Text 8 · Jamie Zeppa · Travel memoir, 1999
Beyond the Sky and the Earth
Zeppa leaves Canada at twenty-four to teach in Bhutan for two years, and this extract records her first days: a landscape too big for geology, a capital with no traffic lights, and a people she cannot find one word to praise.
The text at a glance
The extract opens with mountains that defeat explanation: the technical account of colliding continents is available, ‘but I cannot imagine it’, and it is easier to picture ‘a giant child gathering earth in great armfuls’. After five flights, listed leg by leg, she spends a sleepless first night in Thimphu watching the mountains from her hotel room. The next morning she walks the capital with two fellow Canadian teachers, noticing its smallness, its identical crowded shops, the dzong ‘built in the traditional way, without blueprints or nails’, and a few startling traces of the West. The people impress her most of all, and the extract steps back into history during an orientation week, ending in open admiration for ‘this small country that has managed to look after itself so well’.
Methods that matter
Voice: wonder in the present tense
Most travel memoir remembers; Zeppa arrives. The present tense makes the first days feel freshly experienced, and the juxtaposition ‘I am exhausted, but I cannot sleep’ puts the reader inside a body whose excitement has overridden its needs. She is observer and participant at once: a reporter of facts (the flights, the hotel, the history lessons) and a tired young woman searching for words. The humour keeps the wonder honest. The ‘hideously colored Orange Cream Biscuits’ (the anthology keeps the American spellings) measure the distance from home in food dye, and the Western comforts she does find seem thin and artificial beside everything Bhutanese.
Structure: landscape, town, people, history
The opening plunges into landscape before any orientation about who is speaking or why; the mountains dwarf everything that follows, which is the point. The extract then narrows by stages: the practical facts of arrival, the walk through Thimphu, the people, and finally the history. Across that sequence her fascination develops. At first the country exceeds understanding; later it charms her in particulars, traffic directed with ‘incomprehensible but graceful hand gestures’; by the end it has earned a verdict, ‘I am full of admiration for this small country that has managed to look after itself so well’. Closing a description on a direct personal judgement is a risk, but by then the evidence has been laid out like a case, and the reader is invited to sign it.
Language: when words fail on purpose
The extract’s boldest claims are its simplest: ‘Bhutan is all and only mountains’ is hyperbole delivered as flat fact, and ‘on the other side of mountains are mountains, more mountains and mountains again’ makes the sentence itself perform the landscape, ridge after ridge. Where geology fails, imagery takes over: the giant child replaces textbook explanation with a creation myth, and ‘a convulsion of crests and gorges and wind-sharpened pinnacles’ catches the earth mid-spasm. The most telling device, though, is failure itself. She auditions ‘dignity, unselfconsciousness, good humor, grace’ and still ‘can find no single word to hold all of my impressions’: a professional writer admitting that language is not up to the job, which is the strongest compliment she could pay.
Key quotations
| Quotation | Method | Why it matters |
|---|---|---|
| ‘Bhutan is all and only mountains’ | Hyperbole as flat statement | The landscape overwhelms her completely; the odd poetry signals wonder, not complaint. |
| ‘a giant child gathering earth in great armfuls’ | Extended metaphor | Geology replaced by a creation myth in miniature: playful and enormous at once, for a land that feels outside the modern world. |
| ‘from Toronto to Montreal to Amsterdam to New Delhi to Calcutta to Paro’ | Syndetic list | The piled-up place names dramatise how remote and hard to reach Bhutan is. |
| ‘I am exhausted, but I cannot sleep’ | Juxtaposition | Excitement and wonder overriding physical need on the first night. |
| ‘I watch mountains rise to meet the moon’ | Personification, alliteration | The mountains seem alive; the soft sounds make a hushed, awed night scene. |
| ‘the hideously colored Orange Cream Biscuits’ | Humour, sensory detail | The absurd food dye measures the difference between Bhutan and home (spelling as in the anthology). |
| ‘dignity, unselfconsciousness, good humor, grace’ | Asyndetic list | She runs through candidate words and still finds no single one: the failure of language becomes the praise. |
| ‘I am full of admiration for this small country that has managed to look after itself so well’ | Direct declaration | After description and history, plain personal judgement; the reader is invited to share the verdict. |
Compare it with…
A Game of Polo with a Headless Goat: two travel writers, two methods: Levine joins the chaos and reports from inside it, Zeppa stands still and lets the country come to her. The Explorer’s Daughter: both watch another way of life with admiration, and both let landscape set the scale against which people are measured.
Think it through
- Is admitting she cannot find the right word a failure of writing, or its most persuasive move?
- The few traces of the West she notices (acid washed jeans, a film poster in a bar) make Bhutan feel more foreign, not less. Why?
- Zeppa is openly an admirer. Does travel writing owe its readers balance, or is honesty about the writer’s feelings enough?
Towards the exam
Practice question: How does the writer use language and structure to express a sense of wonder in this extract? (12 marks, about 25 minutes.) Track the wonder as it develops: at first, later, by the end, with short embedded quotations at each stage. Then take it to the marking desk.