April 21, 2012 - Bhutan
"The King is coming! The King is coming!"
Like a gaggle of giddy school girls, we clustered together on a wide spot on the side of the road, positioning ourselves and our bikes to best see and be seen. We'd heard rumors that Bhutan's fifth (and current) King was supposed to be coming down the road behind us, and we were all hoping to get a glimpse of His Royal Handsomeness.
Okay, that's my name for him, not an official title, but check out this picture of him I stole from Wikipedia. He's seriously cute!
Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck
Anyway, back to the story. As we peered back up the road from the way we'd come, from around the curve a small blue car with a flashing red light on top pulled into view: the royal pilot car. Behind it were two Royal Army Bodyguard vehicles, and then, then...there he was! We were all hoping that this cycling aficionado would see 16 women with bikes and be compelled to stop for a chat, but alas, in a flash he was gone. I'd gotten just enough of a glimpse of him as he waved at us to see that he was as cute in person as in his photos. Another two army vehicles went by and then there was the Queen. Actually, I missed seeing her, but I'm told she gave us a thumb's up as she went past. As the last army vehicle drove by, I swear we all swooned a little. We'd seen the King! And the Queen! We were in Bhutan!
I'm confident we were all regularly reminding ourselves that we were in Bhutan. I know I was. The whole trip was both so surreal and yet quickly becoming so normal that I periodically shouted, "I'm in Bhutan!" just to remind myself. Today was a day during which this was often necessary.
We'd started the day by driving to the top of DochuLa. (La means Pass; oddly, it's also tacked onto the ends of words as a sign of respect. Rinzin often said okay-la, yes-la, etc.) Passes in general are considered auspicious locations as they are the highest points people can go to. It's illegal to climb the mountains in Bhutan because they are all considered to be the homes of different deities, and therefore holy places. The fourth King's first wife (he married four sisters in the same wedding) honored Bhutanese militiamen who were killed while routing out Indian rebels who were hiding out in southern Bhutan by having built a temple and 108 chortens at the top of Dochu La. Today, the surrounding hills were alive with thousands of prayer flags. Fuschia rhododendron were in full bloom. Had the skies been clear, we'd have been able to see all seven ranges of the Himalayas; of course, heavy clouds reigned supreme.
The temple sits on a hill above the pass.
This rhododendron was the perfect accessory for the temple.
The 108 chortens are built on a mound around which the "highway" is split.
I didn't get many pictures of me on the trip, so I have to include one every once in a while to prove I was really there!
Our riding plan today was one even I could manage: riding 30 km down from Dochu La to the town of Punakha and the Meri Phuensum Resort. Now, downhill riding has never been my strong suit. Not for lack of ability, but rather for lack of confidence. I've just never been comfortable letting loose and going fast when I didn't know for sure what the road was going to throw at me. This trip changed all that.
The highways in Bhutan, with the exception of the stretch between Thimphu and Paro, are hilly, consist of one tight turn after another, and are generally barely over one lane wide (the aforementioned stretch does have two real lanes). That one lane was frequently potholded, edged with crumbling pavement and no shoulders, and often had piles of rocks blocking half of it for construction. Did I mention that there's also traffic on these roads? Personal cars, tour buses, and Indian freight trucks all vie for space. Driving is one game of chicken after another. The vehicles all seemed to drive directly at each other at high speed, veering to the side (the left side) if room permitted. If room did not permit, both vehicles would come to a screeching halt, each waiting for the other to back up out of the way. I think there was some sort of protocol in play, perhaps the traffic going uphill had the right of way, but it wasn't always clear. It was always nerve-wracking. Sonam, our bus driver, had nerves of steel, and was regularly applauded for getting us safely to our destinations.
A typical Indian freight truck.
With 30 km of downhill to ride, I quickly gained confidence in my abilities. I chafed when behind fellow (sister?) riders whom I thought slowed down too much at rough patches in the road or when a car went by. I seldom felt the need to dive for the edge when a truck when by, although I did shudder a bit when a small red car chose to pass a big truck right next to me. I did have to hug the cliff face at one point to allow a big blue army truck to get by opposing traffic. That driver did smile widely and apologize profusely as he squeezed by me.
With the scenery flowing by at speed, I didn't take many photos once off of Dochu La, but here's a few.
Our truck hauling all of our bikes. They're draped over a log to hold them in place.
My bike is the orange one. Once I had the wobbly rear tire replaced and accepted the grinding derailleur, we got along fine. I sure missed my Madeleine, though.
Sonam models the Thai hat Marybeth schlepped all over Bhutan. Amazingly, she reported that it made it all the way back to Minneapolis in one piece.
We stopped at one of many roadside markets out of Thimphu. This particular area is settled with many Tibetan refugees who have some secret for keeping apples fresh and crisp year-round. Note the Indian-made Lays potato chips.
Sonam and Yeshey introduced us to a Bhutanese delicacy: yak cheese. These hard rectangles are eaten only after they've been tucked into one's lip for hours of softening first. I never did finish my piece. It was too hard to hold it in my mouth while riding.
A typical Bhutanese farm. A multi-generation home overlooks terraced rice and buckwheat fields. The houses are big because any livestock is housed in the bottom level, while the middle level is used for storage. The family lives on the top floor, sharing space with the obligatory temple area.
Our ride ended at Punakha where we had lunch in a local restaurant and walked through the paddy fields to the Temple of the Divine Madman. We passed through a village in which three women were building a new house by pounding mud into a wooden form. When we came back through a couple of hours later, the form had been removed at the mud left to dry. It's typical for Bhutanse houses to be built of mud with bamboo poles for reinforcement, much like we'd use rebar in concrete.
Hard work, but they appear to be having fun, too (or they were just laughing at us taking their picture).
This house is nearly finished. The fancy woodwork is also typical of all buildings.
The Divine Madman was Lama Drukpa Kunley (1455-1529), a favorite saint in Bhutan. He was known for using outrageous, even obscene, antics to jar people out of their preconceptions and to teach lessons about Buddhism. It is in his honor that many houses in Bhutan are decorated with graphic penis designs. His temple is a popular pilgrimage site for couples who are having trouble conceiving, and it is common for parents to name the baby born after they were blessed in the temple after the saint, incorporating Kunley (or Kinley in some books) into the child's name.
The members of our group were blessed in several temples, but this had to be the most amusing for us. As we toured the temple, Yeshey asked the monk tending it to first bless us with holy water. The monk poured a small amount of water that had been scented with something that reminded me of eucalyptus into my hands. I tasted the water and the rubbed the rest on my head (standard procedure).
Next, Yeshey explained the importance of three artifacts in the temple: a bow and two penises, one wood and one ivory, each about a foot long. The bow (and presumably an arrow) had been used to subdue a demon that had taken the form of a black dog. I'm not sure if the carved penises had been used for something or if they just represented the Divine Madman. At Yeshey's request, the monk blessed us with these objects as well. He held them all in one hand and tapped us each on the head with them. We all later joked that none of us wanted a fertility blessing, but what really made the whole scene amusing to me was that the monk was about 12 years old. He conducted his silent blessings with apparent indifference, perfunctorily performing each action. As we toured the temple, he lounged on a window seat, yawning and rubbing his eyes.
The Temple of the Divine Madman. This chorten is the only black on in Bhutan, and is representative of the demon the Madman subdued which took the form of a black dog.
The ribbon around this penis represents the blessing string the Divine Madman tied around his penis instead of his neck, as is traditional.
This mask was for sale at our lunch stop.
Yet another way of honoring the Divine Madman.
To leave you with a less startling image, I'll tell you about these two adorable girls who stopped us as we walked through Puhakha. They asked if they could perform traditional Bhutanese dances for us. After singing and dancing two or three songs, they took a bow and consented to be photographed. Such cuties!
