If there is anything I have learned while interning at VAST, the contemporary arts center in Thimphu, Bhutan, it is to expect the unexpected. As I walked from Chang Lam Plaza towards the Tarayana Centre on Friday morning, I almost immediately sensed that something was different. There were cars parked everywhere and an energy pulsed through the air that was just not normal for 9:30 am in downtown Thimphu. Within minutes my suspicions grew exponentially as I noticed the hallmark green, blue, yellow and red flags and tents that denote a serious Bhutanese occasion. These were the kind of decorations that might be found at Tscheu or an event attended by members of the Royal Family. Never before had I seen such official anything outside of VAST.
A brief memory of a conversation from weeks ago flashed into my mind – "we have to build a few new walls to reorganize the back office and library so that the staircase leading to the upstairs toilet can be used…the queen is going to have to use the toilet during the Tarayana Fair"-- my coworker Deepti had once told me. Certainly my coworkers, no matter how stereotypically artistically scatter-brained they tended to be, had forgotten to tell me that today was that day, the day the Queen was supposed to do her business in VAST’s toilet. When I entered the gallery, I saw the people who typically wore nothing other than sweatpants and sneakers dressed to the nines in traditional kiras and ghos. Everyone was even wearing their rachus and Kabneys, accessories typically reserved for government offices or important religious ceremonies. I realized immediately that I definitely should have washed my hair that morning.
I couldn’t believe it! How had no one thought to tell me about this! I was about to be the only person in attendance dressed in Western clothes. I was wearing a baseball hat, for crying out loud!
My coworkers tried in vain to assure me that my ‘chilip privilege’ meant that no one would think twice about my lack of traditional dress because I was a foreigner. But I did not want to get by on my chilip privilege. I had spent everyday for the last two and a half months trying to be more than just the chilip. I ate whole chilies even though they made me cry. I hung out on weekends with my Bhutanese friends instead of with other chilips. I never asked for special treatment at my internship and worked just as many hours as everyone else. People had finally stopped treating me like so much of a guest and some days I was even asked to sweep the gallery floor. I had thought that at least at VAST, my being American had now progressed to nothing more than something my friends and ‘VAST family’ could tease me about.
But when I showed up to one of the biggest events of the year and was neither properly informed, nor dressed, I felt as though all of that work was for nothing. I knew how to fold and pin my toego now and I even had my own rachu! I could have done so well in this arena if only someone had told me about it. The Queen could have walked by and thought "wow that chilip looks to know a thing or two about Bhutan!" Instead, I looked like some idiot tourist.
Sure enough, within an hour of my arrival, I was standing less than two feet from Her Royal Majesty the Queen wearing jeans, sneakers, an oversized sweater and with my knotted, greasy hair in a hastily made bun and, yes, I felt like an idiot. But do you know what? Even though I felt immensely silly for my outfit I knew I walked, talked, and painted faces much less like a foreigner than the few chilips I saw wandering in ill-fitting ghos and looking out of place, despite having the proper costume. I had coworkers and friends and I knew what was going on. I spent the day volunteering with my fellow artists rather than taking photos of the ‘magical’ and ‘exotic’ kingdom. When lunch came around, I ate the traditional meal that had been prepared for volunteers and was proud of myself for eating the chilies that were so hot some of my Bhutanese friends had tears in their eyes. Even though I did not completely look the part, it was not difficult to see the difference between the chilip tourists and myself.
When studying abroad, especially in a country as different from your own as Bhutan is from the United States, you must accept the fact that no matter how much you try, you will never be fully integrated. Three to four months is simply not enough time for cultural immersion. But that does not mean you shouldn’t try. Getting to know the people, making connections, and having authentic experiences with these friends is infinitely more beneficial than simply looking the part.
In the end, did it really matter if when I stood in front of the Queen I was wearing jeans? She probably didn’t spare me more than two seconds thought and I doubt that would have changed even if I had been wearing a hand-woven bura kira from Bumthang. What did matter to me was that I had friends who felt comfortable enough, despite me being a chilip, to tease me about smiling too much while in the presence of royalty.
To learn more about the Wheaton in Bhutan program follow us on Instagram @wheatoninbhutan !
