The Last Leg to Bigu

The last leg to Bigu

After one of the worst nights of my life, we set off, the guide, the porter and me at 7am. I still had a headache and a sore throat and was getting increasingly annoyed with my guide’s imprecise responses to my “how many hours to Bigu?”. To be fair I probably drove him insane, throughout the day, with my incessant requests for distance, terrain and timings. How much longer? Is it steep? How steep? How far? Are we half way yet? Is the downhill bit over yet...?

The steep valley

I set off downhill at a great speed. A very steep downhill. But I was determined to put distance between myself and the teahouse. I don't know what was about that place that affected me so much. Sure, it was grimy and dishevelled. Sure, it gave me diarrhoea. On the other hand, the lady there was a smiling, pleasant person. Still, there was an energy about it I didn't care for. So, large distance and fast it was.

After around 1.5 hrs Tashi told me that we were done with downhill and the road would go up a bit and even out. Ehm..., having to hold back my body at 45 degrees to the slope for another 2 hrs, whilst my knees screamed and my big toes throbbed,  still counted as dowhill for me! My fault entirely
of course. I was being a macho smart ass, trying to go faster and faster down a steep slope that strained my bones and buggered my toes.  

With a migraine setting in, a sore throat scratching and being very hot from the glorious sun beating down on my hat-less head (yes, I did not pack one!), I was getting more cross by the minute, grimacing at my own grimy smell and loathing the slathery feeling under my armpits. I wanted to throw down my walking sticks and do an amazing display of a Basil Faulty tantrum. I wanted Scotty to beam me up. I wanted to sit down and cry. I berated myself for setting off on this quest every two minutes...and I continued to ask about distance and time every 20 mins. I was trying to calculate how long it would take to walk back without having to stay at that dreadful place at the top, making the return journey a 2-day affair than the current 3.

A rare peak at the mountains through the haze

Glorious pink in a grey world

I was tempted to say, “lets just turn back now. I don’t want to go to the frigging monastery". By this stage I had learned from my guide that the Rinpoche is still in India and the nuns are not likely to have any stories. “Then why the heck am I waliking this uninspiring dirt track? Why am I trundling through dust and mud and rocks and the occasional river? I am not on a frigging trekking holiday and even if I was I would not have come to this place” I wanted to shout at him. The only reddeming feature were the occasional stunningly beautiful rhododentrons and the majestic magnolias that made me stop, breathe and restore a shaky balance. 

A dzo, a cross between buffalo and yak

And then, after 3 hours, we arrived at a very steep track going vertically up. “How steep does this get?” I asked? "A lil’bit" he says. A "lil' bit" was his answer of choice all day long.  I lost it! How much is a ‘lil’ bit? I need to know! I can’t do this”. I managed to catch my raised voice before I turned into a complete harpy and I just followed him up the slope, fuelled by fury. So, incensed was I at bitching to my self about the Asians' supreme ability to fob you off and to give random non-answer responses, as well as at my guide's ineptitude so far to arrange interviews that would yield real oral history stories,  that despite the very hard climb I forgot to stop and catch my breath until I was about to pass out. I was really annoyed that I was annoyed. I was just plain wretchedly miserable, yet on I went, putting one foot in front of the other and valiantly ignoring Tashi's sulking at my outburst. Later on, I did have the good grace to apologise though, recognising that half of my fury was fed by fear of heights and fatigue. 

Finally at Bigu Gumpa

And ‘lo and behold, 4 hrs after setting off, we arrived at the monastery.

It seemed a clean and cheerful place basking in bright sunshine, with gaggles of young nuns running about and playing.

Bigu Gumpa

Young welcoming nuns at the monastery 

Bigu Gumpa

I met Robbin, a young American volunteer who had been there for 2 weeks already, teaching the young nuns English. I was totally prepared to dislike her, on account of all the sickly sweet things I heard about her. She endeared herself to me immediately though, when she burst into our room, plonked herself on her cot and bursting into tears said:  " I am so glad you are here. I am having a really bad day”. We chatted and bitched ourselves out of our misery for a while, and discovered lots of mutual interests despite our age difference. In no time we were laughing at our foibles.

Stupas at the monastery

Stupa on the plain

Robin with her students

Our room was  a 4x2 ft space with whitewashed, 

uneven walls and wood plank partition. It was set on 

the first floor of a small building at right angles with the monastery's temple. Part of a 3- room "apartment" and having a Tibetan door curtain for a door, it had 2 cots in it and a green felt carpet. I sighed with elation as if I had arrived at the Hilton!
I set up my sleeping bag arrangement on the free cot and scattered my stuff on the floor next to it. A few nails in the wooden planks served as hangers. 

Head nun

The Head Nun, a lovely woman in her early fifties, came and escorted us to the kitchen for some strong, sweet masala tea. The warmth of the welcome, the smiles of the nuns and the spices in the tea, restored my spirit. I was again ready to be open and explore.

And I knew once more, that I was exactly where I was meant to be at that point in time and space.

The kitchens with butter tea always on the boil

Dinner time

Cheeky smiles