BHUTAN: A JOURNEY INTO THE HIMALAYAS
POEMS AND REFLECTIONS Jeff Norris
BHUTAN: A JOURNEY INTO THE HIMALAYAS 10/17/19
DEDICATED TO:
Ari and Jamie… one’s crying because I’m leaving; one’s crying because she is not coming.
Josh…for your beautiful heart that touches us all.
Rina…for all of the above; and for giving me the support and freedom to be the best I can be.
A FAR AWAY LAND
We spent 28 hrs chasing the sun. Chicago —>Seoul—>Bangkok— ->Bhutan. Our economy class plane seat-contracted bodies feel like it is 9pm the next day, but as we descend into a verdant valley, striped with rice fields and buttressed by the foothills of the Himalayas, the morning mist is just rising. Jet-lagged but fueled with adrenaline, we begin an adventure in Bhutan.
THE DOGS Nappy-haired mongrels,
They cross the street, knowing cars will stop, to find another spot to lie down and sleep some more.
mangey mutts of all shapes and sizes -none with designer collars or coiffed doossleep on the side-walks, sleep in the alleys, sleep on the stoops. They scratch a flea with a spastic hind-leg and then lie down to sleep some more. They sleep by the dozens on the warm tiles in front of the monastery.
—But it’s day time. For, when night comes, the wolf inside them awakens. By 3 a.m, the high and low pitch barks of a hundred mad dogs creates a cacophony that lasts for hours. They rule the streets like inner-city gangs, and their banter makes it difficult for the jet-lagged travelers five floors above…. to sleep.
THE BUDDHA There is a giant gold one that sits high on a hill, keeping watch on all of Thimpu. There is a buddha with a beard, one with a belly, one for the past, one for the present, one for the future. There are buddhas in the shops for sale, and hundreds line the temple walls. All bow before the buddha as the incense burns. Take a sip of golden holy water, splash it on your head. Knees down, head down, stand with eyes closed and hands in prayer. Drop a bill in the dish and you are blessed with health and happiness.
THE MONK The monk, with shaved head, red robe, and sandal, sits cross-legged in silence. His thoughts in some far-away place I’ll never know.
TIGER’S NEST
High on the mountain against a sheer face of granite, the nest is perched. Defying gravity for over a thousand years, it looks down on the valley far below. When you’re standing in the nest and your lungs fill with mountain air, your mind may fill with thoughts not often had.
KINGA I do not see your face‌ just your painted toe-nails through a hole in the pillow. Warm oil drips from my neck down my spine. The warmth spreads across my back and shoulders like a blanket. And then, like a magic river of powerful endless motion, your hands leave my back feeling smooth as a river stone.
PARO RIVER: CAMP 1 You are there at the beginning—beckoning, tempting, daring us. Your current is swift and constant…with purpose. At times, your rapids jump like emerald flames fueled with anger and vengeance. At times, your mood calms into a wide deep pool. At times, your current hits a massive boulder and loops back in an eddy as if to reconsider your previous adolescent-like anger. We fear and respect your power. We admire your beauty. We walk through pine forests and risk twisted ankles as we climb up scattered piles of rock. We follow your twists an bends…creating a helix as we cross your path again and again, climbing higher towards your unattainable source. You do not fatigue, but the air is cool, the light is fading, and our bodies tire. I lie with eyes open in the dark. Your are there in the background. Like constant static…chanting your monotone mantra… reminding us that you are here forever and we are like the leaves on the trees above your raging current.
CAMP 2 & 3 Base Camp Jomolhari
PERSPECTIVE OF THE DONKEY A group of eight waits patiently as we finish our hot breakfast. They sometimes forget that their ankles are tied together. A short, halted leg movement restores them to an uncomplaining state of patience as they wait for us to finish. Unleashed, they instinctively make their way to the narrow rock-strewn trail. Some don feathery red head pieces, some are draped with a clanging cow bell. They wind their way upwards, carting huge bundles. Their hooves clickety-clack on the stones like taps on the dance floor. They do not stumble or misstep. Their powerful haunches spring them forward as the trail steepens. Their soft accepting eyes seem to express contentment in their lot in life. The trail passes out of the forest and a wide valley opens. Moss-green mountains capped with red rock spires surround the valley like walls of a giant stadium. The donkeys seem not to appreciate the magnificence of the mountains, the beauty of the river, the sense of tangible air and space that can only be appreciated when it is captured between the mountains. They just plod ahead and send a friendly greeting to the grazing yak.
TOUCHING JOLMOHARI Our camp is set in a field. The descending slopes of two small mountains meet to form a saddle. As if intended, this U-shape forms a frame for Jomolhari which explodes above the clouds like a leviathan breaking the surface of the ocean. Its snowy peak and cascading glaciers reflect the sunlight. Its immensity and beauty draw me to it—like a moth to a flame. From our tent, while sipping tea, it looks close enough to touch; so we walk out into the thin brisk mountain air. We walk for hours— over the saddle, along the sloping hillside, past massive grazing yaks, below a herd of mountain goats, high above the meandering river and green mountain lakes. Each step brings us closer, and I can hear the moan and crack of moving ice. I am as close as I need to be. My sole has been touched by the majesty of this mountain.
ALONG THE RIVER Somewhat tired and affected by the thin air, I laughed out loud. I was walking with our guide Kinga (not the masseuse). We had descended off the mountain side onto a wide expanse of sand. The river had split into numerous meandering branches with slow moving water. A dozen bare-backed donkeys trotted past. Ten yaks lounged in the sand—their massive horned heads and meaty snouts pointed at me. Their eyes seemed to ask “what are you doing here?” And I realized, I had no logical answer for them, so I laughed—because of happiness, incredulity, and blessed good fortune.
MISSING YOU Sitting in a cradle of mountains in a far-away place, Kinga asks “where do you live?� I pick up the phone and tap Google maps. I trace the journey: Bhutan to China to Russia, across the vast Pacific Ocean, over Alaska and across Canada, past the western states to a small spot called Deerfield. I think of you sleeping in our bed and I miss you.
CAMP 4 WE DESCEND INTO THE VALLEY OF LIFE From camp 3, we climb. We make our way one step at a time, up the winding trail until we reach a high plateau. From there, previously unseen peaks make their presence known to us. Juchudrakey soars above the clouds looking like a massive snow covered cone. Jomolhari 2 is mostly covered with clouds, preparing it for the approaching winter. The plateau is carpeted with tundra and delicate, intensely violet colored flowers nestled between fissures in the rocks. Inspired by the view, we continue along the trail. It flattens and travels a long two sapphire colored lakes. After a half hour, we begin our ascent to the highest point of the trek. Each step is slow and deliberate. The air is thin. There are no thoughts—just steps an breathing. It is liberating. There is awareness only of legs, lungs and heart. From a high point, we look down on the lakes which now look like blue tear drops surrounded by the distant peaks. They disappear from our view as we drop below the ridge and make our final ascent toward the pass. There is a light snow coming down as we reach the high point of our climb—4900 meters. We do not feel cold as the snow falls gently on our faces. We enjoy a hot lunch while we sit on a grassy hillock overlooking the wide valley below. Moisture-filled clouds obscure the rocky peaks of the mountains around us.
It is mystical. I half-expect a pterodactyl to break through the clouds, screeching as it scans the valley below. A herd of blue sheep grazes peacefully to our left. I am struck by the realization that this scene has probably not changed for a million years. A 2 hr descent takes us to the river below. We sit by a blazing fire sipping brandy, feeling more
alive than ever. As the sun sinks below the horizon, the stars dust the sky and we tilt our heads upward, amazed by the beauty and vastness of the universe.
SLEEPING IN A TENT WITH A FRIEND “….of course you’ll be invited to my daughter’s wedding. Anyone who has slept as close to me as my wife gets invited.”
9pm: Friend’s asleep. I’m comfortable, warm in down bag. With headlamp on, I read a few pages and then fall asleep.
back asleep so I just rest comfortably on my back, warm in the bag.
12a.m: Friend’s asleep. Gotta pee. The unzipping process begins. My bag has rotated 90 degrees. A spinal twist in the dark and the unzip noise sounds like the starting of a lawn mower. Then the unzipping of the tent—first the vertical and then the horizontal. My peeing technique: first, a full sit-up. Then to my knees in prayer position (crucial…keep feet in bag). Then, grab strategically placed plastic urinal snatched from office. Then let it go. Admire the sound (kind of like a tea pot getting filled from the tap). Assess the volume/color (drinking enough water?). Note the steam as it escapes into the cold air (that’s cool!). Place the cap back on the urinal! Reverse process to get back in bag.
7:15.am: Kinga brings hot coffee to our tent. My friend is awake and says: “ I was up the whole night. You seemed to sleep like a log.”
2:30a.m: Friend is still asleep. That damn barking dog! 4a.m: Friend is still asleep. The rain is falling steadily. It is a soothing sound as it strikes the tent. The ever-present hum of there river in the background. 5a.m: Friend is still asleep. My bag has slid off the pad. Our feet are touching. I do some in-the-bag calisthenics to get back onto the pad. 6a.m: Friend is still asleep. I awake from a dream. I am trying to save a small bird in a room of cats. Too late to fall
SILENCE
Sitting on a rock at 14,000 ft. The clouds are hanging low and the sky above is grey. Not much talking as we sit in the cold, damp air eating rice, broccoli, pumpkin and chopped egg. There is no wind. I hold my breath and the profoundness of the silence makes it unlike silence elsewhere.
CAMP 5
I. SHIT AND MUD: We slog upward through a forest of pine fern and rhododendron. The trail is thin and muddy. There is a shit everywhere. Piles of perfectly oval donkey dung. Different vintages—some shiny and new, some ancient and decayed. Then there are the massive yak mountains—perfect swirls of over-baked blackened challah loafs. At first, you try not to step in it. Inevitably, you give up trying. Breath in the air, scented with shit and decaying leaves of a Himalayan forest. II. ASCEND TO THE CLOUDS: The winding river serpentines through a wide, marshy wet land. We climb and climb. Slowno talking-one step, then another, then another. Heads down until we stop. The river, now far below, is a twisted white thread. A breath, a sip, back to task. Upward and upward until we are in the cool mist of a clue.. We reach the pass at 14,500. III. DROP A THOUSAND INTO CAMP: We let our guides go. We can see the blue tents of our camp far below. We sit on a slope of tundra and red fern. It is so quiet. There are loads below us, drifting across a broad valley. A window allows a brief respite from the chill as the sun shines through. Distant peaks play peek-a boo. The silence is broken by a flock of ravens that rise above us and the drop below a ridge. These moments are precious and rare. We are far away from home, and will take this memory with us when we return.
LAST DAY There are mixed feelings as we pack our gear and start the last leg of the journey. The physical challenge has been rewarding, and our guides, cook and horseman have done everything possible to make us as comfortable as possible—but it’s not home. The magnificence of mountains, rivers and starlit skies has left lasting impressions. The camaraderie and cleansing of the mind has been enriching and cathartic. As we descend thousands of feet down—to the bottom of the valley where our journey began— surrounded by a snow capped peak, and looking out towards the endless mountain ranges in the distance, I again reflect on the privilege of being able to learn and grow from this experience. A graceful eagle rides a thermal, looking down towards my destination and then outward towards lands I may never know. I am content, seeing what I’ve seen, and for having added another layer to who I am. I take each step downward—happy, knowing it’s one step closer to the ones I love the most. THE (not really) END
TO A FELLOW ADVENTURER AND FRIEND
Through pictures and words, we can not truly do justice to the feelings of awe and inspiration. Thanks for experiencing them with me, and perhaps—many years from now—when “we are drooling in the nursing home,” we can look back on these memories and feel good for how they have contributed to the fullness of our lives.