I pushed myself through writing 8 pages yesterday, when it turns out I should have been down watching the archery contest. While I sat here, I saw the owner of the recently blessed car pulling it all to bits. This car was being vaccuumed, scrubbed and polished to the state it had been before anyone drove it. The guy had even pulled the seats out. I watched to see if he’d do the same to the engine, but was disappointed. What would possess someone to do this every few weeks? I know that Bhutanese work hard to keep their cars clean, but this is ridiculous.
When I realised that I had the wrong day for the archery contest, I rerouted my morning ride into town to see if the judging tents were still up. They weren’t but I saw a lot of people on the roadsides selling balloons and streamers. I can tell you that’s not normal. Pork dumplings, carrots, doma perhaps, but not balloons. And suddenly I remembered…
Where we lived last year, we were far enough above the road that very little of the traffic noise reached us. Until one day in September. Not only did the endless honking of horns reach us, but they were frequently drowned by the raucous screams and whistles of a full blown party. We went down the hill to have a look and found the roads dominated by Indian trucks with trays crammed full of Indian workers acting like grand final day. Decorations covered every bit of the trucks except the wheels and just enough window for the driver to see out of. It was machinery day, an Indian festival to respect the machines that make our lives easier.
So it seems my neighbour was respecting his car and this is an annual rather than a monthly clean.