Margaret’s Travel Journal

Sunday March 16, 2008

Why do we travel? To see if our edges hold. To find out who we are and who we are not. To find out if we are the same at home and elsewhere. If not, to try and figure out which one is our truest self.

Yes, of course, we seek discoveries outside ourselves in the people and cultures and surroundings we encounter, but the lasting effects of any journey are the ones that make their way into our souls and transform us forever.

This is the story of the journey to Bhutan – from sea level on the Rappahannock River in Virginia, surrounded by family and girls and teachers and responsibilities, to this tiny Himalayan Kingdom where the mountains divide the vista, the streams rush to the valley creates the background music, and the people walk by in national dress, not in a hurry.

Now it is time to leave the books behind, grateful for the impressions they’ve left but ready to experience them in sounds and sights and sensations. I love that the romance of the culture has lived in my head and heart for so long. Now it is time to open myself to absorb it all in person – letting David take the pictures while I tell the story, knowing how quickly the details blur and how fleeting are first impressions.

How did we get here? In ideas, this is one that has been simmering for years in conversations with Benjamin, in travel magazines, as we’ve thought about where to immerse ourselves in Asia. Finding the National Geographic Expedition with dates that exactly matched St. Margaret’s School’s Spring Break was the joy that made it finally come together.

Months of planning, packing, reading – here we are.

We divide into 2 groups for the 15 minute ride to our first hotel, the Zhiwaling, only 1 year old yet in the traditional style with elegant, colorful carvings around the central 3 story hall. Tea, coffee, biscuits a short outline of the day and by 9:30 a.m. we are already in our second story room rustic with all modern conveniences – heating, TV, minibar, granite bathroom, leather sofa, balcony in the sun overlooking the road, hills, and stream – where I am now while David naps on the luxurious bed. We skip the morning walk to give ourselves time to soak in these first impressions, knowing it was a last minute addition to appease the over eager. Finding alone time will be important on this busy tour.

It’s a still morning, probably around 50 degrees, no humidity, pine trees line the hills and flowering trees are just showing their first spring buds. The sky is an incredible, vibrant blue. No pollution here, just the hint of wood smoke in the air. We’re at 8,000 feet; time to be mindful of the altitude. Looking up I see the first green shoots in the garden terrace, a bright white house alone just below the summit of the next hill, a row of prayer flags marking the hotel entrance, flowers hand painted around this balcony.

I love the details – the colorful woven wall hanging behind the sofa, the lamp carved from a tree trunk, the wall lights of beaten metal, carvings and more painting around the outside of the balcony glimpsed from the floor to ceiling window, the timbered roof, the blue and cream woven rugs, carved wooden window surrounds so sturdy they could be structural, golden striped drapes – time for the pictures!

A short drive to a ruined Drukgyel Dzong (1644) one of the many built to unify the country, recently destroyed by fire. We walked what felt like straight up past a flowering cherry tree and laughing children using a hinged rubbish bin as a swing, back down to the tiny village where the gathered men watched a girl doing laundry under the tap in the cement courtyard. Our first “dong” decoration for the home complete with ribbon – there were more later.

Shopping in Paro: wonderful baskets to transport lunch – a personal tortilla basket perhaps, woven fabrics, jewelry of turquoise and amber, silver monk’s bowls, beautiful turned bowls with lids to transport food. Town was “busy” preparing for tomorrow’s tsechu.

In the hotel lobby a monk is seated on a low platform 8’ x 8’tracing on lines to form a grid. Over the next week he will create a traditional, original mandala that will remain in place for the season until May - all in colored sand, one grain at a time.

Monday March 17, 2008

By this morning we were seeing our surroundings with less Western eyes. The soft mist-shrouded green of the pine covered hills, the houses – 3 stories at most, the monk adding more detail to the sand mandala each time we passed.

By 9:30 a.m. we had parked at the bottom of the hill and were just crossing the cantilevered bridge leading to Paro Dzong following the crowd: monks in robes, men in ghos women in kiras. More color, more people – a sense of anticipation as we all walked up the steep slope.

Just outside the entrance, the Bhutanese paused to don the necessary scarves - white for most, yellow for monks, women’s vibrant with color. A rock garden - all rocks stacked like sculptures on our left. Guards stood at the base of the final stairway and turned away a young teenager not in traditional dress.

We passed quickly through the outer courtyard and found ourselves another level above the innermost courtyard where the tsechu was about to begin. With the crowd we moved down and to our left to find a place standing behind 2 rows of seated observers – both Bhutanese and tourists like us.

Whole families complete with picnic baskets had settled in. Monks of all ages – young boys to old men - wove through the crowd on 3 sides of the courtyard. Always the eager Western photographers pushed hardest.

On the fourth side sat only monks – 3 full stories of them with the most senior in a place of honor on the middle level. And the music and the dancing began – first the evil spirits; male and female masked and weaving toward each other then away all to the beat of a rhythmic drum. Then the jesters took them on while taunting the crowd – one ending up in the lap of a surprised tourist. Women sang and danced – more like a country folk formation – more clown/jester antics/more whirling dancers/ men in their own folk dance crowned with laurel wreaths and then – wonder of all wonders – the Mongolian looking men for the black hat dance. In and out they moved, one in the center, the circling others moving in and out – whirling, bending, bowing, taking tea in golden cups brought by young monks and never missing a beat.

I watched them from a ground floor corner before climbing the steep ladder stairs to the top gallery where David joined me to take a video from above. This is a teaching festival, as Carroll reminds us, part of this culture, not a tourist event! They put up with us but this is their special time and we are guests. Day 1 of this 4-day festival is the only one to be held in this inner courtyard and this space would never have been open to us otherwise. Transport this atmosphere, go to England and replace monks with courtiers and we could have been in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre. I am glad we have the pictures and some sound. The repetitions and the rhythms get into your body guiding you to adapt your breathing and your pace to their sounds. Now nearly 10 hours later I can still call up the beat. It’s calm regularly sooths the soul and quiets the mind.

Lunch in Paro in an elaborately painted upstairs room and then a temple built in 749 containing the Buddha of Compassion and offerings made to him.

At first sight these were garish circular with constructions that looked like cheap painted paper, but they too were created by this same Buddhist reverence for the process and what it means to focus your attention on the fine details while preparing your offering. They were flour/water constructions decorated with disks made of butter and then painted and assembled – consider the details – tiny flowers, shells, birds and trees, a peacock with its tail fanned, a scallop shell – cookie painting definitely taken up a notch! But I know about this patient meditation while preparing a gift for a loved one – my own act of love relived every Christmas as I paint each cookie differently, each with its own meaning.

And now the choices – back to the hotel and then a bird watching walk, or a 1 ½ hour gentle hike back to the hotel. We were the only two to select the hike – it was the right choice.

We climbed a few steps and wove between low stone walls before the path led us through the garden terraces, past homes and farmyards, up to an unpaved farm road. Spring in the Paro valley – budding trees, manure spread on waiting fields, children out of school for this festival day who greeted us in English as we walked by, some ruins of homes with new structures just next door – all in exactly the same traditional style heavily carved, painted and decorated each in its own way. A few clouds, no wind, the path to ourselves for most of the way. Yes, it was the right choice.

Afternoon tea in our room. David read and I went for a massage, still with the sound of the drum in my ears to be joined at the end of the session with the sounds from a singing bowl that filled the ornately painted room. A fitting way to end this festival day.

Tuesday March 18, 2008

The National Museum housed in a 6-layered watchtower above Paro Dzong. The second day of the Tsechu beginning in the outer courtyard just as we arrive. A 3D mandala, wonderful costumes and old copper teapots, ancient tonkas are telling stories.

This afternoon we made the first longer trek/drive. Paro to Thimpu following the river valley between high cliffs. First we are stopped at the airport while the morning flight lands, then we wind through road construction as the road is widened from 1 lane to 2. But it is the work crews that would break your heart – Indians, dark skinned men, women and children – breaking boulders to gravel by hand. You can tell it will not be long before there is the opportunity for too many people to be here.

Lunch in Thimpu – they are looking after me well – a corn prepared like rice with vegetables, spinach, carrots, peas.

Now we are promised 3 ½ more hours over Dochu La Pass at 10,000 ft. Surprisingly it was gorgeous as the foliage changed from the pines on the Paro side to ever more tropical vegetation on the way down. Red rhododendrons, magnolias, our first yak (perfect photo op) then the lower terraces ever more productive. After 2 hours we stop in the rain and walk down the hill and stretch our legs, cows pass us heading up, the young calf leading – it feels magical on this damp misty hillside looking down to the valley.

Here it is warm, lush and still raining. Our tented camp is on the Mo River above Punakha Dzong. We gather in our dining tent with sofas and chairs around the edges for an orientation to the routine – toilet and shower tents, a Bhutanese hot stone bath, dinner at 7 p.m.

Yes, this is exotic camping. Dinner/tea/ we gather again for Carroll’s Buddhism 101 in preparation for tomorrow’s hike. The rain begins again – 8:30 p.m. time for bed.

A sleeping bag with a surprise inside – a toasty hot water bottle at the bottom. Long underwear, PJ bottoms, double fleece top, bag liner, bag, socks, pillow made of down vest and coat – a cozy night for me- not so for David, still very congested. The river burbled all night – eventually it was 6:20 a.m. – coffee time.

Wednesday March 19, 2008

The coffee always works. No showers this morning – you only need to be so clean while camping! By 8 a.m. they had brought us metal dog bowls of hot water to wash a little. Breakfast – eggs, chili, rice and French fries! My supplies are serving me well – porridge with cinnamon and almonds, corncakes – all that needed to be added. We are glad for our own tea and coffee bags.

Two shops on clotheslines (Visa or MasterCard!) Tempted a few but the jacket I liked, not loved, was from Kashmir, not here, machine not handmade and $300 – no thanks.

A glorious morning – clouds on the hilltops dusting the top of the temple we would visit later this morning. Just like Machu Picchu the walk started across a swing bridge and wound like Cinque Terre in and out of the fields – terraced vegetable gardens so neatly divided – mustard, winter wheat, chili, beans on poles. A traditional home with a manicured lawn halfway up the one hour climb had an orange tree in the yard. Two-thirds of the way up we passed through a wrought iron gate onto a flagstone path. We had stopped often to watch the ox team plow, the women plant, the colors change as the sun dove in and out of the clouds.

Khamsum Yuelley Namgyal Chorten, the 5th king’s mother began this construction when he was about 6 to ensure his long life. The entrance, ornate decorations Carroll describes as like Breugel on LSD! We climb to the roof for the view of the valley, river, fields and camp below. The decoration came to a lama in a vision – quite a vision. Carroll explains the Buddhist symbolism and how this is used as a teaching tool. The more I hear of Buddhist teachings the more complex I realize it is.

Clouds come in as we walk back down but rain holds off until after lunch. By the time we park at Punakha Dzong it has stopped. This is the second largest dzong in the country. When our guide Tsering was a boarder at the Jesuit school here in the valley it caught fire at 3:30 a.m. and one third of the building was destroyed. The king determined it should be rebuilt but 4 years into the project a glacial dam burst and the Pho River took out another section. The 14-year rebuilding was finished and the dzong was dedicated in 2000.

Inside the extraordinarily detailed carvings and paintings do not look new. There are many of the same images and themes seen in Paro. The outer courtyard looks up to a 4 story central tower and 2 story galleries on the other 3 sides. A monk empties a bucket out of a third floor window. In the center of the courtyard is the traditional tree replicating the one under which the Buddha gained enlightenment.

We walk through a passageway and climb to an interior galley overlooking a long hall with red robed monks seated in 4 rows chanting and beating the raised round drums. The music stopped and the monks produced their tea bowls out of their robes and were served butter tea. They then pulled out a square white cloth and spread it on their laps. Another monk spooned rice into the center. Some began immediately eating it with their fingers. Others folded the cloth and formed it into a cake. Next came a monk and assistant with a pot of vegetables in broth. This was ladled into the now empty tea bowls. A few had another cup of tea after all of this.

We descended the stairs and entered the inner religious courtyard. In front of us on the steps stood the stern disciplinarian cracking his 3-tailed switch as young monks in red robes hurried inside to be seated again in 4 rows. The little monks nearest us were only 6 or 7 and continued to poke and prod each other. An older boy next to them glanced at us and threw something to a boy in the next row. The chanting and drums continued. Tsering led us to the altar to receive a blessing from the high lama – pretend to drink the water and spread it on your hair! This was a special opportunity to sit on the floor and share a prayer ceremony with the monks.

60 monks live here in their winter residence and move to Thimpu in the summer. In a country of only 600,000 1/10th of them are monks!

Next a truly Bhutanese experience – a hot stone bath on the river shore. First you take a shower in a tent using a cylinder of hot water. Then wrapped only in your towel walk down the hill to an enclosure with two hot stone baths separated by a waist high bamboo screen.

What was it like? A rectangular wooden tub with a set of bars dividing off 1/8th of its length. The stones were behind the bar – a gritty hot tub with chrysanthemum leaves floating on top of the water.

When Chetay asked if we wanted more hot stones we said yes and another of the staff brought them in tongs. No room for modesty here!

These camp evenings begin early around the bonfire – some read, some write, some chat. As 7 p.m. approaches the circle expands until we are all ready for the dinner the staff will bring - soup, dinner, fruit, coffee and tea always available. We are glad we brought our own tea and coffee bags – no Nescafe unless absolutely necessary!

Tonight we are to have a cultural evening – local girls come to perform traditional circle dances and some of us join in. The highlight is adding the staff to the circle then Chetay’s solo number in 3 styles- traditional, rock and hip hop all while singing like a rooster cocorico!

A better night – we wore our hats! The full moon over us all.

Thursday March 20, 2008

Morning meditation and breath exercises for 30 minutes with Carroll on the beach. We spread out the camp rugs, sat on our pillows and 8 of us followed her gentle introduction to focus and center our energies. Some of it was new, much I had done with Ann. MRI Studies show significant brain changes after 20 minutes a day for just 6 months.

Packed again, lovely breakfast around the bonfire. A stunning day - it’s actually hot! After a 30 minute drive back up the valley we stop for a 30 minute walk across terraced fields to the mad monk’s monastery. A surprise along the way is a single prayer wheel with a line of prayer flags behind it. Halfway along our walk a single monk chanting his morning prayers.

This is Carroll’s favorite spot – built by the brother of the monk of crazy wisdom – a wild and sexually charged series of painting on the walls. Here mothers come first in hopes of having children and then with their babies for a blessing and the selection of a name. We see two babies named, the monk taking a hair from the child and drawing a name from a basket.

Outside young monks are “in school” – some chanting, others playing the long horns, polishing altar ornaments or reading texts together. They love having their photos taken then looking at themselves.

The phalluses on houses are linked to this monk who was said to have waved his penis to scare off adversaries. He also “visited” many local women! The story is he shot an arrow from Tibet, he followed it to a house here, mated with the wife who had his child, then stayed in the valley. These are not fertility but protection symbols – we see many.

Another long, winding ride takes us at dusk into the Phobjikha Valley. No electricity here, just the generator 6 – 9 p.m. and 6 – 7 a.m. When it comes in 2009 it will be underground so as not to harm the cranes.

Friday March 21, 2008

Sitting in the chair by the 3-paneled window in our large room in Dewachen Lodge the sun rises at 6:45 a.m. just where the full moon was as I sat here before dinner last night. There is frost on the ground in this wide high mountain valley – winter home to the black necked cranes who have now all moved on to Mongolia for the summer. Carroll teases us that we will have to join her there this summer to see them - she and her Mongolian entrepreneur friends run a camp there.

We are cold but clean. The wood stove ran out after we had fallen asleep and with our early start we won’t light it again. By this stage, the layers of clothes no longer match, hair goes in its own direction – the goals are warm and clean! Nice to feel priorities shift so easily.

Surprise, the cranes have not all left. After breakfast the buses dropped us at Gangte Goemba where we began the 2 hour gentle hike down through the forest, where suddenly it smelled like insect repellant, something in the air. We all stopped at a high sunny lookout, complete with park bench, on the opposite side of the valley to the crane observation center.

Andrea spotted a single crane confirmed by Chetay. Then he saw 4 further to our left near the school. Suddenly the 4 rose into the air in pairs, 2 heading toward the single crane in front of us where they landed, the other 2 circling, soaring, rising until they disappeared into the distance. And then there were only 3 where 300 of the 800 in entire world-wide had wintered. David captured them in flight – an unexpected treat!

We descended to the school at the bottom of the valley and took the buses to the crane center – a wonderful video showing the valley full of cranes and the first ever film of their mating dance and a stunning series of color photos of the cranes in the snow covered valley.

At breakfast Carroll shared the Tibetan belief in Shambhala – a mythical, magical place to which people could go when times proved challenging – and they did. This is one such place – as in James Hilton’s Shangri-La – a high Himalayan valley at 9,600 feet only found after crossing a high mountain pass. I can understand the feeling! Here when winter comes the residents leave for lower attitudes leaving the livestock, herders and cranes.

After lunch we visit the monastery that they are restoring due to termite damage- what an undertaking – all being done by trained Bhutanese craftsmen and funded by Americans and others who follow this lama. It is just as ornate and beautifully painted as elsewhere – intense colors, complex designs – still much work to do. On the high corners the original stone white-painted snow lions have been incorporated into the new construction. It is “an auspicious day” and many are making the trek up the hill with offerings. The narrow town of numerous “general stores” is packed – and here is the “flaming thunder bolt” a penis with flames coming out both sides.

We are climbing to the high pass and suddenly it is hailing! Each of us takes a string of prayer flags to be tied left to right, blue to yellow. David and I both dedicate ours to Ben and his long life, taking pictures of each other in the hailstorm. And just as quickly as we turn around to go down it is again a sunny blue day.

This one lane, two-way road has a chiseled cliff on one side and a steep drop off on the other. Wider sections allow vehicles to pass. We see a trader, wide Bhutan construction trucks, taxis, small cars, the occasional single cow, a large horned yak-like beast, small children with dart guns, one with a sausage in his hand, the dark skinned Indian work crews –three men standing beside a huge pile of shattered stone looking uncertain of what to do next. Many are returning to their homes for Monday’s first ever national election making traffic heavier than usual, the bus veers to the opposite side at every turn and we are amazed to never hit anything!

We stop several times on the way down – once for monkeys in the high trees, several times to photograph the magnolias and red rhododendrons we had seen on the way up.

I like doing this ride again now that we are retracing our route. I remember this set of flowering trees, these waterfalls as the road turns, the magnificent homes atop their green terraced gardens on the opposite slope. We are all glad to see the river as we descend until we cross a bridge and drop down to Chuzomsa Resort our home for the night. It feels like our own little Garden of Eden. – next to the river, flowering bushes and trees, 2 story cottages – our upper level room has a balcony overlooking the river. We sit down for a few minutes before I join Carroll and four others on the beach below for 30 minutes of yoga and breath work. Awake!

Dinner at long tables. Tsering’s impassioned rendition of his country’s history – another early night.

Saturday March 22, 2008

Sitting on the long sofa of dark wood and woven cloth looking at the paneled floor to ceiling windows of the Taj Tashi Hotel in Thimpu, our camping experience seems to have been in such a different country. Yes, an elegant international hotel can quickly homogenize any experience, and I am grateful for the variety of truly Bhutanese experiences we have enjoyed this week. Having this near the end – and only very briefly from 5 p.m. until 8 a.m. with dinner at a local restaurant will make this the exception and that feels right.

This morning we retraced our route over the high pass and back to Thimpu – plenty bumpy, windy, looking for a long while for ‘the right bushes” for a bathroom break. When we stop we decide to walk on up the hill with the bus picking us up later. It feels fabulous to be alone together on this high mountain road. We can see the pass and its 108 chortens ahead of us – 8 windy kilometers on from here.

We are blessed with clear skies and sun when we reach the top – exhilarating to be surrounded by the wind and prayer flags on every side of the gold topped white chortens rising in the center. This is the middle of the queen’s new botanical park that will work on preserving the country’s bio-diversity, starting with rhododendrons.

Lunch in Thimpu is at a Chinese restaurant and I receive the usual plate of mixed vegetables-- cauliflower, spinach, carrots, mushrooms - having seen them on the ground at the Wangdue Phodrang market during this morning’s fuel stop, I appreciate their freshness. That entire crossroads will soon be destroyed to make way for a wider road and more room for the dzong and the military barracks that share this high spot – monks and soldiers! Below we saw the evenly laid out roads and street lamps for the new town – yes, they will have fresh water and sanitation, but know much will they have lost? You wonder how these proud people, each with their own shop front, will make this transition – what will every day be like in the isolation of their own four walls?

In the afternoon we shop for souvenirs – some jewelry, prayer flags, an incense holder, door handles like dragons. Up and down the main streets of Thimpu handicraft stores are interspersed with those selling shoes and local goods.

Six of us also visit a traditional weaver who is weaving the king’s gho for his coronation – multicolor with real gold threads – we get to hold and photograph it. The weaver demonstrates then offers some weavings for sale – I select two small wall hangings in silk – real treasures from the king’s weaver housed in a humble western style home and working in a wooden shed-like annex.

Dinner is a Yangphel treat with 15 dignitaries joining us. We meet the young secretary of agriculture – biggest issue: wildlife versus farmers in this Buddhist country. They have finally agreed to allow the farmers to kill boars within 100 meters of their fields. Yes, then they eat them! David dines with the GNH IT manager issue: their site has been blacklisted. I dine with the organizer of a dance troupe who will travel to DC for the Smithsonian folk festival. How young these leaders area!

Sunday March 23, 2008

This time the road from Thimphu to Paro looks like a super –highway. The first ¾ hour we are in construction, bumping over gravel for the new widened road that we pick up for the last half of the trip. How much our eyes have changed – Paro looks tidy and modern as we enter past the airport and the dzong. It now feels like homecoming and we all wish we could have a little longer here.

Now the weather has turned and it is cold and windy – just in time for our visit to a typical farmhouse. The owner is a man who had worked with Yangphel before marrying and moving to his wife’s home as is the custom. We meet the grandmother but not the mother and children.

Downstairs is the cow, sharing a covered shed with a new puppy. Next door is the storeroom for grains and valuables with a special pole that comes from the floor above through a hole in the ceiling to lock the room – sometimes the owner sleeps on the hole on the first floor. There is an outside kitchen for major events – the once a year gathering of the community. We then climb a ladder to the first floor (animals can’t climb ladders!) A kitchen to the right, on the left is a living room, a family room, then we enter two rooms of equal size that are reserved for the altar. Once a year 15 monks come to the home for a special service and they stay in this room. This is a wealthy home with old paintings, swords, and shields. Like all the men, this one wears an immaculate gho and dress shoes. In one corner is a desk with English texts stacked on a table and a study schedule taped to the wall. There is one sofa and then a stack of mats and blankets that are spread out for the night. The children have a room on the side that we do not see. This is a 300 year old home with 8 acres.

Now we can appreciate the humble collective lives of these people who are always calm and gracious. There is no arguing here – they discuss and come to conclusions.

Next we walk across the road to a archery field where Tsering Dorji and our drivers are already practicing with their $1,000 Hoyt bows – the range is 2 ¾ football fields long and 3 hit the target! This is a sign of manliness – like so many other aspects of this culture- an arrow into a bulls eye – the bow is every young man’s first purchase. Let’s hope this culture does not change when more Western status symbols move in.

Now back ‘home’ again to our same room in the Zhiwaling # 14. The under floor heating, a cup of tea, we settle in again before the usual 7 p.m. dinner. (They continue to look after me well – Swedish chef- red pepper stuffed with cauliflower and mushrooms and sautéed beef.) Early to bed 9 p.m.

Monday March 24, 2008

We did it! The full climb in three stages to Tiger’s Nest Monastery. This was one of our goals and we are both thrilled to have succeeded in completing this incredibly challenging hike.

Breakfast at 7 a.m. as usual – then our 8:30 a.m. departure. By 9 a.m. we are at the starting point and quickly spread out along the trail – our 3 guides place themselves – Carroll in the lead, Kasha the driver in the middle and Tsering at the end.

The trail begins gently in a pine forest until we come to 3 water driven prayer wheels and a small bridge. Now up and around, in and out of the sunshine, stopping every time we come to a spot of shade. By the time we reach the first stop – the cafeteria – we have finished our first bottle of water. 1¼ hours so far.

We are comfortably in the middle of the group, walking together – all of us offering each other encouragement – we need it! A cup of tea, a friendly cat, lots of photos of the monastery on the next peak and still some way up. We all feel the altitude and appreciate this rest in the shade.

Stage two to the observation spot directly across from the monastery is a similar length with similar intensity. We are jubilant to find the first 3 there on our arrival – Carroll, Dendy and Gail. Another pause for family and group photos and Carroll’s buoyant enthusiasm inspires us all to take the last stage – down, then across a bridge with its own prayer wheel and waterfall, then up the other side.

I am determined – despite my fear of heights. This is the system- face the cliff face, look only at the next 3 – 5 steps, use the walking stick and NEVER look up or down. It works and soon I can turn toward the waterfall and glacial ice. Carroll talks of this holy spot where the Guru Rinpoche landed. The monk of crazy wisdom stood on the pregnant leopard. The water falling is sacred – the orgasmic juices of the tiger. Carroll fills a bottle full on the way down to take back to her lama friends in Nepal.

One final climb – the same system works and we are there! Before entering we must give up our bags, hats, shoes and cameras. Kasha stays behind to watch them all.

Carroll guides us into the small temple where one monk blesses us and gives us a sacred necklace for 100 ngultrum each - we get one for Ben too. To the side is a hole in the wall through which we can see the original cave where Guru Rinpoche retreated. Now there is an altar with butter offerings and painted walls. We are so high. It is stunning to imagine the construction of all of this – restored recently after yet another butter lamp fire.

Here we see many familiar figures – the 8 auspicious signs, the 4 friends, flying figures – some from ancient religions, some from Buddhism over the centuries – all gilded and ornate but also with the piles of junk food offerings on the alter beside the bowls of water and the offering plate.

It feels odd to have been immersed in Buddhism and missed Easter. Carroll placed small nests of wine dyed eggs on the dinner table last night and today has hidden them along the trail. She reminds us regularly that Buddhism here is unlike anywhere else – tantric, very sexual. I am stunned by how ornate and garish it looks to the untrained eye. Carroll continually enriches the sights with the accompanying stories – a life’s work of understanding.

Now we start back – down, across, up to the observation spot. Twelve of our group of 21 made it to the top, 3 climbed to the observation post, the rest stayed behind to enjoy hikes and massages at the hotel on this glorious sunny day.

Tsering and Kasha start down with the majority of the group. David and I walk ahead, comfortable with the downward path even though it is steep at times – thank goodness for wonderful hiking boots!

Lunch at the tea house and I am again surprised by a large plate of plainly cooked, nicely seasoned fresh vegetables. – spinach, carrots and cauliflower. We set out first for the final 45 minute descent – knees and thighs know it has been a long day! Halfway down we pass Mike and Karen going slowly using two high tech walking sticks each and cheering themselves on singing show tunes. We relish the quiet as we move ahead finally reaching the water prayer wheels and pine forest. Three sets of enterprising women have set out souvenirs on blankets. We relent and buy one more frog.

And now we are down. We did it! I can’t wait to look at David’s photos to see the vistas I missed, thrilled to have accomplished this wish for the trip.

Tea in our room. David settles on the bed to read and I join Bettina at the tea house for the special gathering she has organized. Deny, Andrea, Elena, then Carol and Carroll join us, each trying a different kind of tea accompanied by cookies and a wine/meringue pie (white wine, sugar, egg whites, gelatin, crumb crust).

The Swedish chef explains his goals for the hotel – establishing a kitchen garden and an orchid house, opening a second hotel restaurant – Bhutanese, and writing the first Bhutanese cookbook.

Others go for a massage or sauna. I return to buy the purple and pink kira jacket I admired the first week, a small turquoise necklace and the silver and turquoise dagger earrings I thought Hazel would like.

Now it’s time for our farewell dinner. The guides and drivers join us at our long tables. Carroll thanks us all holding Todd’s wooden dong like a microphone. Tsering adds his thoughts then Dendy. I can’t resist the opportunity for the hilarity of a girls’ boarding school headmistress holding this dong while thanking our guides. Dinner is again delicious – a polenta cake topped with large mushrooms sautéed in butter.

The guides bring chairs to encircle the now complete mandala in the 3 storied central hall for our final farewells. David films Tsering’s long impassioned talk and Chetay’s hilarious cocorico song done in rap style. And now our last goodnight before our 8:30 a.m. departure – a little repack and lights out at 10.

Today was election day – the transition to a constitutional democracy from a monarchy –- decreed by the well-loved 4th king during a time of peace. People returned to their homes to vote – for some a 3 day walk and Tsering’s favored party, those with the most experience won a landslide victory. He shows us his thumb marked with ink to indicate he had voted.

Tuesday March 25, 2008

Our last morning dawns a bright clear stunning spring day. We see greener trees, in bud last week and now in leaf. The weeping willows that line the roads have all been cut back French-style, their trunks now huge. Flowering plum, apple, white and pink. The winter wheat in the fields shimmers in the sun.

Again our eyes see differently as we retrace our route – out past the prayer flags at the Zhiwaling, through the countryside and Paro to the airport. This time it, too, looks modern, clean and completely in keeping with the surrounding hills.

And here on the plane I have just met a woman who runs a school in Thimpu and whose niece is at Madeira on a full scholarship, her sister at Brown. Yes, this little kingdom is changing as they educate their youth in English at home and then internationally.

Again I wonder how change will come. The concept of Gross National Happiness is alive and well in the minds of the leaders and the educated classes as they measure quality of life in this poor by western standards country.

So many of the old values endure – the extended family, self-sufficiency, community support, faith that blends the Buddhist and the historical with blessings and the reliance on auspicious signs and dates. Still the coronation of the 26 year old 5th king has not been set – waiting for an auspicious day and the completion of the first ever elections. The new king will not be seated until this takes place. Still the king retains significant power.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Our fellow National Geographic tour members were a well-traveled group. Most had been to the Galapagos and Machu Picchu, South Africa. Some to Patagonia and Costa Rica. Next time ask about the size of the group! Our group of 23 divided in 2 buses was as large as I’d like to be. We heard that the next group taking a longer trip to Bumthang (11 hours by road) and winding its way back would be 33 hours. Our guides were amazing - smart, wise, generous, each bringing different qualities and temperaments. Carroll the American Buddhist who had lived 25 years in Katmandu with her photographer husband, 2 boys and numerous foster children; Tsering the well-educating Bhutanese guide turned hotelier then again guide who clearly had his eye on what change would mean for his country; Chetay the joking Bhutanese, more countrified and a very skilled naturalist and bird spotter. From each of them we gained different perspectives on our experiences and the trip would not have been as richly educational without them. We would have seen the sites but failed to understand the stories and history surrounding them.

What I always appreciate about this kind of intense adventure travel is realizing that I can leave my school and home lives behind, taking my curiosity and desire to test my personal limits to new situations.

Bhutan opened my eyes to a simplicity of life and expectations where consciousness of the complexities of modern life remains but does not dominate. They wisely challenge each person and each country to consider how they would define Gross National Happiness. The Bhutanese have developed their own surveys and metrics to do just this. What would ours ask and measure?