoming the transitory nature of existence? So, my birthday gift to myself was a trip to Lumbini, the birthplace of Lord Buddha, to learn more about his life and teachings.  

On the early morning of September 4th, my 24th birthday, I met up with my friends and fellow volunteers, Alyssa and Tyrone, and off we went to follow in the footsteps of the Buddha.  

Buddha & the Singapore Monastery

Lumbini is in the Terai, the lowland plains of southern Nepal, right across the border from India. As the crow flies, it's only about 60 miles from my village to Lumbini, but getting there is quite a logistical feat. 

I started my trip with a 40-minute walk uphill to the highway (I will never get used to this walk), during which I was careless with my hat, dropping it and not realizing until I had almost reached the summit, of course. I started back downhill, cursing the entire time, until I came upon my alky neighbor, wearing my hat atop his own topi, more than happy to return it to me like a dolphin retrieving a dropped necklace from the bottom of the ocean. I was quite grateful to him, as he saved me from a significant amount of downhill and uphill trudging. 

The next leg of the journey was a van ride down the winding, narrow roads of Arghakhanchi. I purposely sat in the back row, as I love being jostled around as the driver swerves to avoid rocks, landslide debris, and other vehicles (this is about as much of an adrenaline junkie as I'll ever be). After a few hours, we descended from the mid-hills into the plains, turning onto the East-West Highway, which spans the width of the entire country. Despite the flatness, driving in the Terai is no less of an adventure. The swerving continues, but the obstacles change: cows (stray cattle are a huge issue), horses, goats, and cyclists. 

We missed a few shortcuts that could have shaved a considerable amount of time off our trip, so we ended up having to take a bus and motorized rickshaw to reach our destination. Still, we made it, all in one piece and without vomiting, unlike some of our fellow passengers. 

View from the hotel restaurant

The one adjective that overrode all others upon reaching Lumbini: hot! I'd thought my nearly eight months in Nepal had accustomed me to heat and relentless sun, but I was not prepared for the desiccating conditions of the Terai, my God! That first afternoon in Lumbini, we rested at the hotel, venturing out only after it had cooled down enough to grab dinner. I thought it was fitting that the restaurant owner had the same portly build as the Laughing Buddha, but I have never seen a man sweat so much in my life. I can only imagine how hot the kitchen must have been. Alyssa, Tyrone, and I decided on an early start the next morning to beat the heat. 

The Laughing Buddha (aka Fat Buddha)

Before I dive into my experience, let me provide some background on Buddha and the development of Lumbini as a pilgrimage site. 

First, a short biographical sketch of the Buddha, known as Siddhartha Gautam before his enlightenment. Siddhartha's life begins with a dream: Queen Maya, his mother, dreamt that a white elephant with six tusks entered her right side. That night, Siddhartha was conceived. 

Ten months later, Maya felt the stirrings of labor and set out for her maternal home to give birth. Halfway, she stopped in a beautiful garden, Lumbini, where she gave birth painlessly to Siddhartha while holding the branch of a sal (or Ashoka) tree. The newborn Siddhartha immediately took seven steps in each direction, with a lotus flower blossoming under his feet at each step. He then pointed at heaven and earth and declared that this would be his final birth. Seven days later, Maya died, and Siddhartha was raised in his father's kingdom, Kapilvastu, in the care of his maternal aunt and adoptive mother, Prajapati. 

Baby Buddha takes 7 steps

Many Vedic priests (from the proto-Hindu tradition) came to see the infant, proclaiming that he would either become a great ruler or a revered holy man. Siddhartha's father, King Suddhodana, wished for his son to inherit the throne, so he surrounded Siddhartha with an abundance of sensual pleasures and kept him away from spiritual teachings. 

When he was 29 years old, Siddhartha asked to venture beyond the palace walls, and the king assented. Outside of sanitized palace life, Siddhartha was confronted with the Four Sights: a dead man, a sick man, an old man, and a wandering ascetic. His illusion of life as an endless parade of pleasure was shattered. 

Siddhartha left the palace, overwhelmed by suffering. He spent the next six years studying with various gurus and practicing extreme asceticism, but nothing brought him peace. He realized neither hedonism nor self-denial leads to enlightenment. Siddhartha decided to sit under a Bodhi tree until he knew the truth about suffering. There, under the tree, he realized the Four Noble Truths and Eightfold Path, which form the foundation of Buddhist philosophy. Siddhartha had become Buddha, the Awakened One. 

For the next 45 years, Buddha wandered across Northern India/Southern Nepal, founding monastic communities and teaching people of all castes. At 80 years old, he died in the forest between two sal trees, entering parinirvana. In his final sermon, Buddha named four sacred sites that devout Buddhists should visit: (1) the place where he was born, Lumbini, (2) the place where he attained Enlightenment, Bodh Gaya, (3) the place where he gave his first sermon, Sarnath, and (4) the place where he passed into final nirvana, Kushinagar.  

Lighting butter lamps @ Lumbini

That's the broad strokes overview of the Buddha's life, anyway. After his passing, hagiography blends with the historical record. King Ashoka of the Mauryan Empire came to Lumbini in the 3rd century BC, constructing a pillar commemorating his visit. Chinese pilgrims wrote about Lumbini in the 4th and 7th centuries AD; later, Malla kings from the far western Khas Kingdom made pilgrimages in the 14th century. But as the influence of Buddhism waned in South Asia, Lumbini was largely forgotten. It wasn't until the end of the 19th Century, when the Ashoka Pillar was rediscovered by German-British archeologists and Nepali generals (I won't go into this rediscovery, but it's full of political machinations, forgery, and shady characters), that interest in the site was renewed.  

Lumbini, as it stands today, is the result of collaboration between the United Nations and the Government of Nepal in the 1960s and '70s. In 1978, Japanese architect Kenzo Tange submitted his master plan for the Lumbini Complex (originally scheduled for completion by 1985, most of the complex is still under development as far as I could tell). The 1 x 3 mile complex is divided into three zones: (1) the Sacred Garden, containing the Budhha's actual birthplace and other archeological sites, (2) The Monastic Zone, containing 42 plots for Buddhist monasteries from around the world, and (3) New Lumbini Village, containing conference and administrative centers and a museum. 

On our first full day in Lumbini, Alyssa, Tyrone, and I decided to first visit the Monastic Zone by bike. It was a feast for the eyes, showcasing architectural styles from all over Asia. Divided into two sections, one for the Theravada and the other for Mahayana/Vajrayana branches of Buddhism, countries as disparate as Sri Lanka, South Korea, and Canada (built in the Tibetan style) were represented. I was most impressed with the Chinese temple, with its numerous halls, walkways and high walls, and the German monastery, with sculptures depicting scenes from the Buddha's life. I often read complaints about the Monastic Zone online. Yes, I concede that the infrastructure connecting the monasteries is poor, but I think people expect to find Disneyland at a religious site in a developing country. I was still able to enjoy moments of serenity. 

German Stupa

Japanese Peace Pagoda

Myanmar Golden Pagoda

Statue of Buddha

Chinese Monastery

After visiting the Monastic Zone, we returned to our hotel to rest during the heat of the day. In the evening, we first ventured out to Buddha Gram, an animatronics show of Buddha's life. This might be the most underrated attraction in all of Lumbini. We were the first customers after the grand reopening, so they gave us prasad (i.e., bananas and coconut cookies) and took a group photo (I'm diligently checking their Facebook to see when they post it). There were eight rooms, eight scenes, and every room had a different issue: animatronics didn't move, no light, AC was leaking and creating a huge pool of water, no English-language option (God forbid I have to listen to Nepali in Nepal), etc. But once they get these issues ironed out, this place will be unbeatable. The voice acting and use of multimedia were way better than what I could have anticipated. 

No photos allowed, but I snuck one anyway.
Animatronic Buddha under the Bodhi Tree. 

For our last activity of the day, we visited the Sacred Garden with a tour guide. I have a personality defect that I'm loath to admit: I always have to repress the urge to one-up guides and piggyback their spiels with more information. Am I that fragile that I can't handle someone else having more expertise than me? This guide was well-informed and very friendly, so the impulse wasn't as strong this time around.

The Sacred Garden contains three main elements: the Maya Devi Temple, the Sacred Pond (Puskarini), and the Ashoka Pillar. As I mentioned earlier, Maya stopped in the garden of Lumbini to rest on her way to her home kingdom. In the garden, she took a bath in the Sacred Pond, walked 25 paces, and gave birth. Outwardly, the Maya Devi temple is a squat, modern white building (constructed in 2003), but inside are the archeological ruins of a temple built for Ashoka's visit, the same visit in which the pillar was constructed, dating to the 3rd Century BC. Here is a translation of the inscription on the Ashoka Pillar:

King [Ashoka], beloved of the Gods, having been anointed twenty years, himself came and worshipped, saying: 'Here Buddha Sakyamuni was born.' And he caused to be made a stone bearing a horse, and he caused this stone pillar to be erected. Because the [Buddha] was born here, the village of [Lumbini] was made free of taxes and entitled to the eight part (of the produce). 

Extensive excavations also revealed a marker stone pinpointing the exact location of Buddha's birth (found 25 paces away from the pool and in the same direction as described by Chinese pilgrims in the 7th century AD) and a nativity sculpture from the 4th century AD. 

The marker stone is protected by bulletproof glass, but the rest of the site is unprotected. Pilgrims threw coins on the temple as offerings, and gold leaf was rubbed onto some of the bricks. As our guide told us, September is a popular month for Sri Lankan Buddhists to make the pilgrimage, and they were identifiable by their all-white clothing. The atmosphere in the Sacred Garden was quite relaxing, with monks chanting and people engaged in meditation and silent reflection. I laid down for a moment under a Bodhi Tree, but unfortunately did not find the enlightenment I was seeking. 

Maya Devi Temple, Ashoka Pillar, and the Sacred Pool

Ashoka Pillar, inscription faintly visible

Prayer flags hung from a Bodhi tree

The next day, we were off to visit more archeological sites related to the Buddha's early life. The drive itself from Lumbini to the neighboring district of Kapilvastu was one of my favorite excursions. The landscape and culture(s) of the Terai are so different from life in the mid-hills. For one, it's completely flat, with rice paddies stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction--interrupted only by mosques (flying the Saudi Arabian flag for Muhammad's birthday, this year on Sept. 4/5), brick factories, and solitary trees. There was a visible Muslim population: women in burqas walking along the highway or riding sidesaddle on the back of motorcycles, and men with dyed red hair and chin beards cycling down the road. 

Nepal has been governed by mid-hill dynasties since the time of Prithvi Narayan Shah. Later, King Mahendra instituted a "one-country, one-language, one-dress policy" that excluded many of Nepal's ethnic groups along the southern border. The Terai exists on the periphery, geographically, politically, and culturally, and this has often led to (sometimes violent) clashes with Pahadis, people from the mid-hills. It's a fascinating topic, and I have to pick up some books about it the next time I'm in Kathmandu. 

In the Kapilvastu District, we visited Tilaurakot, said to be the central palace of Buddha's youth; the Twin Stupas, where his mother and father are buried; and Kudan, where he reunited with his father, aunt, and son following his Enlightenment. 

That morning was rainy, adding to the mysticism of these ancient sites. Only one layer of bricks from the original structures is visible; most everything else remains underground. The new structures are an interpretation of what might have once stood there, while boardwalks replicate where roadways would have been. Pottery shards and other artifacts uncovered during excavations have been moved next door to the Kapilvastu Museum. 

A Hindu temple built during the 1800s, called Samai Mai, is still in use inside the Tilaurakot complex. Likewise, a Shiva Linga is prominently displayed at Kudan. There has long been cross-pollination between Buddhism and Hinduism, although the Buddha rejected the proto-Hindu religion of his time. Today, Hindus worship the Buddha as an avatar of the god Vishnu.

Nepal has submitted Tilaurakot and Kudan for inclusion on the UNESCO World Heritage List. While I agree these sites are worthy based on their historic and religious merits, I'm not sure they're quite ready without further infrastructure development. And as UNESCO advises, "Uncover and preserve [archeological sites], don't create." (I can't remember which document I pulled this from, but I'm throwing quotes around it anyway).  

Shiva Linga @ Kudan

Central Palace of the Tilaurakot Complex

Looking towards the Eastern Gate from which Buddha left behind his royal life

Twin Stupas

And that was our trip to Lumbini. A short journey that connected me with aspects of Nepal I haven't explored much yet: the Terai, its Buddhist past. Nepal is a country in transition, and I think this is captured by Lumbini's status. Torn between wanting to be a destination for international tourists and pilgrims alike, while also maintaining the archeological and religious integrity of the complex, Lumbini is sorta coming up short on both fronts. I have no solutions. All I can say is: good luck. 

After three nights, we returned to our sites in Arghakhanchi. The return trip was so easy. I kept waiting for something frustrating to happen, but it never did. 

This blog post was exceedingly long, but I hope it was somewhat informative and entertaining. This trip has kicked me into a Buddhism rabbit hole, and with 2,500 years of history to work with, I'm sure to be occupied for a long time. 

Festival season, namely Dashian and Tihar, are rapidly approaching, and I look forward to sharing my experiences in my next post. 

Thanks for reading! 

And here is an extra photo dump: 

South Korean Temple

Austrain Temple

Lotus Pond @ Tilaurakot

Coco, the bipolar dog that lived in the hotel

Samai Mai Temple 

Here I Yam! Sweaty and awkward, 
trying to get a selfie with the Ashoka Pillar