I survived rural Bhutan, bring on Toronto.

If you look closely, you’ll notice that there is exactly one year between my first post and this one. And absolutely no posts in between. Contrary to what my family and friends think, I did not spend the first year in Bhutan meditating in a retreat cave nestled in a Himalayan forest with zero human contact, whistling to the birds and tigers as they skipped on by (my only friends). Instead, I had incredibly limited internet. I’ll take this as a wonderful tradeoff to the year I spent falling deeply in love with basic living, where civilization and nature completely blend together, with a community so selfless that they would send their kids to sleep at my house so I no longer had to be alone with the rats, and students so endearing and funny that I would wake up every Saturday morning completely ecstatic that the school week was 5.5 days long.

Grade 7 students at Tshangkha Lower Secondary School.

All this being said, I was fortunate enough to visit my family in Toronto during our one- month school break in January. I questioned my decision when my mother warned me a week before my flight that Toronto had been hit by an ice storm leaving thousands of people without power. My jaw completely dropped. “But really, if anyone can deal with this it’s you, so we’d love to see you!” exclaimed my mum. I reflected on the last year I had spent in my old traditional Bhutanese farmhouse, boiling 3L of water every morning for my bucket shower (which I quickly coined the “fucket bucket” a week into my travels), huddled around my heater at night to keep warm, mopping up the kitchen floor every time it rained through our roof, and marking and planning by candlelight during our two week power outage in May. “I can do Toronto. Bring it on!” I thought.

And so I did (I survived Toronto!). I fell almost immediately back to my old routine and my deliciously expensive Americanos, feeling blessed to be surrounded by my family and friends who continue to love and inspire me. But my heart longed for my remote Himalayan village and after two weeks of spoiling myself and getting fat off fancy chocolate and sweet potato fries I found myself eager to return to my basic mountain lifestyle (stocked with starbucks instant coffees and ziplocks of jube jubes and gummie bears. Duh.).

Talking to local archers.

My brother and dad decided they would make the 2.5-feels-like-eight-decade-long-day-journey back to Bhutan with me to better understand my year and my deep love for the environment (really, I think they just wanted to confirm the country did exist). For two weeks I showed my family around the blissful monk-dotted landscape of deep forests and prayer flags. An incredibly surreal experience. A part of me really had to pinch myself that we really were experiencing this magical land together. We spent our days visiting the local dzongs (parliament buildings), prostrating in Monestaries, and hiking to conquer the altitude sickness. Evenings were spent huddled together in our rooms to keep warm, laughing our brains out, as my father shared hitchhike stories from his youth and other dreadful travel stories.

One particular night we were huddled together in Bumthang, a region just east of my community. I awoke at about 4am: “pssssst. Gabe. That noise. Is that a rat?” My brother propped right up in bed. I was imagining the thought process in his head, “sarah spent last year telling us detailed accounts of the rat family living in her house, their concerts every night, and their deep and promiscuous love of eating her underwear and other important articles of clothing.” He asked me how we would confirm if there was a rat in our room. “Turning on the light may be the trick,” I said to which he responded, “What the hell should I do? Should I move my stuff? Will they eat all my wires? What do we DOO in this situation?” I was chuckling up a bit of a storm in my head, “welcome to Bhutan” I thought (of course after convincing my dad that rats would be less likely to bother him if he slept on my mattress on the floor, and I move to the bed. Believe it or not, I won that round.). But really, we had not yet proved there was a rat in the room. I quickly fell into a deep sleep as my brother remained propped up in bed reading with the light on, taking anxious glances every time there was a noise.

 

My grade 7 students washes her siblings in her village.

Yeeeeah I can do this for another year I thought.

So here I am, a month into year two in rural Bhutan, huddled in my -10 sleeping bag taking full advantage and appreciating the fact that I have wifi in my little Himalayan apartment in Tshangkha village, deep in the forests of Bhutan, surrounded by both people and tigers.

As I finish typing this, the new teacher upstairs who has become a good friend, has just dropped off fresh bread and a pastry from Thimphu, the capital for me. A simple every day act of kindness here. After this, I will ask to borrow some salt from her and return the favour with a few Canadian maple candies. She will probably invite me in for tea and dinner and we will spend the evening talking about school, the upcoming holiday, or giggling about cultural differences between Bhutan and Canada, contemplating how we each long to switch lives with the other.