Paro airport welcomes you with the embrace
of mountains around you. That's the first sight that you see on disembarking.
That, and the ever-smiling tomato-coloured faces of the Bhutanese children.
Paro is just almost as big as my college
campus. There's a single main street, and small distributaries jutting out,
containing the markets and the humble hotels. There are bridges under which the
river flows. At the cost of sounding poetic, the mountains smile from a distance, sometimes revealing their
snow caps. The shops are few, and portray a middle class contentment.
If you cross the bridge and walk a little
further, you come across an old temple. They say it's 1200 years old. It may be
less. It preserves the faith of the people in religion.
Paro itself sleeps by 9 p.m. Sleep
comes early in the mountains. Perhaps it's because there is nothing much to do
otherwise. But there is no sense of urgency. Everybody helps you, and people go
about their own work which would give the illusory impression that they are
busy (even if they are not occupied).
Never have I seen the people of a place so
content with their life. They seem to want no development. They are happy
living in the hills, in the small hamlet they call their town.
- May 09, 2015.
It was a clear day. The journey to the
Chelela pass provided so many beautiful images that I wouldn't have minded if
the destination were a little disappointing. It is even a great experience to
stop the car and take a leak at a random corner in the hills. It's not often
that the bathroom promises such freshness in the air you inhale.
We reached Chelela pass, and the mountains
shone with all their magnificence. The snow capped peaks afar were as beautiful
and unreachable as the happy memories of a long-lost love story.
During the descent, our driver very
innocuously asked us if India has a king. He was very disappointed when we said
it didn't. He was of the firm belief, like the rest of his countrymen, that the
presence of the king prevents crime. How can India, being such a big country,
not have one?
I broke my travelmate's glasses while
attempting to take a photograph. The
problem has been temporarily resolved though. Paro has two optical shops. The
kinds you found twenty years ago in a small Indian town.
Tiger's Nest is said to be the main
attraction here, and the biggest tourist draw. It is not a difficult trek
really, but it's rather long. The trek ends at the monastery, which is the site
where Guru Rinpoche is said to have reached on the back of a tiger and
meditated.
Throughout the journey, I kept wondering as
to why the Guru could not choose a more convenient place to meditate. But just
when I reached the monastery, after a lot of huffing and puffing, I felt I knew
the answer. You can see a waterfall from the monastery, probably flowing into
the Paro river. The monastery, jutting out of the hill, overlooks the valley.
There are two sounds - one of the tourists in their various languages, the
other of the monks in their prayer language. Both would have been absent 1200
years ago. The place would have been eerily deserted. I guess the wise man can
find salvation only in such quietude.
During our descent, we were the only people
around. And then, I could only hear the rustle of the leaves. For the entire
journey downward. I would stop at various intervals to take in the feeling. I
had never felt tranquility from so close in my life. For an antisocial like me,
it seemed a perfect place to set up a house. I kept looking at the monastery
from below to visualize what it must have been for a man all those years ago to
come and meditate here. Scary? Difficult? Serene? All of these? What was it
that was revealed? Someday I wish to return here, or go to somewhere similar in
search of peace. Till then, I shall keep traveling.
It had started raining and I had to see the
Drukgyel Dzong, a 14th century ruined fortress. Drukgyel, I am told, means
"Victory of the Druk". With the Dzong being absolutely run down, with
not a soul in sight except me and no sound except the pitter patter of the
raindrops, the place seemed haunted. I cannot write more here, since I am
always scared of such places, and their memories. But notwithstanding all that,
it is an experience which I recommend everyone should have, and if possible, in
a way similar to mine.
- May 11, 2015.
 |
| Drukgyel Dzong - The ruined fortress |
Thimphu, the capital, is an obvious way
markedly different from the other places. To begin with, it is much larger than
Paro, and a large part of the valley has been cleared of the vegetation to
accommodate all the important administrative and commercial centres. Unlike
Paro, which can be exhausted on foot, Thimphu has avenues, one ways and all
such things befitting a capital city. However, the essential culture is retained in
the architecture.
A good vantage point to see the valley is
the Changangkha Lakhang. Sit on one of the benches and look down, breathing in
the city. Drive across to Buddha Point, which is still under construction,
where the huge statue of the Buddha looks over the city. Did you say Rio? There's
something really serene and calm about the smile of the statue, which in turn
lends a certain calmness to the entire atmosphere. Make a visit to the Memorial
Chorten. It is the biggest Chorten in Bhutan; the queen mother built it in
memory of her deceased sun. The square is surrounded by hills, and it is worth
a visit.
The Takin is the national animal of the
country. It is a harmless herbivore, with the appearance of a cross breed
between a hippopotamus and a goat! The Yadkin reserve offers you
the opportunity to say hello to the Takin.
Roam around Thimphu for the shopping; there
are numerous shops lined along the main market area selling touristy
paraphernalia. Make sure you bargain. Try exploring the city by walking around
the main market area. Have momos at Zambala café. You’re lucky if you get a
table by the window at the Ambient café; that’s another recommendation.
The Tiger’s Nest to be trekked at Paro has
become the most popular sight in Bhutan due to its magnificent views. From
Thimphu, there are similar treks to monasteries on the hills. They are often
way lesser traversed than Tiger’s Nest. Treks to the Tango and Chagri (or
Cheri) monasteries offer the same quietude (perhaps even more), the same
dried-leaves-on-the-way trek, with the additional sound of the gurgling of the
river. Tango and Cheri are located on two separate hills, though they are close
by. Which means one has to trek twice. However, the trek is easier and shorter
than Takhtsang.
While I was descending from the trek, Pema,
our driver, suggested that we play a game of ‘Khuru’ by the river. It is a
primitive version of the dart, with the aim being a piece of wood, and the
prize being a piece of cloth to the winner. After the game, I stopped by the
Wang Chhu river, just to sit on one of the rocks by the river and see it flow
by. It felt like I had stopped there for an eternity, just to gaze at the river
and the forests surrounding it like a protective parent.
The evening was spent walking around
Thimphu. But I would recommend you to go to Taj Tashi for dinner. Believe me,
it’s not a snobbish suggestion. If you wish to have good, authentic Bhutanese food
at reasonable prices (Rs. 1,800 all inclusive for two), try Taj Tashi. And yes, they haven't paid me to write this here.
Make sure you drill it into the mind of
your hotel manager that you will be late if you will be later than 9:30 p.m. in
the evening, er, at night. Everything shuts, including your hotel, so make sure
your manager has really understood you. I don’t wish you to have the same
experience as I did. You don’t want to be banging your fists on the shutters,
crying, “Hello, hello, hello. Is there anybody in there?”
-
May 13, 2015
It takes more than four hours to reach
Punakha from Thimphu. Unlike other occasions, the route this time is not
particularly pleasing to the eyes. There’s congestion, dust, repair work – all
things that are offshoots of landslides primarily. Fantasies apart, the hills
are not so easy to live in.
Our first stop on the way is the Dochula
Pass. Hidden in the morning clouds are a hundred and eight Chortens. As one climbs up, there’s a panoramic
view of the mountains. I knew we were getting late and there was quite some way
to be covered, but I guess for some time I let such thoughts be. What is a
vacation after all, if we follow routine? It was just nice to sit on the grass
amidst the innumerable chortens, watching the clouds swaying above in agreement
with my happiness.
We carried on to Punakha district, and
stopped next at the Chimi Lakhang. The Lakhang is a popular religious reference
point here in Bhutan. Chimi Lakhang is the fertility temple, consecrated in
honour of the ‘Divine Madman’, who blessed couples with boons of fertility so
that they could beget children. That the temple is the fertility temple is made
a bit in-your-face obvious with images and structures of erect penises all
over. This I suppose is the symbol of fertility. (Somehow, the penis seems to
be quite an important symbol in another religion too). Pema says he too was
blessed with his son after a visit here, and he comes every year with his
family now. His son was named Kile Rabge, as the priest here told him to. Kile
will turn three this year, and he loves cheese.
The Jacaranda tree flowers around this season
in Punakha, and so all around the Lakhang, I saw purple spring flowers. This
view was slighted by more imposing views of the purple-blue Jacaranda flowers
at the Punakha Dzong a little later.
The Punakha Dzong is situated on the
confluence of the Mother River (“Mo Chhu”) and the Father River (“Po Chhu”);
the identification being of the father being fairer (no pun intended) than the
mother. The fairer river being male is no coincidence – Bhutan is inherently a
patriarchal country.
One enters the Dzong through the cantilever bridge
overlooking the rivers, surrounded by hills. To enter the Dzong, which is one
of the largest in Bhutan (and clearly the most impressive), you need to pass
through the garden of Jacaranda trees, and the crowd of tourist-photographers.
Inside there are huge temples dedicated to the many Buddhas and Bodhisattwas (Oh yeah!). There are administrative
centers, hostels for monks, more temples. And there’s quietude.
We headed to our hotel – Punatshangchhu
Cottages. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy on seeing a hotel room. But I
have never before seen a room which overlooks the river, with the hills in the
background, and the town that can be seen in the distance. I could open the
broad window to step out of the room into the grass, which goes down to meet
the river.
I’ve always had this dream of spending my
life alone in a valley, overlooking the river, with the hills in the distance
and civilization at a week’s length – I continue to have it. For this one
evening, I get to live the dream. I read a few lines from my book but mostly
stared outside. The urge to live a life in such a place grew stronger. I wish
to grow old and die somewhere here, alone in a valley, overlooking the river,
with the hills in the distance and civilization at a week’s length.
We were having dinner and there was a group
of Maharashtrian tourists, led by their tour operators, Kesari. The tour
operator had promised its clients ‘Aamras’ in Bhutan – there was aamras for
dinner. I’m told their USP is providing Maharashtrian Poha to their clients
under the Eiffel Tower. Depressed, I head back to my room to see the view once
again, to take in a sight that will last me a lifetime, even if my dream
doesn’t ultimately fructify.
It is in every sense a village, this place
where I am staying today. Somewhere close to the Phobjikha valley. A small road
leads to the cottage where we are to stay. Alongside the road there are a few small
shops selling biscuits and chips. They cannot believe it that I bought junk food
worth a hundred rupees – didn’t want to take chances.
My room on the second storey has the most
basic look. It has wooden walls and a window that offers a view of the valley. The
only meat available in this place is beef; thankfully I am not religious. There
is a run-down Dzong just opposite the cottage. Very basic again, nothing
impressive. But I’m told that this is the place where the young monks are
trained. Despite the rustic look, there is something attractively simple about
this place.
I have nothing much to write about the day.
Except that I perhaps needed it. Away from all the touring, hidden away in a
silent corner, watching the night descend quietly on the countryside. I guess
sometimes one even needs a break from travelling while travelling.
The only thing on our agenda today was a
ride to the Phobjikha valley. As we descended down to the plain land from the U-shaped
valley, it offered a panoramic image, with violets (viola? What are those
plants called?) on the ground. Lots and lots and lots of them. There are small
brooks flowing along the narrow, winding road.
Pema got a log from somewhere, and within
seconds he was ready with a Khuru dartboard. So the violet valley became our
playground, with the brooks and flowers next to us, and the hills and a Dzong
in the distance.
On our way back we stopped at the U-shaped
valley. For another round of khuru. The Buddhist flags fluttered away, and
there was the river below, and the hills afar. I had the ground to me – to build
another imaginary house on.
Not finding lunch anywhere else, we
returned to our cottage. The rest of the day was just spent reading Gabriel García
Márquez’s short stories, and staring out on to the valley from my room. I tried
some ‘Ara’ at dinner – the local drink here. They cautioned me against
consuming too much, since it was apparently too strong. Nonsense!
