Arriving on a Druk, or Dragon.
A flurry of commotion roused me from my nap.
Window shades were hastily pulled up and passengers passed their cameras to perfect strangers across the aisle to capture the view. The pilot has just made an announcement that Mount Everest was now visible from the left side of the plane.
I looked out of the window and there they were – snow-capped peaks towering above the clouds. The Paro Airport is located 7,300 feet above sea level, surrounded by 16,000 feet of Himalayan peaks, and has a landing strip only a mile long in the middle of a narrow valley. If you can thus imagine, Paro Airport is amongst the most scenic airports in the world.
The pilot made a couple of sharp banks during the final descent, dodging the mountains and houses on either side, just metres away. Because of the complexity in manoeuvring the landing, only twelve pilots are allowed to land at this airport.
Bhutan, the mystical Land of the Thunder Dragon, famously isolated by the Himalayas, where Gross National Happiness is prioritized over economic growth and where the king abdicated for a move to a constitutional monarchy.
The languid pace of life was immediately felt upon embarking – no one made for immigration in a mad dash. Instead, everyone remained awestruck on the tarmac, taking pictures of the ornate terminal façade and taking in the crisp valley air. The young king and queen smiled benevolently at us from a giant poster, their eyes twinkling with quiet pride. What an arrival!
Pictures first, immigration can wait.
Our guide and driver were waiting for us. Following quick introductions we were whisked off to the capital Thimphu in a cushy SUV. En route we had a photo-stop by a river and crossed a couple of suspension bridges. The colourful prayer flags flapped in the wind and the crystal river flowed gently beneath my feet – in that moment I knew I was going to love Bhutan.
Either all of that or I was high from the very thin air.
Bhutan is the only country without traffic lights – a set was once installed and then promptly removed as the people felt they did not blend into the surroundings. Cars were sparse along the country roads that were taking us to Thimphu. Over the next hour we passed golden farm lands and meandering rivers dotted with sporadic but ornate farmhouses. There are building codes that requires all architecture to adhere to traditional Bhutanese style, and the national dress of gohs (for men) and kiras (for ladies) are still very much worn today. It all added up to feel like a travel back in time, but only requiring a visa not a flux capacitator.
The scenery gradually transited into a busy streetscape. We have arrived in downtown Thimphu.
Getting his prorities straight, our guide decided to feed us before getting to anything else. Lunch featured a buffet set-up of red rice, buckwheat noodles, momo, boiled vegetables and stewed chicken. We had our first taste of ema datshi, or chillies in melted cheese, which would later make an appearance at every meal (even breakfast). Sometimes crazy spicy, sometimes acceptable, I definitely acquired a taste for this by the end of the trip.
Kisa Hotel, Thimphu
We checked into Kisa Hotel, a relatively new boutique hotel. Our rooms were of good sizes and appointed with all the mod-cons. I thought we might be roughing it a little, and this was nicer than expected. By then I was exhausted and breathing required effort – the 6am flight and the altitude has gotten to me.
There was an archery tournament going on near the hotel and we hustled off to see it. It was the finals, and we were watching the two best teams strive for glory. Archers aim for a target th e size of a dinner plate 150 meters away. The Olympian standard is only for 90 metres, and these, were recreational players.
The players were simply standing next to the target, casually moving away when they spot the arrow flying towards them. There was brightly-clad cheerleaders (or jeer leaders) who hurled insults in an attempt to distract archers from the opposing team, often eliciting laughter from the audience. When there was a hit, much singing and dancing ensued, clearly steeped in tradition.
The Bhutanese are skilled archers but they have never been keen to compete in the Olympics. The high-tech equipment used by Olympic competitors alleviated the need for solid, raw skills that works a rudimentary bow. Also it seemed odd to them that friendly drinking weren’t allowed at the Games! A boozed up archer who hits the mark with a rudimentary bow is the true champion here.
Jeer-leaders doing their thang
victory dance
Check out the size of that target
We made our way to the Trashi Chhoe Dzong next, the administrative seat and summer residence of the dratshang (central monk body). It was incredibly serene within, us being the only visitors at that hour. The splendid traditional architecture was back-lit by the glow of the afternoon sun, and the enclosed serenity of the courtyard broken only by the flight of ravens, the whirr of prayer wheels, and the periodical chanting from the recesses of the monastery.
It was 5pm when we left and we were just in time to witness the changing of guards ceremony. The national flag was lowered and carried into the dzong by a marching group of soldiers and musicians.
Opposite the dzong is the resplendent Dechencholing Palace, set amidst sweeping willow trees and lush lawns. From the exterior, the palace looked ornate, exquisite, but not over-the-top, obnoxious or so grand it’s vulgar (yes I am thinking about you Versailles), which speaks volume of how humble and down-to-earth the monarchy is.
At the National Memorial Chorten we spun the prayer wheels and walked clockwise round the stupa. The exertion caught up with us again and the four of us grew unnaturally quiet. Our zealous picture-taking lost momentum and our eyes glazed when we were fed historical facts. Experienced with Singaporean tourists by now Kinley knew that if one thing could lift our spirits it was coffee and WiFi. We were herded to Ambient Café, and whilst the coffee was decidedly average, it was nice to just relax and thaw out our iphones.
There was not much else to do for the evening except walk about town a bit. We found ourselves strangely craving ice-cream in the 5 degree Celsius weather and that seemed to amuse a few shop owners. Clearly no one was expecting to sell any ice-cream in winter, but luckily there were some available.
Downtown Thimphu
Dinner was at the hotel, an uninspiring buffet spread not unsimilar to lunch, and then we were off to bed. I was still short of breath the whole time, more so when lying down on the bed. The windows were not wind-proof and I was right next to them. The chill and the breathlessness kept me up all night.
Coffee Anywhere 