JOURNEY IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE TERTOEN

Kunzangdra Blessings and rice balls at is one of the most significant sites Kunzangdra Goempa for followers of the By Jessica Vernon Buddhist tradition and a revered place of pilgrimage for RIGHT light leaks supported by a huge rock, Late in the morning, Subba, Bthrough narrow, glassless the fourth wall. A fire charred our taxi driver and tour guide Bhutanese, housing windows slashing silver streaks boulder at the corner acts as for the day, picks us up from several sacred relics across the room, washing the the Swiss Guest House in the kitchen. Big, fat, blackened including a stone shadowed faces in a soft, serene pots are placed over an open – then main town of the glow. Women and children line flame. Everyone is staring at us; Bumthang district. As we turn bearing ’s the perimeter of the floor while eyes wide and full in the centre, left, off the paved east-west footprint.” two little ones shuffle to the pinched like a teardrop at the highway, only wide enough side to make room for us to sit, outer corners, plump lips curled for two cars, the dirt road as we duck into a narrow room into amused grins. begins climbing up and over hanging out over the cliff. Three the ridge into Tang Valley. With of its walls and the slanted floor THIS IS MY BEST DAY IN each rotation, the skinny tires are made of wooden planks . find larger rocks and ruts to revered place of pilgrimage navigate. It’s incredible that this for Bhutanese, housing several little car can crawl its way up sacred relics including a these mountains. The Indian- stone bearing Pema Lingpa’s made Maruti Suzuki is Bhutan’s footprint. Pema Lingpa was modern-day mule. born to the Myo clan and his We pass a tour bus parked direct descendants, the house at the trailhead leading to Kunzangdra (Left). Staircase to the monas- the short, but steep, hike up to of Wangchuck, would later tery. (Above) the fabled Mebar Tsho, the Kunzangdra Goempa, a little become the hereditary Kings of ‘Burning Lake’. The lake is a under his arm. Subba explains monastery nestled in the hollow Bhutan. sacred pilgrimage place for the legend to us as we pass a of a cliff. The subtle hum of animated the Bhutanese who come to plateau crowned by the Pema Built in 1488 by Pema Lingpa, voices lets us know we are offer prayers for the legendary Thekchok Choling Shedra the Patron Saint of Bhutan, the getting close. Colourful figures spiritual treasure discoverer, nunnery, a shedra (Buddhist monastery served as both his appear dotting the vertical Terton Pema Lingpa, who is institute) housing 200 nuns. residence and a meditation stone steps up to the temple. A said to have fulfilled a prophecy Our little mule-car grinds away place. Overlooking Pema circle of women and children of Guru Rinpoche by jumping without complaint, the road Lingpa’s birthplace, Drangchel dressed in rainbows sit around into the lake with a butter condition becoming worse with village, Kunzangdra is one big cardboard boxes filled with lamp in hand and emerging each zigzag. Subba pulls over of the most significant sites miniature bags of Lay’s sour from it with the butter lamp and leaves the steed on the for followers of the Nyingma cream and onion potato chips, still burning, an ancient scroll side of the road, and we begin Buddhist tradition and a centre fruit gum, orange soda

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and Coca-Cola, the modern form bridge and into the gonkhang, of traditional temple offerings. Pema Lingpa’s living quarters. Our visit coincided with Lunch is being served! You must two very important occasions, eat! Please, please. Sho, Sho! Come, the Birth Anniversary of His come! Majesty the King of Bhutan and I am quickly handed a small the lhakhang’s annual puja held bowl. Before I have time to fling in honour of Pema Lingpa. water out of the bottom, it is Excited and carefree children filled to the brim withsingchang , are running up and down a home-brewed wheat beer. the stairs, dogs trying to stay Each family brings their own away from busy feet. Light batch to the puja where they snowflakes touch the ground, are combined in a big bucket and a Himalayan hawk floats mixing each brewers style and overhead, with its enormous flavour. The result is sweet wings outstretched, effortlessly fermented lemonade of sorts. embracing the whims of the I tell myself that the alcohol wind. What a beautiful day it is! will surely kill whatever could Fields in the valley below have been lurking in that water are cut with smooth, rounded puddle. Before I finish my first edges that melt into the natural cup, another round is poured. contours of the mountain. Then for the string of polite

Devotees at the entrance to the monastery A young boy watching crows off the temple (Left). (Above). Waiting for their turn. (Left) Young and joyful devotees watching valley below from the balcony of the temple. (Above)

Bright green wheat shoots splatter the dry scape with refusals for food, a customary little puddles of colour; the first three “no thank yous” before crops reborn in the barren fields we are passed a plate piled of winter. high with a giant ladle full of Climbing the steps, we rice served out of a five gallon exchange endless kuzuzangpo- insulated drink cooler. A big las, hellos, Tashi Deleks, head chunk of butter plops into bobs, bows and hearty smiles. the middle of my rice mound Everyone is dressed in their followed by a pinch of salt best gear; kiras and ghos in every sprinkled by the head hostess imaginable colour combination. herself. This one woman is People are glowing. As soon as enthusiastically directing the we reach the first level, we are lunch circus, ensuring that all quickly ushered across a little bellies are full with both food and laughter. Her gestures are

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Colours, crips and chips (Right). An old devotee (Below)

teeters back and forth, clearly pleased with herself and her hilarious sense of humour. She insists that I am very skinny- “eat more, more, up to your neck,” she says. My boyfriend chimes, “Yes, I like fat women, the bigger the better,” and she nods contentedly. One young man in the corner is shaking with laughter, face bright red, cheeks bulging, trying not to spit out his rice. I guess he speaks good English. Everyone is served a big wild and her voice loud, the mug of warm buttermilk and hand. One old man wearing profusely and make our way laughs and slaps his belly, theatrics swelling each time the a bowlful of broth with chilli thick, dark glasses is sitting back outside where the sun has mouth stretched wide across his group explodes at her jokes. It and potato. I survey the eating across me using both hands to chased away the snow. I rinse face, all lips and gums. appears that she has not been techniques: scoop up a handful make huge baseballs of rice. I my hands under a faucet but Sidestepping the groups of skipping her own cup on the of rice and butter and smash it cannot bring myself to fist the am left with a thick residue of picnickers and napping dogs, we rounds of singchang as she into a ball in the palm of your food, so I pinch off as much as butter, the water just beading offer many goodbyes, thank yous I can between thumb and peace and rolling off my fat slicked and Tashi Deleks. Euphoric I fingers, shovelling quickly into fingers. I, like the old man, cannot erase am quickly handed a my mouth as pieces of rice rain We climb to the top two the smile from my face. small bowl. Before I back onto my plate and lap. temples and pay our respects The hostess points to the to the statues of Guru Rinpoche have time to fling water old man making rice baseballs and Pema Lingpa. Coming and says what I interpret as, down the haphazard steps, I out of the bottom, it is Jessica is an intentional filled to the brim with ‘he’s naughty.’ The entire room am thankful that I didn’t drink wanderer of the world with bursts out laughing. I don’t a third cup of singchang. As I an insatiable appetite for adventure and a strong af- singchang, a home- understand until he smiles a reach the bottom, my toothless fection for words. Her words huge grin revealing just one friend takes hold of my buttery paint the faces of people she meets, the brewed wheat beer.” mountains she climbs and the experiences tooth… ‘He’s no teeth.’ hands and mumbles a string of that have marked her personal evolution. I successfully refuse offers of indecipherable blessings. My She is currently based in Thimphu, Bhutan, reveling in the beautiful conundrums of the seconds, thirds and fourths and boyfriend promises the man capital city. To read more of her work, visit: still manage to get an approving that he can be my husband www.jessicajvernon.com nod from the hostess as I pat in the next life. His grandson my belly. We offer kadrinchhe-la translates and the old man

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