On the Road, Day One

On the morning of the 5th, the lot of us set out on our polar manifest destiny, out east. Our packed goods were loaded into a large yellow high school bus. Our program coordinator and others rode in an SUV, and the rest of us sat in a white school bus with some items filling up the back few rows. From Thimphu we ascended into the hills, twisting and turning with the landscape. There were a few checkpoints where we had to wait at until we were ushered through. At said points families would hop out of the back of trucks and walk through the queue selling momos (dumplings), popcorn, and sweets. The atmosphere on the bus was a mixed one. Several BCFers celebrated our last night in Thimphu with such gusto that the after effects carried over into the next day. Coupled with the bumpy, windy roads this did not sit well. The rest of us (me having learned my lesson earlier) were buzzing with delight, chatting excitedly about our time, the things ahead, and laughing about life. The sun was high in the sky and for a while it felt rather hot.

Within an hour the landscape had already changed somewhat. The trees were different, greener despite the dust, and closer together. Pine trees littered the distance and the hills appeared steeper. Up and up we rode until we arrived at our first pass. There to our left was a deep valley and far in the distance at the height of the clouds lie the snow-capped Himalayas. To our right was a small hill with 100 chortens, a kind of tribute created at the behest of the 4th king’s wife. I walked clockwise around them, as is custom, weaving through the stout chortens until I ascended the stairs and stood in awe at my surroundings. Everything in sight was registering in my aesthetic faculties, firing serotonin directly into my brain.

Soon after we departed and continued on our journey. Again we faced a road block, this time near a patch of frozen ice from a waterfall. Dylan and Megan, the South Africans, took to it instantly, enjoying the rare opportunity to experience real ice.

We descended slowly over the next several hours. Throughout the ride my heart was in my throat. The drive is rather treacherous and there is rarely anything to keep the bus from careening off the cliff. At one point we passed an overturned truck, lucky to still be on the road instead of in a ditch far, far below. In time we found ourselves in Punakha district. At this time of year the district is a hearty golden color with wide valleys interspersed between gradual inclines. We passed one of the first teacher’s residences, which looked beautifully over the valley below. A half hour later we had arrived at our destination for the night, a small but stunning hotel. The people in the bus, at least the ones in good spirits, were elated at the sight of this beautiful getaway. Adam from Mt. Vernon, my roommate in light of Fraser’s departure, picked one of the keys for the rooms and we went to check out our stay for the night. Our jaws dropped as we opened the door. The room was spacious and a beautiful sandy color. At the windowsill was a padded bench and a view that looked straight at the valley. In the foreground were terraced crop fields, most likely rice. In the distance was a village, some mile or two out. To the right was the incline leading back up to Cat’s placement.

As we awaited the SUV’s arrival, Adam, Nakita, Dan, Sarah, and I had a look around the complex. In one corner we found a trampoline. A trampoline—in Bhutan! We excitedly took turns jumping about then took a rest nearby. Another teacher, Judy, came and chatted with us, eventually dishing out her famous menopause rap, much to our delight. Dylan took photos of the surrounding area and we laughed uproariously as we watched a farmer throw hay at his cows. Not to. At.

When the SUV arrived, our program coordinator offered to take those willing to the famous Punakha Dzong. It is very old and situated at the convergence of two rivers—one male, one female. We were driven about 45 minutes out to the dzong, yielding some beautiful sights along the way as we followed the joined river. The dzong is absolutely massive. No pictures, even those with scale, can properly convey the size and prominence of this architectural masterpiece. We crossed a long wooden bridge into the complex, and with some magic from Nancy, we were allowed inside. She is a very important person in Bhutan, indubitably the most revered foreigner currently living. Nancy has befriended both the fourth and fifth king, been asked to join the 5th king’s wedding ceremony, and been the first non-Bhutanese to ever be awarded a merit award for her work these last thirty years. But I digress. Inside we walked with our necks craned in order to look at the tops of the buildings, taking note of district offices and a large Bodhi tree planted in one of the large courtyards. The art was ornate, just as much so as anywhere I’ve seen in Bhutan thus far.

At the far end of the complex we serendipitously encountered a group of monks practicing for an upcoming ceremony, dancing in a circular fashion, their red robes spreading and dancing with them. At the entrance of one of the buildings another group of monks played their traditional instruments to the dance, variants of horns and cymbals, the sounds of which cut deeply through my body like a divine vibration. We watched silently, taking in the moment until ushered into the main temple within the dzong. Just before stepping in we noticed Rinzin, a friend of Fraser’s we had met in Thimphu. As it turned out he was escorting a small film crew shooting for Vogue magazine. Lo and behold, behind him was a woman in monk-like clothing, white make-up, and jewels decorating her face. It was very avant-garde. High fashion, I guess.

(A hurried, discrete shot of the photo shoot in progress)

The inside of this particular shrine was overwhelming. Thousands of small Buddhas lined the walls alongside various esoteric deities which blur the lines of Hinduism and Buddhism. Every inch of space from the floor to the ceiling was expertly painted and sculpted. And at the center were three large golden figures, the historical Buddha in the center, Guru Rimpoche on the left, and Shabdrung on the right. Guru Rimpoche was the one said to have flown into Bhutan on the back of a tigress, landing on a cliff. He meditated at the spot which he eventually had made into a monastery, that being the famous Paro Takstang, otherwise known as Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Shabdrung is the man responsible for unifying Bhutan some four hundred years ago. Nancy explained that this is where the most recent royal wedding took place back in 2011. I walked around for a good five minutes, basking in the utter sensory overload I experienced until it was time to leave. My senses and soul thoroughly shaken, I walked in dreamlike state until we were again outside the complex.

We returned with enough time to shower and get ready for dinner. Following a lovely meal we were treated to a bonfire, the staff offering us wine and whiskey. We sat around the fire listening to Nancy tell us stories about her own experiences and great tales of Bhutanese children walking several days on their own just to get to school. As the fire and the drinks warmed our insides, Cat entertained us with a fireside story of a flying Yeti. The conversations lasted until our eyes drooped and the fire dimmed until it was time for us to sleep. After all, the next day called for a long drive.