Thanks

On behalf of the Tarayana Foundation and the Tara-thon team, we would like to thank all those who donated to the Tarayana Scholarship Endowment Fund from Bhutan, England and Canada. At the time of writing, we estimate that the Tara-thon project has raised close to 700, 000 ngultrum (approximately US$17, 500). Given that about 2000 ngultrum (US$50) is needed to give a child the chance to go to school, your generous donations will give 350 kids from disadvantaged families a start in education. We are most grateful to you.

Tony Robinson-Smith & Nadya Ladouceur
Project Leaders


Day 35: Royal Reception

24 January 2008. Two police motorbikes and the blue and white twenty-one seater Tara-thon bus, red flag strapped to the wing mirror flapping, lead the way from Simtokha to Thimphu, the last leg of our Tara-thon. The bus has ‘Slow down, runners behind’ written in large black letters on a white banner covering the radiator. Behind, thirty-four runners in white Tarayana T-shirts sprint or limp the seven kilometres. The twelve of us who have run the 563 kilometres from Sherubtse College in the east to Simtokha (where university headquarters is) have been joined by twenty-two who have walked and run sixty-three from Paro (where the kingdom’s only airport is) – a branch of the Tara-thon joining us for the final day. It is not the rowdy, traffic-halting sea of joggers I had pictured in dreams. I had expected hundreds after inviting the nation on Kuzoo 105 FM, but recent bomb blasts around the country may have deterred crowds or else the Bhutanese don’t really like running.

In double-file, we jog over the Thimphu River, Nadya and I bringing up the rear. Policemen wave us into the town square. Dignitaries are in a semicircle clapping, Her Majesty Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck, eldest of Bhutan’s four queens and president of the Tarayana Foundation, at the centre. She is flanked by Her Royal Highness Ashi Sonam Dechen, several government ministers, the Indian ambassador, the deputy head of UNDP, representatives from the Royal University of Bhutan and Nancy Strickland from the Canadian Cooperation Office. Her Majesty is resplendent in richly patterned kira and red tago(jacket)with blue sleeves. We shake her hand nervously and bow to receive tashi khaddar (white silk scarf). She thanks us for organizing the Tara-thon, hopes it will set an example for other fund-raising projects. We follow her into the Druk Hotel, Thimphu’s finest, to give speeches and hand over the box of money collected. It could accommodate a microwave oven and I make the mistake of trying to hand it to the queen. Fortunately, the programme director from Tarayana intercepts it.

I feel elated, but rather odd standing with Her Majesty for the official photograph in my sweaty T-shirt, dusty Ron Hill running tights and dirty sneakers, salt-lined baseball cap clasped in my hands. The photo is taken against a black marble wall decorated with a gold Thunder Dragon, symbol of this little Himalayan kingdom.

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader


Day 32: Bus Stop

The road to Dochu-la, the fifth and final mountain pass, is wide and carries twice the traffic we’re used to. It’s mainly orange or white Tata or Eicher dump trucks, transporting sand from Punatshang River to Thimphu for construction projects. Two thousand and eight is a big year for Bhutan: celebration of a hundred years of monarchy, coronation of the fifth king, the year the kingdom becomes a parliamentary democracy - reasons for international attention. Lots of visitors are expected. The capital city is getting a facelift: new houses, roads, sports stadium, market, hotels. Loaded trucks, sometimes in strings of three, grind slowly past us every four or five minutes, blasting out black fumes and kicking up dust. We round bends cautiously lest an empty Eicher rattling down the mountain flatten us. It’s hard enough puffing and panting up 21 kilometres after a month of daily half-marathons. I try and ignore the traffic, appreciate again the forest-sheltered, sunlight-dappled road with little bridges crossing streams, the cascades of feathery ferns, the villages with bar-cum-restaurants decorated with phalluses. I see Dalay Monastery, an eagle’s nest of white buildings stuck to the green ridge opposite.

After three hours, we jog into Menchhunang for the night. The spot seems pleasant, a good place to camp with flat grass around a square chorten below the road, cypress trees and a lone hut beside a stream above. There’s a boy selling bags of peanuts to passing cars. The students unpack the bus, spread our gear out over the grass, begin to erect the tents and make a fireplace. I buy some nuts and dig out soap, flannel and towel, strip down for my usual post-run wash. The boy watches me in surprise. I notice there’s a lot more litter about than usual: stamped-on juice cartons, empty plastic bottles, sweet wrappers, tissue paper. As I peel off my sweaty socks, I look down at the torn page of a newspaper. “God is no stern judge of human behaviour, but is ‘on our side’. He wants us to advance spiritually and forever forgives us when we err.” The article belongs to a section entitled ‘Mind, Body, Spirit and You', probably from 'The Times of India.' “In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna offers this supreme encouragement to all humanity: ‘Even the worst of sinners can, with the raft of wisdom, cross safely over the ocean of delusion’ (Verse 4:36).” A bus screeches to a halt behind ours and disgorges twenty people – most of them women. Hiking up their kiras, they sprint through our campsite and into the bushes. I hurriedly put my shirt back on and zip up my toilet bag, check the whereabouts of my wallet. Splattering sounds, groans of relief. After a few minutes, a man emerges grinning broadly and adjusting the belt around his gho. He saunters back to the bus, inspecting on his way the different tent designs. He reaches down and squeezes a rolled-up foam sleeping mat. He’s walking funny – something isn’t quite right under his gho. Others join him, point at items of interest and make comments.

After twenty minutes, the passengers climb back on their bus, chatting enthusiastically, staring out the windows at us and waving. The bus leaves in a plume of exhaust. Peace is restored. “God is not blind. He sees the faults as well as the virtues and accepts us for all that we are; our follies and victories included, says Swami Kriyananda.” I open my toilet bag and get out my mirror, begin inspecting my nose, which has been peeling. Follies and victories. We’re at the Thimphu-Wangdi midway piss-stop, but tomorrow we will be eighteen kilometres higher and circling 108 chortens at the kingdom’s most splendid highway pass. Another bus marked Pelyab Transport pulls in, the doors burst open. Seven giggling teenage monks dash for the bushes followed by two Indian women, a mother and daughter, in saris; then a young man with a sullen face and slicked-back hair, a party of schoolchildren. I gather up my belongings, shove them in our tent, sigh and look ahead to the new day – the Tara-thonners’ last climb.

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader

Day 15: Road to Ura

Today, I run with Dendup ‘Chapsa’ Tshering, a sturdy English student with a wide grin and bread loaf thighs, who tends to drink too much suja for breakfast and dart repeatedly into the bushes at the side of the road (chapsa means toilet). To my right is a cracked wall of orange rock, at times leaning over the road and threatening to collapse on us; it is adorned with black pancakes of lichen and the odd Buddhist message in Sanskrit. To my left is a drop of some five hundred metres to the valley floor. Presumably, there’s a river down there, but all I see is a procession of dark green interlocking knuckles of forest smudged by haze. The sun is out and it is suddenly warm. I am in t-shirt and shorts. The road loops around the vast corrugations in the side of the mountain. At each exposed point, there is a fresh view of the valley, a brisk wind and a line of white concrete posts to stop cars careering off the road into oblivion. In the recesses, there are sprinkles of snow, glittering iced-over streams and rhododendron bushes for Dendup.

“KUZUZANGBO!!” I bellow to a road worker breaking rock with a hammer. She squats on her haunches, face wrapped in a pink scarf, baby in a blanket strapped to her back. She waves with a dust-whitened hand.

Eleven kilometres of the twenty to do to reach the alpine village of Ura, and I notice a change of vegetation. The hardy silver fir and hemlock near the pass at 3500 metres are now integrated with and slowly replaced by juniper, larch and chir pine. Chir pine is particularly appealing, the clusters of light green needles waving in the wind are like chimney sweeper brushes. A large, brown eagle with broad shoulders glides across the road from above and disappears into the conifers. I look up for others and see a white tri-peaked wedge of rock resplendent in the sunlight against a cloudless sky, a galleon in full sail riding on conifer waves. This is Ganghar Puensum, Bhutan’s tallest mountain at 7541 metres (puen meaning relative, sum three). We are just over half way across the kingdom; Ganghar Puensum is a glimpse of the west. Unfortunately, I can’t bellow “Yalama!” (Wow!) to Dendup; he’s otherwise engaged.

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader

Day 22: Jinlap

The Lam Neten (abbot) of the dzong is a tall, stooping, silver-haired man of sixty-seven with a raspy voice and gentle demeanour. If he understood English, I feel like I could tell him my problems. Nadya and I are in his chamber with Tshering Dorji and Yenten Jamtsho to ask for donations for the Tara-thon. Monks in Bhutan are not poor; they are paid well for the pujas and blessings they give. Trongsa Dzong is a handsome, commanding structure overlooking the Mangde River with tall leaning white walls banded in red near the top and spreading pagoda roofs. It is the longest dzong in the country. Tall cypress trees stand outside, monkeys climb the walls using the lightning conductors and copper roosters peck between the flagstones within for grains of rice.

Tshering and Yenten are wearing their ghos and we sit in a neat line on a carpeted bench in a small chamber on the top floor. Nadya is in her kira, I in collared shirt, slacks and smart shoes. Nadya informs the lama through Tshering that we know the Lam Netens of both Mongar and Trashigang dzongs. We also know Doctor Jagar Dorji, former principal of Sherubtse College, who is from nearby Tangsibi village. The abbot tells us he is Doctor Jagar’s cousin and then shares his thoughts on our charity project while a young monk serves tea and biscuits.

“First of all, Lam say he is very pleased to see Sar and Madam,” Tshering translates, “and that Sar and Madam are doing very good job for the country. He say this type of work should be done by Bhutanese and why we don’t do this one? He says like that, Sar.” I nod and smile. “He say ‘ma di di pay tendel di di’. That means we people don’t, um, know… where we are going.” Tshering scratches his head, looks to Yenten for help.

“We meet each other without knowing” Yenten says enthusiastically. “We don’t plan to meet, but… we meet.”

“Fate brings us together,” summarizes Nadya.

“Yes, Maam.”

Lam Neten beckons to his secretary who takes an orange envelope out from under his red robes. The Lam takes it and summons us. We get up and in turn shake Lam Neten’s hand. Nadya receives the envelope and gets a kada - a long shiny white silk scarf - put around her neck. The lama utters a few words.

“He say he don’t have big amount to give, only 10,000. He says all the monks will pray for our safe reach to Thimphu.”

Each of us gets jinlap, a small wallet of yellow folded paper, Sanskrit words printed on it, tied with blue and red string. I open it later and find six black pepper seeds inside.

“Not pepper, Sar! Medicinal plant prepared by big lama. Each lama have different recipe.” The Lam Neten of Trashigang Dzong gave me one of these on our departure day three weeks ago. “We must take it, Sar, before eating in the morning, even before drinking cup of tea. It should be taken when we suffer a lot. It will cure our sufferings. Our pains will be decrease.”

Maybe I should take it in a couple of days’ time, when we are in the middle of the climb to our fourth mountain pass.

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader

18e jour - Bumthang

Ca y est, on est rendu a Bumthang. Plus de 300 km de parcourrus et trois montagnes d’enjambees dont la plus haute, Thrumshing La, a plus de 3750 metres d’altitude. La derniere semaine etait tout un defi car on a commence notre ascension (570 metres) sous une temperature approchant les 20 degre celcius pour terminer la montee a 3750 metres d’altitude et une temperature sous zero la nuit. Nous avons egalement traverse la partie la plus froide de notre aventure. Les garcons sont genials. Malgre les douleurs musculaires et les articulations qui manquent d’huile, ils gardent le moral et trouvent meme l’energie de jouer au football lorsqu’ils trouvent un terrain vacant!

Aujourd’hui, c’est une journee de repos bien merite. Les garcons sont allez visiter Kurjey lhakang pour recevoir la benediction des dieux. Dans l’apres-midi, ils vont faire le tour de la ville pour amasser des dons. Nous allons aussi faire des provisions pour la semaine qui s’en vient. Ce soir, on se paye le luxe d’un souper au restaurant et si on est chanceux, on va rencontrer le ‘dzongda’ (administrateur de la region). L’autobus a recharge ses piles et s’est fait laver. Un arret a l’hopital de la ville nous a permis de faire le plein de solutions re-hydratantes et de bandages. Meme Yana s’est fait ausculter par le veterinaire pour etre sure qu’il etait en bonne sante.

Au nom de toute l’equipe du Tara-thon, je vous souhaite une bonne annee.

Vous trouverez ci-bas, deux extraits de mon journal en plus d’extraits de Tony et des garcons. Malheureusement, les leurs sont en anglais.
Nadya

***

Courrir après les dons

Aujourd’hui, un nouveau groupe de ‘Tara-thoners’ s’est joint a nous pour amasser des dons dans le sud du pays. Dodo, un etudiant de troisieme annee et ses amis vont faire le tour des enterprises et commerces pour collecter des dons pour la fondation Tarayana.

Tout a commence en octobre lorsque Doco est entre dans mon bureau au college. “Madame, je veux faire partie du Tara-thon, mais je ne peux pas courrir. Qu’est-ce que je peux faire?” “Je ne sais pas. Qu’est-ce que tu voudrais faire?” “A bien y penser, vous n’allez pas courrir dans la region la plus prospere du pays. Nous devons collecter des fonds la-bas aussi. Mes amis et moi, on s’en occupe.” C’est ainsi que tout a commence pour Dodo.

Hier, je lui ai parle au telephone. “Bonne annee madame. Nous commencons notre collecte demain, mais j’ai deja amasse un peu d’argent dans ma region (Haa).” Oh! C’est bon ca et combien as-tu amasse jusqu’a present?” Je m’attendais a un montant autours de 5000 ngultrums. “25 000 ngultrums, mais on commence pour vrai demain.” J’en suis encore sous le choc!

Organiser le Tara-thon nous a demande beaucoup de temps, d’energie et de patience, mais lorsque je vois de tels efforts, je me dis que ca en valait la peine. Non pas a cause du montant amasse, mais parce que cela eveille ce qu’il y a de meilleur en nous.

Nadya

***

Za min thur

Lorsque je cours, les gens me regardent de facon bizarre. “Za min thur” Tu es la seule fille! Je peux lire le doute dans leurs yeux: Va-t-elle vraiment se rendre jusqu’a Thimphu? Le fait que je sois presque toujours la derniere augmente leur questionnement. Ca ne me derange pas. En fait, je prefere etre a la queu car je peux garder l’oeil sur les garcons et m’assurer que tout va bien. A chaque jour, un nouveau court a mon rythme a cause d’une douleur plus aigue que d’habitude aux genoux, aux chevilles, ou aux muscles des jambes. De Kurizampa jusqu’a Sengor notre Tigre boitait. On s’est tenu compagnie en emplissant nos poches de biscuits et en les grignottant lorsque la douleur devenait trop aigue et prenait toute la place dans notre esprit. Il est maintenant remis et court avec un grand sourire aux levres. Un autre garcon a pris sa place a mes cotes. J’espere que ce sera pour quelques jours seulement.

Je cours lentement a cause de ma cheville gauche qui me cause des problemes depuis mes annees de volleyball. Durant les deux dernieres annees, elle allait mieux, mais le Tara-thon est un defi de taille. Le matin de notre depart de Mongar, j’etais decouragee. Au reveil, ma cheville resemblait a un ballon de football. Depuis Yadi, elle me causait des problemes et la pause d’une journee n’avait rien change. Je me demandais combien de temps j’allais durer. Apres tant de preparation et d’entrainement etait-ce la fin? Si tot? Tony m’a suggere d’aller a l’hopital pour m’assurer que rien n’etait brise. Dans un anglais que je n’arrivais pas a comprendre le docteur venu du Myanmar m’a assure que ma cheville n’etait pas brisee, mais il a ajoute qu’elle avait besoin de beaucoup de repos en position surelevee car je faisais un peu d’enflure aux jambes. Je l’ai remercie et je suis repartie avec un bandage a la cheville, des pots de crèmes a massage et des comprimes d’ibuprofene en poche. A la sortie, l’autobus du Tara-thon m’attendait. “Est-ce qu’ils ont commence?” ai-je demande. “Oui madame. Il y a quelques minutes a peine.” Que faire? Courrir ou prendre l’autobus? A ce moment, Tony est arrive. J’etais aux anges. “Comment va ta cheville?” “Que veux-tu faire?” Courrir est la seule reponse qui m’est venue. A ma grande surprise, Yana m’attendait aussi. Personne n’a rien dit, mais je pense que les garcons l’ont fait expres car Yana est toujours le premier a courrir. A 10 heures ce matin-la, Tony, Yana et moi, on a commence notre course aux portes de la ville. Vingt-cinq kilometres plus tard, on est arrive a Kurizampa. J’etais de retour dans la course.

Nadya

Day 18 – Bumthang

We made it to Bumthang yesterday. More than half of our run is completed and we’ve been through the most challenging part of it. We’ve crossed three mountain passes, including the highest one, Thrumshing La, at 3750 m, and passed through the coldest area on our journey. The Tara-thon team is in good shape despite a few sore joints and muscles. Today is a well deserved day off. The boys have gone to Kurjey lhakang for blessings. In the afternoon, they will go around town to collect donations. We’ll also have to do some food shopping to sustain ourselves until we reach Trongsa next week. Tonight we’ll treat ourselves to a restaurant meal and maybe meet the Dzongda. The bus got its batteries recharged and will get a good clean. A stop at the hospital to refill our supply of massage cream, ORS and bandages is on the schedule as well as a thorough check-up from the vet for Yana.

On behalf of the Tara-thon team, I would like to wish you all a Happy New Year and a Happy Losar.

Below are entry journals from me, Tony and the boys. Enjoy.

Nadya

***

Running after donations

Today, a new Tara-thon group is becoming active on the fund-raising front in the Phuentsholing area. Dodo, a third year Commerce student, and his friends will be going around industries and shops to collect money for the Tarayana Foundation.

It all started back in October when Dodo showed up in my office at college. "Madam, I want to take part in the Tara-thon but I can't run. What can I do?" he said. " I don't know. How would you like to contribute to this event?" "Well, you are not going to run in the most properous part of Bhutan. We need to collect money from there too. That's what my friends and I will do. Can you give us sponsorship forms?" That's how it started.

Yesterday, I spoke to Dodo on the phone. "Happy New Year Madam. We are starting tomorrow but I've already collected some amount in Haa where I'm from." "Oh! That's nice of you Dodo and how much have you collected so far?" I asked. I was expecting around five thousand but was stunned when he said: "25 thousands but we're really starting tomorrow."

Organising the Tara-thon required a lot of time and energy but when I look at it, it was worth it. Not so much because of the amount of money raised so far but because it brings the best out of all of us.

Nadya Ladouceur
Project Leader

***

Za min thur

As we run, people keep looking at me in disbelief. “Za min thur” You’re the only girl! I can see a question mark in their eyes: Will she make it? The fact that I am usually closing the pack increases their doubts. I don’t mind. I actually prefer being at the back so I can keep an eye on the boys and make sure they are ok. Every other day a new boy is running with me at slower pace; knee pain, ankle stiffness, strained calf or thigh muscle. From Kurizampa to Sengor our Tiger was limping. We kept each other company stuffing our pockets with cookies and munching them along the way when the mind could not move away from the pain. He is now back on track and roaring. Another one has replaced him along my side hopefully only for a few days.

I keep a slower pace because of my left foot. Since my volleyball days it has been giving me problems. The last two years were better but this run is quite a challenge. The morning of our departure from Mongar was gloomy. I woke up with a swollen ankle. It had started giving me trouble in Yadi. The break didn’t seem to have done it any good. I was in pain and seriously wondering how much longer I would last. Was that it, after all the training and preparation, to run only till Mongar? Tony suggested a visit to the hospital. The doctor, from Myanmar, looked at my swollen ankle. Nothing was broken but I would need a lot of rest and elevation due to a bit of oedema. I thanked the doctor and headed out with a fresh bandage on, pots of massage cream and ibuprofen pills in hand. The Tara-thon bus was waiting for me. “Have they started the run?” I asked. “Yes Madam, a few minutes ago.” What to do? Run or ride. Then Tony showed up. A surge of happiness filled me. “How’s your foot?” “What do you want to do?” “Let’s run” was my answer. To my surprise, Yana was also waiting for me. How could it be? It usually shoots off with the boys. Nobody said anything but I suspect the boys did it on purpose. At about 10 am that day Tony, Yana and I started our daily run from the town gate. Twenty five kilometers later, we arrived in Kurizampa. I was back on the road.

Nadya Ladouceur
Project Leader

***

Day 6: Kuzoo

Heavy rock on Kuzoo 105 FM blares out of the blue and white Tara-thon support bus. It is 6am. The cook hacks at dead trees above the road so a billycan of water the size of a baby’s bath tub can be heated to make tea for the sixteen members of this expedition. Kezang, our driver, sifts rice through his fingers looking for grit. With chana (chickpeas), this will be our breakfast. Two students peel potatoes to make a curry for lunch. Nadya remains swaddled in her sleeping bag in our tent, warmed before her tea by Yana, the Tara-thon dog, who leans against her. I sit in the front seat of the bus, listening to music and a DJ who has picked up a kind of faltering American rhyming slang.

“People, if you want yer dreams come true, you gotta get outta sack and hit the track.”

We are indebted to Kuzoo. The radio station has shown great interest in our fund-raising venture. This is still the first week of our run, but we have spoken to them on air three times since setting out and two prior. Kuzoo (short for kuzuzambo, hello) is radio for a young audience, and we have ten Bhutanese students who may be national heroes by the time they reach the capital city. Our camp is at the top of Kori-la (2400 metres), the first pass on our crossing of the Himalayan kingdom.

“Dat was Timberlake and ‘Apologize’. Always remember, people, it is better late than never if you want yer love to last forever.”

I stroke my stubbly chin, look at the large stone chorten that marks the pass. The air is still; prayer flags only ripple at the corners. Step out of and away from the bus and I can hear the monotonous piao-piao of a Great Barbet. I look around for him. There, in an oak, branches twisted, brown-leafed in winter. Under sunlight, this is a handsome bird: green with a yellow bib, some red on its neck. It’s common in Bhutan and used to drive me nuts in my office with its incessant call. The grey morning sky has leached it of colour; I can only see a dark silhouette.

“SOEJA! SOEJA!” Students emerging from their tents yell at a passing Tata truck with red triangles stuck to its radiator. I am surprised at their vigour; they ran nineteen kilometres uphill yesterday from Yadi. The truck rumbles past, blowing clouds of black smoke over them. Soeja is polite for suja. The offer of butter tea is never taken up, but they never miss a vehicle. At land cruisers, they switch to “DONATION! DONATION!” hoping that wealthy travelers will stop and sponsor us.

Mr Sangay is last to emerge from his tent.

“I always do one-and-a-half-hour morning puja for the successful… to subdue evils.” Kezang gives him a tea. I watch our event coordinator put his fingers in the cup and flick the liquid into the air, while mumbling something. He sees me watching him.

“For the spirituals who have nothing. Make them to feel good. Then we can do good.”

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader

***

Day 9: Big Snake

“Long, long ago, there was beautiful lady who lived in Thriatangbi village. She engaged to a man who only came to her at night. He left her before light each day. Soon she became pregnant and wanted to find out where her lover go. So, you know what she do? Mister Tony, you know?”

I look up at Mr Sangay. We are sitting round the evening campfire at Yongkola in Mongar Dzongkhag. Leaden-legged and heady, I am finding it hard to concentrate. I look around at the others. I am amazed everyone made it. These students must indeed be reincarnated mountain goats. My heart is still racing after the hard uphill run of 23 kilometres. From Kurizampa at 570 metres, the lowest point on our journey, we have to run eighty-two kilometres to Thrumsing-la, the highest at 3750. This is the first of four days we have scheduled for the climb.

“She tied a thread to his waist. In morning, she followed that thread. After entering ruined dzong, thread was tied to biiig snake. He was owner that dzong, a bad spirit. We cannot go that dzong. No courage because bad spirit live there. Only big lama can go.”

The road up from Kurizampa and the Kuri river is a snaky one, curling round farms and through forest. This is a warm region (temperature in the twenties near the river) and people can grow tangerines, papaya and avocados wintertime. The ruined dzong is called Shongar Dzong and it sits on a densely wooded hillside to my left as I ascend. It does look like it might be an eerie place to go at dusk. The Tara bus stops at 6k intervals to give us water. At the second halt, a little boy comes to the bus, his shirt stuffed with tangerines. He reaches in and gives me one. Sweat pouring down my face, I am at a loss for words.

At Yongkola, Mr Sangay arranges for Nadya and I to stay above the only shop. The students also get a roof over their heads, a tumbledown shack inhabited by a senile old woman who has milky eyes and one tooth. She talks vociferously to no one in particular and keeps the students awake till the early hours of the morning with wild laughter. Maybe she is Shongar Dzong’s beautiful lady, shocked out of her wits on discovering her fiancée to be a snake.

Tony Robinson-Smith
Project Leader

***

A New Routine

It’s 6:30 a.m. and some of us are up to help our cook, ata Ngawang, to prepare breakfast. By 8:30 a.m. it’s breakfast time and after breakfast we pack our things and load the bus, then comes the time for stretching. By 10:00 a.m. we are all set to go. “It’s 21 km uphill, so take it real slow” says sir Tony and with the clap of sir Rongthong, our day begins.

Waiting at regular stops, our driver, ata Kezang, sir Rongthong and ata Ngawang have water and cookies ready. After re-energizing ourselves, we continue the run.

After the tiring run and a heavy lunch, sir Tony chases us to soak our feet in the freezing cold water; there’s no way out even in Thrumsing La… ‘Brr’ It’s cold but it’s for our good! And the best part of our day is to sip some hot cups of tea after the soak which ata Ngawang has ready. After tea, everyone is up and doing their assigned chores. By 6:00 p.m. dinner is ready. Though the night seems young, by 7:00 p.m. everything is done and we are in our respective camps. That’s the new routine for us – the Tarathoners. I know the days may seem monotonous but in this ‘monotonous’ life, I have found a new life – a life of fun. At first I was a part of Tara-thon but now, Tara-thon has become a part of me. I enjoy every part of the run. If I had been at home, I would have had fun for a week or two but now I am having fun every day. And I believe my friends at home would envy me for that – my ‘new found life’ where I rediscovered the true meaning of ‘fun’.

Sonam Wangdi
English II year

***

I was just dreaming

It was the 9th day for the Tara-thon runners, who have been running across the Himalayan mountains from Kanglung to Thimphu. It was already 7:00 a.m. when I woke up and some of my friends have been shouting “soeja soeja”. I went to the tap and the water was very cold. I just took a handful of water and spread it over my hair. The time is 7:30 a.m.; the time for breakfast. After filling my stomach I prepared for the day run from Mongar to Kurizam. It was 9:00 a.m. and all the runners were busy warming up on the football ground of the MHSS.

Exactly at 9:30 a.m., we started our run towards Kurizampa. I was running with one of my friends till the 4th km, but after that I increased my pace and I was all alone. Moving down the hill from Mongar, I saw one lady at the junction of the Lhuntse-Mongar highway. For a moment, I was lost gazing at that lady. I was bit hesitating for the first time to go near her and talk to her. Acting courageously I march forward and talked to her for a while. Just then I asked her to walk with me. She was shy but the good thing is that she didn’t refuse my proposal.

We went down the hill and for the first few minutes our date was filled with silence. I somehow manage to break the silence asking her: “Che gi ming…” To my surprise she was none other than Sonam, whom I loved during my XI standard. We haven’t met for two years. I was the most fortunate person to meet her again in my life which I have been longing for till now. We covered a few kilometers sharing our thoughts. I told her about my past feelings; I mean my love towards her during my school days. She was trying to neglect this thing turning her face away from me but she was listening carefully.

Still I love her but I couldn’t tell her my feelings. I was the real Prufrock at this moment as I couldn’t speak my heart. We share jokes and create fun but when it comes to love I wouldn’t do it. When I think of proposing to her, my heart beat starts increasing and my whole body starts shivering as if I was suffering from cold and fever. Finally, closing my eyes with stammering words I told her my feelings and proposed her. At this moment I heard someone saying “jigs… jigs…you have done it!” When I opened my eyes I saw one gate and a prayer wheel beside the road. Soon I realized that I was just dreaming. I was all alone running towards Kurizampa. It was my friend (runner) who told me that I had done it!

Without realizing what has been happening on the way I have already reached my destination at Kurizampa. I was lost dreaming in my own world without realizing what I was doing.

Dendup Tshering
English II year

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Open your eyes

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever” is the proverb that most people use nowadays in our country. Some say our country is beautiful. I have wondered for many years just what they mean. But my eyes have opened over the last few days.

This is the first time in my life that I have really enjoyed the scenery of our country. My awakening happened in Sengor. Not only that, when we stayed in the mountains of Thrumshing La I felt this is the elixir of life and many other scenes have also been beautiful right through to Bumthang. You may be wondering why this guy is talking about beauty, but not explaining how and what? This is because I want you all to come here and appreciate the scenery for yourself. Better to see first-hand than be told. Open your eyes and experience Bhutan.

Ugyen Younten
English I year

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Moving Fowards: The Real Challenge

To make the Thrumshing La pass (3750m) became the real challenge for the Tara-thon team and how to survive it was a million dollar question. ThrumshingLa the highest pass in Bhutan is usually covered with snow throughout the winter season. This was one of our spots where we had to camp for the night. All of us including our team co-ordinator were scared about how we could survive the cold night at the summit. Due to our co-operation and blessing from God we survived at the summit. The real challenge was over. Though it was cold, we really enjoyed our stay at Thrumshing La. We didn’t expect that the stay would be so much fun. We really enjoyed it and to our surprise we have readily conquered our biggest challenge. We have achieved what we did not expect to achieve.

Sherub Jamtsho
Commerce III year

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Pain – The Motivating Force

It’s through that “there is no gain without pain”. Every time we cover a certain distance, we face different kinds of pain – pain on the knee, calf, thigh, ankle and heels. But it is the heels that become a daily problem for the Tara-thon members.

However, wherever the pain may be, there has always been a guiding light on part of sir Tony and madam Nadya. To ease our pain, we bathe our legs in the cold water, massage them every evening and take care or them as if they are babies. Consequently, the pain is gone the very next day. But again, there is pain in our legs after running the next stretch of our marathon. Despite all the pains we move on and nothing will stop us. We may be limping because of pain, but we will never give up till we reach our desired destination. In these pains, I have found a new motivating force.

Sherub Jamtsho
Commerce III year

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17th Run Day – Discovery Day

Sixteen days skip by with fun, pain and entertainment all the way from Kanglung till Tangsibi. Tangsibi is quite near Bumthang which is 24 km away. Arriving in Tangsibi was like a gathering of family members. Family heart felt when Aum Sonam Yangzom, a old lady, warmly accommodated us in her empty rooms. Angay treated us like her own sons. So we’re very fortunate to receive such affection. Let us give thanks for the great favour she has done for us.

The 17th day began from there. We started our run bidding farewell to Angay and while we were quite far away, we could see Angay waving her hand. We have really missed her. The only thing we were capable of doing was to wave our empty hands. As we continue our run, I still remember her face and feel her kindness. Distance does not matter when I was lost in Angay’s affection and care. I turned back but nobody was behind, only madam Nadya, Sherub Jamtsho and myself who were running at the same speed. “Oh! Is that Jakar dzong?” madam Nadya asked me pointing, I answered “absolutely right”. When I looked at the side of the road, I could see we were 3 km away from our starting point. No sooner did madam pointed out the dzong to me than I looked at it and my eyes kept focusing upon it as we ran. It looked like an airplane with red strip on top landing on a green colored airport. As we get closer, the view seems bigger and bigger. About 3 km before Bumthang, we see many buildings and an airplane on top of a hill. Oh! The real Jakar dzong was that airplane. The strip we noticed from far away was the roof. The dzong seems to be the boss with town area stretched around. It was evergreen forest which made us to believe it was a green airport.

Jakar dzong is well established on a hill top with Chamkhar chhu flowing below it. Jakar means white bird perched on hill top. Bumthang is one of the places blessed by Guru Rimpoche and today people across the country see it as a place to worship.

Sonam Gyelpo
Life Science I year