Bhutan’s Killer Highways

In 2011, somewhere below Nobding in Wangdue, I don’t want to remember, my car was hit by falling boulders but I survived to tell the story because a chunk of rock that sliced through my windshield landed near my right foot without hitting any part of my body. I still wonder how that was possible. I still feel grateful. ( I could never sue anyone for it)

Haunting Memories from 2011

Since that fateful night, I have become a little paranoid about travelling alone, travelling in the rain, travelling across deadly slopes and the charm of travelling is replaced by fear of being crushed by huge boulders and buried under a mudslide.

Famous- Reautala on the way to Zhemgang from Trongsa

Over the years, roads became wider but safety didn’t change much. In fact, with bigger roads, bigger damages were inflicted on the slopes and we are seeing deadlier landslides. Every highway has a leading landslide spot and a few supporting ones that are crippling the traffic every monsoon and claiming precious lives.

We have seen several deadly accidents with multiple casualties, the recent bus accident at Basochu being one of the worsts, which should have served as a harsh wakeup call for us to relook at the way we build roads. But looking at the way Damchu-Chhukha bypass was built we seemed to have learnt nothing substantial. This road though done so recently using all the modern machinery and high-tech equipment doesn’t look any different from the ones our grandparents built using a crowbar. The short span of the road from Damchu to Chhukha has at least four death traps that will gradually become slaughterhouses.

One of the four deadly stretches on Damchu-Chhukha bypass

With all the impending landslide, no accidents shall be unexpected. It’s simple physics to understand that the rocks that are held loosely on the slope will come rumbling down due to gravity. And that road being the busiest, we are only to count the number of dead bodies over the year. I can already see prayer flags being offered at two spots on that stretch where the accidents have occurred, and lives lost. If nothing is done, we shall run out of space to offer prayer flags.

Strangely, in the so many deaths due to road accidents I have seen drivers being blamed and charged, but never have I heard of a case where road contractor or official being taken to court for murder. Yes, it should amount to murder. When talking about road safety we always point at the speed limit, drunk driving, etc. but never about the condition of the road. Drivers are fined for violating road safety rules and endangering their own lives and lives of others, but did road safety officials ever charge road contractors for endangering public safety due to their negligence and their incompetence?

Building road along the mountain must be a big feat but it comes with a huge price tag, and when one is paid the price for a job it’s their responsibility to ensure the road is built and that all related damages are rectified and that there won’t be landslide from above or below the road. Sadly, we can see how this is grossly neglected, perhaps it’s not even in the mandate. I don’t like to believe this, but I heard that some loose ends are intentionally left to ensure that there are repeated slides and roadblocks so that the contractor or organisation can have excuses to have more works. Such bad logic.

Whereas at Chhuzomsa in Wangdue, a Japanese company has done a marvellous bridge and on the two ends of the bridge they have solidified the entire hill using pressurised concrete so that there will never be any sort of landslide or shooting boulders. That’s the level of professionalism in the way Japanese work; they leave no loose ends, the only thing they leave behind is legacy of outstanding quality. Unfortunately, they are not building our roads.

Japanese Legacy at Chhuzomsa in Wangdue. Look at those hills!

The method Japanese used to seal the loose rocks into solid concrete to prevent landslide is called shotcrete. This method, which is extensively used in hydropower projects, can help make a lot of our landslide-prone areas safe. I have seen it used in Tala Project and now in Punatshangchu projects, but I haven’t seen it used outside the hydropower box. Except by Japanese. Why is it not used in making our roads safe?

Shotcrete

Another method I have seen being used in hydropower projects is rock-bolt, where a long anchor is used to bolt the loose exterior rock onto the solid interior rock mass. This will ensure that all those creepily hanging rock you see on our highway will not come down on us. But that’s only if we are willing to invest in safety.

Rock-Bolt

During many of my meditative driving modes, when my wife’s lost in her own thoughts and when I am driving across scary slopes I thought of many ways to prevent landslides and shooting boulders. In fact, in my head, I use shotcrete, rock bolts and even build RCC walls and then contemplate massive landslides. 

But even in my imaginative simulations walls don’t stand a chance against the force of nature. There is no way humans and our technology can stop the forces of nature when it’s on the move, but that doesn’t mean we can't divert it. Any powerful force can far easily be diverted than stopped.

Tunnel roads

That’s exactly what’s going wrong with the way we are managing our landslide-prone roads; we try to stop slides by building walls and therefore the massive force of the slide then takes along the entire road itself. The best solution to that is hiding the road from the path of the slide using the tunnel or half-tunnel technology. 

Half-tunnel, about which I read many years ago, could be our best chance at making our deadly roads safe for driving across all season. The half tunnel will hide the road and all properties, including us in the artificial cave and whatever falls from above, no matter how powerful, will just fly over our head. This is what I mean by diverting the force of nature and not trying to stop it. It could be expensive to build but when it’s done the amount of recurring cost, lives and property it will save on top of preserving the condition of the road for a sustained period of time will make the huge investment all the worth. 

Half-Tunnel

Otherwise, how can we stop a force like this: On Trongsa-Zhemgang highway

Talking about the huge cost of adopting the solutions I mentioned, I am reminded of an analogy someone shared with me (there must be a name for it as well); A poor man goes to a shop and buys a pair of Nu.400 shoes, while a rich man buys a pair of Nu.3000 shoes. The poor man’s shoe wears out in four months and he buys another pair. Every four months he has to buy a new pair. The rich man’s pair of shoes last for a good five years, while within that period of time the poor man has to buy 15 pairs of the cheap brand, costing him Nu.6,000. The poor man who was trying to save money lands up paying double the price at the end.

Same happens with us, the so-called-poor countries. We think we are a poor country and go for the cheapest way out, but in the end the recurring maintenance cost will be far greater than if had invested in the best. We may be a poor country but we have to carry a rich country mentality when it comes to investing in nation-building. 

Laya Journal- The Last Lap to Laya

‘One day you won’t be able to do this, but today is not that day’

The morning weather was still bad but the news we received was good. Our five member team in Ponjothang has managed to get 15 horses. It was then I wondered how they must have spent their night in that muddy stretch of road. They later told us that they managed to slip into a tent-hostel prepared for the racers who would be spending their first night there.

O' talking about the race, four members from our team had stayed back in Gasa to take part in the Snowman Run. Unlike us they would be beginning the journey from Gasa Tshachu and run the entire stretch of muddy road we had covered in truck. While I had always feared if I would be able to trek to Laya these were the people who decided to run to Laya. God. Later in Laya we would learn that the winners had cover the entire distance in little more than four hours, which I took nearly sixteen hours. How did they do that?

From Koina it was a steep ascend but the track was fairly good compared to the stretch below Ponjothang where even the horses sunk half their body in sludge. Trekking wasn’t as social as I imagined, we couldn’t walk in group and chat; each had to maintain their own pace and it was a lonely affair. My heartbeat was the loudest sound I could as I inched my way up the hill, often thinking if I should wait a while for the person behind me. Then the internal dialogue began, I was in conversation with myself. Reviewing my life and debating over issues, big and small. Settling matters I had at hand, negotiating with myself and forgiving people, feeling grateful and even composing songs. Ok so that was the reason people go on trekking, to catch up with their inner selves.

When the board meeting within me had started I was lighter on my feet. I frequently had to take breaks from my inner meeting to greet young Layaps descending down to Gasa to take part in the Snowman Run. Looking at the way their feet were negotiating with the mountain trail I knew this race was theirs.

Upon reaching the final curve, from where I could see the Mo-Chhu river down below, the path gradually descended along the hillside. The view from that point was spectacular on the north and the south, stretching endlessly. Across the river it was all gigantic mountains shaped and colored so differently from anything I had seen before. The path was almost running parallel with the river, which could not be heard yet. Gradually I could hear the river, and then the path ran alongside it.

After recurring ups and down between the hill and river the path opened to a surprisingly wide riverbank. I suddenly felt refreshed and ready to undress myself on the Himalayan beach. Some of my team members who left ahead of me were waiting there, perhaps to share the same thrill they got upon seeing the place. We shared cold drinks and fruits and some of them took smoke break while we waited for the others.

There was a bridge across to the other side and within a hundred meters another bridge brought us back on the same side of the river. Dasho Sangay shared that these two bridges had saved us an extra one-hour trek over the steep mountain. He said this was a luxury Layaps could enjoy briefly during winters and this time it was only possible because of soldiers. Anyway, for horses and horsemen they still had to take that unforgiving detour because the bridge wasn’t suitable for horses.

With my motivation Menda and the mother of motivation Chimi

On my return journey I learned that Aue Nedup of Clean Bhutan, who left few days ahead of us, hadn’t known about the bridges and took the long way across the mountain along with his injured friends who had to be partially carried. O God.

At 40 km point there was a makeshift canteen that served us lunch. We had to decide weather to fuel up here or continue another hour to Tashemakha. By now we stopped trusting locals when it came to distance and time, they would say an hour and we land up taking over four. Before our lunch was served NC Chairperson Sonam Kinga and team arrived. They had begun from Gasa this morning and walked all the way from Ponjothang yet they caught us. I felt disappointed with my speed. As if this wasn’t enough his team left us behind from there. Dasho Sangay excitedly joined his chairperson who said ‘the house moves together’.

Our team from Ponjothang arrived with the horses. My friend Dorji was carrying a bag bigger than himself. He told me that the luggage filled with sleeping bags we had left in Koina couldn’t be adjusted on the horses therefore he had to be the extra horse. I felt bad but I was helpless. To his credit he made it to Laya without a complaint.




The horseman looked familiar to me. I recalled he stopped by at Koina guesthouse last evening. When we requested him to pick up our load from Ponjothang he showed us a chit wherein he was directed to pick up Dzongkhag load. He had no clue about the content in the chit. In desperation I even conspired to change the content of the chit but didn’t actually do it. But now I was wondering who actually changed it? Or could it be that there was not load from Dzongkhag so our team got him? I forgot to ask. I never found out.

Tashemakha was a military base pitched on a low plateau. The place was actually called Tashethang. From there we could see our destination high up on the mountain like a diamond in the sky. While the beauty of the mountain was so inviting the distance was mentally exhausting. The man in makeshift canteen told us that it was just an hour more from here. I knew it meant another four hours, and I was right at my speed it took so much.

The inspiring banner and the inspiring people

Gasa Dzongda must have foreseen that anyone could feel like I did at this point in journey so he had put up a banner here that read, “One day you won’t be able to do this, but today is not that day.” I read it loud and felt it deep. It worked like a dose of steroid in my nerves. We regrouped once for the last time only to be scattered gradually by our pace. Our horses and chef had left us too. Good for us because it meant our tents and food would be ready when we reach up.

The Last Lap to Laya, the destination is hidden among the clouds

That last lap was the most agonizing with our muscles stiffening and the air thinning. I took rest in every ten steps or less. When I saw the historical gate to Laya I fell on my knees. I knew I made it. Just then my team member Ching Ching came running down towards me. She said there was someone on the road, probably drunk. It was Jigme our chef. There went our food! He said something strange happened to him and we blamed his countless bottles. He showed us his bottle, still full, and said he wasn’t drunk. He said the spirits affected him. We half-believed him. He had however delivered his bag with a local friend and even asked to serve us tea and help in preparing our meals.

From the gate to the village was yet another struggle by then the darkness had set in. It was hard to envisage that a village so vast, stretching out across the hill could possibly exist. I couldn’t wait for the morning to see the sheer beauty of this place. But for now where was our camp? The third house called us in for tea. It was Jigme’s loyal friend. We declined knowing that we were so close to our camp. We headed for the huge campsite in the field only to find that it wasn’t ours.

For sometime two of us were lost in Laya. We didn’t have an address to seek direction and no one knew about our team. As we lingered in the dark we heard someone calling out Ching Ching. There we found our campsite. Our tents were still on the ground and Penjor was struggling to set them up. He was the only person other than Aue Karma, who was yet to arrive, who knew how to do it. The horses soon brought down the kitchen tent that he had worked on first. The two of them who had arrived with Penjor were sent back to look for us and the remaining who were still coming. When they returned with the rest of team they thought we didn’t make it. We actually made a wrong entry to the village to be found by the search party.

The kitchen team, even without the chief chef, was quick. After the dinner I went straight into my tent and wrapped myself in the sleeping bag. I didn’t have energy for mischief and even whisky didn’t taste good.

PREVIOUS (Rest Like Zhabdrung in Koina):: NEXT (...)

Laya Journal- Rest Like Zhabdrung in Koina

Our team leader had to take a decision; to wait for horses with the entire team or go ahead of our load. If we had the strength to make it straight to Laya then going ahead won’t be a problem because we would get some sort of shelter and food for the night but if we land up somewhere between nowhere we would be in trouble without tents and ration.

There was no cellular network in the area. (Of course we were told later that there was a small patch of land close by where the non-smart phone could receive network). There was no guarantee the horses would come, and even if horses did come they weren’t like taxi to make endless trips. Animals would need rest.

Five from our team stayed back to wait for the horses and rest of us began our journey. I was separated once more from my two staff. In little more than two rainy hours we reached Koina. This was said to be the place where Zhabdrung took rest during his long flight from Tibet in 1616 and therefore it was named Koina, derived from Ku-nyel-na. The place had a guesthouse for travellers. It was merely a shelter with three empty rooms. Retired army Tenzin and his family who ran the canteen occupied the fourth and fifth rooms.

Leki was the logistical official at Koina for this festival period. He welcomed us with tea and backed it up with a much-needed lunch. It was still early in the afternoon though the overcast weather made it seem very late and it was still possible to make it to Laya or somewhere closer but without any form of communication with our team in Ponjothang we couldn’t risk leaving the shelter in Koina and Leki’s hospitality.

Leki offered us an empty room to crash in for the night in case we had to. We spend the whole afternoon talking about everything like in good old times. We literally relived the legacy of Zhabdrung by taking the longest rest in Koina. People who were there before us left before we finished settling down and others who came after us took brief tea breaks and carried on.

Dasho Sangay talking to Soldiers in Koina Guesthouse

We had all the time for ourselves with nothing to distract us from telling stories of our lives that would otherwise never be told in smartphone era. While we were digging out our memories and laughing endlessly our team leader received the message that he dreaded. There won’t be any horses for the day to bring back our load. But before our smiles faded he announced that Chef Jigme and Artist Dorji from our team in Koina had volunteered to go back to Ponjothang and get us our sleeping bags. I was simply awed by the compassionate courage of these two men to walk back the whole stretch and return with our sleeping bags. I couldn’t thank them enough for the giving us the beautiful night in Koina.

Among the many who came inside the Koina guesthouse that day after us only Dasho Sangay Khandu decided to stay back with us. His entry was the beginning of the next episode of our night in Koina. Taking advantage of our friendship I complained about the road conditions to his Gasa. He said he could only ask for it like the rest us and that it was Lyonpo Damchoe I should complain to. He however said that the having that mere road in itself was a blessing Gasa could enjoy only recently. Gasa had to endured with minimum development because it had been a Dungkhag under Punakha Dzongkha for a long time.

Upon asked how Gasa could even dare to host a festival of this magnitude without having so many basic logistic in place, he said that an able leadership would have the foresight to see order in chaos. While it also seemed like a nice justification to our innate complacency but the words went echoing in my head for a long time. And it made perfect sense to me when I finally saw the magnificence of the festival later in Laya.

Good Night's Sleep in Koina

If it weren’t for that night I wouldn’t know that we still could spend hours at end talking with fellow human beings. If we were dots, our stories were lines connecting them and at the end we were all interconnected. Even our retired solider host wasn’t left out; he confessed he was among the group of soldiers who bashed up Dasho Sangay and Chimi Zom’s mate in Sherbutse. To add special effects to our tales there was continuous supply of beer at much cheaper price than any club in Thimphu. One thing was confirmed, unlike road and mobile network, beer was everywhere. Learn from beer!

No experienced traveller would stay up so late and drink like we did ahead of a long journey but I further proved how big an amateur I was by continuing my night with Leki. Two of us became the voice in the silence of the dark night. Often we could hear giggles muffled in thick sleeping bags indicating some of our roommates were listening to our conversation while still pretending to sleep.When I finally got into my sleeping bag I felt so lonely. The silence in the room was deafening so I said a few lines of humor to check if they were really asleep only to find that all of them were trying hard to sleep. Except for little Menda the rest jumped back in conversation while I quietly slipped away into my dreams. From deep inside my sleep I could hear them curse me for disturbing them.

PREVIOUS (Waking up in Gasa):: NEXT (The Last Lap to Laya)

Laya Journal- Excitement in Thimphu

Laya is a beautiful place everyone heard about and most are guilty of not having visited it. It's just there within our reach but many of us have just managed to visit it in the pages of magazines. In few years road is going to reach Laya, and then there is going to be more cars than yaks. Then Laya will be just another place.

Gasa Dzongda, Dasho Dradul briefing BTO team in our office

In August I received a mail from Gasa Dzongda asking my office, Bhutan Toilet Org to take part in Royal Highland festival in Laya. The festival was going to bring in huge number of people to the pristine mountains and the last thing Dasho wanted people to leave behind was their crap all over the mountainside, therefore we were invited.

Preparing for Laya

It was therefore an official invitation to travel to a dream destination. My toilets have taken me to so many places and Laya was literally the icing on the top of the list. But Laya was a beautiful girl protected by deadly father of a journey. My confidence faded at the thought of the arduous journey. I haven't tested my trekking ability in years. The last thing I wanted to be was an extra baggage on my team members.

Checklist

It was 10-year-old Menda who motivated me without saying a word. She had already done Jomolhari trek with her parents and now she was joining us to Laya. I was like a child telling myself, “If this little girl can do it, I should be able to.” It helped.

But soon I had to worry about the travel expenses and logistics. It was again Menda's parents who rescued us. Aue Karma T and Chimi Zom included us in his Trekker 360 team and took the burden of worrying about everything for us. This pro trekking team was scheduled to do Dagala trek this time but when Laya made its calling they changed their mind easily. It was blessing for us. My three-member team only had to report with our stuff in Dorji Elements’ parking lot on 12th October morning. That's it.

NEXT  (Long Road to Gasa)

The Buffalo Horn in Daga Dzong

In my last post I wrote about the mythical treasure of Daga Dzong but I have not discussed about where it came from. I could only write about having seen it for real. It was a 7.2 feet long buffalo horn, which is by far the largest in the world (at least as far as I know).

Illustration of the Horn in comparison to my height

THE LEGEND

The Legend has it that one day in 17th century, people living in Daga Dzong heard an unusual bellow of a buffalo from the deep jungle across the valley. The Lam (ID not known) sent his subjects to check on the animal but upon reaching the site all they found was a pair of gigantic horns.

They pair of horns were kept in Daga Dzong for centuries and over the years, it was said that the horns were carelessly thrown all over the place until one day one horn flew away. It was then that the single horn left behind was received back in the Goenkhang of the Daga Dzong and treated as one very important treasure.

The other horn which flew away is believed to be in Talo Monastery in Punakha (Need to confirm). It's pity that I didn't know about it when I was close to Talo. I visited Talo twice and if it was true it can't be missed, literally.

ASSUMPTION

After having seen the horn itself there is nothing so unbelievable about anything but because horns don't have wings I am a bit suspicious about the flying horn myth. I rather prefer to believe that the horn was brought to Punakha as a gift, because Daga Penlop was known in history has someone who brought the best gifts to Punakha Dzong during those day.

The Three Parallel Staircase, Punakha Dzong

It's said that the three parallel staircase in Punakha Dzong were for Trongsa Penlop, Paro Penlop and Daga Penlop, where Daga Penlop was given the privilege to climb the central stair because of the kind of gifts he presented. Perhaps he must have brought it along with so many ivories he presented to Zhabdrung those days.

But how it reached Talo could be another story or may be it really flew, or perhaps it's not even in Talo. (There is more to learn about this fascinating legend)

SCIENCE OF THE HORN

After seeing the horn, I have looked all over the internet to see if there is any 7 feet long buffalo horn in the world but I found none. In fact, no species of buffalo has horns that looked close to the one in Daga Dzong. Of course none matched its size too. So is it really buffalo horn?

Bongo with Large Horns

As I pursue my fascination for largest horns I stumbled upon Bongo, the largest and heaviest antelope found in the Lowland Rain Forest of West Africa and the Congo Basin to the Central African Republic and Southern Sudan. This animal has similar horns that grow very long. But again how could a pair of horns from Africa land up in Dagana? and More over the world record holding Bongo horn is just 3 feet long, no where close to the 7 feet long mythical horn in Daga Dzong.

Therefore the mystery remains and it's best left that way. 

2015 is observed as Visit Bhutan Year and it's time we Bhutanese visit our own country and enjoy its unmatched cultural heritage and endless mysteries. I am giving you 7 feet long reason to visit Daga Dzong this year. World dreams to visit our country, we are already here!

Disclaimer: There could be factual errors regarding time periods and historical references for which I seek your kind correction. Please leave your comments in the comment box below. 

Seven Years in Bajothang

September 25, 2014 was officially my last day in Bajothang. This day was never in my plan. Infact I didn't have a plan beyond Bajothang. This just happened suddenly. I wouldn't have left this place for anything, but sometimes we have to make important choices, choices that are more than places and people, choices that are dream come true.

The Last Shot of the Beautiful Place I am leaving behind

I never thought I would spend seven years away from home, and gradually begin to call that strange place my new home but I think Bajothang was written in my destiny. Perhaps it was written for seven years. The seven defining years- the seven years that made me a happy teacher, husband, and father.

Seven years was a lot of time. So many things changed in these many years. First 3 batches of my students would already be in jobs and have started families. People came and went, I am among the few who came and stayed. Seven Years have passed thus. And now is the time.

Tomorrow I will pack my bags for Paro. That's another place away from home yet Paro has always been home. I began my school in Paro and finished my college from Paro and the seventeen years inbetween were spent in that beautiful valley. I am returning home. I am returning to my educational home to be student again, for two more years, to reshape the teacher that I am.

Counting the last days in Bajothang, settling things, meeting people, and attending farewell dinners, I realize I have earned the friendship of best of people in the town, yet because of my activist's activities I am told that there are some people whom I have disappointed, but I am hopeful that someday they will come to love me when they understand what I was trying to do to this place. It was never personal, and when they realize that they will hopefully begin to appreciate what I did. In seven years I dreamt to fix everything in Bajothang but as I pack my bag I can see that I couldn't turn a stone. So next time I must dream twice.

I hope I will find time to return to this place and finish two last projects I have begun here: The Museum in the School and Book Cafe in the town.

Rushing up to meet my personal deadline 

Finishing Touch to the center piece...

It's Almost Ready. 

Journey to Southern Bhutan

I have discovered that I am a very bad traveller, worse when I have to drive myself. I feel very exhausted at the very thought of driving, I almost fall sick the day before travelling. My wife adds to this by packing stuffs two days ahead of the journey and reminding me about it by reconfirming about everything that's there in our luggage- I land up unpacking and repacking everything just to reassure her. She makes me wash our car, refuel the tank, check the engine, brake, tyres,... 

But there something about this journey that made me feel very excited. I washed my car without her orders, and did everything that she would ask me to do even before she could think of them. I even asked for something extra to her surprise- to take tea for the road. Because it's my maiden journey to Gelephu through Tsirang, I have always wanted to visit Tsirang and I also have an unfinished quest for Gelephu. My first visit to Gelephu some years ago left a very bad impression, I was sick throughout the ten days I spent there and this time I want to even the account and forgive Gelephu with a beautiful experience.

I learned that I had to keep a comfortable six hours in hand to make to Gelephu before 5PM curfew on Sarpang Gelephu highway. I made some calculation and left myself enough time to stop for tea and photography. 

We made a cozy bed on the back seat for daughter so that she can sleep comfortable when she get tired without bother us. She does that always. Kezang had travelled that road before, but it was too before that she hardly remembers anything. So that made the journey double exciting. I felt sorry for my daughter who could enjoy the new road. She slept.

The road from Wangdue to Wakleytar Bridge is almost like travelling through India, with lots of Indian presence. The Punatshangchu construction madness is very heavy but there are occasional smoothness on the road that is even better than the best road in Thimphu. The project has changed the entire geography of the place, and at two points on the way we could see the giant river disappear into the hills. The river bed was full of activity.

The Lost River

The bridges on the Wangdue-Tsirang highway are something to marvel, they are very soothing to eyes and their strength is evident from the freshness the concrete work has maintained. After all it's built by Japanese!

View Point: Dagana Road on the other side

Tsirang road diverts from Dagana road somewhere near Sunkosh, well Punatshangchu changes its name from here on. The brave river is here on called Sunkosh. The road to Tsirang is all uphill through the paddies and orange trees. I woke up my daughter to show her where the oranges grow. Somewhere on the top we meet a chorten from where we get the panoramic view of the Dagana road, Sunkosh and endless hills.

The View Point

We stopped in Damphu Bazar. I had to literally put my foot on the ground to reassure that I have covered one more Dzongkhag. Kezang bought a bottle of native honey. Infact everything is very native in Tsirang. The cozy cottages along the road, the goats in the paddies, the smell of gungudru everything tells stories of the originality of the place. The influence from outside dzongkhag has not changed anything in Tsirang.

Damphu Bazar

The descending road to Sarpang after Tsirang is already lonely and the fog makes is even more melancholic. It feels so much like Gedu. It's only when we close on to Sarpang that we see the sun again, my northern root has always given me special curiosity for everything in the south. I love the plains and the broad leaf trees.

Gate to Sarpang 

Sarpang town disappointed my expectations of it, it's very small, dusty and unevolved. It's too small for all the problems it faced. We stopped for a very satisfying southern Bhutanese lunch in Sharpa Restaurant- how could I resist mutton curry with raw onion on a big plate. Out of curiosity I asked about the kidnap story and the victim happens to be the son of the hotel owner. She showed the place where it happened and how they disappeared. None of the adults were home that fateful day. The boy is now home and doing well after initial shock.

Sharpa Restaurant in Sarpang Town 

Saprang town ends at security gate which is surrounded by tree laden with Honey combs. Every tree around that place has at least 50 huge combs hanging with juicy honey, and I was told that no one harvests them. Such a waste of nature's resource.

Honey Tree in Sarpang

The road between Sarpang and Gelephu gives you the rare opportunity to try the 5th gear on my old car. The much feared road, where stories of kidnaps are often heard, turned out to be a wonderful experience. Within half an hour we were in Gelephu, and just like any Bhutanese the first thing we did was to cross the Bhutan Gate to feel the air in Assam. Kezang went out for shopping and while I waited I saw some scribbling on the pillars: WE WANT SEPARATE BODOLAND. But it wasn't quite readable which must be the reason why their voice is still not heard. I wasn't feeling very secure there, as soon as Kezang came back I drove back to my safe country.

Assam, the denied Bodoland

Lamperi Park- A Place to Visit

I have travelled this road thousand times and for thousand times I have looked at the gate of Lamperi Botanical Park and wondered what must be there beyond the gate and wall. But I never had time to stop for a while and walk into the park- well today I asked myself, how long am I going to deny my excitement? How long am I going to rush through life and leave behind simple joy of living?

It's a wonderland beyond that gate. Nu.10 ticket has priceless experience to offer. There is a lake (tsho) with boating facility on the side, Orchid garden, Rhododendron Garden, Rock Garden, Children's Park, Medicinal Plant garden, library and the whole park is connected with Bike trail where mountain biking facility is offered (Nu.100/hr). If you are hungry there is a cafeteria and if you are pissy there are clean toilets around, but don't go behind the bushes- keep the park clean. The park is also open for night camping at Nu.30 per person and if you opt for guest house it's Nu.250 per person. (Full Details can be seen in the picture)

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For a man like me who grew up in country it's like going back home but for someone like my daughter and all the kids who were born and bred away from roots it's like taking them to a fairy land and connecting them to who they really are.(entry for kids below 12 is free)
And for couples who haven't had much to to talk to each other recently, the park offers you the correct mood and setting to look at eachother and talk life. There is no TV, no WiFi, no Cars, no shopping, just the person you love in front with birds singing from the woods. Refresh your romance once in a while.

Taking my hyper daughter to the calm lake

One of the many interesting creations

After The Queen Grandmother- Rhododendron Kesangiae, seen in Rhododendron Garden

Another place to sit and romance

See the Orchid Garden beyond the bridge

 I am already planning my next trip there with pack lunch during a sunny holiday. I hope you will do that too.

Paro Dzong at Night

This was the shot I was attempting to get the last time I visited Paro, but because of the cold or may be my hand, I landed up getting blurring images. This time I made sure I came with my tripod so that I don't have to blame anything if the picture still came out wrong. And here is it!

Glowing Paro Dzong

Like a Diamond in the sky!

Beautiful Sunset in Samtse

Sunset in Samtse: Forgive my friend's Antique Camera

After the exams were over I sat down with my wife and planned our vacation. We subtracted the day I will be occupied in workshops and also the days that will go in making the journey to and fro the stations. Finally when all the obligations were slashed off, what was left on the calendar wasn’t enough to reignite the excitement we had long stored.

To make the mood worse, 18 Bhutanese perished in plane crash for the first time. As the list of the victims appeared on TV my heart ached, it ached worse when I realized they were families on divine vacation; vacation from which no one returned. How chillingly it made me realize that everyday we are together with our family is a vacation in itself, every journey, every meal, every joke, everyday… it was harsh but a bold reminder that every date on the calendar needs to be counted.

And thus our plan for this winter changed altogether. We packed our bags and started our vacation; I am on paid vacation with my family to Samtse. The journey was boring from Wangdue to Thimphu because I have always driven that road. But now when I look back, it gives me cold feet; a bus accident killed nine people. That driver must have taken that road hundred times more than me and yet he faced the worst nightmare, can I afford to take that road for granted? One girl from my school lost her life, a boy suffered broken spine and a teacher colleague suffered two broken ribs.

Breakfast in Dantak canteen near Babesa was cheap and satisfying. All my life I travelled in buses and had lunches where drivers loved or the owners demanded. But this time I stopped where we got yummy, clean and fresh food. I waved hard on Bhutanese restaurants on the road in revenge and headed straight for Taktikhoti. We Bhutanese need to learn the basics of business.

But the road from Tsimasham to my lunch place tested my patience, driving skill and eye sight. Thimphu Phuntsholing highway has always been under construction- rough reminder of a country in the permanent state of development.

I always loved Phuntsholing, here is where I first met my wife some five years ago. Weather is pleasant at this time of the year. Street are filled with people, I mean the Jaigong streets, where every Bhutanese empty their purse. Of course, Phuntsholing is no different from Jaigong, after all most of the businessmen are Indians. Who would want to pay a bigger price when on the other side of the wall you get it so cheap?

I honked the honk of my life, and perhaps my car must have thought I have gone crazy, on the road to Samtse. It was worth it; here I watch the last sunset of 2010 with my family and I must admit the sunset in Samtse is so beautiful!

Best City Award- Best Irony

Of all the cities in the world Bangkok wins the Best City Award and I can clearly smell the fish. The panel of judges must have had the best night of their lives away from their families with the girls who could blow whistle from their bottom. Otherwise no fool would pick up on that filthy thief’s city.

Even I heard so heavenly about that city from the Bhutanese who had been there but now I wonder if they haven’t see Jaigon enough. The streets are dusty and cramped with noisy people and outdated vehicles, with no traffic rules applied. Buildings are long in need of repaint. Taxi drivers and tuktuk drivers are the most stubborn people I ever encountered; we have to go to places they want or pay ten times. Every shop expects you to bargain no lesser than in JB, except for some big malls. For last many months red shirt filled up the streets in protest against the government, which led violence and bloodshed. Do we call such city the best city?

Why do I call it a thief’s city? Many Bhutanese who have been there must know that we are the easy prey and many might have been among the unfortunate travelers who fall victim of the fake Bhutan-enthusiast foreigners. They are not original Thai people but sadly they now become part unless they are kicked out. They typically start their conversation by asking you,

“Where are you from sir/ madam?”

And we are proud of saying, “I am from Bhutan.”

That makes him excited because he knows we come there with lot of money and most of all we are kind to strangers.

“Oh, I am going to Bhutan this week, can you help me with some information?” By then he would have cornered you but we agree with any sort of behavior when it comes to foreigners.

“May I have a look at your currency?” Here he means to look at your fat wallet, and any normal Bhutanese would kindly open their purse and show them our currency. During this split second moment he would touch your purse to push down the ngultrum note you took out and acknowledge you and walk away.

Back in the hotel room no matter how you calculate a few of your hundred dollar bills are missing and then you will realize that you are robbed in the broad day light.

How do I know all this? Experience! Luckily I was walking with only Thai Baht. But three of my friends weren’t as lucky. That evening some of the experienced friends told us that it was common but they were late. After reaching back here I heard one group from my village suffered the same fate. But nobody wants to share their embarrassing experience thus leading to further incidences. Simple rule: Bhutanese should keep aside our kindness while walking in Bangkok, the best city!

Tshimalakha: Place Frozen in Time and Hidden in Fog

Foggy Evening View

I have been to Phuntsholing more than I have been to any other Dzongkhag, but because road runs straight down through Tshimasham and I didn’t have reason to divert away from the highway I could never come to this place I am at. Thanks to this workshop which brought us here.

Tshimalakha was muffled in dense fog when we reached here yesterday, not so surprising since I always heard about the place. But reaching here and seeing the place for myself made me realized how much I have assumed. When the fog disappeared this morning I was startled by almost everything, the place is so unique from the rest of the places I ever been to. Of course the whole place came in at once when Chukha Hydro project was on. Nobody passing by the highway would expect such a huge settlement hidden in the heart of the hills.

The place defines a time period in the history of Bhutan, and today when I look at the place I see the time frozen on the face of the structures still standing. Sometimes the so many old building standing against the force of time gives an impression of a world that has survived a nuclear war. I suddenly feel a sense of attachment to the place, as if I have been here before. I love this place so much but I won’t like to live here.

Bangkok Disappointed Me...

I wasn't happy when I knew we were flying straight to Singapore without a day halt in Bangkok. I heard of the grourious city from every Bhutanese who has ever been there and I was only seeing it from the airport. During my week long stay in Singapore I was dreaming of the day I will land in Bangkok. I wanted to see the city for myself, I wanted to go shopping, explore the magnificent streets and malls, meet angel like girls, go to the beach and have a wonderful night in Bangkok after the sleepless week in Singapore!

And finally the day came, we were flying to Bangkok and this time we have a day to stay there. I envied Kuenga who had already extended her stay in Bangkok by a few days more. She had her brother studying there. Kuenga is a teacher from Drukgyel, who was among the 14 other teachers on the trip.

My excitement started dying the moment we walked out of the terminal, we had to rush for taxi under the intense heat. We had to repeat out address to the driver for eternity and finally he took us to a wrong place. The sights along the long road to our hotel gave me an impression of indian road along phuntsholing samtse highway. Damn, one piece of dust got into my eye and that bugged me the whole afternoon. My eye was conditioned to amazingly dust free Singapore already and it forgot its natural reflex.

We entered the city and I wondered if that was the same Bangkok people talk about. It was no better then Jaigong, messy, overcrowded and disorganized. I already wanted to leave. but there was more to experience when we finally got to the right address. Kuenga's brother had kindly booked us in Rangnam Apartment, a very popular place for Bhutanese visitors.

It was a nine-storeyed building with an almost broken lift. Our room has a toilet attached and a bed with mattress, and also a gigantic AC hanging over the bed, which may fall anytime. When it is put on it sounds like car, but thanks to it we were spared from being cooked. Apartments are by default this way, we should be occupying it like we rent houses. I don't know why we didn't go for a hotel instead. And guess what, this is where our Bangkok-goers spend their vacation, I would prefer my hostel in high school.

No taxi would take us to Puntip Plaza, because it happened to be too close and we had to walk. By now 'we' meant only three of us. Rest were gone. Three of us were hungry and tired but we couldn't find a place to sit. Roads are impossible to cross with heavy traffic. If we didn't find the rest of them soon we may even lose our way back to the appartment. We ask everyman on the road for direction but they all sounded like dumb. God even students can't speak english.

We got there finally and caught up with our friends but by then the whole charm of shopping was gone. I had plenty of electronics on my shopping list but people come from every corner of the mall with pronographic CD and ask us to buy and after a while I forgot everything.

In the midst of confusion two of us were singeled out and confronted by a tourist who wanted to know about Bhutan. He wanted to see our currency and it's value. God, later we knew that everybody in our group was awear of this except the two of us. The tourist disappeared into the crowd after fiddling with out purse. My friend checked his purse later to find $300 are missing. From that moment I hated every tourist I met. I didn't want to be kind to any stranger anymore.

Kuenga had planned out our shopping places, she has already been here several times. She was going to take us to three different places, which probably would be all that can be possible. But the tuktuk drivers are one hell of people. They want to take us to their choice of place first, upon us disagreeing with them we landed up paying them so much.

Only Big C cheered me up later in the evening. It was a grand shopping mall with AC and without anybody to bother. I did a lot of shopping for my daughter and wife, there can't be a better palce than this. Thanks to Kuenga and her brother who made sure we were not lost again, who took charge of our group and gave us time to rest and shop.

rest too be written...soon...and correction in process....