On to Bhutan

Saturday, April 3 2009
ON TO BHUTAN
It’s 8am when our cheery Kathmandu guide gathers his flock of 3 for the ride to the chaotic Kathmandu airport. Another guide takes over and runs off to pay airport taxes and get seat allocation, very important, since you can see the Himalayas, which we will fly by, only on the left side of the plane. The chauffeur looks away for a second, and a man, who we actually think is one of the company guys, wheels our luggage for about 50 meters then rudely demands a tip. We are getting really sick of this whole tipping business. But this irritation is soon replaced by larger frustrated feelings as first we have to put our whole luggage through the x-ray machine and then get body searched – once again. By this time I have gotten used to having my breasts touched by small Asian women in uniform, but it is a first when she also puts her hand on my pubis. I wonder what she thinks I could be hiding there, and realize at the same time that the curtain is not really closed and a cleaner is watching the procedure reflectively leaning on his broom. Then there are lengthy forms to be filled out and lines to get our passport stamped. The final flourish is a long slow line – men and ‘ladies’ separated – to get our hand luggage searched very, very thoroughly. Now we understand why the agent wanted us to be at the airport 3 hours before departure.
On the plane we are served a butter sandwich, 3 triangular crust-less pieces of white bread smeared with butter piled on top of each other – also a first – we will later find out that people only eat white bread in Bhutan – but all is forgiven when the huge craggy forbidding Himalaya peaks begin to show on our left, looking magnificent against the white clouds at their bases and the clear blue sky. Although many mountains are quite easy to see, only the top of Mount Everest is visible, from a side which slows a snow covered slope.

 It is a short flight and soon the pilot picks his way into Paro airport amongst the surrounding mountains, where there are moments it seems the wings will touch the forested hills.
Here are some photos of the mountains and the landing:
http://picasaweb.google.com/schateaubriand/TheHimalayasAndArrivingInParo#
We feel we have landed in a scene from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The airport building is trimmed with hand painted colorful friezes, and in the immigration hall brightly colored patchwork rectangles cover the doors. The service, however, is excruciatingly slow. We are the last to retrieve our baggage and meet the tall handsome young version of Chow Yun Fat, Tchiring, which pronounced sounds an awful lot like my own name, who will be our guide throughout our stay in Bhutan. He went to university in Darjeeling and speaks excellent English and has a high-pitched, cheerful laughter, reminiscent of my son’s. He takes us to our new hotel, the Olathang, high up on a hill, where we are installed in adjacent (dark) chalets. At our hotel lunch we observe an animated table full of Danes– sort of the last thing you would expect.
The food, served buffet style, is surprisingly good with choices of white and red rice, interesting new vegetables, such as wild fern and bitter guord - something between a cucumber and a courgette with a severe skin ailment, a heavenly stir-fried noodle dish with thinly sliced vegetables, and, of course, meat and fish. Chilies are eaten as a vegetables, and you’d better steer clear of them, ‘course those things are STRONG.
We are let loose in the downtown area for the remaining afternoon. All the shops look the same, with small rectangular decorated windows, and, in the case of food shops, with garlands of air-filled Lay’s potato chips. There is a special flavor called Marsala – pretty strong. Along with the encroaching fast food, which we see in the hands of many children, are sold the traditional stables, which rest inside the dark shops in big sacks on the not-so-clean floor. Sweeping is done with a back-killing bunch of branches, which are about ½ meter high, making the sweeper walk along bent over at the waist. 

 and I check out the many ‘handicraft’ stores and discuss the merits of the very attractive and colorful woven fabrics – surprisingly expensive. Then it’s time to return to the hotel for a drink and dinner – a repetition of lunch with the addition of a hot soup. We companionably end the evening with a whisky in J & O’s cottage.
Photos from downtown Paro here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/schateaubriand/DowntownParo#