day 1 (Paro)

Leaving Kathmandu was unnecessarily complicated. I was checked a number of times, and getting things back in the sack is never done well when you're in a hurry. Do this a number of times and in the end you may need a supplementary luggage.

The plane was small. Very small, with propeller engines and a deafening noise. The view though was fantastic. Had a window seat on left side and a view on the Himalayas, neatly above the clouds but not much higher than the Himalayas, for at least half the trip. Then the plane penetrated the clouds and started following the valley in a manner that some people find thrilling, or even dangerous. Truth is, there is no danger at all. A very pleasant, albeit at moments bumpy ride.

Arriving at Paro (the only international airport in Bhutan) is like coming to Switzerland. Small, neat, proper, no nonsense controls, and off you are.

As long as you get out of the airport, the tourist guides are waiting in their national dress, which resembles a robe de chambre to us. My driver Aku, thin, tall, and very dignified, as if he came straight out of a William Dalrymple book: the Indian butler of the British Empire glorious colonial times as I have always imagined him to be. As for my guide, Mepo, he is 23. A law student in Calcutta, who aims to become a judge. Has a grave voice, and promised to take care of me for the journey. Actually, things are a bit more complicated. He is responsible to the Bhutanese government for my security, and seems to take it very seriously. One cannot venture anywhere at will in Bhutan. The idea that seems (is?) normal to most of us, whereby one arrives to one country and is free thereafter to venture at will, is NOT applicable here. One has to fly to Bhutan, exclusively with the Bhutanese airways, Drukair, which has just two airplanes. You cannot cross the land frontiers except if you are Indian or Nepalese. And once in the country, you need not only your visa but a route permit as well. This and only this will let you through the road blocks to your destination.

Today we started with Kichu Lhakhang, the “ temple (that) holds down the left foot of an ogress whose body covers Bhutan and most of Eastern Tibet.” I think I am going to like this country!.

Early in the evening, back to the hotel. Ski holidays ambiance. Fires, nice wooden rooms, all seems OK. Except a small detail: Dungtse Rinpoche is a saint,for our standards (Rinpoche means “respectable”). He stays in the same hotel as I do. Outside the hotel there is a horde of cars just waiting to see him. For the last time... Because Dungtse Rinpoche is dead. His body is lying in one of the rooms, and actually it makes me feel a little creepy. I don't know which room exactly,but I think I am going to pass on my digestive walk tonight...

Night night..

.

day 2 (Chimi Lakhang and the Divine Madman, mainly)

Good morning, and a Happy New year to everyone! Because if you thought the 1st of January was it, you were wrong: the Buddhists were right. It's today. Some two months later than our new year. It is a three days holiday coinciding with the three days holiday for the king's birthday, meaning there is absolutely no way to see yet the color of the Bhutanese money , since all banks are closed, I can't exchange money and everybody is having a good time, à la Bhutanaise. No hurry though. Being hasty is against the Buddhist principles, and as some of you may know, I'm here to save my soul.

I am now going to eat my soup (seems will be the same menu until the end, and that makes my mushroom soup number 2, on day 2). I'd better hurry though, there is already an insect in it. Don't want it to become a meat soup.

(after the soup)

Today was a long and winding driving day. And when I say winding, I don't mean it in the Beatles, metaphorical way, I mean it in the driving, nauseating, I-want-to-die winding day. Actually, in between moments of sheer happiness and severe nausea, I tried to compare the driving ways in the Asian countries I've been to, in a Twitter manner. The less words possible. And here's what I came up with:

India: Russian roulette, with more than one bullets

Vietnam: The chaos theory: I love you, I'll kill you

Nepal: Darwinist driving, the survival of the strongest: kill all pedestrians

Bhutan: Too long, wrong track on a one-lane road: kindly swallow your travel sickness pills (in Bhutan they drive on the left side of the road and the roads can barely hold 1,5 Indian Suzuki Maruti) This one partly inspired by the song Runaway train, in my iPod...

Anyhow, after some reinvigorating stops, we finally made it to the dzong of the Divine madman in Chimi Lakhang. Now, I can see the disbelieving eye in your unfaithful eyes (in your next life your manifestation will almost certainly be a rat, or a worm), but this gentleman really existed. And a dzong (fortress with a monastery) has been built in his name. You do realize at least that no fortresses are built without a good reason. And in this particular case, our madman was a respectable man who established his fame and deserved his dzong by being very, very funny and making love to thousands of women, that he left pregnant. Therefore his fortress is also named the temple of Fertility. And the whole village where his kingdom lies if full of penises. No kidding, you can Google it! The handicrafts shops all sell penises in all possible forms: pens, walking sticks with a penis handle, T-shirts with an active penis on it... All houses have a (hairy) penis drawn on their façade and the mens toilet in the only restaurant of the village where his monastery lies has an enormous wooden penis on a bucket in front of the door instead of a signage .Unfortunately, I realized this coming out of the women toilet.

I know that this is probably ethically wrong against my other idol, Hanuman of the Hindu, but the divine madman seems to be sort of more realistic, down -to-earth god for me. Had children everywhere. Liked to have fun. And finally won his fame, and his dzong, by going against the stream. Although I can't quite associate with the part that has him making love even to his mother...

After paying my respects to the Divine madman, we visited an arching game, probably the national sport of Bhutan. It was really impressing. Men dressed in skirts throwing arches at least 400 meters away, and the whole village watching them. Very imposing men, tanned and rather the stocky kind, practicing an unbelievably difficult to me sport . And when one hit the target (just one did in roughly an hour), there was dancing and singing. Juice was offered to the women who stood apart, and when I went filming them, one asked me to dance. I had to refuse, my shoelace was undone... But frankly, what an amazing afternoon it has been. Out of the blue, as I like it, a spectacle of gentle people unfolding, no questions asked. But the ultimate surprise was yet to come: On the way back,we met a senior monk. Openhearted as usual, let me take his picture and all. He then asked where I come from. I said Greece. And immediately he made a compassionate frown, in between mes condoléances and total disbelief.... I understand that monks have to be compassionate, but if a monk of the Divine madman's monastery practically in the middle of nowhere knows what’s happening in my country, this must be serious...Bhutanese are known to be educated, but this was personal. Is there a place where I could just mention my nationality, without provoking comments, frowns, or the usual sterile speech (“your government should ….instead of ...”)?

I should now be going for the rest of my meditation, around 7 hours, with my eyes closed, in my bed. Everyone in the restaurant has gone, the hotel is probably almost empty anyway, and the last anglo-french couple (she said oh-la-la when something was not quite OK, he just grimaced) just left, after a demonstration by the waitress of how to fold the napkin. The highlight of my evening...

There is unfortunately not very much to do in Bhutan in the evening, let alone in a pension lost in the middle of nowhere in a Bhutanese mountain. As a Bhutanese man with a red bonnet told us right in front of the madman's fortress, he's happy praying, and on that day he was particularly happy to be able to watch the arching game. Gross National Happiness does not take much to be won. People go to sleep at around 19.00. Following the local custom, I dedicated this evening to washing my dirty clothes in the dustbin, and having a king-size (0,7 liter, the standard here) beer. Oh yes, and I watched the Indian news. An Indian actor called Saif is wanted by the police for hitting a man in a hotel. Just to let you know that despite a lack of evening scene, I remain informed about important events.

May Buddha guide your thoughts tonight. Om.

day 3 (Punakha)

The Punakha dzong must be the most beautiful monastery fortress in Bhutan. Lonely planet says so, and even if I haven't been to that many dzongs, this one really takes your breath away. Huge, totally imposing and built on the crossing of two rivers, the male and the female river, it can be the photo of your journey. Inside, monks go as usual about their lives, which must be at least some hours per day of praying. It is so frustrating that no pictures are allowed inside the places where, if you will be allowed überhaupt as a tourist, you would definitely want to shoot hundreds of them. For some reason, monasteries are guarded by police, which by the way is almost nowhere else to be seen apart in holy places, and your guard can get into trouble if you are caught shooting pictures or filming. I doubt this would ever get that far, but one has to seriously weigh the risks, even when one is found often alone in these places.

Surprisingly, the monks are extremely open when they are encountered outside these forbidden places. They will always accept to have their picture taken, even put their arm around you, a thing I would never dare doing myself.

The calm transmitted by their ceremonies, which the tourist will only be able to see from afar, is unbelievable. I was stuck outside the door of their private space looking and listening to their rhythm while some ceremony was going on: this must be the most relaxing thing I have ever listened to in my whole life. I was mesmerized. It was just one repeating beating, but the frequency was the right one to lull you away into some kind of otherworldly dream. A dark room with monks sitting on the ground and playing each one an instrument, an otherworldly train steaming musical notes to a very quiet destination.

A scene I will never forget: In another room that visitors can access, a row of very young monks sitting on the floor was following a ceremony. Then one boy started teasing teasing the other in a very playful, naughty manner, while the master had his back turned. Children are children; whatever their religion or mission may be.

The rest of the day was endless driving. The roads are terrible. I had never thought that they would be in such a sorry state. Landslides are extremely frequent (here they are called road blocks) and the delay that ensues can be extremely long (we already experienced one). The average speed I calculated was less than thirty km/h. Almost a whole day for 220km to Bumthang. Thank God , or Buddha, the scenery was absolutely gorgeous.

The hotel tonight is somewhat disappointing. It is extremely cold, and the wood stove was not going to be enough, or I'd have to put wood every two hours during the night, and I have been sleeping very very badly since the beginning of the trip. I asked and got an electric heater... For the rest, there is no WiFi, telephone or TV, and the water is glacial. I therefore am staying tonight under the blanket, to watch a film on the laptop.

day 4 (Bumthang, city of Jakar)

A nice day WITH some free time.

Visited: the burning lake, where Guru Rinpoché dived with a candle and reappeared with the candle still burning, proving that he was a good man. Inflammable and waterproof too, one could also say. Then the Dzong above Jakar, then some other dzongs in a way that it is all totally confused in my head...

Everything is closed for a week now (3 days for the king's birthday, then the new year, which was of course extended for another day and tomorrow is Saturday, then Sunday, and I still haven't changed some money...)

The evening was an extravaganza: dinner at the Swiss guest house, and raclette. A faint resemblance to the original thing, accompanied by lukewarm Red panda beer. What an anticlimax. The whole enterprise belongs to a Swiss guy. And they have WiFi too. But I preferred instead the local Internet shop, with the sticky keyboard.

Jakar is a city that was burnt twice two years before. It has now been rebuilt, but looks a bit like a ghost town, Far West-wise. Still, there is life and I had the chance to visit many shops. Plus a 5star resort with USD 1300 a night rooms. Amazing that such a thing exists here. And yet it is not so expensive: it includes full board, a guide, a driver, a car, all drinks, excursions and picnic baskets included, for two. And a room that one would probably not want to leave, but that's another matter...

Tomorrow an early start for another day of driving. Must remember to take my Touristil...

I am already in my pajama (my ski trousers...) wondering which film to watch tonight (yesterday it was The adjustment bureau, very good).

day 5 (On ze road again)

Very tiring day. Crossed the Bhutanese Himalaya, at least three landslides that delayed our arrival at Meri Phuensum hotel. Just time to have dinner and wash some clothes again. Then watched The road on my laptop, that haunted me the whole night, at least... But there was something with those dinner fried aubergines...

day 6 (mostly in bed)

...that did the thing, in my purest tradition of falling ill at least once per trip from my stomach when I travel in exotic places. Feeling horribly already in the morning (as when you know it is going to get worse before it gets better) we started anew climbing the clouds. Arrived exhausted and pale in Thimpu, the capital of Bhutan that really looks more like an “oversized village” than anything else. The country still has not woken up after more than a week, and plenty of sight seeings were closed. I still have not exchanged money, and of course I will not need it anymore.

day 7 (Thimpu, black tea and bananas)

Horrible night at the hotel, spending time in the bed, the WC and reading carefully the prescriptions of my drugs. Woke up in the middle of the night, again. I have never had such a jet lag, or is is something else? Anyhow, my usual bananas-and-tea-only diet seems to have done the trick once again. But unfortunately a bit too late. Today we were going to visit the Tiger's nest, the highlight of my trip to Bhutan. Built by Guru Rinpoche who flew there on the back of a tigress to beat the local daemon, it is today reached only on foot, or else partly by mule. We had opted for the mule and foot alternative, but when we got there, the mules were tired (they can only do that twice a day!), and one lady even said that I was too bulky for her tired donkey (true, despite having emptied my guts more than enough the previous day...). As there was no other solution, I started the trek knowing from the beginning that it was beyond my reach and hoping to at least reach the view point, after which one has to go down all the way again and mount all over again to the nest on narrow and steep steps, which was out of question, given that the day before I could not mount the stairs to my room. But I had to give up.. I felt my heart was going to explode, and in the end I had to ask Pemo to return, quite disappointed. As I see it now, it was the right decision. What is not well known is that this famous monastery is out of reach for the big majority of visitors. One has to be in a really good shape, and acclimatised to the altitude (that reaches 3000m) to mount this path. Older people and children, as well as people that have had a bit too much of fried Bhutanese aubergine's “fooding” (as they say here) may have to content themselves with just a distant glimpse of the monastery...

And thus I decided that was the end of my journey here. I realize I have somehow missed two days of diary in the meantime, but frankly I don't know which anymore. Very strange names, high altitudes and sickness are to blame. I was just a traveler.