The Paro Monk Festival

You can now see the photos at:

http://picasaweb.google.com/schateaubriand/TheParoMonkFestival#

I still can't upload pictures to the page GRRRR

Today we will see the famous Paro Tsechu. We have instructions from Mountain Kindgdom to dress ‘’smartly’, so we do our best with what we have short of the traditional short stiff brocade ‘gho’ jacket with pinned at the front with a brilliantly colored soft silk under jacket with large cuffs showing and the wraparound intricately woven Kira skirt (although tempted, in the end we decided it was silly to buy). The men wear their usual ‘gho’ outfit with sober ankle length socks and formal snouty shoes, but, in addition, they drape a rather nice natural colored fringed linen shawl just so, loosely knotted and hanging from one shoulder and looping below the opposite hip. We are told not to wear hats inside the Dzong. Luckily we get to sit in the shade, because the sun is fierce. The inner courtyard, amply decorated with the holy yellow cloth we have seen everywhere, begins to fill with crowds of locals, beautiful young smooth-skinned children and their weather beaten parents. A fair number of tourists are also in attendance bearing expensive camera equipment. Most of the tourists we have seen, actually, are not young. Neither are we of course. Jytte offers the explanation that they have more time now and have been everywhere else, which I think is an excellent consideration.

The dancing is beyond words. The monks move as if in a trance in gorgeous and elaborate costumes and hats. The musicians play ceremonious drums, we cannot really see them, and the wing section walks through from time to time with really long clarinet-shaped horns, from which emit eerie repetitive sounds. All this takes place in a sunny courtyard with spectators sitting on the floor and crowding three rungs of decorated balconies where the flounced yellow material moves in the wind. We do not understand much, but a near-by guide explains the meaning of a particularly long and trancelike dance with many monks dressed in black embroidered silk overdresses over swirling skirts in many colors and with special hats, is about their attempt to cheat the devil and put him in a box. It is exhausting work that much is clear, but they are successful and bring happiness to the people.
We lunch at a hotel nearby where we furtively observe a large table of Portuguese tourists. They are speaking loudly, ‘safe’ in the knowledge that no-one will understand (and it IS hard), but we do. An animated man from their group suddenly approaches us with an offer to share in their bottle of Scotch, which we accept (token size), but I confess to understanding all they say and advise caution, just in case.
An interesting philosophical question is raised later, when we pass a turbulent river and I ask our guide whether any fishing done there, ‘No,’ he says alarmed, ‘we are Buddhists and not allowed to kill fish in Bhutan.’ ‘But they served fish for lunch,’ I say. ‘Oh – those are INDIAN fish,’ he explains, ‘they were already dead.’
After lunch the plan is to hike up to a tea house near the famous Tiger’s Nest, nestled in the sheer rock about 900 m above the city, making you wonder how in the world they could construct something like that. When you reach the teahouse there are more than 600 steps down to a gorge and then up to the actual building IF you have the stamina. Sadly, it turns out I haven’t. Since Kathmandu I have been feeling a cold coming on, depleting my energy and making me feel out of breath. This trial hike is quite steep uphill through a forest and though I have my new walking poles and have been taking altitude medicine in the manner advised by the UFRJ people, I can simply not keep up with our guide who skips effortlessly from knot to knob, and J & O, who walk unfalteringly behind him. I have to stop and heave for breath and feel my legs leaden and uncooperative, especially, as Maristela, my divine knee physiotherapist, warned me, my thigh muscles don’t want to obey. This is of course very hard to admit, but I finally ask my group to keep going and then find myself a place to sit, where I can observe the view, enjoy the silence, play with the ‘aperture priority’ on my camera, and wonder what this means for the rest of the program. Throughout this Bhutan families cheerfully walk up and down with no effort at all.
Here are pictures of the area:
http://picasaweb.google.com/schateaubriand/TheHikeToSeeTheTigerSNest#

Finally, I carefully make my way down and ask the waiting driver, Ugen, to take me into town, where there is a street fair. I am now very concerned about the advisability of going on a 3-day hike feeling way less than a 100%. We discuss this over dinner, with soup and locally grown asparagus, and later in J & O’s cottage, where we decide to sample the, actually very good, bottle of rum, which Raj gave to us. It will all work out somehow….