Second Stage Culture Shock, Bug Bites and R&R

30th April 2015

We were sent information about culture shock before our departure from our home countries, but the reality is stranger than I expected.

For me it was the combination of ANZAC day approaching and having talked with my son Jonathon about his arrangements for his 21^st birthday party, an event for which I will not be able to join him, the triggered some weird emotions.  I have not attended an ANZAC day morning service in the last 6 years, but somehow the 100^th anniversary of it took on a greater significance than it would have back home.  Plus feeling sad that I would not be with Jonathon on his birthday. 

Poetry read with the literary club students also triggered emotions – Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s How do I Love Thee, along with a locally written poem that talked about the changing parent / child relationship as the child matures, that one of the students asked me to help her interpret.  To say nothing of trying to remember the words of the Ode recited at the dawn service.

Then there was my changing emotional reaction to the support for preparation of printed test paper – oh, you are running the test this morning and you gave us the paper 5 days ago – we have not yet done it….  Then …we cannot print your test paper because we have run out of ink/toner.  Whereas this would have triggered amusement a few weeks previously, I struggled to overcome feelings of frustration and wondering what is wrong with ordering a spare cartridge as soon as a new one is put into the printer, to ask for suggestions as to how I should conduct the test. 

The resolutions: project via the dataprojector – which on the day was locked in a storeroom to which the key was with a staff member in another town, and I had rejected anyway as too risky given the number of power failures (locally referred to as “no light”) we’d had recently; write on blackboard/whiteboard which could be carried into the multipurpose hall for the test.  The latter was chosen and I spent an hour and a half on Sunday neatly writing the test questions on the board.  On the day, this was disastrous.  Only one board was carried to the hall by the non-teaching staff who were requested to undertake this task, and it was placed at the back of the stage so it could not be read.  15 minutes was wasted while the staff were re-summonsed and both boards placed closer to the students, who could still not read them and had to crowd to the front, sitting 4-5 to a desk, on the floor and wherever they could to copy the questions.  Needless to say, the results were disappointing; the marking took ages because they had copied questions wrongly so I was marking several versions of the test paper, and I was most upset.  I offered the students an opportunity to resit the test, and while the results were improved, they were still nowhere near our target mark set by the district education office. I was most delighted with one note written by a student apologizing for poor performance and promising better next time, a reminder to me of how sweet these students really are.

All in all, it seemed like a good time to plan some R&R so I lined up a night at Linkhar Lodge outside Trashigang, checked in with my closer BCF colleagues about my plans and prepared for a night of comfort.  The plan was to leave after Saturday morning classes….subject to the access road being passable (heavy rain and landslides had made this questionable) and the roadworks on the road between Duksum and Chosum not having the road closed all afternoon.

I had acquired a couple of insect bites on my leg which were reacting badly so I’d visited the local BHU (basic health unit) and been prescribed antibiotics (“you scratched the bites with dirty fingernails and infected them” – no, I react more to this type of bite, that is all.  It blisters and finally the blister bursts) and assorted vitamin supplements.  The swelling continues to spread and movement is difficult, I manage to trip up some steps and add grazes and bruises to my swelling which does not help.  That evening I draw around the edge of the swelling in marker pen and watch the swelling expand past it and wonder whether it is bad enough to disturb someone at 9pm on Friday night to take me to a doctor and decide against it and pack my bag ready to leave after school on Saturday.

A quick paramedical consultation with my colleagues in the village street on the way to school on Saturday achieved a level of tut-tutting and a recommendation that the principal’s permission for me to visit a doctor be sought immediately.

Permission not only granted, but tea offered (and a showing of his wife’s weaving; we had been intending to visit and look at the weaving with a view to me purchasing a kira for some time) and the principal himself was kind enough to take me to the Tshencarla BHU – a higher level BHU than Kheni, with a resident doctor.  Not only that but when it was my turn for consultation, he accompanied me in to see the doctor.  Interesting. 

While neck to toe covering of the body, with a preference for long sleeves and nothing figure hugging is the village norm, I was quite surprised when my female colleagues told me it was ok to show the extent of the swelling of the bites  (up to mid thigh) to both a male colleague who was with them when we first met in the street, and then the principal.

At the BHU, there was no apparent privacy about consultations with the doctor and I observed one elderly lady ensure she got her turn next by entering and waiting in the consulting room while 2 men were with the doctor.  When my turn came, I closed the door – after myself and the principal.

I am prescribed additional antibiotics, for longer, and given a bottle of Gentian Violet which proceeded to start to leak the minute we left the dispensary.  There was more tut-tutting by the paramedical staff, most of whom came to observe while it was being applied to my leg.

This did, of course, take most of the morning.

The dear principal then drove me down the hill to Duksum, and organized me a shared taxi to Trashigang.  The delights of sharing a vehicle – I met a teacher from Duksum primary and her husband and baby, who were most helpful with navigation once we reached Trashigang, along with interpreting to the driver where I needed to go and how much extra he was going to charge to get me there (I thought that was included in the negotiated price from Duksum, but…..)_

I called Aum Deki at Linkhar Lodge to check with her whether the taxi fare was roughly correct and so she could give direct instructions to the driver and she told me there was no need for a taxi, her husband was in Trashigang and would bring me back.

After assorted instructions, directions and changes of both, my co-passengers took me to Deepak Salon and I met the delightful Minjur Dorji, in the middle of his haircut.  After introductions and formalities, I inquire as to whether there might be time for a quick trim and am assured there will be, along with colour if I want it.  I decline the colour option. I do not think that jet black would suit my skin colour, nor would henna.  Although as Minjur observed, it might help me blend in even more when wearing kira.

The barber, Deepak, was a student of Nancy Strickland, back in the 80’s presumably, and Nancy said later that day he is a real success story – I am guessing there is a longer story here.  I guessed correctly and subsequent information identifies that he is barber to at least some of the royal family.  I can understand why, his cutting of my hair was to my satisfaction, and there are few hairdressers at home who have scored that status!

My hair is tidied nicely and a quick trip to the grocery store enables purchase of such luxuries as rolled oats, honey, shrimp sauce, chocolate and a variety of biscuits not available in the village, along with a piece of cream cake for afternoon tea. 

As we cross the road to Minjur’s vehicle, the irony of my being dressed in kira and Minjur being dressed in western clothing occurs to me, and he agrees.

The balcony at a Linkhar Lodge room

Once at the lodge I meet the lovely Aum Deki, and sample her cooking with a late lunch.  Then I am shown to my room with encouragement to take a shower.  I assume and hope that this is a reflection on my deprivation rather than my personal hygiene, I have maintained my morning mandi bath every day apart from the one day I spent most of the day in bed with a bad cold.

The room is lovely – clean, comfortable, plumbing fixtures that function well, a verandah with a view….  I go straight for the shower and although I have to call one of the staff to get the temperature adjusted to something less than scalding, I enjoyed a teenage girl shower – the water was turned off when the hot had run out.  Luxury!!!  Then I enjoy the view from my verandah.  Sitting on a chair.  And Skype with a couple of people.

Clean an comfortable - luxury at Linkhar!

The lodge is nestled among steep hills away from anything else, although the lights of villages can be seen opposite and above us.  It is unbelievably peaceful –no dogs barking continuously, bird song from the trees, a mixture of evergreen and deciduous forest on the hills, an assortment of spring flowers I know from home, along with more tropical species decorating the garden, extensive vegetable gardens on terraces down the hill and a bevy of lovely girls as the frontline staff, dressed of course in their uniform kira and taego.

The view from Linkhar

My leg continues to increase in size, my ankle disappears and the swelling expands into my foot. After a conversation with Nancy, I call the school principal and request that I stay an additional night – he was with me when the doctor told me to stay off my feet for 3-4 days, and we had already agreed that I should not be at school on Monday, though he was keen for me to return to the village on Sunday.  I think he was anxious that further rains might cause more landslides and completely block the road, with me on the wrong side of the block.  I am a little anxious to remain relatively close to a hospital in the event that the ridiculous allergic reaction gets worse.  Permission granted, and with Tuesday as a holiday, I plan to stay 2 more nights.

Minjur repeatedly invites me to join my fellow guests on excursions to the local Tsechu, or to Aum Deki’s home village, but since neither fit with keeping my feet up and resting, I decline the kind offer.

My fellow guests are Indian, one group of bird watchers who are very excited at having observed some rare birds, and another lovely group with whom I become quite friendly.  I am intrigued, however, to observe their food preferences.  They come home early from the Tsechu because they were hungry and wanted lunch;  I did ask whether lunch might not have been obtained there, and there was an expressed concern about it containing meat.  Fair enough, so I asked about momo – cheese momo (dumplings)  are meat free, and concern was expressed about the health risks of eating pre-prepared foods.  I guess that another countries food related bugs are things no one is used to so…  however, it did seem a little ironic given that I know more people who have suffered from food related illness in visiting India than anywhere else.

Their food preferences were extended to sharing of their travelling breakfast – a most delicious semolina dish (and prior to tasting, I would have said that was an oxymoron) with spices, which made what I recall as a disgusting pudding from my childhood into a tasty dish.  I was amused, however, to share their choice for dinner one night, a quite plain meal with little hint of the spices I am used to at Mother India or Annapurna restaurants in Hobart.  The waitress offers to bring me omelette or meat to supplement the meal, but since I am eating with vegetarians, I decline.  However, I am not so respectful of their personal choices as to not drink my wine – it’s the first half decent white wine in months.  Actually, its my first white wine in months.  However, at the price, I shall not be repeating the indulgence.  The equivalent of $36 for a bottle of Taltarni.

Conversation over dinner includes the devastation and updates on the second big aftershock from the earthquake in Nepal and I am touched by the email messages from assorted people hoping I am not affected.  I did feel the aftershock, but only as a mild movement.  I posted my safety status on facebook as soon as I realized the significance of what I had experienced, but not all my friends and acquaintances are facebook friends.

On Tuesday morning, I take up Aum Deki’s offer of using her sewing machine, her grandmother’s treadle.  It seems like it needs a good oil, the belt slips and I have to ask for her brother’s help in winding a bobbin (ok, did not realize that process was so low-tech) but it sewed a straight line, more or less, and let me add some darts to the green kira I purchased in 2013 so that I can wear it in a way I find comfortable.  I also did a few seams in a blouse and jacket I have underway.  But sewing without tacking on this machine is not an option.

Investigations about methods of travel back suggest what seems to be a rather high taxi price, so once again I consult with Aum Deki and she suggests her brother can drive me, as he has chosen not to attend the religious celebrations at the local Goempa.  She accompanies us and we head off, via Gom Kora to light butter lamps for those affected by the earthquake and a stop in Duksum for vegetable shopping and an ice cream.

I arrive back in Kheni with a much smaller leg, feeling physically and mentally refreshed, and am delighted to be welcomed home with smiles, waves and inquiries about my health.  Ready for school again, and pleased to be home.