April 23, 2012 - Bhutan
My legs and lungs keep getting stronger, but they were thoroughly stressed by trying to ride up hill on a full stomach, not to mention on a day that was, for me, too hot. I'm always eager to try local delicacies, but, oh my, this was too much.
After a very pleasant ride along the Dang Chhu, we arrived at the cafe/shop owned and operated by Rinzin's wife (hmm, I failed to get her name; shame on me). I had to immediately check all my preconceptions about such establishments. It is in the old town of Wangdue Phodrang (a town that is being moved in its entirety by the government to a new location to allow it room for expansion), and is a typical Bhutanese mud building. In America, the terms cafe and shop generally bring to mind images of bright lights, big windows, shiny surfaces, and lots of stuff. Not so in Bhutan, or most of Asia, I think.
That's the cafe owner in the purple top and kira, walking in front of her simple business.
The business, no name or sign visible, is the epitome of simple. As I walked through the door, I saw a half dozen low tables sitting in front of long benches, all of which looked to have been constructed out of whatever lumber was available. Two or three plastic tables and chairs, the uncomfortable ones we can buy cheaply at WalMart, sat against the back wall. To my right was a long glass cabinet like the two I have in my garage to display my fused glass wares. This one was filled with candy, chips, and other odds and ends. There were a few shelves behind it, but I didn't note their contents. That was it. No decorations, no advertisements, no glitz or bling. (I am going on memory here as I didn't get any photos of the interior. If any of my tour partners remember differently or have photos, please share.)
Nineteen of us, including our guides except Rinzin, sat in the chairs and on the benches, filling the small room to capacity. Rinzin and his wife (I'll call them the Norbus because that's Rinzin's second name, but the Bhutanese don't use surnames the way we do, so I doubt that's his wife's name) had invited us to share a variety of traditional Bhutanese treats with them. The Norbus first asked us all if we'd like sweet hot tea or butter tea.
Butter tea is traditional in Bhutan and I'd read about it in a number of books. I was thrilled to have this opportunity to try it. I can now recommend it as a perfect drink for Iditarod racers. Thanks to the wonder that is Wikipedia, I can tell you that butter tea is made of black tea, butter, and salt (I wasn't sure if black tea was the base, so I looked it up). I think, however, the primary ingredient must be butter. The tea is thick and extremely rich. The butter flavor is decidedly prominent, and on a hot day was much too much. If you were out enjoying a frigid Alaskan winter, however, it would be the perfect blend of hot drink and high fat to keep you going. It was okay, but I can't say it was something I'd want to drink often.
To accompany the tea we first had handfuls of roasted rice. This delicacy I could eat often! I asked Rinzin how it was made. He said that the rice is first cooked and then roasted, but I'm not quite sure how this is accomplished. After the rice is roasted until it is dry and crunchy, with a wonderful nutty flavor, it is tossed with a bit of melted butter, cinnamon, and sugar. Yummy! I'm going to have to play with this recipe until I figure out how to make it.
The primary treat the Norbus served us was momos, little dumplings stuffed with finely chopped vegetables. The homemade dough rounds are pulled up to make little bags that are then steamed. In Bhutan, they are served with a thick, spicy chillie (as it's spelled in every book I've read about Bhutan) sauce. I couldn't put more than a drop of sauce on a bite, but the momos were delicious. Six of them, however, especially after the butter tea, filled me up too much. The fried vegetable balls put me over the top. I can't think what to compare them to, but they were shredded veggies mixed with something to hold them together and then fried until crispy. Fresh watermelon was a nice finishing touch, but oh my, then I had to get back on my bike after this mid-morning snack!
The next several miles were a long, hot climb up the valley. While my lungs and legs were stronger, the heat conspired to kill me. I'd crawl a quarter mile, or a half if I was lucky, and then have to stop for a mouthful of water and a gasp before crawling on again. My progress might have been better than I recalled, but it sure didn't feel like it. Eventually, eventually, I reached the point where our guides decided the climb was going to be too much. We all climbed in the bus for an hour or so drive to the top of the pass.
On our way up, we stopped for lunch at a place that was quite a contrast to the Norbus' simple cafe.
The wonderful round section was just the entryway to the restaurant.
While the food wasn't nearly as good as the Norbus, this place had something theirs didn't: a view of snowy peaks. We were all excited to see the "real" Himalayas of northern Bhutan.
Here I am, blighting the scenery.
After lunch, we continued on the bus up to the top of the pass. Yeshey had brought along prayer flags to hang for us, to ask for us all to have a safe journey and many blessings. It's kind of neat to think there are prayer flags hanging in Bhutan for me. Yeshey and Sonam climbed a hill to hang our flags with some of the others adorning the pass. Apparently it's permissible to move other flags to allow you to hang yours.
Yeshey also brought down a set of old flags off of which the writing had been completely worn. Sonam used local plants, mostly rhododendron, to light a fire in the incense burner near the pass's chorten. Yeshey burned the flags, too, as it's not acceptable to throw them away.
Always ready to take advantage of any passing commerce, these two ladies were sitting at the top of the pass selling handmade goods. In the 30 - 40 minutes we were there, I don't recall another vehicle driving by; business could not have been brisk for them, or for the "general store" also located on the pass.
I don't think these two spoke any English, but they said their wares were made from yak hair. I got wonderful close-ups of their beautiful faces, too.
Yeshi Yangzom General Shop
Once our journey was blessed, we mounted up to ride down the pass to Phobjikha Valley. I had been thinking earlier in the day to ask Yeshey in what part of Bhutan yaks were common when there they were. Barbara spotted one first while we were on the bus heading up to the pass. We all jumped out to peer through the bushes and try to get a good photo. Not a quarter mile up the road we agreed she didn't get any more points for spotting yaks: they were everywhere. One I saw was sporting a pair of dangling orange earrings, so I think it's safe to assume they were part of a domestic herd. I didn't get a photo of that one, but here a couple of others. They seemed to be common in these two different colors.
Hmm, now that I think about it, the prayer flags didn't do much good. Either that or the prayers hadn't inundated the universe enough so quickly. Not an hour or so after we left the pass, we had our only real accident of the trip. We were flying down a very winding section of road, the pavement often interrupted with gravel and sand. Marleen was riding just ahead of me as we entered the second tight hairpin turn. As I watched her ride, I saw her rear wheel start to skid sideways to the right in a layer of sand on the pavement. She hit the ground and I swerved in an attempt to not join her. Luckily, I didn't. As I waved a small white SUV coming up the hill to a stop, Sandra (from WomanTours) who had been right behind me, went to make sure Marleen was okay. She lay there unwilling to move quite yet, but fairly certain nothing was broken. She stayed with us for the rest of the trip, but her riding was over. Yeshey got her crutches a couple of days later so that she could get around a bit, but she missed most of our tour. As she lay in the road, I asked her if she wanted photographic evidence. She said yes, so here's proof that she can smile through her pain.
Marleen's great attitude was an inspiration to us all during the rest of the trip.
As I'd waited for a while to see if Sandra and Kimberley needed any help with Marleen, I was well behind the rest of the group to our next destination, the Black-necked Crane Center in Phobjikha. As I rode down the rough dirt road into the town, I saw a road sign that mentioned the center and a hotel, but it wasn't clear to me where they were. I continued riding, soon stopping to ask a group of six school kids for help.
"Do you know where the crane center is?" I asked as I pulled to a stop. The six looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Hey, I was!
"The crane center," I repeated. "Where is it?"
"There," the oldest boy said, pointing back the way I'd come.
I nodded. "Which building?"
The boy pointed again and said, "There."
I admit it, I was getting a bit frustrated. With a slight edge to my voice I said, "Yes, but which building?"
The kids finally gave up on me and offered to walk me to the crane center. It turned out to be in the most modern building in town, the one right by the road sign I'd seen earlier. The kids patiently walked me back, the oldest boy insisting on pushing my bike for me. The Bhutanese to raise their sons right! I asked to take his photo before he deposited me with my friends.
My Phobjikha guide. That's our bus in the background going on with Marleen.
We'd just missed by a few days the last two cranes that had hung around before migrating, and had to be satisfied with a video and a taxidermied bird. There are only a few hundred of the endangered black-necked cranes that winter in this valley. The government of Bhutan has declared Phobjikha Valley a conservation area for the cranes. While agriculture is still allowed, no electrical wires can be strung above ground. Of course, hunting is prohibited in this Buddhist country. The cranes do not bother the rice and buckwheat fields, and the days on which they arrive and leave are considered auspicious by locals.
Standing about four feet tall, these would be impressive birds to see in the wild.
Given my little side-trip earlier, I had to retrace my steps and continue down that same road to get to our hotel for the night, quite possibly my favorite of the trip: Hotel Dewachen. While the exterior was firmly set in Bhutan, the interior would have been right at home in a fancy Alaskan lodge. Wood trim and floors, down comforters and wool blankets, and a wood-burning stove made me feel right at home. I wanted to move in for a week.
Hotel Dewachen sits on a hill overlooking Phobjikha Valley.
It's hard to take a photo of an entire room, but this gives you the idea.
It was at the Hotel Dewachen that I learned my best take-home tip of the trip: kerosene-soaked sawdust makes great kindling. Two spoonfuls under a few pieces of dry split wood was enough to get a fire crackling in minutes. The stove was just a simple sheet-metal box with a damper and ash tray, the only source of heat for the room. I was bemused, however, to find that all of the wood stacked up in our room and on a rack outside was about four inches too long for the stove. They must have had a different fire building plan than I'm used to. I found enough wood to take the chill out of the room, and settled in for the night.
