Festivities in Bumthang Valley

We kept our riding gear hanging up this morning:

We would be staying in Bumthang Valley today, riding in our 4x4 chase trucks to visit several temples and monasteries nearby. The first stop was at Jambay Lakhang, a Buddhist temple built in the 7th century by the Tibetan king, Songtsen Gampo. The temple would be the site of an important annual festival tonight.

In the parking lot, we saw this minivan with its peacock feathered "hat":

Here is Ben, getting ready to enter Jambay Lakhang:

Inside the entrance, Ann and Dale admired the gigantic prayer wheel:

As part of a spiritual meditation and practice, one can spin the prayer wheel by grasping one of the handles along the bottom while walking clockwise around it.

The temple windows also contain small prayer wheels:

Many people walk around the entire temple, spinning the window prayer wheels as they go.

Here is an outer gate in the back of the temple yard:

The temple was very well maintained for its age, with fairly new weavings among the upper walls, and a corrugated tin roof:

While driving away from the temple, I spied this colorful writing on some rocks.  My first thought was, “Bhutanese graffiti?” 

(I didn't see any graffiti in Bhutan, so I think the above writing probably has some spiritual significance.)

I spied this mother hiking down a hill. Having carried my son Sebastian piggy-back through many family adventures, I am always interested in the ways that other mothers carry their children on their backs:

The next temple that we visited, Kurje Lhakhang, was built over the site of a cave where Guru Rinpoche meditated in the 7th century to save Bhutan’s king. We went inside the temple and viewed the small cave. No photos are generally allowed inside any of the temples, but we took some of the outer area.

The front of the temple:

We had to climb some stairs to reach the entrance to the cave room.  Here is the view back down to the courtyard:

Ben, heading back down the temple stairs:

Ben and I rode in the vehicle driven by Tsring, a Bhutanese man who was very quiet, thoughtful and kind, always ready to help with a smile.

Tsring and Kathy:

Driving along the valley floor, we could see a long suspension bridge over the river:

The bridge would be the starting point of a ½ hour hike to another monastery and temple, Tamshing Lhakhing, which was built by Pema Lingpa in the early 14th century. The Bhutanese believe that Pema Lingpa was the reincarnation of Guru Rinpoche, and that he discovered Guru Rinpoche’s secret texts in a river and extracted them while keeping his candle lit and dry underwater.

Dorji led the way:

Someone had built a beautiful little chorten by the river:

Across the river were some people doing their laundry on the rocks:

We passed by this hut with its beautiful thatched roof:

An older woman was carrying this heavy basket (the original “back pack”?):

This tall chorten had red and white colors that looked exquisite against the blue sky:

As we approached the monastery gate, we passed a group of women and children--we thought they might be relatives who had visited the boys inside:

The entrance to the Tamshing Lhakhing courtyard:

A group of young monks were gathered around the prayer flag in the large courtyard:

Dorji (here with Fred) was very patient in answering our many questions and explaining the stories behind many of the symbols.

The buildings had colorful paintings and doorways:

This small chorten was beside the large temple:

We went inside the large temple, which had a corridor running around the inside perimeter. We witnessed a man walking around the corridor with a heavy chain-mail jacket. Dorji explaned that the chain mail jacket was made by Pema Lingpa in the 14th century and was kept in the corridor; anyone could pick up the jacket and wear it while walking clockwise around the temple 3 times, to bring favor and good fortune. On the interior of the temple walls were various paintings, some of them  by Pema Lingpa. On our way out of the temple, the chain-mail jacket was in the middle of the corridor, waiting for another bearer; none of us rose to the challenge.

The garbage can (beside Paul and Fred) was labeled to encourage its use:

In the afternoon, we visited the Jakar Dzong, which we could see high above us:

A dzong is a type of former fortress that now houses a monastery and administrative offices for a particular region. The Jakar Dzong was built in the 16th century by the great grandfather of Shabdrung Ngawang Namgyal, a high lama from Tibet who was the first to unify all of the separate geographical regions in Bhutan into one country.

Ben at the entrance to the Jakar Dzong:

In the parking lot of the Dzong was another of the prevalent HIV/AIDS warning signs that we had been seeing all throughout Bhutan:

From the Dzong entrance we could see down into Bumthang Valley:

I noticed that rocks were used here to hold down the tin roofs (as in Bolivia):

The physical front door to the Dzong was tucked away behind some curved stairs, making the door easier to defend against invading enemies in the past:

The thick and wide front door had a colorful circular painting:

I loved looking at all of the different types of doors:

The interior had several large courtyards, lined with the traditional painted wooden beams:

The courthouse for Bumthang Valley is located in the Dzong:

While walking through the monastery rooms, we came across a group of monks who were chanting prayers in the Bhutanese language.

As I watched the above monk peek up at us occasionally while he was chanting, I felt a sense that we should not be there . . . that we were disrupting, or distracting, his spiritual focus. I did not stay in the monks’ area for long.

The Dzong was very large, with several floors above ground, and at least one below:

(Above photo: Ben, Paul and Fred.)

As we drove back down into the valley, we passed these children on their way home school:

Tonight we returned to Jambay Lakhang (the first temple that we had visited this morning) to experience the Jambay Festival. The first part of the festival involved some dancing, fire, and a dramatic scene in which a cloth tied to four tall sticks is carried over a fire and burned. All of the dancers wore masks, and this was the main dancer:

Before the festival, our guide Rob had raved about how special the ceremonies were. And I’m sure, at one point, the festival probably was very spiritual and a genuine treat to witness. However, with the promotion of the festival to tourists, hundreds and hundreds of visitors were present. I do not think that the festival organizers anticipated such a large crowd. The small dance circle was lined around the edges with a solid mass of bodies, perhaps 4 to 5 people thick, all straining to get a better view.

I tried to find a spot where I could catch a glimpse of the main dancer every now and then between the layered heads of the many people in front of me. Unfortunately, there were people jostling with elbows trying to get a better view. A woman on my right kept pressing hard against my shoulder, and I would have toppled right over if I hadn’t planted my feet firmly. I finally asked her if she could please stop pushing, and she snapped at me with hostility. Whoa--I was stunned! I realized that the energy of the crowd was not what I had expected at a ceremony that was supposed to be holy and beautiful. So I stepped out of the crowd and stood in the background, watching the local people walk by around me and breathing deeply to regain my center.

The grand finale of the Jambay Festival was a fire ceremony that took place in a lower field. A large arch was built of branches and then ignited; people then ran through the arch of fire in order to purify themselves of any sins they may have committed.

We all walked down to the arch and watched while it was lit.

We were very excited about being actual participants in this ceremony—we were going to run through the fire! There were masses of people rushing through the arch of fire.  At one point, we heard a "SNAP" and some loud cries as the top of the arch fell down.  No one was hurt, but there was a lot of murmuring in the crowd.  The arch had never crashed down before, and some people were saying that it was a bad sign.  Others were saying that the impatient people pushing through the arch had caused it to fall. 

We waited while the fire controllers cleared away the fallen pieces.  The fire continued to rage.  We watched many more people run through; excited shrieks filled the air.

Finally, we were ready, and we moved toward the fire. Ben had been busy taking photos throughout the festival, and he tucked his camera safely away in his carrying case. The crowd surged around us; people came in from all sides, pushing and shoving and pressing against us in their desire to get through the fire too. I ran through behind Dorji, laughing and adding my jubulent voice to those around me.  My exhileration, however, was short-lived.

I turned around and saw that Marian (who is 70) had been pushed to the ground; others from our group jumped behind her to shield her from being trampled by the stampede of people that were continuing to run through behind her.

After Marian was safely on her feet, I heard a familiar voice calling through the crowd, “Has anyone found a camera? Has anyone found a camera?” It was Ben. He had reached for his camera after running through the fire, only to discover an unzipped and empty camera case. He then spent the next half hour, scouring the ground as the crowd dispersed, and asking a couple of officials if anyone had turned in a camera. One man told him, “A Bhutanese person would never steal a camera.”

On a positive note, I noticed a small crowd of people nearby and went to see what was happening. The people were gathered around the head lama of the temple, who had arrived as part of the closing ceremony. I was behind an older Bhutanese man, who turned and saw me; he then took my hand and pulled me gently in front of him, saying, “It is important to you to see—I have seen this many times.”  The warmth from this man’s generosity and kindness flowed into my heart and took away the sting from all of the pushing crowds and Ben’s stolen camera.

The lama looked very serene and regal in his decorative attire:

After the festival ended, we walked down a small hill and waited for our vehicles to pick us up. For a long time, we watched as the cars and trucks around us became ensnared in a massive traffic jam, with everyone trying to go two directions down a very narrow street that was blocked by a handful of parked cars.

We also breathed in the night air, enjoyed the bright moon, and people-watched (always entertaining).

I got a closer look at a Bhutanese “back pack”:

Upon our return to the hotel, we were still feeling a bit shocked over the theft of Ben’s camera. Bhutan has the reputation of being a very “safe” country, and we hadn’t had our normal protective wits about us at the festival. The camera itself wasn’t so important (although it was a “nice” one).  We mourned the loss of all the images that Ben had taken over the magnificent eastern mountains: jaw-dropping panoramas, and sweet smiles of faces that we knew would soon start to become fuzzy in our memories. Ahhh, well. It was what it was. The Jambay Festival certainly took us through a range of emotions. And Ben and I laughed afterward over our theory that the thief took the camera right before he or she ran through the fire that absolved them from their sin.

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