As part of their Heritage Month in 2009, Staffordshire Libraries organised a walking tour of Brewood Village led by David Evans. The tour ended with a visit to Brewood Hall. Arrangements were made by Vanessa and Sharon from the library service and they provided light refreshments in the dining room at Brewood Hall. The visitors were divided into two groups for the tour of the principal rooms led by Jan. Everybody seemed to enjoy the event.
Leaving Bhutan
On Sunday morning, 13th September, I left the Amankora Paro Lodge for the final trip with Tashi and Karma to Paro Airport, only a few miles away, with mixed feelings. I was delighted with all the experiences I'd collected on my trip but sad that it was coming to an end and that I'd be leaving my companions behind.
At the airport, check-in and formalities were quickly carried out and I found myself in one of the smallest Business Class Lounges I've been in anywhere. As boarding time approached, all the available seats filled and we were joined by a small party of VIPs. I noticed the extra attention the man in the VIP party obtained from the staff and after a few minutes the airport Head of Security arrived to pay his respects. I reasoned that at least departure was likely to be on time and, indeed, it was so. We climbed out of Bhutan across the mountains for our short flight to Kolkata.
Kolkata Airport
Immigration at Kolkata was only slightly delayed by medical teams interrogating arriving passengers and checking their temperature (with modern electronic thermometers). It look a little longer for the luggage to arrive but, re-united with my large case, I passed into the arrivals hall and was pleased to spot my guide waiting for me. The plan had been to spend a few hours seeing more of the city before checking-in for an internal Jet-Air flight to Mumbai where I was to connect with a Jet-Air international flight back to the U.K.
Unknown to me, a labour dispute had arisen between Jet-Air and a group of their pilots and the services had been disrupted for some days. Although an agreement had been made the previous day, the schedules were still suffering delays and cancellations. Accordingly, I readily agreed with my guide that we would walk to the adjacent Domestic Terminal and make enquiries at the ticket office. It transpired that my international flight was expected to operate, but there was doubt about my connecting flight. It was agreed that the safest alternative would be to shorten my stay in Kolkata and catch an earlier flight than intended to Mumbai. As you might expect, after a number of days of delay and cancellation, all seats were at a premium and the Ticket Office was unable to find a seat but they did arrange for me to visit the Station Manager's Office.
A young man was delegated to take me across to the office. He led me across a crowded terminal hall to the row of Jet-Air Check-in Desks. You must have noticed how there is often a baggage conveyor behind the check-in desks to carry checked baggage away and that this conveyor is provided with pedestrian bridges to allow staff to get 'behind the scenes'. Well, my young man headed straight across one of these bridges, with me following. We emerged in the 'back-office' area and gloomy corridors led us to the Station Manager's Office. This comprised a general office about 20 feer square with a couple of private offices partitioned off. Each of a dozen or so computer terminals were attended by a man or woman and, in addition, people were entering and leaving all the time, talking in loud voices on the phone or to one another. The atmosphere was rather frenetic and my heart sank. My young man spoke to one lady who shook her head and pointed to the girl at another terminal. Here, I was invited to sit whilst the operator conducted an extensive dialogue with her computer. Eventually, she gave a smile and wrote some flight details on a scrap of paper. It appeared she'd found me a seat on an earlier flight! Relieved, I thanked her and the young man conducted me back to the Ticket Office with the precious details on the scrap of paper. After a few minutes, I was in possession of an endorsed ticket for an earlier flight so my guide and I then went with the luggage to the car. There was still enough time to go into Kolkata, see a little more and return for my altered connection to Mumbai.
Preparations for Durga Puja
"Potters' Lane", Kolkata
My guide said that we would take a walking tour in "Potters' Lane" because in just two weeks it was the Festival of Durga Puja. I didn't finally work out the significance of this until later but here's a simple explanation. In Bengal, the most important Hindu deity is the Mother Goddess, Kali. Every October, Bengal celebrates the coming of Durga (Kali's maternal incarnation) in the five-day festival of Durga Puja.
Preparations start much earlier for around 300 families of artisans in the Kumartuli district of northern Kolkata known as "Potters' Lane". Representations of the deity and her family are sculpted using fresh monsoon clay applied to bamboo armatures. We walked through a rabbit warren of narrow lanes where every building was a workshop hard at work completing the figures, painting them in a most life-like fashion and dressing them in suitable highly-decorated clothing. Around one million of these statues are prepared each year and sold to homes and various community groups. Meanwhile, the community groups vie with one another to construct elaborate temporarary buildings all over the city, each using a bamboo structure which is then covered with gaily-coloured cloth forming a short-lived temple to house the statues. I was amazed both by the number and quality of statues on show and by the architectural ambition of the bamboo structures we saw around the city. At the time of my visit, whilst there were plenty of the bamboo structures, cladding the structure to make a 'tent' (the word seems very inadequate) was only just starting.
Over this period, the whole city goes a little mad and during the five days of the festival itself there is a great celebration. At the end of the festival, most of the city goes in procession to the river with the statues which, decorated with floral garlands and candles, are cast upon the waters to be carried out to sea.
Kolkata and the Jain Temple
Parasnath Jain Temple, Kolkata
As we crossed the city by car, I saw more of the preparations for the festival in addition to the contrasts of everyday life which are glimpsed in my pictures. My guide was anxious to show me the famous Parasnath Jain Temple but, when we arrived, we discovered it would not open for around 15 minutes, so I went off on my own on foot to explore the adjacent immigrant area. There are many refugees from neighbouring Banglasdesh, some living in tents alongside one on the canals. A lone European on foot attracts attention but the reaction is just friendliness. The common call is "Where you from?" and nobody was begging. I returned to the Jain Temple just as it was opening. Quite a number of Indian tourists were also making a visit. The temple was built in 1867 and the main structure is highly decorated with Venetian glass, mirrors, and painted panels depicting scenes from the Jain mythology. All very interesting but, too soon, it was time to return to the airport for my altered flight to Mumbai.
Jet-Air to London
At the Domestic Terminal, I said goodbye to my guide and driver and checked in. The terminal was heaving with passengers but it didn't seem that much larger that the adjacent International Terminal. I'd got an invitation to the lounge but, mistaking the directions, I first went through security in error. I then had a couple of tricky minutes trying to persuade the security staff to let me back out so that I could try again. When I finally found the lounge, it was a fairly modest affair but still a welcome oasis from the hurley-burley outside.
The leg to Mumbai was on time and uneventful. Mumbai Airport is a substantial affair (more what I'd expected at Kolkata) and, like so many airports, currently undergoing a major building programme. My bag had been checked through to London, so I just had to get myself across to the International Terminal. I caught the free transfer bus and was surprised that it set out across the apron for some distance before going through an airport gate to get onto the public road. The public road took us to International Departures where I alighted, tired but happy.
I don't remember much of the last leg but the Jet-Air flight was comfortable and the staff friendly. It was the 23rd August when I left Heathrow. Now, 14th September, I was arriving back there having had some wonderful experiences and seen some incredible sights. I think myself very fortunate. As arranged, Alan met me at the airport and safety brought me back to Brewood.
A few aerial pictures approaching Kolkata.
My earlier pictures of Kolkata.
More pictures of Kolkata.
Pictures of the preparations for Durga Puja.
After the magnificent visit to the Tiger's Nest Monastery, we returned to the luxurious surroundings of the Amankora Paro Lodge (Pictures). It didn't take long for me to be ready for the next, somewhat less physical, experience.
We drove to the elegantly-proportioned Dzong in Paro. The security guard here insisted that I wear a full-sleeved jacket before he'd let me in. We looked around the secular, 'town-hall' part of the Dzong. A plan in English showed how to find the correct department. The modern-sounding list of sections (Engineering, Education, Culture, Census, Planning, Human Resources, Administration, Forestry, Agriculture, Environment...) seemed odd, accommodated in a medieval building full of ancient timbers gaily decorated with traditional painted designs.
Equally incongruous, the other half of the fortress is a monastery with temples, schoolrooms, kitchens and toilets. A sign in Bhutanese and English outside one toilet warned "ORDER - OTHER THAN DRATSHANG, NO BODY IS ALLOWED TO USE DRATSHANG'S TOILET". Oddly, it was perfectly acceptable for us to enter the schoolrooms and watch the young monks at study. The hillside site of the Dzong gives commanding views of the river below, spanned by a traditional bridge leading to the town of Paro. Pictures of Paro Dzong
With some reluctance, I left the serenity of the Dzong and we walked down the hill, crossed the pedestrian bridge and explored the town. The traditional Bhutanese buildings contrasted with roof-mounted satellite dishes and the nearby mobile radio tower. Wooded hills lay in the background and a rainbow seemed to promise good fortune. One shop had a television set, surrounded by a crowd of people with more people watching from the pavement through the open windows. The programme avidly being followed was live coverage of the National Archery Contest being held in Thimphu. We completed our tour of the town (including a visit to an antiques shop) and then drove back to the Amankora Paro Lodge. Pictures in and around Paro.
There was one more excursion I wanted to make before relaxing on my last evening in Bhutan. There's a ruined Dzong not far from the Lodge which I wanted to have a look at. Tashi thought the Caretaker probably closed the site to visitors at 5:00 p.m. but, nonetheless we went up there by car with Karma.
There was nobody at the Caretaker's cottage, so we walked up the path leading to the wooden entrance gate in the outer wall of the Dzong. The gate was open and Tashi said he'd wait by the gate while I explored inside - he was clearly concerned that the Caretaker would suddenly appear and lock the gate for the night! I clambered around ruined walls and, more than any other Dzong, its defensive importance was apparent. It felt just like some of the English Medieval Castles I've visited. When I returned to Tashi, he was talking to two young girls playing cheerfully with a ball. He explained that the Caretaker was away and the girls had been made responsible for locking the gate but they were a little late attending to their task. So I was very lucky to have gained access at all. The Caretaker, it appeared, had gone to Thimphu to watch the National Archery Contest. Pictures of the ruined Dzong.
Soon, we were back at the Lodge. It was time for me to bid farewell to this remarkable, improbable country and prepare myself for the long journey back home on the next day.
Saturday 12th September 2009
On Saturday, I was to attempt the hike to the famous Tiger’s Nest Monastery which clings to the cliffs in an improbable fashion 800 metres above the surrounding plain. All Bhutanese are expected to make a pilgrimage here at least once in their life – it is a very special place. The ascent typically takes two to two and a half hours – the descent is about half an hour quicker. It is possible to take a horse most of the way up but I thought I’d risk it on foot. Tashi had, very sensibly, suggested we set off a 7.00 a.m. whilst it was still cool and this proved excellent advice. Karma drove us to the car park near the collection of houses at the bottom of the track, passing a number of horses on their way to wait for customers. Tashi and I began the ascent at 7.20 a.m. The start of the track was quite easy – steps had been provided using small round wood as ‘risers’. The track climbed steadily through a wooded area, passing three water prayer wheels. Emerging from the trees, the track was harder to follow and I was glad that it was still cool. After 20 minutes, I stopped for a five-minute ‘breather’. I’d intended to carry on like this, with a ‘breather’ every so often, but as I continued I found I could keep moving at a steady pace without resting.
After about an hour of climbing, we came to a flat area with a single, large prayer wheel and a group of six small prayer wheels. There were a number of Bhutanese sitting around the large prayer-wheel – these were the first people we’d seen on the mountain. Even in this remote location, there were about five dogs lying around. From this clearing, we had our first, intermittent views of the monastery since starting the climb as the mist swirled aound the mountain top. Tashi pointed out a short path to the right leading to a cafeteria offering good views of the Monastery. Tashi said that a number of foreigners are happy to stop at the cafeteria and then descend again. Needless to say, your observer is made of sterner stuff and I set off again at a reasonable pace.
The track was undoubtedly steep in places and the footing uncertain but I found I was quite happy to keep going. Beyond the prayer wheels we were joined by a number of the dogs who either showed the way, investigated the interesting scents or tagged along behind. Climbing steadily, we entered another wooded area. Here, because of the higher elevation, Spanish Moss hung from the tree branches. This delicate, rootless plant looks very attractive, if a bit ‘other-worldly’. We came to a large cleft in an exposed rock decorated with hundreds of the pottery ‘miniature stupas’ placed by pilgrims. Tashi said that this was one of the places used for meditation. Still climbing, we came to a more exposed place where the path was near a sheer drop. Strings of prayer flags festooned the area. A small spring bubbled up right in the middle of the track and then drained off down the mountain. Next, we came to a small building, presumably built on the opening of a cave where a sign in English and Bhutanese identified the location as the birthplace of H. H. Khenpo Jeshey Guenden Rinchen. We arrived at a viewpoint which was actually higher than the monastery. There was quite a gathering of dogs here, some already there, some who had travelled up with us. A small house was nearby and two old ladies appeared from within the house to give the dogs some scraps, which caused some excitement amongst the animals.
The last challenge was now clear. To reach the monastery, there are first over 400 steps to descend so as to cross a bridge over a gorge and then as many steps to climb to reach the monastery on the other side of the gorge. Part way down the steps, there was a small building where pilgrims can light butter lamps. At the lowest point, there’s a short bridge at the base of an impressive waterfall where everything gets quite wet. Beyond the bridge, there’s another meditation lodge wedged against the rocks. Finally, at the top of the steps, there’s an unfriendly looking security check manned by staff in military camoflage dress, but with 108-bead Buddhist rosaries. Apparently, we were the first visitors of the day. You have to leave all your possessions at the security check (including, of course, cameras) before being allowed to proceed.
At last, we entered the monastery and the caretaker unlocked the main temple which has a door to a famous cave now opened only one day a year. Prostration to the altar was required, after which the caretaker administered the Holy Water blessing and we gave the required small donation. We then went up stone steps to a second temple where a different, perpetually smiling caretaker explained that visiting monks had recently started a special ritual which would last 15 days. There were about a dozen monks in the small temple, chanting from a text, accompanied by trumpets, cymbals and drums. The effect was electrifying. Because this temple has a chair for the lama, prostration to this chair is required before honouring the altar.
Friday 11th September 2009
I left the Punakha lodge at 9.00 a.m. and we made the three hour drive back to Thimphu. Land slips are quite common and at one point the road was completely blocked by an excavator shifting away fallen rocks. We were only delayed a few minutes. A little further on, a series of lorries blocked the road. They appeared to be being loaded with the fallen rock. After a short delay, we moved on.
Then, we came upon what appeared to be an accident between a red car going one way and a large lorry going the other way. There was just room for a single line of traffic to pass the accident by driving on the unsurfaced verge. Next to this accident, there was a Pelyab Transport Service bus in trouble. As far as I could make out, the bus had got past the accident by driving on the soft verge but, in so doing, had managed to get a large piece of wood stuck between the tyres of one of its double back wheels. The bus was easing backwards and forwards while two men tried to lever out the timber. We carried on a few minutes and came across a minor land slip where the edge of the road nearest the lower slope had fallen away. A crude wooden fence had been rigged to draw attention to this hazard.
As we came nearer Thimphu, the apple harvest was still in full throw then we were stopped by a queue of thirty cars waiting for an excavator to clear the road. This was the same worksite which had delayed us on the way east a few days before but this time the delay was 25 minutes. When we did move off, a narrow track had been cleared through sandy soil about three feet deep.
We reached Thimphu without further incident and drove to the Amankora Lodge Thimphu where I'd stayed on my arrival in Bhutan. Here, I took lunch before we carried on west to Paro, where I was to spend my last two nights in Bhutan at my fourth Amankora Lodge.
Pictures on the road from Punakha to Paro.
When we arrived in Paro, rather than proceed directly to the Lodge, we turned off the main road and took a winding, country route which eventually climbed to the National Museum, set on a hill overlooking the Rinpung Dzong. The museum is in an ancient tower which once served as a watchtower protecting the Dzong. Some say it’s conche-shaped: it’s certainly not just round. The exhibits are spread over a number of floors and the visit provided a useful insight into Bhutanese traditions and history. On leaving the museum, there were superb views of Paro and the surrounding district.
As we descended from the museum by car, the road was blocked by a T.V. Film Crew. A famous Bhutanese director was coaching a group of young male and female dancers in modern dress in a lively song-and-dance routine. He was attempting an ‘arty’ against-the-light take facing the setting sun. Along with a number of schoolchildren we watched for a while before returning to the Lodge.
Thursday 10th September 2009
I slept well and woke early to a warm, sunny day. The attraction of the Amankora Punakha is that the main building is about 50 years old and built in the Bhutanese farmhouse style. The royal family own a lot of land in the beautiful Punakha Valley and this building was originally owned by the royals. After a pleasant breakfast, I took plenty of photographs to illustrate the layout and construction. Pictures of the Amankora Punakha.
I met Tashi at 9.00 a.m. and we followed the usual routine - buggy to the bridge, cross the bridge, meet Karma and the 4 x 4 on the other side. We drove a few kilometres south and stopped at a small village. Leaving Karma with the car, Tashi and I walked through the village to the rice fields behind. They usually get two plantings of rice in this area. The first planting was turning yellow and ready for harvesting, this second was green and still immature. Our path led us across the narrow dyke separating two rice paddies, past a chorten with prayer wheels and uphill through another group of houses.
At the summit of the low hill we came to our destination, the temple associated with fertility. Women who have difficulty conceiving are advised to visit this temple for the prescribed ritual and tales abound of pregnancies following. Whatever other properties the site has, it's a very beautiful spot, looking down on the river and the mountains beyond and festooned with dozens of poles supporting prayer flags. I was also interested in the new building being erected in Bhutanese style and the radio transmission equipment which included a large satellite dish. In a classroom next to the temple young monks - children really - were engaged in their studies.
We retraced our steps down the hill, thnrough the rice fields and back to the village on the main road. The local bus was waiting and sounded his horn to chivvy late passengers. I hoped that the bus company name was not prophetic - 'BUMPA TRANSPORT SERVICE'. Pictures on the trip to the Fertility Temple.
We travelled back north through Kruruthang - the 'New Punakha' - and made a photographic stop just before arriving at Punakha Dzong, which some say is the most beautiful of the Dzongs. We parked adjacent to the Dzong but on the other side of the river and reached the Dzong by a modern pedestrian bridge in the traditional 'cantilever' style provided by Germany. The Dzong is certainly impressive internally and the administrative courtyard features a chorten and a now-mature tree donated by the Prime Minister of India. By the time we emerged from the Dzong, Karma had somehow moved the car across the river. All was revealed as we set off north, because we came to a Bailey Bridge over the river which led us back to our original road and the Punakha Lodge for lunch. Pictures of Punakha Dzong.
After lunch we had one more trip planned. Karma drove us north a couple of kilometres, turning right by the houses where we'd paused on the bike ride and then driving downhill to the river bank. Another pedestrian suspension bridge let Tashi and I cross the river. We made our way to the impressive bulk of a wooded hill surmounted by an elaborate chorten, the Khamsum Yulley Namgyal Chorten, often just called the 'Royal Chorten' for simplicity. In the hot sun, it took just over half an hour to follow the track up to the large chorten. If I understand its significance correctly, it was erected by the former queen to make the future of her son more auspicious. Although it's referred to as a 'chorten', internally it's laid out as temples on various levels. At the top of the building, there's an outside viewing gallery giving stunning views of the river valley. Pictures of the 'Royal Chorten'.
By now the afternoon was cooler and it was a pleasant walk down the hill and across the bridge to get back to the car. A short drive took us back to the Lodge in plenty of time for dinner.
Wednesday 9th September 2009
We left my new friends at the Gangtey Lodge about 9.00 a.m. but we’d arranged one more visit before leaving the district. We parked by Beyta Community School (where yesterday’s horse ride had finished) since a visit had been arranged to see the work of the school. The school covered grade 1 to 5 but the headmaster (who oversaw the building of the school a few years ago) hoped to extend to grade 6 when an agreed building programme is complete. A wide syllabus is taught, much of it in English. The children looked smart in approved national dress and were well behaved. Each child had textbooks, exercise books and a set of pencils and coloured crayons, all provided by the Government. I looked at the maths textbook (a Bhutan – Canadian co-production in English) and found innovative modelling techniques to help young people master the manipulation of numbers and problems which I’m sure would daunt children of a similar age in my own country. Pictures of Beyta School.
We drove back along the road we'd used to get to Gangtey part of the way towards Thimphu. At the highest point (elevation 3,600 metres) we stopped to look at the chorten and take some pictures. Mist was swirling around us. We were then back to the series of hairpins leading us to lower levels. At one point, the bushes held a troop of monkeys unconcernedly munching berries.
At a couple of villages we passed through, families produce woven bamboo as a material for fences, temporary shelters or house walls. To ease the effort of slicing the bamboo longitudinally, they lay out bamboo along the road and let the traffic run over it for a while. Periodically, there were local people selling produce. If they can sell it at the roadside, it saves the cost and time of transporting it to the nearest market. Every few kilometres, we’d pass people working on the road, keeping the gutters clear and cutting back the luxuriant vegetation. We crossed a major river on a substantial girder bridge apparently provided by the Japanese. Oddly, the girders were unpainted and were brown with rust.
Bhutan has no conventional railways but it does have one ‘ropeway’ serving the remote hilltop village of Tashila. We stopped at the bottom of the ropeway to observe the operation. The main function is to take supplies up to the village, bringing back produce like potatoes and timber. When we arrived, the ropeway was working and we decided to wait for the load to arrive. The ropeway ‘driver’ (and possibly proprietor) seemed quite happy with me poking around but, with amazing self-restraint, I’ll not give you the technical details just now. The load which arrived was a substantial tree log with a number of sacks of potatoes strapped on top. This load was lowered to the ground and the return load of bundles of sacks (presumably for more potatoes) was lashed to the ‘carrier’. I was puzzled when one of the men who had helped to lash the bundles of sacks in place fixed a piece of cargo netting hammock-style above the load. I was amazed when he jumped into this ‘hammock’ and was dispatched without ceremony by the ‘driver’ on the half-hour journey to the summit. Pictures of Tashila Ropeway.
As we approached Whangdue Phodrang, the massive white bulk of the Dzong, sitting high on the cliffs overlooking the confluence of two rivers looked more like a medieval fortress than the monastery and seat of civil government it has become. The impression of a defensible place is maintained inside in some of the dark, windowless stone passageways connecting different parts of the Dzong. There are a number of ‘arrow slit’ windows as well. But the courtyards, surrounded by wooden galleries of intricate design and gaily painted are places of light, celebration and ceremony. The architecture is impressive but it’s difficult to distinguish between the genuinely ancient and the recent renovations. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. The effect is timeless and magnificent. Pictures of Whangdue Phodrang Dzong.
The town of Whangdue Phodrang lies just outside the Dzong, sharing with the Dzong its cliff-top location. There’s a huge prayer-wheel, taller than a man, in a decorated wooden pavilion. This is no mere picturesque relic – all day people come and go, giving the heavy cylinder one or more spins. The town is a wonderful, cramped place with no pavements and a host of tiny shops selling anything you could wish for. Mobile phone or DVD player needs repair? No problem. It’s messy, very human and, no doubt, dangerous with pedestrians and traffic vying for space so, inevitably, a new town is taking shape a few kilometres away. Pictures of Whangdue Phodrang Town.
We crossed the river, easing past the solitary cow which had taken up station on the bridge and continued along the Thimphu road, before turning right onto the road to Punakha. Punakha has already been blessed with a new town. It may be very convenient for the residents but it struck me as being as unattractive as most other new towns I’ve seen. A few kilometres further on, we came to what some regard as the most beautiful of Bhutan's collection of twenty Dzong, the Dzong at Punakha, which we visited the following day. The car carried on up a beautiful river valley with wooded hills on either side. The lower elevation gives a much warmer, sub-tropical climate making this a desirable spot to winter for royalty and those who can afford it alike. Tashi pointed out the roof of a traditional Bhutanese villa part-hidden in the trees on the opposite ride of the river. This was the main building of our destination, the Amankora Punakha Lodge. We parked near the riverbank by a modern suspension bridge which I realised was pedestrian only. We were greeted by staff from the Lodge who collected my luggage and hoisted it onto their shoulders. We set off single-file across the bridge over the fast-flowing river. I was presented with a short tape bearing a number of coloured prayer flags. I had to tie this to the wire cable handrail of the bridge, joining the hundreds already there, fluttering in the warm breeze. Reaching the other side of the river safely, a walk of a few yards took us to a waiting ‘golf buggy’. But this was an internal-combustion buggy which a later learned was one of two specially converted for the job by Amankora from a small Maruti van. A steep winding track took us to the building I’d seen on our arrival and the hotel manager and other staff were on hand to welcome me.
I had a shower and a light lunch in the outside courtyard and met Tashi for a bike ride. I think he was a bit worried as to how I’d get on, so he suggested we drove to a suitable place with the bikes and then rode back. We travelled in the golf buggy to the suspension bridge, walked across the bridge to the car park and there was Karma with the 4 x 4. I wondered how they’d get two mountain bikes in the back of the 4 x 4 and then I realised, with some horror, that they wouldn’t. One of the staff from the Lodge was there with a van containing two bikes and the two vehicles set off north on the public road. We travelled for about twenty minutes with me thinking we were going an awful long way and stopped. I’d expected that we’d be going on some sort of nature trail but Tashi said “Do you think you can ride back to the Lodge from here?” Suppressing the answer which sprang to mind ("No chance") I meekly said I didn’t know. Tashi was full of warnings about how bad the driving was and the animals on the road and the likelihood of plunging off the road altogether. After a perfunctory check that there were some sort of brakes and a bit of experimenting with the two gear levers, I wobbled off on my own. Once I’d got the machine in a sensible sort of mid-gear I realised that the road was predominantly downhill and started to enjoy myself. You needed to steer away from the major potholes and avoid the edge of the tarmac but it wasn’t bad. Approaching animals or pedestrians, I slowed down and sounded the bell. The locals were amused by the elderly foreigner on a bike but returned my wave and smiled. After a while, Karma passed me on the other bike and we carried on, sometimes with me in the lead, sometimes him. I managed to keep going on the uphill parts without selecting a lower gear. From time to time I could just hear the two vehicles trailing me and there were a few other vehicles on the road. I realised then I would have no difficulty getting back to the Lodge. I afterwards discovered it was only about a 6 km journey. When Karma pulled in near some houses level with the ‘Royal Chorton’ on a hill on the opposite bank, I stopped as well and we took a picture.
I set off again, this time with Tashi riding the second bike, and I was quite sorry when I pulled into the car park by the bridge to the Lodge. A few pictures on the Bike Ride.
For the first night, I had the place to myself (five more guests were to arrive on the following day). It was raining so dinner for one was moved into the charming Tea House. I enjoyed a leisurely meal as a musician played Bhutanese music using alternately a lyre and flute. I went to bed tired but happy.
Tuesday 8th September 2009
The Phobjikha Valley is at an elevation of 2,900 metres and the flora is Alpine. Rice cannot grow so potatoes are the main cash crop. It's a generally poor agrarian community although some Bhutanese maintain second homes here because of the beauty and peace.
I slept well and awoke at 5.00 a.m. The sky was already getting light and by the time I’d dressed, the sun was out and it was a wonderful morning. There were still clouds hanging over parts of the valley. Later in the morning, there was intermittent rain but nothing too harsh until around lunchtime.
The Phobjikha Valley is one of the locations where the Black-necked Cranes winter. These birds have a great spiritual significance for the local people and when electrification using overhead lines was mooted, there were fears that the eagerly-awaited arrival of these migrants would be effected. Eventually, the Government agreed to use buried cables and this work is now in progress but, at present, homes are either without electrical power or provided with limited power from solar arrays.
After a leisurely breakfast, the first visit was to Gangtey Goemba. Electricians were working at installing outside electric lights in anticipation of the arrival of mains electricity. The monastery is old and extensive renovations have been necessary recently because of beetle infestation in the ancient timbers. This work is ongoing and we saw wood carvers and painters at work. We were not able to visit the main assembly hall because examinations were in progress and the caretaker was one of those being examined. In contrast to the imposing grandeur of the main buildings, the kitchen where the monks' food is prepared was a series of rather ramshackle wooden buildings outside the main perimeter. My monastery pictures.
There’s a small village immediately outside the monastery and Tashi and I took a walk looking at the variations in style and speaking to some of the residents. We met the ‘Farmtrac’ tractor and trailer we’d seen the day before, continuing its task of bringing out the potatoes for shipment. We exchanged friendly waves with the tractor driver and his helpers. Many of these potatoes are exported by lorry to India. Pictures of Gangtey Village.
Tashi and I next set off on the 4km-long Gangtey Nature Trail. This is an easy trail, passing through various environments, pastureland with cows grazing, muddy tracks churned up by tractors where smallholders eke out an existence, forests of Blue Pine, marshland. Finally we crossed the meandering river where the Black-necked Cranes winter to meet our car by the local school. As we approached, the bell rang for the end of morning school and children began to play or walk home for a meal.
By now, the rain was pouring down so I was glad to get back into the car. However, we’d not gone far before we stopped and Tashi invited me to take a walk up a rather muddy track by some houses, where he showed me a hot stone bath-house with its wooden tub and outside fireplace for heating the stones. A little further on, we reached our destination – a small weaving shed where four young women were engaged in various processes of carpet weaving. Another short journey took us to the Black-necked Crane Information Centre, a modern, octagonal building. In addition to various displays about the bird, there is a large observation lounge overlooking the valley, equipped with powerful field glasses. Pictures along the nature trail.
It was still raining as we returned to the Lodge for lunch and it looked as if my planned horse ride for the afternoon would be cancelled. In the event, just after 2.00 p.m. the weather cleared and they said the ride could go ahead, but along public roads rather than cross-country.
A local horsewoman in national dress teamed with blue gumboots was waiting with a handsome young horse. The horse was equipped with a delicate wooden frame and a couple of blankets which apparently is the Bhutanese saddle. The stirrups were loops of rope. There should be two small loops of rope to hang on to at the front of the saddle but one was broken so I reached behind to find the strap going around the rear of the horse. It was clear the horse was going to be led by the woman so it would be a very gentle ride. Tashi walked alongside in case of difficulties. Despite my doubts, I found the horse's gait quite comfortable and soon found the confidence to hold on with one hand, using the other to operate the camera or wave at the locals who seemed delighted at this unexpected entertainment. I’d have carried on all afternoon but Karma was waiting with the car at the primary school so we stopped there and I was whisked back to the comfort of the Lodge. Pictures of the horse ride.
I had the rest of the day for work on the computer, dinner, packing and contemplation of this remarkable place. My initial appelation of ‘Land of Dreams’ still seems valid. I’m clearly not the only person to feel like this, because the ‘Lonely Planet’ introduction talks about ‘a way of life you thought had been swept away or that you’d imagined’. The dramatic scenery seems destined to be a location for a ‘Sword and Sorcery’ movie or a ‘Lord of the Rings’ tale. How can a country of 700,000 people sustain twenty huge Dzongs with their elaborate decoration and innumerable temples and religious structures? Bhutanese Nationals are expected to wear national dress and adopt the appropriate scarf when entering a Dzong. There is great respect the two (!) kings and religious beliefs are at the core of their day-to-day existence. Everything seems a bewildering mixture of Myth, Magic and Mahayana Buddhism. It’s hard for a Westerner to believe that what you see is real but it has a bewitching charm.
The Amankora Lodges have been called ‘Uber Luxury’ and you’re cosseted beyond belief from the moment you enter making rational judgements about the country even harder. So, my conclusion about Bhutan? You would have to spend a lifetime here to understand the country, but I like it.
Monday 7th September 2009
After two very comfortable nights in the Amankora Thimphu, on Monday it was time to move on, to the Amankora Gangtey. A couple from Tokyo who had been staying were making the same trip but with their own car, driver and guide. Before leaving, the three of us were invited to take part in a simple ritual outside adjacent to three prayer wheels. A young monk intoned the prayer for leaving before tying a coloured thread around each of our necks. This thread is the 'Sungkay' which wards off evil, protects against illness and avoids misfortune. It should be kept in place for at least three days. Finally, there was the, by now, familiar ritual of the holy water. The monk poured a little water into our cupped palm. This is sipped and the balance spread across the top of the head.
Before leaving Thimphu, we drove to the top of a nearby hill surmounted by a transmission tower called 'Radio Hill', noted as a vantage point. The gate to Sangaygang Transmission Tower was closed, but a number of dogs were sitting, expectantly watching the gate. It was clear that, at some point, the watchman would feed them but they were still patiently waiting when we left. A footpath to the left of the gate lead to the summit of the hill which is a favourite picnic spot for locals. The whole area was covered with prayer flags, fluttering in the gentle breeze.
We returned to the town one last time, parking opposite the Post Office. Bhutan has only had a national postal service since the 1950s. The country has built up a useful business in imaginative stamp designs and frequent collectors' editions are issued. I examined the range on offer and was amazed at the various events and personalities Bhutan has chosen to honour with its issues. My pictures of Thimphu.
We headed out of town, past some of the Indian migrant worker's homes at the start of a fairly long road trip to Gangtey. We hadn’t gone far before we came to a traffic queue. Apparently, when roadworks are to be done, it’s commonplace for roads to be closed for half an hour or an hour without warning. Ahead, we could see a ’Komatsu’ tracked excavator scraping at the hillside with its bucket while perched at a very unsafe-looking angle. Every so often, sandy soil would roll down the slope to gather on the road ahead of us. After perhaps ten minutes, the excavator reversed down to the road level and used its bucket to pick up most of the spoil from the road and pile it clear of the roadway. Quite a queue had built up behind us by the time we moved off – an even longer queue was waiting to come through in the opposite direction.
This is apple-growing country and the harvest was in full swing. Every so often, we passed large stacks of wooden boxes which were being filled with apples for collection by lorry. We stopped to make a hike up a track to a famous temple. We passed a rather derlict chorten and then a number of simple houses with the owners tilling their vegetable plots, climbing all the time. Clusters of prayer flags were sending their message to the skies. At one point, an unconcerned cow blocked the narrow path and had to be shooed ahead until there was space to pass. We met a local woman who, she told Tashi, spends a lot of time in a nunnery. She insisted on wearing her rosary and fastening the button of her jacket before being photographed. She also asked if it was possible to have a copy of the photograph – photographs are not commonplace in much of Bhutan.
We arrived at the temple, which had a large, well-maintained chorten outside. Two large prayer wheels flanked the locked main door to the temple. A courtyard at the left of the main building had a teaching room where a number of young monks were practising the making of complex ritual cakes from a thick pastry mixture. The caretaker let us into the temple through a side door. After we’d examined the temple, the youngsters had broken off from their labours and were playing with three dogs. To the right of the main building there was a wider track, suitable for vehicles, and we descended by this track, passing a stream on which three water prayer wheels had been built. More farmers were working in their small fields.
We rejoined Karma and our 4 x 4 and continued along the twisting road, climbing steadily before making a halt to inspect the 108 chortens at Dochula. The hillside behind the chortens, festooned with prayer flags, is a popular picnic site. A little further on, we stopped at Dochula Resort. We’d brought a picnic lunch but it was raining intermittently, so we used the Observation Lounge at the Resort which looks out towards the Himalayas. The view was impressive enough but low cloud obscured the high mountains which can be seen in good weather. I met the owner of the resort, Ugyen Dorji, who is a master embroiderer and painter.
Leaving Docula, the road then descended via a long series of zig-zags which seemed to go on forever. We passed the turn for Punakha and carried on along the main road which runs close to the river until reaching the important town of Wangdi Phodrang, with its imposing Dzong. Here we paused for a brief immigration check before taking the road east. This road started to climb again with a series of hair-raising hairpin bends. These roads are a real test of the vehicles using them and we passed a large number of heavy lorries of various makes grinding painfully upwards and often belching smoke.
At last, we turned right off the main road and, after a few kilometres, came to Gangtey. Here, the road was completely blocked by a small tractor and trailer off-loading sacks of potatoes and an ‘Eicher’ lorry, sheeted-up, presumably already loaded with potatoes. After a short while, the driver of the lorry started it up and the whole area disappeared in clouds of smoke from the exhaust. Once he’d moved a few yards, we were able to finish our journey to the Amankora Gangtey Lodge. The usual warm welcome awaited and, since the rooms at different lodges intentionally have similar facilities and layouts, I soon felt at home again. The setting is quite different from Thimphu – the lodge looks up a long, flat valley with the Gangtey Goemba (Monastery) in a commanding position on its hill on one side of the valley.
Sunday 6th September 2009
I've already described the morning jaunt when I was a little unwell. Recovered in the afternoon, we set off again for Thimphu town, this time to look at the huge Trashi Chhoe Dzong.
In Bhutan, the religious and the secular are combined in the Dzong which is both monastery and the seat of civil power combined. The Dzong in Thimphu is special in that the present King has his offices in this complex so there is a very active security presence. Because it was Sunday, the entrance to the civil offices was closed but, further along the massive building, a second entrance gave access to the monastery section. Security was still high and at least one of the guards, a uniformed young girl, carried a gun. There was also an X-ray machine to make a cursory check of my handbag. Passing through the outer wall, we entered the courtyard originally used for all important ceremonies. With the increasing significance of tourism, they have built a more spacious location for these ceremonies just outside the Dzong to give more accommodation for visitors. All of the walls of the Dzong provide accommodation either for offices or monks quarters but the courtyard is dominated by two massive buildings - the main temple and the monk's building. We were able to look around the main temple. There were a few other European tourists visiting the Dzong, in twos and threes. The fourth king, who has four wives, abdicated a few years ago in favour of his son and he has a palace on the river side of the Dzong. Pictures of Trashi Choe Dzong.
We then went by car to the middle of the town and parked. The Government have recently appointed a private parking contractor to collect parking fees on their behalf and a yellow-jacketed attendant was soon collecting the fee. I looked at a very nice antiques shop but emerged only with a map of Bhutan. Sunday is a holiday and there was quite a festive spirit with young people promenading. Western dress is probably more common on a Sunday, usually tee-shirt and jeans (I liked the plaintive 'This is not the life I ordered' tee-shirt). Weekdays, school children and people with a 'proper job' wear the appropriate national dress. One area of town was particularly crowded. My guide pointed out that most of the people in this area were temporary workers from India, working on various infrastructure projects, and waiting for the cinema to open. In Clocktower Square, I was amused to find young people playing cricket Bhutan-style. There were no stumps, the wicket was rather long and a tennis ball was in use. Nonetheless, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. My pictures of Thimphu.
After a tiring but enjoyable day, I was taken back to the comfort of the Amankora Lodge.
Sunday 6th September 2009
We took the car out of Thimphu to visit a famous monastery, Cheri Goemba. On the way, we stopped at a vertical rock face where an image of a historical figure had been seen in the rock. This image has now been made visible by painting the rock. Below the image, a water prayer wheel had been built. I was intrigued by this concept. A small, locked stone building contains a single, large vertically-mounted prayer wheel. The axle of the prayer wheel extends downwards and is terminated on a horizontal paddle wheel. A water supply from a mountain stream is then channelled through a rectangular pipe so as to strike the paddles and rotate the prayer wheel above (in a clockwise direction, of course). Pictures on the road to Cheri Goemba.
A little further on, a huge tree-clad 'sugar loaf' hill reared up ahead of us. Dotted around the top of this hill could be seen a number of white-painted buildings. This was the monastery we'd come to see. We parked near another traditional cantilever bridge which gave access to the steep track up the hill to the monastery. I was surprised that I seemed to be tiring rapidly but then realised that I had an upset tummy and persevered. After an age, we passed a number of small pack-horses going down for another load. All supplies have to be carried up by man or beast. Soon after, we came to a chorten with a number of seats for pilgrims to rest and I was glad to pause for a while. We started again and I was relieved to find that we were almost at our destination as the huge bulk of the main building loomed above us.
The ancient largely-wooden building was a mixture of the prosaic and the sublime. In the entrance lodge were a supply of cypress branches which are used as an incense and a huge number of fire extinguishers. Fire is a perpetual hazard in these wooden buildings. We passed through a courtyard with a long row of small prayer wheels on one side and a series of small cells for practising meditation on the other side. Once novices have achieved some success in these cells, they are allowed to use the more remote buildings spread across the hillside.
Apparently, a special ritual was being performed that day and a number of the local people had come to participate. Outside the main building there was a remarkable collection of footwear and, adding my own shoes, I passed inside. Two rows of monks sat facing one another chanting the ritual, rather after the style of choir stalls in an English church. Behind the monks on each side were rows of the local people, praying or telling their rosaries. Tashi and I were able to walk around and study the main altar and the decorations as the service proceeded.
Tashi and I made our descent this time passing a team of loaded packhorses going up at the chorten. By the time we reached the bridge and our car, there were another crowd of locals just starting out on the climb. We drove back to Thimphu Lodge for lunch but I skipped lunch and slept until our afternoon tour, which I'll describe next time.
Amended 7-Sep-2009.
Bhutan is called the 'Land of the Thunder Dragon', because thunder was supposed to be made by a dragon in the sky. After being here a few hours, I'm inclined to call it 'Land of Dreams' because it's such an improbable place - the sort of place you might imagine in a dream.
The welcome at the Amankora Lodge was very warm, the facilities in my large room excellent and I instantly felt at home as part of the 'Amankora Family'. After a wash and change, I set off with my guide and driver to explore the district.
By this time, the weather was rather cold and raining. We went first to the National Memorial Chorten, which is a regular place of worship for large numbers of Bhutan people. I was particularly impressed by the building with a number of large prayer wheels. People were walking from wheel to wheel (always in a clockwise direction) spinning each wheel in turn. A number of elderly people were sitting by one chosen wheel, spinning it intermittently, praying with their 'rosary' of 108 beads, talking to other people or eating and drinking. My guide explained that there are a number of 'regulars' who will bring a packed lunch and spend all day here.
Then we drove a short distance to a weaving factory. Here a number of women and men were working at hand looms producing the colourful and sometimes complex patterns of the materials used both for everyday and special occasions. Upstairs, the owner of the factory was himself weaving a new pattern he had developed before putting it into production.
Next, we went to a paper making factory. The plant material used for the process only grows at particular altitudes and doesn't look very promising to start with. A number of women in an open shed were twisting thin strips of the materials into 'strings' about 3 feet long, prior to the material being boiled for 12 hours and soaked in wooden water tanks for a further six hours. Inside the workshop an electrically-powered machine is used to convert the material into paper pulp, looking a bit like cold porridge. This pulp is put in a sink with some sort of binder or glue and a skilled lady was dipping the paper-making frame into the sink to collect a little of the pulp which she spread across the frame. This process was repeated a number of times until she was happy with the result and then, with a series of deft movements, the new paper on its 'screen' was lifted out, transferred to the pile of sheets already produced and the screen put back in the frame to repeat the process for the next sheet. Every minute or so, a new sheet is produced. Nearby, there's a press used to squeeze excess water from a large pile of these sheets. A man was then transferring these sheets to a drying frame, heated so as to drive out the final moisture. A few strokes with a handbrush would produce the surface finish he wanted. I was very impressed with the sheer productivity of this small factory.
Next, we called at an Artist's Workshop where copies of the very intricate temple-style plaintings are produced. These are popular with foreigners for decorating houses. We'd seen the weaving of cloth for the female national garment, the 'Kira' but at the Artist's Workshop we saw antique 'Kira' for sale. These are also popular with foreigners as wall hangings.
We then drove back to the town (it's hard to call Thimphu a city) and parked near the Farmer's Centenary Market. I wanted to study the modern pedestrian footbridge over the river. Although modern, it's built in the traditional cantilever design with a massive stone entrance lodge on each bank. Of course, the bridge itself is covered with strings of coloured prayer flags. Then I walked round the Centenary Market, built to celebrate one hundred years of the monarchy in Bhutan a few years ago. It's a bit like a council market in England - properly built stalls in durable materials with a good roof and excellent electric lighting - but, like the British version, seems to lose some of the excitement of a disorganised, scruffy market.
Our last visit of the day was one of the most moving. We called at the Nunnery where about thirty shaven-headed women and girls commit themselves to a religious life. In the ante-chamber to the main temple, the nuns were reading and chanting to the accompaniment of drum, cymbals and two of the long, straight temple horns. With bare feet we entered the temple and prostrated ourselves three times to the main altar. This involves palms together first above the head, then to the throat and finally to the heart before getting on all fours and touching the floor with the forehead. I explained that I was happy to do this out of respect, but not out of belief. Oddly enough, I've not experienced the expected joint pains from this "bowing and scraping". With the chanting and haunting music in the background, it was quite an electrifying experience.
Finally, we drove the short distance back to the Thimphu Lodge. A nice touch in my bedroom was a present of a locally produced book - 'Dawa' - the story of a stray dog in Bhutan. Dinner, and then to bed to prepare for more adventures the next day.
The flight from Kolkata to Paro is only around an hour. I was pleased that as we descended, I could see something of the dramatic approach to Paro with fairly substantial mountains rising above the aircraft with the tree-fringed skylines in silhouette. My snatched pictures don’t do justice to the majesty of the scene.
I was met by my guide for eight days, Tashi, and our driver, Karma. We were soon on the road for our drive to Thimphu, the capital of Bhutan. The population of Thimphu is only around 100,000 - the population of the whole country is only about 700,000 - so it's more like a small town than a capital. I think it might be my kind of place! The internet certainly works well.
It was warm enough for a tee shirt when I arrived this morning but the rain started about lunch time and the temperature has dropped so it's far more like the weather I'm used to in the U.K. at present. I'm in a very attractive suite at the Amankora Lodge (and I don't always like 'Minimalist' design, but this is nicely done with lots of real wood and no MDF or plastic in sight). The lodge is a few minutes drive from Thimphu, set in an idyllic spot on a hillside with a stream running through it and adjacent to a pine forest. I'll set about giving you more details later. but, in the meantime, an update on my last blog post from Kolkata.
By dint of not getting a lot of sleep, I uploaded a fair number of pictures using the facilities at the Oberoi Grand, although most of them are untitled at present. You may spot various errors which I'll correct as soon as I can.
There are now pictures of two schools I visited in Myanmar at "Educational Support in Myanmar". I've still to add my pictures of the Doe Pin Orphanage.
Finally, I've added pictures of Kolkata Rail Museum here and more railway pictures will be added when I can.
Arrival at the small airport at Paro was painless and my visa was issued on arrival, as promised. No photographs were required. A charming customs officer added my laptop and camera to my customs declaration to avoid any problems on departure and I was soon in the public area. Nobody seemed to be displaying my name but after a few seconds a young Bhutan man in national dress (as were most of the men) introduced himself as Tashi, my guide, and he took my luggage outside to a waiting Hyundai 4x4 with a driver, Karma, also in national dress. Unusually, I was invited to sit in the front for our journey to Thimphu.
After 24 km, we stopped at a confluence of two rivers, Paro Chu and Thimphu Chu, at Chhuzom where there is an Immigration control post. Chortens (the Bhutan word for what are sometimes also called 'stupas') in three different styles have been erected here to make the site more auspicious. The location is also an important road junction because the road from the border town of Phuntsboling Gewog and India joins here. Some types of rice and high-value goods are imported and vegetables and fruit are exported. Relations with India are good and the 'DANTAK' organisation is reponsible for a number of road and other projects in Bhutan. We carried on along quite a good road, with signs of the repairs and improvements in hand through a countryside strangely reminiscent of Switzerland, with the black and white houses with low-pitched, overhanging roofs. Oddly, I discovered later that Switzerland has been quite active in support and charity work in Bhutan.
A short distance outside Thimphu, the road suddenly became dual carriageway with street lights. We passed through what appeared to tbe a bustling town rather than a capital city. At one junction, we passed a traffic policeman. A few years ago, Thimphu lost its claim to be the only capital without traffic lights when a set was installed. I gather there was something of an uproar at how impersonal it had become and so the traffic policeman was restored. The city nestles in a valley so we were soon climbing hard out of Thimphu, which is starting to sprawl with a lot of new housing been built. After a few minures we turned off the road onto a metalled approach road to the white-painted, Bhutan-style Amankora Lodge.
As possible, I'll post pictures and add to this description.
Revised Sunday 6th September.
Friday, 4th September 2009
I've spent the afternoon on a city tour with a guide. Amongst other things, we visited the famous Howrah railway station (bet you're surprised) and the small Railway Museum (I'm surprised - I didn't know they had one in Kolkata).
I’d not realised the legacy of rather grand buildings left by the British in Kolkata. Originally, Kolkata was the centre of British operations in India and it was only later that Delhi achieved its current importance. Some of these buildings, like the High Court, have been maintained in good order but many are visibly crumbling and rather sad, although still in use for one purpose or another in the makeshift way that the Indians adopt. Pictures of Kolkata.
In Kolkata, I'm at the Oberoi Grand - a classic hotel which I'm enjoying (albeit briefly). Although there's Wi-Fi in the hotel, I'm using the plug-in connection in my room which is uploading pictures very satisfactorily.
I have to leave the hotel at 4.30 a.m. to get the flight to Bhutan's single airport at Paro.
Bhutan was a closed kingdom for centuries but the new King has sought to modernise the country without destroying the good features. I know they have Internet - I don't yet know whether I'll be able to access it or not. So don't be surprised if I go quiet again.
Saturday, 5th September 2009
Getting up at 3.30 a.m. to be ready for pick-up at 4.30 a.m. is not my idea of fun but I’d slept well (if briefly) and whilst I slept the computer had uploaded my Kolkata photographs. In case my travel alarm didn’t rouse me, I’d booked a wake-up call which was on time and this was followed by morning tea delivered with a smile. I was picked up on time so, once we’d stowed the luggage in the rear of the 6-seater, we were on our way through the dark, wet streets. Yesterday lunchtime, the route had been crowded with traffic, made worse by the movement of people for the Holiday, but we made the airport in around half an hour.
I’m amazed at how tiny the international terminal is, considering it serves a city of some 15 million people. I’m told the domestic terminal is larger (I’ll let you know when I transit to Mumbai on the way home). My guide and I sit in the waiting area until check-in for my flight starts (late), then we say goodbye and I go into the passenger only area. First, there’s X-ray for luggage to be checked in. Each bag checked is strapped with a polypropylene tape to prevent tampering. At this point, an old porter with bad teeth and rather fractured English adopts me and conducts me to check-in where I am issued with a ‘Royal Executive Class’ boarding pass for my Drukair flight KB121 to Paro although the check-in lady says it’s ‘Free Seating’. My porter applies ‘Executive Class’ labels to my carry-on baggage, hands me the Indian departure card, sits me down with his pen and invites me to complete the card. Having obtained what I hope was a suitable gratuity, he then took me to the queue for passport control and scurried away looking for further business.
I noticed a ‘fast-track’ of elderly females in wheelchairs with their husbands who thereby managed to circumvent the tedium of queueing. I’m suspicious of their disabilities but it seems typical of a country where the class system is alive and well. There were a number of immigration officers on duty, so the wait was only short and customs waved me directly to the escalator to the departure lounge. I was a bit puzzled by a refreshment voucher I’d been given at check-in with the explanation “On your left when you are through immigration”. In the departure lounge, there was a tiny snack bar, so I presented my voucher to be told “Inside, inside” and directed to a small partitioned-off area communicating with the snack bar. Apparently, this was the Thai Airways business lounge and I was to use it. Sandwiches, cake and drinks were available and I was the only customer. At seven o'clock, I and my hand baggage went through a thorough but friendly security check. I was amused to see the operator shuttle my computer and camera bag through the scanner a number of times. I volunteered that we should do a hand search if he was dubious but he seemed happy to just view on screen. During the short wait I was intrigued to watch two stewardesses arrive followed by a captain and second officer. They had a separate security track with separate body scanner and X-ray machine, with a separate group of security people. This is, I like to think, the compassionate side of State-operated India where one man is never used for a job if three can do it almost as well. The Station Manager for the airline came and went a number of times, making arrangements for boarding. I was intrigued that her hand-held radio went through the X-ray scanner each time. Another man was in charge of the doors giving access to the air bridges and the apron. These doors were unlocked to let the stewardesses through then immediately secured. The same process was followed for the pilot and co-pilot and finally for the passengers.
We were led down steps and out onto the apron where we walked across the tarmac in the rain to reach our waiting aircraft, an Airbus (A319, I think). Two sets of steps were in position and my boarding pass got me to the front steps for separate access to the Business Class cabin. This was already fairly full – I realised the flight had originated in Bangkok and I was boarding at its intermediate stop. We were away a few minutes late and climbed above the clouds when they served a simple but quite acceptable cold breakfast.
So far, the plans are still working. I flew from Yangon to Bangkok last night, was transferred to the Mandarin Oriental for a very short stay because I was picked up again at 6.15 a.m. this morning for transfer back to the new airport.
Check-in and passport control was fairly painless so then I headed for the business class lounge. Although I'm flying Jet Airways to Calcutta, sorry, Kolkata, my carrier has an arrangement to use the Thai Airways faciities. I think Thai have three business class lounges here (plus a First Class). I chose the one in the middle as (hopefully) being nearest my departure gate. The lounge is long and fairly thin, to fit in the 'interconnected tubes' layout of the terminal. In fact, I think it's the longest lounge I've been in. It's the size of the airport I don't like. You're faced with huge walks to get from place to place and no opportunity is lost to present you with 'retail opportunities' in designer goods at inflated prices.
Uploading pictures is sometimes a bit problematic, I'm afraid. I've taken over 1,000 pictures so far but only just started to upload them. However, you can see pictures of some of the places I've visited on this trip by looking at my photographs of previous trips.
A few days ago, I visited a monastic school near Sagaing in Myanmar where 'Road to Mandalay' passengers have made donations for various purposes. I've uploaded my pictures of this visit - they are here.
The former capital of Myanmar, Yangon (called 'Rangoon' by the British) is a fascinating, cosmopolitan place. But I'd not been across the Yangon River to see what's there. I'd seen the ferries crossing from the other side. I'd seen the passengers teeming off the ferry and making their way into the city. Now, armed with a Government Permit, I hoped to see for myself.
One feature of all the maps I'd seen of Yangon was the lack of any detail as to what lay of the other side of the river. Although separated from the City by a ferry crossing of only a few minutes, as far as the cartographers were concerned, it was a 'Terra Incognita'. I'd found out that the area was termed 'Dalla Township', mustering a population of one million! It appeared to be where a lot of Yangon's workers lived, commuting daily on the ferries.
I had a fairly leisurely breakfast at the Strand before walking to the Ferry Terminal, only a few hundred yards from the hotel. I first approached a ticket collector on the ramp leading to the landing stage but, seeing my Government Permit, he directed me to a ticket office at the far end of the adjacent Waiting Room. At the ticket window, I presented my Permit again but, with the shake of his head, he pointed further along. There was no other ticket window, just a door which opened as I approached. Some sort of supervisor (with reasonable English) studied my pass carefully and the laboriously wrote out two tickets (one to go, one to come back) in a triplicate book. Foreigners are charged a significant multiple of the local price (the situation was the same when I travelled on the Circle Line) but it's still good value compared with transport at home.
I waited patiently with the other passengers until the ferry docked and most of the arriving passengers had disembarked, then we were allowed down the ramp and onto the rather battered-looking ferry. By the time everybody was aboard, the ship was fairly full but not crush-loaded. We cast off and made our way across the channel. Looking upstream, I could see the transit sheds of the original port. The 'Rahman-Noor-Rahim', registered in Chittagong, was loading timber onto her aft deck, presumably having already filled the hold. Numerous small river-taxis buzzed in every direction and there were various cargo ships moored in mid-channel. We passed the other ferry on our route heading for the Yangon Landing Stage. Soon, we were tying up to the Dalla Landing Stage and there was quite a crowd waiting to board for the return journey. I made my way up the ramp and outside. There were shops, buses, taxis and cycle-rickshaws touting for business and people - lots of people. Everybody seemed in a hurry to get where they were going. I realised that, having got this far, I had no idea what to do next!
At first, I shook my head at the various forms of transport offered to me. Then, I realised I would see nothing without local help, so I negotiated with one of the cycle rickshaw drivers who had been persistent but not offensive. Yes, he would take me round Dalla for a few U.S. Dollars for 30 minutes. The rate was quite a multiple of what locals would pay, but it turned out to be a good decision. The driver spoke good English and made quite a competent tourist guide, so I spent over two hours touring the spread-out town. It's more like a series of interconnected villages with lots of greenery and a wide variety of building styles, all fairly modest. A long, straight well-surfaced road led away from the ferry terminal, but soon we turned off, crossing an elderly Bailey Bridge with a pronounced sag in the middle. We cycled parallel to a creek where a number of the brightly-painted and sleek-looking water taxis were being repaired on the muddy bank. A foreigner being cycled through a roadside market always attracts attention, but the people are invariably friendly and just curious. We stopped for photographs by a bridge over the creek near what appeared to be a water-taxi 'rank' - dozens of boats pulled up on the mud with people milling about. A number of locals, particularly children, collected round the cycle-rickshaw and were fascinated to see pictures of themselves. It's pleasant that they rarely beg for money or sweets.
As you can imagine, it can be quite hard work for the cycle-rickshaw driver but mine assured me he could keep going all day. Few of these drivers own the rickshaw - they rent them for around a dollar a day. It's a tough way of making a living, but they can sustain a family with this kind of work.
We stopped by a large Buddhist temple complex. Although it was raining, I decided to explore the various temples. It didn't appear to be that old, but it was clearly well-used. Because dilapidations are made good fairly promptly at well-endowed temples and structures are regularly re-painted, it's easy to be misled about the age of temples. I took a number of pictures before we returned to the cycle-rickshaw.
We passed the shipbuilding yard of Inland Water Transport - quite a large undertaking then another Bailey Bridge took us through another 'village'. In any community, you'll always find a teashop and they always seem quite well patronised - the Burmese love to sit and talk. More roadside stalls, young children playing in the stream, women working in the rice fields - an amazing contrast with central Yangon. A fisherman was standing in the stream, occasionally casting his large net. Two young women were doing the family wash in rainwater puddles at the side of the road, completely unembarrassed. We came to a junction with a rather stained concrete clocktower. An elaborate system of props had been added, presumably to delay its likely collapse.
My driver stopped and pointed to a series of derelict-looking sheds with lots of women milling about. "Market" he said, and suggested I have a look round. I'm always amazed at the range of goods available at these markets - fruit, vegetables, chicken, fish, hardware and fancy goods. In contrast, just a few feet from one row of stalls, there was a large waste dump including discarded food.
We cycled away from the market, passing a pool with a sign proudly displaying (in English and Burmese) "This pond was rehabilitated with support from the European Union". Next, we passed a Monastery with an impressive gilded entrance arch. Then we watched another fisherman casting his net in a stream. He pulled the net ashore and squatted to check the catch. This time, it was only one tiny, almost translucent fish.
We'd come back to the Yangon River and large, sea-going fishing boats were beached here. A little further and we reached another village with the usual tea-houses and local people happily passing time. There was a very old Hindu Temple here, apparently closed-up, situated in overgrown grounds serving as an adventure playground for a number of local children. The houses here were mainly of wood, so I assumed the nearby watchtower was a fire look-out. In contrast, St. Michaels Church was a well-built and well-maintained structure.
We passed a crudely-built roadside table for drying charcoal then many more houses and shops, many built on short piles and surrounded by water used for growing rice and similar crops. In most cases, an insecure-looking wooden walkway led across the water garden from the road to the building.
At a T-Junction, we found a number of cycle-rickshaws waiting for hire, with the drivers passing time in the inevitable Tea-House. The exchanges between my driver and the waiting drivers were, of course, in Burmese but I formed the impression that my driver was much-admired for having snared himself a high-paying foreigner. There are many small lorries fitted with tilt covers used as minibuses in Burma, but I'd never seen one before carrying a coffin! I probably wouldn't have realised the vehicle was doing duty as a hearse, had my driver not drawn it to my attention.
Shortly, we stopped outside another Hindu Temple, but this one gaily painted on the outside. My driver hailed the caretaker who didn't look too pleased at the prospect of opening up for a tourist, but a small donation to the temple changed his attitude completely and after I'd walked round the temple, he fetched the Holy Water from the Inner Temple so that he could administer the Blessing. In sign language, he showed me how to receive the Blessing and we parted good friends.
Next door, there was a large Mosque - the Rahmath Mosque, highly decorated outside and very striking in white and pale blue. My cycle-rickshaw journey which had revealed so many contrasts in Dalla was now almost over. We rejoined the main road and soon arrived back at the bustle of the Ferry Terminal. I happily paid off my driver/guide and presented my return ferry ticket for inspection before going onto the landing stage to watch the approaching ferry berth. The short ferry crossing safely returned me to Yangon City and a few minutes walk took me back to the comfort of the Strand Hotel.
Pictures of the Yangon River Ferry.
Pictures around Dalla.
Pictures of Dalla Temple.
It was time to leave 'Road to Mandalay'. Our luggage had been collected early and this would magically re-appear when we got to Yangon. After the usual hearty breakfast, we said goodbye to the crew and went ashore for the last time. Our usual buses transported us to Mandalay Airport where we were rapidly checked in, said goodbye to our guides, and passed into the departure lounge to await our Yangon flight. I'd made a number of friends on the 'Road to Mandalay' with whom I flew back to Yangon. There we split up - the others were either taking a connecting flight that day or staying at the other top hotel in Yangon, the Governor's Residence. So I was taken to the Strand, to receive the usual warm welcome.
The Strand is very near the Yangon River which has a busy ferry service connecting Yangon itself to the other side. I'd intended to try this out on my first visit to Yangon, but didn't have enough time. There wasn't the opportunity to make this trip on my second visit to Burma either. So, this time, I determined to make the trip. Enquiring at the hotel, I discovered that circumstances have changed. Foreigners now need government permission to use the ferry (presumably because it provides a possible route into the Delta area devastated by Cyclone Nargis). Apparently, you had to present yourself in person with your passport at the Ministry of Tourism office to make an application. The office had apparently recently moved from the location shown on the City Map but, armed with some directions from the Strand staff, I set out on foot. After a little confusion, I located the Ministry of Tourism office.
Two ladies were serving at a long counter and they spoke quite good English. I was presented with a form letter and a blank sheet of paper. Apparently, I was to copy out the form letter in my own hand, substituting my own details. I had to promise to go only to the two nearest towns on the other side of the river, return the same day and undertake not to engage in political activity of any kind. I found the restrictions acceptable, so I duly copied out the letter. One of the ladies checked my letter and passport and, satisfied, filled out a pass and rubber stamped it. "I need two copies of this pass" she said. "How much will that be?" I enquired. "No, you go and get copies" she explained, and waved vaguely over the other side of the road, from which I understood that getting the copies was up to me. I crossed the road, but all I could see was food stalls. I walked in the direction she seemed to indicate and, after a minute or two, came across a small 'Copy Shop'. Armed with three copies, I returned to the ministry office. The lady took her file copies and I was left with the original and a copy, all set to make the trip the following morning.
I decided to explore a little more of Yangon on foot, purchasing a book and (another) map in an excellent bookshop with a reasonable English section. It took three friendly girl assistants to serve me and, although they all had some English, there was a lot of mutual incomprehension before the transaction was done. I toured the outside of the Sule Pagoda - a remarkable ancient temple, ringed with modern shops and forming an important traffic island in the middle of the city.
By this time, it was late afternoon and the evening rush hour appeared to be in progress. I decided to continue walking to the Governor's Residence, following a battered tourist map. My route took me fairly near the Circle Line railway, so I deliberately detoured to look at each station I passed, ending up at Pyay Road Station. All the trains I saw were crowded and most of the diesel locomotives sported a group of people riding on the front buffer beam, as the picture below illustrates.
Approaching the Governor's Residence, we were in an area with a number of Embassies or Missions. By far the largest was the Chinese Embassy, which reminded me of a high-security prison.
The Governor's Residence Hotel is a large, teak-built affair in carefully-tended gardens. I spent some time there talking to a number of my new friends, before deciding that I really needed to get a taxi back to the Strand to get some rest.
On the 1st September 2009, I was part of a small group of passengers from the 'Road to Mandalay' who made a day trip to Maymyo. On the way, we made a visit to a large Orphanage partly supported by donations from 'Road to Mandalay' passengers.
This Orphanage now cares for over 500 children. The Monk who founded and now runs the Orphanage received us in the large Assembly Hall where we enjoyed tea and biscuits sitting on the floor. With our guide Mr. Win translating, I asked the Monk how he coped with the stress of taking responsibility for all the needs of so many children. "Meditation" came the simple reply.
Since its founding, the Orphanage has grown significantly to cater for the heavy demand and we saw more new buildings under construction. A lot of the development appeared to be based on the simple faith that, if the need is there, the resources will appear to fund the project. This Orphanage has certainly been successful in attracting support from a wide range of donors, including significant help from donors in Japan.
The Monk took us on a conducted tour, first visiting a kitchen, where two rice boilers were producing the next meal. Next, we looked at the vegetable gardens; where possible, the Orphanage grows its own food. Then we entered one of the large schoolrooms where we were mobbed by excited young children. Whilst we were there, a tropical rainstorm lashed the corrugated iron roof and we extended our visit a little until the rain abated. Then we rejoined our bus to continue our trip to Maymyo, watched by hundreds of waving children.
More pictures.
The extensive market at Maymyo
With our arrival at Shwe Kyet Yet on the previous day, our cruise had come to its close. But our adventures were not yet quite ended. The main feature of Tuesday was a trip by road to visit the hill town of Maymyo.
Before leaving for Maymyo, a walking tour had been arranged through the village of Shwe Kyet Yet to observe the offering of Alms to the Monks at the local monastery. This is a ceremony I have seen before but the simple dignity never fails to impress me, so I joined the walking tour to watch once again.
At seven o'clock, a long line of monks emerged from the monastery to make a circuit of the village accepting offerings of food from the villagers. The 'Road to Mandalay' had set up a table with generous amounts of food just outside the monastery. As usual, the Captain and members of the crew were on hand to distribute food to the monks to supplement the other offerings made by the villagers. Although it had been dry for the Alms giving, we had not travelled far in our usual bus towards Maymyo before we were driving through heavy rain which stayed with us for most of the morning.On our way to Maymyo, we made a slight detour to visit an Orphanage partly supported by the 'Road to Mandalay'. The visit is described in a separate post.
We pulled up opposite a small temple whilst the driver's assistant braved the rain to cross the road and perform the appropriate ritual to ensure a safe journey. He returned in a minute or two with a small bunch of special flowers which were hung up in the front window of the bus. Meanwhile, Mr. Win had purchased a bunch of small, fragrant flowers from a (rather damp) roadside vendor which he divided between the ladies in the party. Thus prepared, we continued our journey. Maymyo is reached after quite a steep climb into the mountains on a heavily-used road with some fairly hairy sections. To improve matters, a large part of the route has had a second carriageway added, sometimes close to the original road, sometimes striking off to find its own route, often at a different level.
This is a privately-owned road and the Chinese businessman who funded these road improvements has tolls collected at various toll stations. At one modern-looking toll station, I was intrigued that a couple of Burmese were stationed in the rain, actually collecting the money and issuing receipts. They were just outside a purpose-built toll office occupied by a Chinese who was able to keep nice and dry to whom each toll was passed for safe keeping. By employing trusted Chinese in this way, the owner seeks to avoid any 'skimming' of the toll income.
By the time we arrived in Maymyo, the weather was noticeably cooler, although the rain had stopped for a while. We disembarked from the bus outside the large Market and spent some time exploring the variety of stalls in both the inside and outside markets. There is a significant Muslim population in Maymyo and this was apparent in walking around the market. In the vegetable market, I was greeted by one of the stallholders in perfect English. He explained that, although born into a Muslim family, he had learned English in the Catholic School he attended as a child. Having completed his education, he reverted to Islam.
Outside the Market, two covered horse-drawn carriages were waiting to take us on a 'city tour'. As it immediately started to rain heavily again, it was fortunate that the carriages were covered. Moving out of the centre of the town, we passed the British Colonial style dwellings - substantial buildings with chimneys set in extensive grounds. It was rather reminiscent of Simla in India. We stopped outside the Chinese Temple and were invited to make a visit but the rain was so torrential that we all agreed to carry on to the hotel where we were to have lunch. On arrival, the rain had all but stopped so there was time to make friends with the horse. I was fascinated with one feature of the carriage - a large piece of sacking had been fixed loosely between the shafts immediately behind the horse so as to collect the horse manure!
The hotel was a nicely-restored British villa with a series of modern chalets in the gardens to increase accommodation. It was a very peaceful location, close to the Botanical Gardens and both the food and service were excellent.
After lunch, we were driven the short distance to the entrance of the National Botanical Gardens. The site is kept in excellent condition with lots of interesting exhibits so, far from being bored, I would happily have spent longer there. There was intermittent rain but not enough to spoil the tour. Amongst many attractions, there is a large 'walk-through aviary', a Bamboo Garden, an 'Orchard' of edible plants and a wooden walkway through a swamp environment. I would have liked to ascend the modern 'Watchtower' but time did not permit this. However, I did see my first Takin - a sort of goat/antelope found in Myanmar, Bhutan and neighbouring parts of India and China. All-in-all, the visit to the Botanical Gardens was very worthwhile.
Back in the bus, we'd agreed to visit the railway station before leaving Maymyo. We entered the town just as schools were finishing so, for a time, the roads were filled with young people, mainly walking but with a few lucky ones being picked up on mopeds. The single-storey station building clearly showed its British origins. There were lots of people milling about although there was no sign of a passenger train. As we were getting ready to leave,a goods train arrived and started to shunt. By this time, it was raining hard again. Pictures of the station are in the set More Railways in Burma.
On the way back to the ship, we stopped to explore an extensive roadside market where Mr. Win purchased vegetables for his wife. We stopped again as the road started to descend to the plains and the rain held off whilst we took in the impressive views. Tired but happy we returned to the ship for our farewell dinner and the last night aboard.
Pictures of Maymyo and the journey.
Pictures of the Botanical Gardens.
