Bhutan wasn’t
any random place that Prashant and I had chosen to backpack and explore. After
all, we were not in search of Zen and inner peace. It was a simple childish
reason that tied the two most important cities of Bhutan – Thimphu and Paro –
with us. Thimpu rhymed with Tippu and Paro was Prashant’s nickname. Thimpu had
always been my dream, ever since the age of 8 almost. With time, this had transformed
into an obsession. And I realized this as I reached Bhutan, inhaled and felt
alive!
Our permits
allowed us to laze in Bhutan for a week. We headed for the bus station. The
Phuentsholing bus stand didn’t look all as grand as imagined entrance. There
weren’t the flying dragons painted on overhead shades with buses zooming in and
out of a wide, interdisciplinary road and conductors shouting “Howdah, Howdah,
jabe” as I’d imagined it to be. In reality, it was on a two lane road, with an
overhead shade to accommodate a maximum of 15 people and there was no line of buses
waiting to zoom away. With broken English, Hindi and the evergreen, eternally
lasting sign-language, we learnt that the buses had to be booked at least a
week in advance. There were only two buses per day to Paro. Though we were the
early birds here, with no bus tickets, there was no worm we could prize
ourselves with. As hopes drowned ounce by ounce, we figured that the only other
alternative left was to travel by a cab.
A cab. All
the way to Paro! How expensive can that be? Numbers took the centre-stage inside
my head as addition/subtraction kicked out the art-lover who was seated
comfortably in that right-center part of my brain until then. With no other
alternative, we reluctantly left to the cab stand and found it buzzing with
activity. The locals, apparently, used more of the cab service than the buses, owing
to its speed and convenience, may be? We found out that the minimum fare to
Thimphu or Paro was 400 Ngultrum (Ng). The nagging feeling in our heads was
about sharing a cab with total strangers. But soon we realized that it was not going
to be all that awkward. They didn’t understand our language, we didn’t
understand theirs and any attempt to speak the only common language we spoke
would have forced Wren & Martin to kill each other and call it a suicide.
It would have
been a crime to fit 4 passengers in a WagonR for a 6 hour drive to Paro, just
160 km away. But, Bishnu, our concierge, for-the-moment-travel-guide, helper
and cab driver, had better ideas. With just one Dzongkha speaking gentleman, we
were only 3 of us headed to Prashant’s city. Bishnu’s irrefutable offer was to
take just the three of us, if each of us paid 100 Ng more. At, the thought of
our bodies rubbing against each other and Avomin tablets working over time, we decided
that 100 Ng extra per person might not be so bad after all! The temperature was
around 20 deg C. Right there, we started our beautiful journey.
Photo by Prashant Arora
One hour into
the amazing drive, we stopped twice - once for verification of our permit
papers and then for a nature’s call. We were climbing, ricocheting, rejoicing
and remembering that the faster you climb, the easier it is to vomit. But we,
as true gentlemen, unflinchingly and unapologetically have been vomit free
since 2003. It was getting colder, but not enough to get your jackets on. The two-lane
road was as curvy as Kylie Minogue with the blind spots caressed by some
effective use of lights and careful driving. Not once did Bishnu use horns to
drive someone mad on the road. One interesting feature of this drive was that
the hill peaks were connected by a long string of prayer flags. Who on earth
would tie two hill tops with a string of prayer flags! Definitely a modern day
miracle. With lush green hills on one side and deep abyss on the other, the
Dzongkha songs were music to our ears which was spoilt by Bishnu’s penchant for
Hindi songs. The grass is definitely greener on the other side!
We passed
Chukka, the educational hub of the kingdom of Bhutan. Crossing Gaeddu College
of Business Studies, thoughts of my Bhutanese counterpart students, who will be
working in the future to fulfill someone else’s dreams, filled my mind. Chukka
is one of the largest contributing districts or Dzongkhags to Bhutan’s GDP. A
country known to measure its progress in Gross National Happiness (GNH) attaches
itself to GDP measurements only to appease the outside world. It’s probably a
win-win situation - keeps the outside world happy with the race of a GDP growth,
while within, they’re contended with their GNH progress. Chukka is also the
financial capital of Bhutan, but not the way we have known financial capitals
to be. For starters, there are more trees within the Gaeddu college campus than
the whole of Bombay put together. Chukka knew better to chew its food and
swallow rather than leaving it to the stomach to over-work and then blame the
resultant gastro problems on stress. Speaking of food, it was time for a hot
meal. We stopped at the road-side inn overlooking the Chukka Hydel Power
station – again, one up over Bombay in terms of green energy!
We stepped
out of the car, and, bam! The cold hit me. It felt fantastic! It was time to
fend for my gloves. I wondered how Bishnu could wear that traditional dress –
Gho, in this cold. To explain what a Gho looks like, it is a Mundu/Veshti (for
all the Northies- yeah! yeah! a lungi!) cut in half and stitched at a go with
your bathroom gown, with some amazing colors and designs predominantly being
stripes. If you want to know about a Kira – the women’s wear, it is pretty much
a nice bright top and a full length Mundu/Vesti in varied colors. Gho and Kira,
makes the folks look so much prettier and the colors scintillating colors leaves
one mesmerized in the ‘70s East man colors. But, the question still remained a
mystery. How do they bear the cold? Here I was, wearing three layers of clothing
with hands covered in woolen gloves, and in contrast, there is Bishnu and the
likes seldom showing any emotions w.r.t the weather, lest it was extreme.
We entered
the inn and what a relief it was. A nice wooden floored inn, overlooking the
Chukka Hydel Power station and wherever one’s eyes went, it met with the photos
of His Highness Jigme Khesar Wangchuck and his beautiful wife Queen Jetsun Pema.
How can someone be so pretty! Their photos adorned the walls and we were
constantly in the loop of the gossip about how the king has told that he will
have only one wife. If Jetsun Pema has to be someone’s wife, she could only be his,
fittingly a queen. After being floored by the royal beauty, we went to the
counter to order some food. Still shy of ordering a Bhutanese cuisine, we
ordered in for some fried rice. If you call McD’s burgers tasty, you should
probably take the efforts to climb Mount Everest and jump from there! This was one
of the best fried rice I have ever, ever had. Like Ever had! It wasn’t the
bland original Chinese fried rice, nor was it the Indianized version either.
After a sumptuous meal, we thanked the inn-owner for his kindness and the hot
water and paid the bill. The saga of paying in rupees and getting Ngultrum in
return, continued.
Photo by Prashant Arora
Off we
descended this hill and made our way to the next. We continued our journey
through beautiful bridges decorated with prayer flags, ravines, streams and fresh,
pure air. Things around looked so pure and pristine that one could easily get
consumed in the guilt of causing harm in riding that diesel car through it. We
came to a junction, where if we take a right, we go to Thimphu and a left would
lead to Paro. There was once again a big picture of the king and queen. And she
was still so adorable! We were checked for cigarettes and permits and let off
to the drive along the Paro River to enter the city of Paro.
We were at least
an hour away. Barely holding on to the excitement brimming up, we changed the
songs, exchanged notes on how cold it was in Paro and how hot it is Bombay. We
were also tuned in to radio for some news on the upcoming National Day
celebrations and Dochula festival. This was something new – Dochula festival.
It was a new addition to set of festivals in Bhutan and is celebrated to
commemorate the commencement of the military expedition in 2003. What
expedition, when and why? We knew zilch about this. Bishnu and the other
passenger started coaxing us to attend the Dochula festival. I mean what??
The date was
11th December and to attend the Dochula festival on 13th
December, we are supposed to get a permit from the Permit office in Thimphu to
venture to Punakha valley. If we make it to Paro today, we would miss this
festival. But, if we take up this invite and attend the Dochula festival, we would
miss the 17th December National Day celebrations at Thimphu. Well,
the problem was, we will have to cover Paro as well and can’t afford to spend
all our time in Thimphu which we would if we decide to go with Mr. Dochula.
Understood nothing? Exactly what we were feeling too!
Read this
handmade MS Paint relic to clear the confusion:
The decision
was made. We will attend the Dochula festival and for no reasons on earth, were
we gonna miss it! We were on the outskirts of Paro, where we dropped our
co-passenger. Do we get back to Thimphu? Bishnu told us that he will charge us
200Ng/person more for the drop. He was still being an ass, but would turn into
our companion much later in the trip. In life, when there is a decision to be
made between money and experience (to be fair, anything), it always has to be
experience (anything). You may earn or lose money in the long run, but you will
never lose the experience. Thus, the mad men in the rear seats chose to head to
the only capital city in the world with no traffic signals! Being this mad
becomes a rarity that you cannot live without it at times and places like
these!
