The Bhutanical Adventures of Dave Green

Lost Photographs Found Buried on Hard Drive...

2012-03-06T07:37:00.000+06:00

I found the pictures of Rukubji and the Black Necked Cranes...

A Call to Well-Levered Arms from the West...

2012-03-05T22:02:00.000+06:00

Right then. I saw myscience labs today. I didn't have my camera so I can't show them, butin summary, they aren't exactly supplied. The walls are plain: a farcry from the colourful and inspiring walls we make at home. In short,there's nothing.

I recently made anapplication for funding to get musical instruments for the school, soI'm hoping with fingers crossed that in a month or so there'll bedrums, guitars, and a keyboard.

Sports-wise, the schoolis currently building a basketball pitch - you can see it in the picture below. The football pitch isscheduled for next year, so for now we play on gravel. There's one ortwo flat footballs lying around the place and I met a kid who wasgoing up into the jungle to get some bamboo to make some goals butI've got no idea how he'll get them through the gravel. In short...there's very little for kids to do here. There's not much for teachers to do either, except play on the gravel or sit around a bukari chewing the fat. I started constructinga chess set for us. I got as far as Knights and Bishops before a colleaguetold me he already had one.

A representative of the Japanese governmentgraced our school today to review the progress and meet studentsand staff. Pakshikha MSS was built with generous Japanese JICAfunding. Those funds gave us our buildings and filled them withrudimentary furnishings – tables, chairs etc. The pride of the school is the MPH (Multi Purpose Hall), and it looks good. But the labs remainempty. The sports facilities are lean to say the least. There are nomusic facilities.

During my time here I intend to make as big a contribution as I can to the family of Pakshikha, andI'm finding out already that I am able to make a real difference. I feel obliged to make theapplication for music funds – I have access to funding streams thatthe school does not. I was able to computerize the timetabling because I haveaccess to technology that the staff does not have, a benefit of myprivileged western education. If all goes well, there'll be a website so the families don't have to travel to school for results (it can be a journey of days). And of course I'll gradually be introducingdifferent methods of teaching and learning (more about the classroomlater).

But here's the rub... I also have access to you guys. This is a call to arms, a mobilisation of forces, and an opportunity for you to do something small that'll make abig difference. There's a surplus of stuff back in Blighty and elsewhere; there's a surfeit out here. So if anybody who works in a school can gather up thoseposters that languish unseen behind the cupboards, roll them up intoa tube and send them to me, I'd be immensely grateful.

You could go one stepfurther... Imagine what would happen if a class set of Newton metersor prisms or protractors were depleted by a mere single item? Comparethe barely detrimental impact on those classes to the positive impactthat just one of these items would have to teaching and learning overhere. One instead of none!Something instead of nothing! And they'd be here year after year.

I never really intendedto write an entry like this, and I know it's a long shot, but asurprise parcel from a friend made me realise how easy it is forpeople back home to make a big difference here. It's like a charitylever... you apply a smidgeon of force from there and by the time it gets to here,the impact is massive.

If you do work in a school, perhaps you could approach your boss and talk it through. Or give the principal this blog message to read and see what they say. If you don't work in a school, you can of course still help.

Here's the addressagain:

Pakshikha MSS

Gedu

Chukha

Bhutan

Send things if youcan! Ask me if you 're not sure what's appropriate or useful. But not stuff for me - stuff for the school. I have more than everything I need.

The Road to Rukubji

2012-02-27T19:50:00.001+06:00

The next day I continued my journey solo. No Mr Thukten by my sideand no convoy to get me out of paperwork scrapes. It was exciting. Iknew the first leg up to Dochu La as I'd been there before, butbeyond the magnificent temple and the chortens, it was virginterritory for me.

Before I left I went to visit Mr Thukten's familyin Thimphu. They live in the courtyard of a temple. Inside the templethe Buddha sits with half-smile and half-closed eyes. Legend has itthis statue spoke a word in the fourteenth century. The temple hasbeen there that long. It opens out onto a small courtyard, aroundwhich the family lives – four generations. I met a child of 11months and his great-grandfather. I had the privilege of sharingtheir Losar lunch, which was spectacular and massive! As is alwaysthe case here, the company was friendly and fun. I am made welcomeeverywhere in Bhutan, by everybody I meet. It is very important inBhutanese culture to welcome guests as family, and tea is servedeverywhere within minutes of arrival, be it Suja (butter tea) or Naja(sweet tea). I lingered here, despite the lengthy drive I had beforeme. Perhaps I was a touch nervous too... At 2pm, I headed for DochuLa and from there, into the unknown.

The road wound down theside of the mountains in snakey turns to the Punakha valley, Wangdiand then back up the next range of mountains to Pele La. I stoppedfor tea in Wangdi two hours after leaving and then went on. The roaddeteriorated as I headed up. Evidence of recent landslides could beseen, and several sections seemed poised on the cusp of immanent collapse. Theedges of the road were crumbly in places, and there were longsections of rubble. It wasn't too bad though and I was enjoying the drive.

As I headed up Pele La, the foliage changed from lush temperate woodland trees to highland spruces and pine. Mists descended and it grew cold. I'd already picked up one hitch-hiker, an old man, drunk from hisLosar celebration and in high spirits. He giggled for about half a mile and then got out. As the temperature plummeted,a boy of 12 stepped out into the road with his arms waving. Behindhim was a woman and 5 young girls between 3 and 15. I did a quickcalculation of car space, ignored the result and stopped.

Bhutanese are hardy.They live in a steeply mountainous country and most of the populationare subsistent farmers. They can handle work. They can handle thecold. They can handle themselves. But this was too much... the familywas walking over the snow-smattered pass as the sun was falling. When I dropped on the other side (havingdriven alongside banks of snow), I figured it would have taken at least anhour and a half walking, probably two to make the journey. I putthe heater on full to get their bones warm and played them eightiesclassics. I'm not sure how the classics went down, but the heat was appreciated.

As Idescended towards Rukubji the visibility dropped to about 10m. I arrived at 7pm. Iman came to meet me bythe main road because the turn off to the village is a jack-knife turn onto athin rubbly path that is barely visible from the road. I somehowmanaged to see her headtorch bobbing in the valley!

Rukubji. I coulddescribe it as a sandwich of ancient earth bread with heavenly layersof yaks, cows and potatoes. but that would be a bit daft, so I'lljust say it's lush. It has real-life Ents - million year old oaktrees that crowd a hillock on the edge of the village. It has ariver, two in fact, that rush down the valley sides and meet in themiddle. It is rural like you might think of olde England as. Potatoesgrow everywhere because they supply Bhutan with them. The water comesstraight from the hills and tastes sweet. First thing in the morning,the air is a tonic, a gaseous elixir that probably has the sameeffect on the body as a good hour of yoga (this is artistic license –I've never done a full hour of yoga). It's a very beautiful place.

At first I was insanelyjealous, because this vision of lushness is what I had in mind formyself when I decided to come here. It's much harder for her – noindoor plumbing for instance. No hot water unless it comes from ametal pan that sits atop the bukari (wood-burning stove). It's 3000mup, so its cold too. In her first few weeks, clothes left on the linewould be iced up in the morning. If a little green light isn't on inher kitchen, she can't even use a rice cooker because all theelectricity comes from a micro-hydro plant. If she turns her heateron, lights go out in the village! And there's very little Englishspoken. Luckily, she is well-suited to the circumstances. She's hardytoo, and to be honest, dream or no dream, I'm not sure how I wouldcope. She has systems. Lot's of them. I'm a bit slapdash. Systemstend to erode with time. So perhaps it's for the best that I'm herein Pakshikha with mates around me and my hot shower.

And I am happy here. Ido have mates. The school really is a family. Sure I miss stuff - my kingdom for a night in a bar with a good pint of English ale and old mates. Or some rock to clamber up! A five-a-side football pitch to run like the clappers around. The staffroom banter at Chepstow. Banter in general (though I'm making inroads on this front).

I will start teachingproperly tomorrow too, and that is the main reason I came here. Theclassroom will change everything, especially as I currently have 33periods of 50 minutes timetabled in each week. We collectivelypray for science teachers to materialise, me more than anybody. Ifanyone would like to volunteer to come and help... I thoroughlyrecommend it, and I'll put a good word in for you...

PS - I appear to have mislaid all photos of Rukubji and the Black Neck Cranes that we went to see. They're the spectacular birds that fly over the Himalayas every year. I was lucky to see them - none of the teachers I have spoken to here have (except for on telly). A bit gutted about that. Ah well.

Braving the Roads of Bhutan...

2012-02-26T11:45:00.000+06:00

I hardly expected the 600km road trip to Rukubji to go completelysmoothly and devoid of incident. The bounces and bumps wereanticipated, along with the inevitable near-death experiences as myrattly toy-car clung to the edge of some precipice in the roaringshadow of an Indian MONSTER-VAN. Grrrr. They'rebullies, them big trucks, with their gaudy headlight-eyes and theubiquitous 'blow horn' graffiti smeared across their backsides. Thosetyrants of the road care nothing for lesser vehicles. And you neversee the drivers; I suspect they may not even have any. It wouldexplain the consistently inhumane behaviour they show towards therest of us.

But I didn't expect tobe stopped at the first checkpoint and told that I couldn't drive!There I am 70km from home, bubbling with excitement about myroad-trip, handing over my work permit and my UK license and smilinglike there's really nothing whatsoever that could possibly go wrong,and... the policeman tells me it is illegal for me to drive inBhutan. I've been assured it is perfectly fine, but when a policemansays 'No', and you say 'Yes', and neither of you can speak much ofthe other's language, where can the argument go? Downhill. For me.

My good friend MrThukten was in the passenger seat and the Vice Principal was inconvoy, so I had help, but I got on the blower to one of theBhutan-Canada People anyway, the guy who's in the know... the fixer.He spoke to the policeman on my behalf and then assured me everythingwould be okay. With a sigh of relief I put the phone down and triedto extricate Mr Thukten from the radio room where bosses were beinghailed. But the policeman called me back and again told me I couldn'tdrive. I rang the fixer again. He spoke to the policeman again.Misunderstanding! Everything is now sorted. No problem. Phew. Exceptthe policeman tells me that I still can't drive and must findsomebody else to do it for me. By now I am feeling confused and alittle helpless. Mr Thukten is philosophical. The Vice Principal isdoing everything he can, but it's not looking good.

It becomes clear that Ijust have to get through this checkpoint to the capital, then I candrive, because it's Losar (New Year) and nothing administrative willhappen for days, but my Bhutan license is 'in process'. The policeman has no desire to be bawled out by his boss in the holidayseason. If he lets me through another official grabs me on the roadand makes an unreasonable fuss, he'll get the old Ferguson hair-dryertreatment.

I am mastering the artof patience and understanding. Last week I spent 6 hours waiting atthe Dzong for my Principal to organise a transfer of a teacher to ourschool where her husband teaches. I was freezing. I was hungry. Imastered the art of waiting. Deep breath then and set to it.

We have to findsomebody to drive the car the 80km to Thimphu. Mr Thukten has nolicense. The Vice Principal has his own car to drive. So... completestrangers. We start asking and after drawing a few blanks we find anamiable fellow who courteously agrees to drive said vehicle to saidcapital. For 500 Ngultrum! I accept. I don't even negotiate. I justwant to get out of there now and reignite the joy of road-tripping.Can't they understand I'm just trying to live dream? I reason that ifI ply the amiable chap with enough banter he'll find it impossible totake money from me. The universal currency of good company, gratitudeand banter will see me though. And good music of course. It works. Hedrives me to Thimphu. He was going there anyway, so he hasn't reallygone out of his way, but I resolve to balance karma by openingmy doors to all hitch-hikers henceforth.

The swirlingmachinations of fate cut my first day of driving in Bhutan in half,but I still had 450km to cover. Next day... Dochu La, then unknownterritory, new lands to discover... the Punakha Valley, Wangdi, PeleLa, the Black Neck Cranes and my final destination... Rukubji...

Badly-Formed Haiku... A Blog for the Short Attention Spanners

2012-02-25T07:23:00.000+06:00

For all those folks whose minds have been eroded by facebook and text-speak, here's some simple blogging in the style of poorly-formed-haiku... (incorrect syllable countage/no references to nature)...

Putting on my gho

tightly pulling belt until I suffer

holding seams with pinches

Singing with my work-mates

Laughing like a goon

we scream when we find the chorus.

Dripping tap. Grrr... (This is my favourite)

Speaking very slowly

caaaannnn yyyoooouuuuuuunnndeerstaaand meeeeee

time itself goes slow

Pictures on my wall

finally

I love to see colours

And in the absence of any references to nature, here is a cow!

Ps - I survived the 600km roadtrip. Details to come...

Clearly Bonkers on the Roads of Bhutan

2012-02-22T11:05:00.002+06:00

People sometimes tell me I'm bonkers. In recent years I've noticed ithappening with greater and greater frequency. Maybe I am. Bonkers.The average Joe usually deploys the word 'crazy', a far inferiorsynonym to my favourite word. I think my actions are perfectlyreasonable at almost every turn. Almost. And I can explain why.Almost.

In Bhutan I get calledbonkers for the most unbonkers of things, like walking down to theriver. Completely bonkers! Why would anyone do that? All that lushvegetation and the river rushing underneath the 25ft high metalfoot-bridge, the thigh-pump of a 900m ascent and the fast-flowbounding from rock to rock on the way down. Stay at home and watchtelly, that's the reasonable thing to do. Or climbing up the highestmountain I can see from the school, the only one that tops out intorock with patches of snow? Clearly bonkers. Imagine the view? Who'dwant that? Although there may be bears, which changes everything. Ihave no mace.

So imagine the reactionwhen I started asking around for a car to rent for a 600km round tripjourney on the notoriously dangerous Bhutanese roads to say hello tosome of the other teachers. You can guess what they said: bonkers.But after the fourth or fifth time of asking they could tell I wasserious. They may have picked up on the fact that until I get my 'seeBhutan from behind the wheel, free and carefree' bug out of mysystem, I may be no good to anyone.

Let me put this incontext. I'm in the Himalayas. But I can't see them! The foothillsare rippled so tightly and so steeply that the big 8000m monsters ofrock and snow are hidden from me. But I must see them!

My approach to thisyear can be summarised by a word: service; giving as a default andtaking without asking for anything in particular. It's a wonderfullyliberating feeling to not be thinking about the self all the time.There's no career ladder here for me. There's no race to be ratty at.There's just service – doing the best I can. I'll no doubt takeaway more than I expect in ways I haven't fully realised, but for ayear (minimum - contractually - maximum 5), I give myself to theBhutanese and do what I can to enrich the education of children whohail from materially poor backgrounds and have very limited access tostimuli beyond their villages and the recent encroachment of bad tv.Service... but...

... the Himalaya! I'mso close! The only condition I really had on this adventure was to beimmersed in the mythical natural beauty of Bhutan. I pictured a logcabin in an alpine meadow with white-toothed peaks guarding my sleep.A stroll over rushing white water and through rice paddies to get towork. I didn't get this. When I knew I was getting this, I voiced myconcern. My concerns were assuaged, perhaps rightly. So I am downsouth. The Indian adventure wouldn't have happened were it not so. Iwouldn't have met Mr Sanjay, Mr Gembo, Mr Tucker, Mr Rinchen, Mr BalBadr, Mr Amber and all the rest of my colleagues. I've been welcomedinto my school as a brother to a family by a Principal who is alwayskeen to stress that a school is a family. Teachers are more thanparents; the school is more than a home. It's all great... but... the… mountains... Must... see... the...

So I rented the car. Ibraved the precipitous drops and the crazy trucks that don't seem toacknowledge the existence of cars. At the first checkpoint the policetold me my UK driving credentials didn't amount to diddly-squat. Ihad to pay a stranger to drive my car the last 80km. 500Rp. Luckily,when he got out at the other end he refused to take my money. I musthave changed his mind with banter. Tonight I sleep in the capital.Everybody I know here isn't here, except the inimitable Mr Tucker(real name: Thukten, but it's ok, he calls me Mr Greener). Tomorrow Idrive solo for the first time and I go by Dochu La, from where thepeaks can be seen. Then Punakha. Then Rukubji. Solo.

Herein lies the rub.When people tell me I'm bonkers, it seems to me like I'm just doingsomething fun. Exciting. I don't get it. Perhaps there's some risk,but what things are fun that lack some risk of some variety? Peopledrive here all the time. I can drive... So.... I can drive here, eh?

I've had a couple ofbeers now and I'm hungry so there's nothing wrong with saying thingslike... you've got to make it an adventure when you can! If life reads like an exciting story you'd like to be in, you must be doing ok. There's only one lifeafter all. Make it a page turner. When you can (in episodes - not always easy to maintain).

Last night Thimphudidn't let me be alone. I ended up in the company of UNICEF staff andtheir families at their Losar Party (New Year) dancing all night. Weate heartily, drank well and danced for hours. I even startled theassembled dancers with a few carefully purloined Bhutanese moves.Bollywood, however, is beyond the limitations of my dancing ken.Lesson learned.

A Brief Encounter With Broadband delivers... a Video!!!

2012-02-18T22:34:00.000+06:00

Singers on the way to The Tiger's Nest... a short video delivered by the grace of a dodgy but functional 5 minutes of broadband...

Storms in the Land of the Thunder Dragon

2012-02-17T19:31:00.000+06:00

The first storm! It's amazing. I love it. I love rain. I loveweather. I love it when all the dust gets slapped back down into theearth and told in no uncertain terms that nostrils are not goodplaces to be. Especially mine. It gives me time alone that I cherishtoo. There is much to do. Term has started and the students have beenhere a few days. My literary club has attracted 42 students. In theservice of banter I asked for 2 and compromised my way up to 5. Thatwas a joke, but 42 is going to be interesting to manage. How manystudents does it take to change a lightbulb? Or organise a shortstory competition? Lightening! Boom!!! Right outside my window. It'sgetting exciting.

As Head of Science Idecided I needed to pay a visit to a nearby school to tap up thescience teachers for schemes of work and yearly action plans. Achance encounter with a physicist when I was opening a bank accountwith my principle facilitated this audacious move. And it meant I gotto borrow the warden's car! Genius. The freedom of the roads(including the 11km suspension smasher) was mine. I want a car. Mymate Greg included it in his list of 3 freedoms he had to arrange onreturn to UK – phone, broadband, car. Ford was on to something, andloathe them as we might, they don't half set you free, especially ina place like this. So off I went on my first solo adventure of anysignificance (walk to river aside).

They use a 'spiralcurriculum' over here. The material builds over the years withfrequent revisits along the way. It's good, but it means that if youhaven't taught before, it's impossible to figure out what depth youteach the material to in the examination year without going throughall the previous years' textbooks. And if you taught everything inthe textbook or on the syllabus for this year, you wouldn't finish.You wouldn't come close. The Bhutanese curriculum is much harder thanthe UK curriculum year-on-year. GCSE equivalent here includes a lotof A-Level stuff and there's generally more material to cover. Theytouch on relativistic effects on mass in GCSE! And there's morepractical science relevant to this society too – machines andmechanical advantages etc.

Rain is screaming downnow, battering my roof. Lightening frequent. Checked for leaks. Ihave some. Right through the front door is a good one! My two riversmight meet and make a lake. Luckily the towel I bought here has noabsorbent qualities whatsoever so I can use it to block up the door.

The start of the yearis very different here. Most of the work we would have completedbefore students arrive is done when they arrive. So work is beingdone in the staffroom and the children are pootling about the placetidying rooms and generally entertaining themselves. This soundsoutrageous, but it doesn't lead to the mischief and mass revolutionthat it would lead to back home. I get a courteous bow whenever Iwalk by. Sometimes the girls shuffle away from me nervously. Everychild stands up if they were previously seated. In the first assemblythe school stood for an hour. On their feet! Without calling theirhuman rights lawyers. Or whining. I did a little, on the inside.

Back home education istaken for granted, especially by a large percentage of students whosee it more as a sentence than an opportunity. Perhaps that's anunfair statement given the current state of the economy and thedegradation of higher education in the misguided pursuit of'University for All'. Education is very much a privilege here.Student's were turned away. The government aims for total inclusion,but it's difficult. The student's here all come from the villages Idescribed, and this place must be surreal in the first instance. Whatit offers is nothing short of miraculous. The first tranche ofpoliticians all seemed to benefit from exchange programs, gainingtheir education in places like Oxford, Harvard and the Canadianuniversities. The selection process was rigorous and ruthless. Makethe cut and you're destined for wealth and greatness, miss it and.. Idon't know. Nothing changes. But they come back. Economists who couldbe running banks run Ministries or join the Civil Service. Theyappreciate their gain and respect their roots. I suppose not all ofthem do, but it's more common than you'd think.

The cut isn't quite sobrutal nowadays, but at the end of the year, those that achieve highenough marks will get college places sponsored by the government.Those that don't might pay for themselves. The rest will 'loiter'.It's a word I've heard several times. It suggest being left behind,but with an implication of fault. 'To leave oneself behind'. Butthey'll still be ahead because they've had something that theirparent's perhaps only dreamt of – an opportunity to develop theirminds and become critical in their thinking, to become independentand empowered, which is after all the fundamental aim of education.

The electricity wentout ten minutes ago and now my head torch is lighting the way. It'sgetting cold. The rain is easing off but the sky is all crackles andbooms. The Land of the Thunder Dragon is in full roar.

Almost Blubbed in Front of the Students...

2012-02-13T14:50:00.003+06:00

I kid you not. I was told that this would hit deep when it happened and it seriously did. I get goose-bumbles thinking about it. First assembly. Just the Year 10s, and only half of them at that. In the hall. Two minutes of quiet meditation, and then the chanting began. It's deep and high and powerful and moving and the whole room reverberated with it. Us teachers were all up on the stage. I went wobbly. Had to steel myself. Can't pin down why it affected me so, but it did. Strange to see such reverence in teenagers! Looking forward to the mornings now...

The Real Bhutan ???

2012-02-13T14:37:00.000+06:00

Two weeks in Thimphu and a few days in a school that was only builtlast year can colour your impressions in all sorts of misleadingways. Yesterday I went for a walk. I'd already gone down to the river(think going down Sca Fell and back up – it's not a casualventure). I'd passed through some 'villages', each composed of 2 or 3houses, but my stomping brain must have been turned on because Ididn't really register what I was passing through. I gave outKuzuzamgpo-las and big smiles to everyone I passed. They eitherreturned in kind or stared at me like I was an alien. I was huntingfor nature and solitude, and it felt like the world was at a littledistance, ever so slightly removed from me.

So yesterday Mr Tuktenand I went wandering and in no time at all we found ourselves in oneof these villages. We met some folk there and Mr Tukten engaged inthe kind of passing-the-day banter that I would love to be able toindulge in. Dzongkha lessons absolutely necessary now. Turns out theyoung lad was one of my students-to-be, the Year 10 School Captain noless. He invited us for tea. We accepted and went into his house.

In the first room, thefire was blazing and the air was smoky. This was the room where itall happened. I was unable to discern the function of the next room Ipassed through, but the final room was the 'good room', replete withshrine, a soft cushion, cuts of meat drying on the rafters and whatappeared to be a very ill 83 year old man wrapped up in the corner.Turns out he'd fallen foul of Sunday afternoon drinking. Mr Tuktenand I sat down. In no time at all, a cup of Suja appeared in front ofme along with fried rice snacks, maize and biscuits. I struggle withSuja. It's tea, of a sort, made with butter and healthy dose of salt.It's basically butter and hot water and the thought of it now makesmy mouth go oily! I drank it happily.

The family stayed inthe kitchen while Yenten, the boy, brought us these things. Bhutanesehospitality is the stuff of legend. Arra came next. I was warnedabout Arra, the local Saki-esque liquor. They told me it would keepappearing in my cup. Yenten brought out a a big bowl of it, and whenMr Tukten told him he didn't eat egg, another smaller bowl appearedwithout egg. So I had a bowl designed for two. I love it when it'shot, but I'm not too keen on it cold. So I got stuck in. We stayedfor a while, chatting and enjoying ourselves and then took our leavewith great difficulty – they wanted to feed us dinner and had beensneakily preparing it despite Mr Tukten's adamance that we would notbe dining. I left a present of a bag of cashew nuts and off we went.

We got about 300 yardsbefore another family invited us in. More Arra. I hadn't had lunchand was starting to get a bit tipsy and sicky, but I was reallyenjoying myself. It felt like I was in Bhutan! So we stayed for awhile again. The gentleman was a primary school teacher and we hadplenty to talk about. When I went to the toilet he made apologies forit's condition. He also told me the home was temporary, clearlyconcerned unnecessarily about my impression of how they lived. Weleft again, and in the absence of cashew nuts, I promised to return.

We got about 200 yardsbefore another family invited us in. And gave us Arra. By this stageI'd loosened up plenty and was really enjoying myself. The firstthing that struck me was how cute the kids were, a lad in a baseball cap who just stared at me the whole time and a girl of about 7 years who was a bit more playful. I tried to get her to sing into a video and made a fool out of myself leading by example. Their grandmawas a very striking looking and warm woman, all smiley and giggly and very friendly. I felt completelyrelaxed in this home and we managed a basic level of banter with helpfrom Mr Tukten.

Life here in the realworld is different to the cloistered concrete school or the city ofThimphu. It's dirty. It's hard work. It's cold. It's what you expectof an 'under-developed' country; poverty. It isn't like thedestitution of the homeless Indians because they have houses, theyown land and they eat. But they have to work for it. You can read thedifficulty of a person's life in their hands and feet, and all thehands I saw were swollen with work, all the feet tough and leathery;a far cry from the condition of my privileged digits. There's veryfew possessions here at all. A peacock feather was worthy of note.But what stuck out was the dirt. It's a part of life here in thevillages and even those who have the facilities to clean kitchens ortoilets tend not to do so with any rigor. Perhaps through habit. Whata strange picture I must have made on my hands and knees scrubbingthe walls of my toilet with tea tree! The immune systems of theBhutanese are probably far greater than those in the over-sanitisedwest.

The meat on the rafterswas another surprise for me. I presumed that hanging up raw meatwould stink, lead to illness and bring in the flies. But it justdries up there, protected by 'oils', I was told. This is worthy ofone of those 'imagine that' moments. Try to imagine sitting in yourliving room entertaining guests with pieces of raw and old meathanging like socks from a clothes line above you, spanning the lengthof the room.

By the time I got homeI was a bit wobbly; my first Arra came at about 2pm and now it wasevening. Mr Tukten and Mr Rinchen came back to mine for a night capand a chat, but I was in bed fairly promptly. I reflected that inmany ways I would prefer to be down there in the villages instead ofup here in the school. Some of the other teachers live down there andit could be an option. To what degree would I miss my hot shower? I'mhaving an easy ride in some respects, and I'm not sure it's what Iwant.

The children arrivetomorrow.

This Is Where I Live...

2012-02-12T00:35:00.001+06:00

This is where I live now...

Pakshikha MSS
Gedu
Chukha
Bhutan

Send me a missive like they did in the old days! I will be most splendidly grateful.

Two Trips to India in a Day

2012-02-10T14:09:00.000+06:00

Off we went at 8am downthe 11km car-battering feeder road that connects the school to themain road from India to Thimphu. It's a miracle cars survive morethan a month on these ripped up rough and stony tracks that have beengouged miraculously out of the side of the mountains. Phuensaling isanother 46km away down a remarkably twisty-turny, back and forth,precipitous jungle road. It cries out for a motorbike and a sunnyday. Can I justify buying a bike? The freedom would be immense. Riskfactors would magnify.

Phuensaling isdifferent. It's a border town. It's got the edgy feel that bordertowns have and a fence that cuts right through the middle of townlike The Wall in old Berlin. One side is India, the other Bhutan. Ican't go into India because of the visa situation, but it seems thatat this particular delineation of states, restrictions are...flexible. My principal assured me that curtains are cheaper in India,so to India we went with the assurance that we could always 'talk' ifthere was a problem. So I went to India. Twice. In one day. Bizarre.And for curtains, of all things. In the gatehouses, the military wereidling and asked no questions of the parade of faces that passed bythem. Not even mine, and I guarantee it, mine stood out. No touristwould come here unless he was overlanding to the heart of Bhutan, inwhich case they'd be going full pelt because it takes so long to getanywhere here. They don't measure miles; they measure days.

The differences betweenIndia and Bhutan were huge and immediately in your face. The cows inIndia, for one, plodding sacredly around the markets. Theshop-keepers. The variety of goods. The beggars. The destitute. Thisdifference slapped me sideways, though I should perhaps have expectedit.

Whilst waiting for myprincipal to finish buying shoes, a young woman and three childrenapproached me, all filthy in rags and hungry looking. One of the kidshad sores of an indeterminate nature erupting from his 5 year oldface. I'd already had young children clutching my arm or holding myleg insistently, their faces desperate. And the crutchless guy withthe amputated leg rolling through the sea of feet wit his beggingbowl. I was absorbing India when the family approached me, juststanding there like there's a culture-hose on me and letting it smackme in the face until I got used to the pressure. I try not to givemoney to beggars, but I''d never been faced with such destitution, soI reached into my pocket without thinking twice and pulled out 20Ngultrum. I confess I was pleased it was neither bigger nor smallerthan that sum, but I later found out it was a fortune of charity.Once she had it, the mother took the child with the erupting growthsby the hair and pulled his head back so I could see his torn up facemore clearly and told me there was no doctor for the child. 'Nodoctor.' The child's face was pressed towards me, not violently, but necessarily. I was the big target. The walking ATM, and I'd alreadyspilt some cash.

I thought many thingsduring the ten minutes or so that I stood there waiting for myprinciple to finish buying shoes, with this desperate family indetermined attendance throughout. I thought about how little would berequired to lift them for even a short amount of time out of theirstruggle. Hunger is brutal and unforgiving. I thought about howlittle even a thousand Ngultrum would really do to change theircircumstances. Any charity would be alleviative at best, palliativeat worst. I thought about how many of these broken people there werein India and how quickly my pockets would be drained if I startedopening them with serious intent.

When I wassurface-grappling with the inevitable questions that India's brutalsociety raises, I remembered the story of Gautama and it made sensethat his enlightenment had its origins in India. When Siddhartha lefthis palace to find the real world, he found these people and worse,the destitute, the cripples, the hungry, the filthy, desperate anddying. He realised that their unabated struggle and pain was notexceptional to the human condition; it was vivid form of what is afundamental and universal aspect of the human condition –suffering. This realisation prompted him to give up all the trappingsof comfort and security (tools for temporary respite of suffering) tofind a way to live with acceptance of the truth of suffering that wasat the same time neither unbearable nor depressing. Quite achallenge.

In a knee-jerk reactionthat had its root in undefined guilt, I too felt the urge to throwopen my bag and let go my stupid possessions. All the junk I owned:the laptop speakers; the ice gauntlet snow gloves; the smart shoes;the climbing knife; the headtorch; the kindle; the mp3 player; thehardrive; the 'stuff'. What value did any of them have in the face ofthis suffering? Then I felt the anger. How dare you stand there andmake me accountable for the poverty that exists in the world? Who areyou to take the 20 Ngultrums I gave and consider it not an act ofcharity but a free pass to press down harder and more unfairly on myfeelings. How dare you? And then... of course! I am the rich one,standing here in my soft-shell trousers with my western complexionand a bag full of stuff. What do I expect?

Looking away from thefamily and back into India I thought: 'how dare the crowd flow bythese people like they're mere rocks in a river, slowly eroding themwith their indifference'. What is it in the Indian culture that makesthis scene possible? The caste system makes untouchables out ofpeople that are born innocent. Is it an extreme interpretation ofkarmic reincarnation that allows for such indifference to suffering?The dogs in Thailand are treated badly because they are considered tobe reincarnate ill-doers (the same belief is held in Bhutan but itobliges them to be compassionate – the dogs here have a dignitythat they would never have in Thailand, even though the Butanesewould rather live without them).

The final thought Ihad – this doesn't happen on the other side of the fence. Thefamily wouldn't be allowed to suffer in this condition in Bhutan. Thegovernment wouldn't allow it. The people wouldn't allow it.

My trip to India shookme up and set me thinking in unanswered questions:

At what point doesindifference become cruelty by consent? How is the systematic abuseof the poor different to other crimes against humanity? How cansuffering to this degree be so institutionalised that it is no longervisible when it's right in front of your face?

Poverty of this kindand in this environment is dehumanising for both the poor and for theindifferent witness of their poverty, but I fear this statement maybe a peculiarity of my middle-class western up-bringing that onlypermits a narrow and cloistered appreciation of the prevalence ofpoverty and of what it is to be human in this world.

The very last thought:the children at my school should see this place. Everybody should.Televised or reported poverty only exists in the mind – it isn'tfelt. Everyone should hold that desperate woman's eyes as sheclutches at an arm and tells you that her disfigured and hungry childhas no doctor. Why? Because when I put my head down on my fluffy downpillow it is still a truth of the world that she is there even if Ican't see her, and if I can do nothing to alleviate her suffering orchange the nature of life on this Earth, I can at least havegratitude for the pillow beneath my head. If everyone was trulygrateful for something as simple as a pillow, a principle cause ofinequality might disappear.

Pakshikha... My Room, My Castle...

2012-02-09T11:24:00.001+06:00

Well, I'm here. In apower cut. In a thunder storm. In Pakshikha. It's cold because myheater is electric, but that's ok. I've got a boiler in my bathroomthat provides me with hot showers. This really is ok. There's 2 fansin the ceiling. This is amazing. I can't seem to stop a little ofriver of water that extends about 6 feet into my room from thebathroom area. I thought I'd resolved the issue but I haven't. Itdoesn't particularly bother me. There's easily another 15feet beyondthe encroachment; plenty of room for little old me. It kinda feelslike the anti-chamber that goes between a changing room and aswimming pool, but that's ok. It's big, perhaps too big given thescanty possessions I have to fill it.

Last night I opened allthe windows and doors and scrubbed surfaces as I always do when Imove in to a new place. Then I laid out all my bits and bobs in theirprovisional homes and surveyed my new castle. No turrets, but it willdo. No, wait... it needs curtains. Soon there'll be kids runningaround everywhere, peering through the windows at thisstrange-looking fellow who teaches physics. So, I guess I need to goto India. Twice. In one day. Weird, unexpected, but true, and all dueto my new principle.

Whenever I was askedwhat school I was going to by officials back in Thimphu and I toldthem Pakshikha, they inevitably replied by saying 'oh yes, you have avery good principle.' Turns out they were right. He's younger than Iam by a few years but he recently won an award for basically beingthe best principle in Bhutan. Last night he invited me for dinner andI met his family over an urn of the local hooch – it's aboozy-eggy-oaty drink that is surprisingly delicious (andnutritious). I mean it too – eggy-oaty, as in, it has eggs and oatsfloating in it. And it's delicious if you drink/eat it hot. Sodrink/eat it fast! And be careful of bits of egg hanging from yourlip.

On the topic of food,so far I haven't fallen foul of any nasty chilli experiences. I'vebeen in the presence of such incidences, where other teachers havesweated and cursed and fled the scene, but for some reason, my mouthand guts have tolerated everything. To the extent that I am nowtreating the humble chilli as a vegetable and not a spice. Thissurprises me, but I do not question it. I am grateful for smallblessings.

I fear I havedigressed. Two trips to India in one day will have to be the title ofmy next post. And I haven't even mentioned what you see through mywindow. The school is 1500m up, perched on the edge of a junglymountain. The valley goes all the way down and all the way back up. I can see for miles and milesand miles... As Hazel said when he found his Watership Down... 'Youcan see the whole world from up here'...

Now It Really Begins...

2012-02-07T09:24:00.000+06:00

Departure is immanent.It's my last night in Thimphu. My friend's are either in their newhouses or still bumping along dusty roads. I've done all my shopping.I've got my tea set. I've got a metal chest to lock things up in.I've got rice, lentils, pickles, chutneys, oats, ziploc bags,buckets, a hand-held immersion heater, sunblock, mozzie repellent, aworld map, a little wooden Buddha and all kinds of other things. It'sodd buying items-for-year. I wonder how much I'll take back with me?At least one gho – what a fine figure of a gentleman I'll cut as Istroll down Stoke's Croft all dapper in my Jedi gown. And the teapotand the little wooden Buddha.

I hear it's snowing inOld Blighty. That means snow-days and the euphoria of bonus days offwork will be bringing smiles and sledges to one and all. TomorrowI'll be in my new home in Pakshikha. It seems like a long time sinceI made this decision, and even longer since I decided that one day,somehow, I'd come to Bhutan. How does it tally with expectation thusfar? Hard to say. Like any capital city, regardless of its size,Thimphu is not representative of its country. Dublin is not Ireland,London is not England. Thimphu isn't Bhutan, perhaps to a greaterextent than either of the other two. Tomorrow I'll be in the Chukhaprovince, in the Gewog Bongo, close to Gedu, in a village calledPakshikha. What do I know about this place?

If you look at atrekking map of Bhutan, the first thing you'll notice is that therearen''t any organised treks anywhere near here. This means twothings. Firstly, there'll be no tourists like you'd get in Bumthangor Gasa - tourism doesn''t exist in any kind of disorganised wayhere, so no organised treks means no tourists. The celebratory impactof my peculiar complexion and flamey beard will no doubt beheightened. Secondly, there won't be any imposing white-topped toothyHimalayan peaks. I guess life isn't all just mountains, and I'llcertainly get to see them before I go, but when I glimpsed thempiercing the sky from the look-out at Dochu La, I felt drawn in theirdirection, dragged by compulsion to the railing until I was slightlyleaning to get just a few inches closer.

What else? I'm up on ahill. I can see for 30km on a clear day. It's foggy sometimes. In themonsoon my clothes might succumb to the damp and develop black spots.I've got my own bathroom. I don't have my own classroom... over hereit's the teachers that move around. No more will my classroom be mycastle. And I've got a big responsibility; I'm the only physicsteacher so the examination classes will all be under my wing. Andprobably the chemistry ones too. No familiar faces for miles or daysaround. There is however a technical college 12 Km away in Gedo withsome Americans and a Canadian. I'll have to make contact. Familiarisemyself with their faces!

Goodbye to My Friends for a While...

2012-02-04T17:38:00.000+06:00

So, today was a big day. Last night there was frantic packing of bags and boxes. This morning a bus, a Hi-Lux and a Bolero were crammed beyond the bounds of feasibility with enough fridges, gas cylinders, stoves, pots, pans, bags of rice, mattresses, pillows, water filters, buckets, bins and all the other accoutrements of everyday Bhutan living for 11 people. It was impressive to behold. But none of it was mine, and there was no packing for me to do because I was being left behind. It was my job to drink steadily throughout the evening whilst providing support and general banter to the frantic travellers. I leave on Tuesday, and with no schedule until then, I have the freedom of the city for a few days (and lots of shopping to do).

Meanwhile the other teachers have embarked upon the 5 day epic trip across the precarious roads of Bhutan. Along the way their number will dwindle. Eventually they'll all be installed in their schools and the group will be fully scattered across this land. The tightness of the group and the strength we've drawn from each other will serve us well as we face the challenge of teaching and living in our respective middles of nowhere.

Although the epic drive was not part of my plan, I was able to join the crew as far as Dochu La where I had my first glimpse of the Himalayan skyline that forms the natural border with Tibet. Once again we were spoiled by having the architect of the Chortens and the Temple-Museum in our party, so we had a guided tour and a detailed walk-through-talk-through of the intricately painted history of the 100 years of Bhutanese Monarchy. Afterwards we had tea and then the moment came to say our goodbyes. There's some brilliant people in this group, and some of the funniest people I've met.

Circumstances like these have a habit of bringing people close to each other at unexpected velocities. You smash through each other's atmospheres and reach depths that would never normally be reached in a mere two weeks of company. There's people here I'll miss, but there's plenty of people that I can and will call over the next year for a shoulder or a giggle. And I'll see them all again, hopefully beyond this year and beyond these borders.

So! Good luck to you all. You're all amazing and you're all going to be amazing. Ring me if you need some gibberish or a bit of a whine. I'll see you on a precipitous road somewhere soon...

Tiger's Nest

2012-02-01T13:06:00.005+06:00

This is where the Guru Rinpoche landed on his flying Tigress, heralding a new age of Buddhism in Bhutan that has sustained throughout the ages and is now the only remaining sanctuary of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition. Legend has it when Guru Rinpoche heard the thunder booming through the high winds of the lofty Himalaya, he named this place Druk Yul – Land of the Thunder Dragon. The dzongh (temple-fortress) is almost 3000m up, around 900m from the valley floor. Up there the air is cold and dry. It's one thing I've noticed about this place. Dry air, fresh and cold. The lining of my nose has fallen to pieces. Something like this was bound to happen.

To get to the Tiger's Nest, you first walk through lush mixed woods. Pine suffuses the air. Fluffy green mosses hang from the branches and flutter in the breeze. Prayer flags are scattered amongst the trees, anywhere where wind can take the mantras and send them skyward. Every now and then a stack of prayer wheels invited your hand to brush against them. Fill the karma banks. Towards the end you walk out of the forest and into a cleft in the mountain, skirting a waterfall that terminates in a pile of snow that encroaches on the bridge. Every now and then the water carries snow with it and it crashes down around the path. It's really cold in this place where the sun does not reach and we all chill quickly before the threshold. At the entrance we are frisked for phones and cameras. Then you're in.

The rooms are all shrines to various enlightened ones. Pilgrims prostrate themselves before golden Buddhas, make offerings and take the waters. It makes perfect sense for me to do the same, and I do so. I have no idea who these deified people are, but it is sufficient for me to give thanks for the example set by the first Buddha. He taught that the ritualistic trappings of Buddhism must necessarily be discarded for enlightenment to be attained. The rituals in themselves are not the path, but they serve to remind those who stray easily from it and would like to keep close; signposts for the way, sticks to help them along. He also told us not to trust the words he left us, but to question them. Critical thinking, precisely what the purpose of education is. He also told us to think of death each day instead of fearing it.

Walking up the path to the Tiger's Nest, mindful of my steps and my breathing, I am reminded of all the places I've walked and I am grateful for the inclination to be a mountaineer and a hiker. My mind drifts back to dawn and dusk on the Cuillen Ridge on Skye, to the endless yellow arrows of the Camino de Santiago, to the glorious winter-summers of the high Alps, icy Scottish ice-climbs, the wild lands of Knoydart, multi-pitch Dolomite spikes and all the leafy dales and lanes of rural England - anywhere this quiet mind of steps has trodden. The world is full of glorious paths and life is mere steps to be taken one after the other, breath by mindful breath.

Thimphu / ཐིམ་ཕུ

2012-01-30T09:23:00.006+06:00

Thimphu - the capital 'city' of Bhutan. In the mid-eighties there were 15 000 people living here, now there are 100 000. It's starting to feel the pressures of urbanisation already, with some 'incidents' involving youth and knives. And with the relatively recent opening up of the country to television and internet without any censorship whatsoever,the pressures of consumerism are inevitably starting to be felt, especially by the teenagers.

There is no doubt whatsoever that the kind of rubbish we in the west promulgate on the airways has a deleterious effect on well-being in general, inculcating aspirations in the young and susceptible minded that areunrealistic and unattainable for the majority of viewers. It begins with valuing a pair of trainers over vital things like healthyfood or enriching things like new experiences. Consumer goods are designed with obsolescence in mind – the steady increase in thenumber of blades on a razor, Windows 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, fashion full-stop! The endless cycle of desire, disappointment and reneweddesire is inevitable. It smacks of a hypertrophic and out of control Samsara. At least being cool is gradually starting to be seen forwhat it really is nowadays - a sure sign of an absence of character. Big up the geeks, the nerds and the independent thinkers of the world.

I had a fascinating conversation with a government official today. I asked him if he was worried about the impact of these external forces, having noticed several articles in the Bhutanese newspapers that expressed concern. He was both sanguine and realistic about what was happening in the capital. Yes, there have been incidents, and yes the impact of television isbeing felt but it's foolish to stand in a river and hope to hold back the water. He was confident that the way the Buddhist values saturate the culture of Bhutan will lend the youth a greater resilience than your average floundering teenager has. Aside from spiritual ideals, they have amazing role models to aspire to as well, the Minister of Education being but one example of enlightened leadership.

The Moment You've All Been Waiting For... The Gho!

2012-01-27T16:18:00.000+06:00

Here it is, the Gho, national dress of Bhutan, the picture you've all bee waiting to see. Yes, I will be teaching in my gho. I'm starting to settle in now and have had some time to wander the streets and get used to the place. Adorned in my flashy but sophisticated grey-blue gho I cut a fine finger as I take a turn around the city.

'My my, how handsome you look!' I know, I know.

'I thought you Bhutanese, Sir! I know, I know.

It's really quite uncanny. But seriously, I have to point out some of the defining characteristics of the gho, good and bad...

1) Getting it on...

It's a war against all things simple trying to get the accursed blighter on you a half-way decent fashion. I thought I'd done well putting it on all by myself, but then Nancy, the straight-talking leader of teachers made it quite clear to me that there was room for improvement when she said 'Oh my, you boys need some practice. Well, just don''t go outside.' Right then. Practice. Or, get the kindly hotel staff to give you some instruction.

2) The Pocket

It's the most ingeniously designed pocket that has ever existed. You're basically a marsupial with this thing on you. The pouch at the front can easily accommodate a small car without becoming unseemly, so... a wallet, camera, sunglasses, stamps, socks, couple of books, phone, spare wallet, spare phone, stray lame dog in need of temporary care, water bottle, old friend, kettle, copy of The Beano, some Lucozade tablets and a packet of biscuits is really not a problem at all. You could probably even squeeze a can of Heineken in too. Or a chicken.

For valuables or items of an unsavoury nature, there's also the option of stashing around the back. You simply place the item in the pocket and keep pushing. Before you know it the contraband that you want to smuggle through the streets is sitting pretty above your bottom where nobody in their right mind would rummage. Genius pocketage all round. And you can rest your right arm in there too.

3) Jedi Hands

You can put your right hand in the left sleeve and vice versa like a Jedi. Enough said.

Ghos for everyone please.

Video Links

2012-01-27T07:20:00.000+06:00

I've put links to the Sir Ken Robinson videos up on the top right of the page. I've also put this video about Gross National Happiness up there as well as in the links:

And a postscript to the previous post...

Dasho Lenypo recently was a warded the Asian equivalent of the Nobel Peace Prize (the Gisa Prize) for services to education.

First Views of Bhutan - Himalayan border with Tibet in distance

2012-01-26T23:51:00.000+06:00

It''s a big un...

2012-01-25T21:52:00.000+06:00

I've had a remarkable morning. Before leaving for Bhutan I tried to maintain a degree of realism to offset the hopes I had for what I would discover here. I will explain the phenomena of Gross National Happiness in the next blog and keep my promise to write about Bhutan, but this morning has to be written about now. Immediately.

The group has just had an audience with the Minister for Education, Lyonpo Thakur S Powdyel. We were greeted very kindly and he took a little time to talk with us about our placements. He proceeded to outline the Bhutanese vision for education. He seemed a little hesitant at first and I was wondering if he was really in the room with us or elsewhere. Then he became animated and embarked upon the most compelling half hour discourse I have ever had the privilege to hear. For those you who have listened and been inspired by Sir Ken Robinson's clarion call for a sea-change in the way we educate children in the west, imagine yourself in the room with me and try to imagine how this man made me feel.

He spoke about how education should be about opening minds and creating better thinking and feeling humans, that education is about enlightenment and not about outfitting students as viable units for an economy. Education is not primarily about jobs, it is primarily about empowering people to live lives of value, to think in enriched and rewarding ways, to outfit the custodians of Bhutan's future with the respect, integrity and honour that will ensure they appreciate what is good in life – the natural environment, relationships with other people, intellectual depth and greater feeling. When he mentioned the development of an aesthetic sensibility he spoke about the ability to differentiate between things of beauty and things that merely have the appearance of beauty (the things fill our shopping malls and offer empty promises of happiness).

He asked us all to challenge the teachers and the students that we meet in our placements. Challenge the teachers? To think about why they are teaching their subject. What is the value of physics to a person in this world? How will it make this person a better person, for themselves, for their family, for the country the society they live in? Do not teach a textbook because there is an exam – teach because the more our students learn, the richer their lives become and the better equipped they are to improve the lives of those around them.

His words echoed the sentiments that Sir Ken aspires to but the breadth and reach of the ideas went way beyond anything I've heard before, and, quite miraculously for me... they were not merely theoretical in their scope but practical in the context of the experiment in education that is happening in Bhutan.

When the previous king crystallised his ideas about the aspirations of a good government into the statement 'Gross National Happiness is more important than Gross National Product', the world largely ignored it as untenable quirkiness. Bhutan was a small country. They stuck to their principled approach and established the 4 pillars of GNH. In Lyonpo's words, it would have been easy for Bhutan to double or quadruple GNP overnight by exploiting the vast resources of the country, but the short-termism and lack of respect for the environment does not correspond with the principles of GNH. Economic progress must not be attained at the cost of the environment or the well-being of the people. Years later the enlightened governance of this tiny country is making an impact on the world. This July the Bhutanese will be expected to show intellectual leadership in a conference about development in New York attended by leading economists and statesmen. The UN member-states have all signed up to a pledge to develop the Bhutanese ideas of GNH in their policies of governance. The world is listening. Now Bhutan is trying to make a new way of education, a way of education that puts real values at the heart of everything that is done in the classroom, just as GNH put those same values at the heart of governance.

Back home I secretly despaired of the parameters that teachers have to operate within – the 'system' of education. Creativity is silenced. The curriculum is not relevant. Standardised testing promotes lack of self-esteem. The mind is not opened. Square pegs are thrashed into round holes. The desperate need to satisfy the dreaded inspectorate leads to wasted time and meaningless initiatives that are costly to children's development. In Bhutan, 'the inspectorate' recently underwent a name-change because they felt the inspections intimidated the schools when they were supposed to supporting them. They hope to phase out inspections as we know them altogether once the developing schools are up to speed. Let me reiterate – this is an aspiration to have no inspections. Whether it's possible or not, it should be strived for because inspections interfere with the education of the students. Does anyone in Chepstow disagree?

My first inspiration to teach came from reading Herman Hesse's Glass Bead Game as a teenager, the example of Joseph Knecht's pedagogy being one of enrichment, enlightenment, liberalisation and the opening up of the mind to the wonderful world of intellect, feeling and knowledge. This is idealist education, but Lyonpo expressed it to me today as a realist. It is happening in Bhutan, a place where the leaders clearly inspire those who follow.

Tonight I struck up a conversation in a bar with an ex-army man who just got out of prison for 3 years for drugs offences. I thought to myself... uh-oh. But before I could scamper away, he extolled the virtues of his leaders and told me how he admired them for their insight and clarity of thought. They were further along the path to enlightened thinking than he was. Can you imagine anybody talking about a British Parliamentarian in those terms? Especially after they'd just got out of prison.

Lyinpo closed the proceeding by reminding us that teaching is the most important of jobs because its ongoing mission is to improve the world. When you teach, you make the world a better place instantly. He thanked us for having the hearts to teach and he thanked us for choosing Bhutan as a place to do it.

I am thankful that at that moment I was able to raise my hand and thank him in turn for what he had said to us. I later found out that I spoke for everybody in the room when I told him that we appreciated him expressing his gratitude to us for sharing the knowledge we have of our 'advanced systems', but, coming from education regimes like those described so well by Sir Ken, to hear somebody in his position talk in such an enlightened, critical and inspiring way about education was both refreshing and inspiring to us all. In all likeliness it would be us who learnt the most from this exposure to Bhutan's value-driven approach and our schools back home that would benefit the most from us being a part of such enlightened methods of education. And of course, I recommended Sir Ken to him and told him he could find him on YouTube. To my surprise he had never heard of him!

I didn't record the most inspirational talk I've ever had the privilege to hear, so I can't share it and I can't revisit it. I can't recall it all and I certainly can't convey the impact it had on me with these clunky words. I can only recommend Sir Ken to you all as I did to Lyonpo, even if it does seem quite ordinary now by comparison.

My long-held ambition to come to Bhutan became a conviction a year ago and I stuck to my guns and got here. Now I can say with absolute certainty that I have made the right the decision. I have optimism in me. And some hope. Perhaps the happy-vouchers are kicking in? I am in the right place.

Oh, and I bought a guitar. Happy days.

Living the Dream...

2012-01-22T10:17:00.001+06:00

Well, here we are. In cyberspace. Although not quite true. This is Koa Yai Noi, an island between Phuket and Krabi where there's a surprising lack of them pesky tourist-folk, given the location and the generally delightful nature of the place. So this is the end of the 2 weeks of living the dream before I head off to Bhutan to live another one. I've sea kayaked around karst towers, gone night-swimming with phosphorescence, gone flying in the subaquatic and successfully obtained my PADI open water (really enjoyed the multiple choice exam, bit weird), and I've climbed some hot limestone in the inimitable Ton Sai. I've also sat around a lot being lazy. And what trip to Thailand would be incomplete if it didn't include some bombing around the islands on mopeds at outrageous speeds after a few beers at 2 in the morning when there's nothing on the roads? I've definitely done that. It's really hard not to have fun here. Except in the afternoon, when its too painfully hot to do anything sensible with your time. Browsing the air-conditioned aisles of the 7-11 is good. Or getting a massage. Or pretending to be a cat.

This is precisely the sort of place a soon-to-be teacher of science in Bhutan should go to ease the transition from one paradigm to an altogether different one. Buffer Island, it should be called. I will be back after the Bhutanese adventure for another bit of buffering.

Meanwhile, back in Chepstow School, ESTYN are scouring the files and stalking the corridors and halls in their pursuit of judgements. Such a pleasant word to choose for the inspection process – 'judgements'. I generally consider judgemental people to be shallow thinkers not particularly worth listening to. In my room the kids I taught are getting on with their lessons. The teacher who replaced me is standing at the front and writing on my board and it is his room now, just like it was Mr Heap's before me. The good ship 9T has another helmsman to gleefully wind up and be nice to. All things change and it doesn't do any good to go clinging to changing circumstances when life whistles by in so many moments, but I'll miss that place and wish the years back on occasion. And the staff room.

So. To business. To Bhutan. Why? Why not? is a laudible answer, but hardly sufficient for most. Certainly not for my mother, especially when she found out how much I was being paid. Certainly not for a lot of people for whom the abandonment of a decent permanent job with good prospects and a supposedly gilt-edged pension to boot in a time of global economic meltdown is tantamount to lunacy. When people ask you why you are doing something, the natural tendency is to resort to motives and explain them. I'm doing this because I... It's all about the 'I's. In this instance its far more useful to focus on Bhutan. In my next blog I shall endeavour to do that. Perhaps I'll call it... A few good reasons to abandon all of the above to live in Bhutan...

Getting Ready to Go...

2011-11-19T00:09:00.000+06:00

So, it's done. The notice has been handed in. I'm leaving Chepstow. I'm leaving Bristol.

In January I'm going to Bhutan. To teach science.

This is my blog. Welcome...