The Note... A Song

Another work of fiction inspired by a scene once seen. I promise that I have never left a note in this fashion. But that's not to say notes have not been left by others (such as in aforementioned scene). 




The Note

When she gets the note she'll be preparing to leave
Turning off the lights and locking doors
she might resist the urge to roll herself another cigarette
as she's taking down the pictures form the wall she'll wonder at it all;
how the pieces seemed to fit.
And think about the threads that she couldn't seem to stitch
She will take her time as she drives her car away
watching all the people passing by
when she reaches the street corner where they said their last goodbye
she'll see a shadow flit their between the lines
and wonder at it all... how the pieces seemed to fit
and think about the threads... she just couldn't seem to stitch.

She'll never be alone as long there is feeling and there's distance left to go
(a distance that's not measured out of nothing)
She might never know as she waits at the street-corner and the traffic starts to flow,
suddenly she goes.... she'll better off on her own..

'Time is a healer' they say, 'Time will take the greatest pains away'
But one note scribbled in haste was a brick wall
Pride comes before the Foolish fall.

When she gets the note he won't be far away, walking with a bundle of his clothes
When he reaches the street-corner where he's certain she will go
he'll blend in with the faces and the flow and wonder at it all
how the pieces seem to fit.
And think about the threads that he just couldn't seem to stitch...


'Time is a healer' they say, 'Time will take the greatest pains away'
But one note scribbled in haste was a brick wall
One note scribbled in haste ended it all
Off they go oblivious to it all
Pride comes before the Foolish fall.


Flash.... if you prefer it...


The Note - Dave Green by David Green 21

A Rollercoaster Return to Pakshikha

The two week break in Bumthang came to an end; I packed my bags and headed south, back to the land of fog and mist, back to my life in Pakshikha. I was sad to leave my fellow teacher friends and happy to be returning to my other fellow teacher friends, and the tale of both the journey and the arrival has everything in it that is good and bad and this life I have made for myself out here in Bhutan.

 The journey was made in classic Bhutan fashion. In the early days I would find myself getting frustrated by the uncertainty of travel and the periods of waiting that seemed like they could end in an instant or go on forever, but now I relax. There's no need for hitch-hiking here – I simply deposit myself on a street with all my bags and wait for somebody to approach me and ask me where I am going. I explain my situation...

'I must get to Thimphu tonight.'

'Right, I will make this happen. Please Sir, sit down – would you like a coffee?'

And then I relax and I wait, sipping my coffee, reading a magazine, playing a guitar with one of Iman's Bhutanese friends on this particular occasion. Half an hour might pass, maybe an hour, but inevitably my serendipitous champion will usher me into a car that is going half way. When we reach half way, out of the car I pop and the driver will take matters into his own hands. So off I will scuttle into another car and 'Hey Presto', I'm where I wanted to be. So far, the standing in the street strategy has never failed; knights in shining ghos always post me where I need to go. It's brilliant.

'How are you going back to Gedu?' People will ask me the night before my departure.

'I'll walk down to the bus station.'

'The buses will all be booked.'

'I know. But something will happen.'

And it always does. Usually, something else will too.

Prostrating from Pheunsaling to Thimphu

Back in Pakshikha, another journey successfully undertaken, all was not found well in my world. 

The Hostel at Night From the Village - Spooky...

The monsoon brings a perpetual fog to the area around my school, the wind pushing all the moisture up from the Bay of Bengal towards the Himalaya, and when it reaches the foothills (where I live), it falls, or, more often than not, lingers. The air is damp. The walls are damp. The clothes are damp. I am damp.

This never makes for the most warmly of welcomes, and when I threw open the door to my quarters (the windows sealed up with cellotape against the invasion of moisture, my belongings sealed in stuff sacs and double packed in plastic bags), the smell of damp hit me like a well-used flannel. I unpacked and, when the electricity failed, I lit a few candles and settled into a beer and a film on my laptop. What's that on my ankle? A leech. In my house! I probably brought it in with me from outside, but still.... a leech in my quarters. Blurgh.

I was a bit lax in the first few days, but when I noticed the mould on my pillow I realised I had to be more proactive. On the first sunny, windy, moisture free day I opted to forgo the gentle meander and waged war. Trousers left for a few days on a chair had fungus. My belt, hanging in the wardrobe: fuzzy. On the surface of my table: growth. The pencils in the cup in the cupboard: sprouting fluff. The mank was getting everywhere.

My Clothes Drying Apparatus pre-Bumthang Trip

I washed all my clothes and prayed for the clouds to stay away, which thankfully they did. By the end of the day I was on top, and I have been ever since. I've realised it just takes some care and a mindful management of possessions. Move them around. Use them. Don't be complacent. They all warned me about this, but I didn't quite believe it until now. A problem anticipated is a problem no more.

Bhutan Sky on a Good Day!

When school began I stuttered into action, but things are different this term. The return of the Biology teacher from maternity leave has led to a reduction in my timetable from 33 lessons to 24, a far more manageable workload that facilitates better teaching and the scope to take on all the additional responsibilities and carry them out well. So I threw my hand up for the editorial position on the school magasine, a celebration of the 100 years of modern education in Bhutan. I'm looking forward to this because I can't help but take joy in helping people write. Being a science teacher is a wonderful thing to do, and I love opening minds to the sheer fantasticness of the world but it can become a bit narrow and... logical?

I've also come a long way in learning how to function in a Bhutanese school. I have a better understanding of how things work, how you talk to people, how you get things done and how you get other people on board to help you achieve things. Now that I know all the staff and I know how they operate, I begin to see their individual strengths and am less waylaid by knee-jerk judgements borne out of my own frustrations.

I guess I am lucky. The principal here is an inspiration to the students, respected and loved, and he's 'on it' in the best possible way. The staff are collegiate, friendly and fun. And I've finally managed to convince everyone that if I retire to my room to work on my novels, it doesn't reflect on my feelings for them. Being alone is generally not considered healthy and normal here, but I need my solitude to work, and, no matter how hard I push against it, I need to keep this work going. Fingers fairly realistically crossed, I should have two novels ready for the big push towards publication by Christmas. Agents beware... I need you and I'm gonna come knocking... (anybody know any good ones?)

Perhaps what I always knew has clicked with greater clarity on my return to Pakshikha - this is my life. It's not an adventure away from something to which I must struggle back to, like an escape into unreality that carries the finality of a difficult return. It is my reality. So of course I must make time to continue to write, and make up songs, and work hard to do things well, and be good to people, and enjoy them, and enjoy the differences, and revel in the uniqueness of time and look to the next move remembering that life itself is a grand adventure. Like always...

And my Dzongkha has suddenly improved... 'Nga-gi ayee o-ndo'... My mother is coming. Word is spreading and anticipation is building. One thing is for certain... Queen Elizabeth herself would not receive a better welcome in Pakshikha!

Passing Traffic.... A Song

A Song, with overdubs and everything... a fiction, in so far as it's not about me, or about anybody I have been with, but not a fiction in so far as it's inspired by something and not nothing. Perhaps it's 'based on a true story', if that's allowed, but the story wasn't technically true in the real world in the first place, so back we go to fiction, or metafiction, or something. Anyway, it's a song. Recorded on my laptop with the laptop speaker on Audacity Portable (found by chance on a pen drive my mum sent to me! who would have thunk it). Lo-fi warblings on a guitar that is getting harder and harder to tune in the humid monsoon...

Passing Traffic


Girl you're looking thin
You've got so much to talk about
You're lit up like a Christmas Tree
I don't know what you think of me - it's wrong
The pilot-light - it's gone
And all those silly words don't make any sense,
I don't want to say here sitting on a fence
It's over - the moon is rising red tonight
The cloud evaporation might just let it through
the light that shines on me and you
It's over - the dogs are howling in the street,
baying there for scraps of meat; for something sweet
I should have just given them you and me my love

I don't think enough?
When I think of you girl, I think too much
I might just close the door and stop listening to all those weirdo rhymes
and the way you say you love - you love me all the time... and that's a lie

I won't listen to you. I won't hear you when you call.
I'm happier now watching paint dry there on the wall.
I'm happier now watching all those pretty reflections of passing traffic... up there on the wall...

Flash Version if required...

Lookin thin shorter by David Green 21

Burning Lakes and the Bliss of Vacation

Its the holiday blog. These two weeks have been great, but there's too much to mention in detail, so its going to be a diary of photos with a brevity of words.

Trees Trees Trees

The journey... I'd been as far as Rukubji, but continuing down towards Trongsa, the gateway to the East, we pass the Black Mountains to the South. These mountains are so dense with trees it seems almost ridiculous. I just stared at them the whole way, endlessly fascinated by the detail and by the sheer scale of life's effusive growth. As they tailed off and a valley spread out before us, we stopped at a Chorten while Karma rested his eyes and stretched his limbs. I walked down to the river, circled the Chorten and returned. Around the next mountain was Trongsa. It clings to the mountainside like so many other towns and villages do, but Trongsa has a big and imposing Dzongh that juts out towards the valley. Pilgrims and traders would have to pass through this Dzongh and pay their taxes as they journeyed East. Our 4x4 roared past it on the road and headed up the pass, over which the Bumthang Valley was waiting.

Trongsa from Afar

Chorten at the End of the Black Mountains.

The edge of the road... and the other road across the valley... 

The Bumthang Valley – they call it the Switzerland of Bhutan, which is a nonsense comparison (it's the Bumthang of Bhutan), but it does have similarities. It a glacial alpine valley with evergreen forests up on the hills and a rushing river with the murky-sparkley colour you expect from glacial melt. The airport runway cuts straight through it and is still a cause of much excitement for the residents and tourists alike. I am a tourist! For 2 weeks, an unashamed tourist, and loving it.

The first 3 days were spent in the River Lodge with most of the other BCF teachers, grabbing some well-enjoyed catch-up, drinking actual, real, made from grapes red wine and relaxing. We visited the Tang valley where we met perhaps the most successful modern Bhutanese author, Madam Kuenzang Choden (Dawa the Dog, Circle of Karma etc). We ate a splendid lunch and then were treated to a tour of Ogyen Choling, the 16^th Century ancestral home that she is transforming into a museum. Many of the practices and aspects of living remain unchanged in the more remote villages, and many of the teachers were taken aback by this. 

Relaxing in Tang Valley Before Lunch

There is a rich history to this country and its fascinating to be at such close quarters to it – as if we somehow have one foot in the present moment and another in the centuries gone by. British museums document times long forgotten and no longer lived; here they document the baseline of a living transition. It would be interesting to observe over time what proportion of the exhibits truly become museum pieces and how many continue to remain in current use.

Burning Lake

We also visited The Burning Lake, famous for the discovery of sacred objects by the Terton (Treasure Hunter) Pema Lingpa. When Guru Rinpoche flew to Bhutan on his flying tigress to bring Buddhism to the land, he left behind sacred texts and treasures, which were subsequently found by Tertons in later times. Pema Lingpa is perhaps the most famous of the Tertons, and in the Burning Lake (which is actually a pool in a fast-moving river), he was challenged to prove himself under accusations of trickery and deceit. He dived in with a lamp and re-emerged with the lamp still lit, his arms wrapped around treasures.

Burning Lake

Back in the hotel, the red wine was pouring in hearty measures, stories were being exchanged and the fresh-faced foreigners who arrived here 6 months ago were notable by their absence, replaced by a new breed of intrepid teacher. In the beginning we were all over-excited, shell-shocked by our much-anticipated and long-imagined arrival, unsure of ourselves, uncertain about what our experiences would entail and how our placements would pan out. The restless agitation of excitement had given way to an assured calm, a comfortability in our own Bhutanese skins. To further relax my own Bhutanese skin, I treated myself to a full body massage, which was lush! Oh, and we headed to the Red Panda Brewery for a tour and inspection of the goods...

Me, Martin, Tara, Ashley and Karma

The Washie-feetee Dance

After the 3 day retreat with feedback sessions and talk of contract renewals, I moved on to Martin and Tara's house down the road and was immediately struck by how homely their home was. I suppose you could extend the crass Swiss analogy by saying it was very much like an Alpine lodge. This has been my base for the last week and a half. I disappointed myself a little by not heading East and soaking my eyes in the resplendent fantasticness of this country, but we entertained ourselves here with a few short treks, some snooker, a visit to the $1400 per night Amon Kora hotel for coffee, plenty of scrabble, homemade pizzas, pies and cakes and projector movie nights. No grounds for complaint there.

The other teachers here are great fun to hang around with and each has an inspirational aspect. Iman teaches me Yoga and is good for long conversations about just about anything. Noorin was teaching in Hunza when she was 20! China at 19, then in the middle-of-nowhere north of Canada for a few years before Bhutan. Sarah came straight from a six month shift in Antarctica, where I'm seriously considering aiming for next. Martin and Tara live in a house they built for themselves in Salt Spring, Vancouver (another place I'd seriously consider living). Tara is a Jazz singer, demure and wise, the matriarch and counsellor of the group, Martin is a dynamo of unbridled curiosity with an insatiable hunger for learning about pretty much everything. You can count on him to find out how the houses were built, how the buckwheat is drawn into noodles or why the kids take out a numbered bottle cap from a bucket at the end of a game of Karam (although I don't think he actually figured this out). His enthusiasm to solve a problem or fix things is endless, and in the absence of any difficulties, he might even whittle you a bamboo spoon. The locals call him Captain Longstride. Martha has a sound effect for everything and bubbles with energy. Ashley has a personality that goes BOOM a lot, especially when she's accompanied by the fun-loving and loquacious Reidi of the ever-ready smiles. 

The BCF Crew outside Ogyen Chholing

And that's just a few of them. We've all been excited by how easy we find each other's company, especially on the trek where everybody was helping everyone else and we all took turns walking with each other, bantering and digging into our respective histories. Everyone has a story – lives are just stories written in chapters by our choices - and there's some good ones here.

I guess I'll need another entry to walk you through the Tang Valley, so I'll try to do that. In the meantime, all the best to everybody and love trumpets a-blowin global.          

Flowers and Ferns on the Bumthang Trek..

I've never been the most botanical of men, but as I've gone Bhutanical, it seems fitting to go Botanical too. I couldn't resist the macro setting and snapping as many of these as I could. My naming skills are very poor as you can see, so please feel free to assist me by correctly identifying the species and telling me what they are... answers on a postcard...

Colour-coordinated Butterfly and Daisy

Got to Love the Pink Daisies!

Fernie

Leafy

Shrooms!

A Purple One

A Red One

Fern Shoot

Bamboo...

Fern Blossom ?

  

Moss-BALL!!!

A Purple One

Reddy-pink Ones

Thornies...

Snapshots Videos of the Bhutan Countryside

Against all the upload odds, here's a few short videos showing the countryside. Thing have changed a bit since these were uploaded - the tropical flourishing hadn't occurred, but you can see the surrounding mountains and the jungle...

The view from the school...

the jungle...