The Tale of the Unexpected Tailor

Gedu is the small town that straddles the main road from Phuensaling and Thimphu, the main artery of traffic between India and Bhutan. It's at the end of 12km of bumpy feeder-road that ties our school somewhat loosely to the rest of the world. There’s a Technical College there with a few visiting foreign lecturers – a solo Canadian, and an American family from the Waldorf school of schooling, as well as a Japanese PE Teacher that I'm beginning to think is mythical (she's certainly elusive). The family have brought their young kids for a year of GNH-infused education and to experience alternative cultures at an early age. I haven’t really made the most of their company because I’m so involved where I am, but they all seem like good and very interesting people.

The Road is Just Above the Cloud-line

 At the end of the feeder road, you find the hospital, which I’ve been to a few times, but not for anything serious. Then, Gedu School with the football pitch (scene of many a great free-kick, some not so great penalties and a splendidly English departure from a tournament). The road then winds up from the school to the first half of the town; a row of 12 or 13 buildings constitutes the metropolis. They all have shops on the ground floor and apartments above. I’m friendly with the shopkeeps now, and there’s a couple of cafes that I regularly visit. Taking the main road for a kilometer or less, you reach the other half of the town, which is more town-like with its multiple roads and its intersections. It's also more ramshackle.

A Typical Bhutanese Town House

Having abandoned my walking mission (see previous blog) and accepted the offer of a ride, I headed straight to this further side of town with Mr Rinchen and Mr Thukten to find a tailor. They both assured me there was a tailor there. They both told me they knew exactly where it was. Neither of them had the slightest clue. This wasn’t forgetfulness on their behalf – they were simply indulging in the pleasure of winding me up. You could tell by the way they giggled at my consternation. Rinchen answered a call on his mobile and we soon lost him in the fog. Thukten took me around a few corners offering no reply to my questions of where we were going and what he had in stall for me. When a friendly shopkeeper appeared in the mist, Thukten asked him where the tailor was. The kindly apparation pointed behind us: ‘Why, it’s right there.’ Thukten was beaming – he knew exactly where it had been all along. Likely story.

I turned around and saw… a stone wall. With a gap in it. Eh? Stepping through the gap I beheld a shanty house with corrugated iron on the roof and makeshift walls made of seemingly anything the architect could get his or her hands on. Eh? Thukten was uncertain too. As usual he was giggling. 

A Closer Look at the Tailor's

I marched on, ducking under the roof to get inside: ‘Kuzoozangpo?’ Nothing. ‘I think we’re in the wrong place,’ I ventured. Thukten tended to concur with chortles behind me. A few more steps revealed a cosy dwelling with…. sewing machines! The rumours were true. But the place was deserted. I rooted around looking at stuff while Thukten took charge of the 

responsibility to find someone.

An amiable woman came through a curtain and took the trousers that I offered for her consideration. She made it clear the pocket would have to be sacrificed for the L-shaped tear to be repaired effectively. I weighed up the loss – technical walking pants are overabundantly endowed with pockets, and managing them can sometimes be disorientating – and gave my approval. She did an outstanding job, I paid her 10Rp - a bargain. Off we went for lunch.

View From the End of Gedu (towards Pakshikha)