The inflight magazine for Druk Airlines informs me that we are flying on “the wings of the dragon.” Indeed, as the plane dives down through a gap in the thick white mounds of monsoon clouds into the Paro valley, its wingtips nearly brushing the sides of the green slopes, I can well imagine we are riding the back of large silver dragon. But Captain Jigme Dorje, our fearless pilot, has adequately prepared us and the half-full flight of mostly Bhutanese and the few scattered foreigners on board takes the precarious landing in stride. We have arrived in Bhutan! Surprisingly, given that this is supposed to be the monsoon season, the sun is breaking through the clouds, scattering gold light over the towering green mountains and the churning Paro Chu (Paro River). Outside the back entry of the airport, Bhutan’s five monarchs, each wearing the famed Raven Crown, gaze benevolently down at us from an enormous billboard as we enter the gates.
As promised, we are met at the airport by a driver who carries us along the twists and turns of the one serpentine road that follows the river 31 kilometers to Thimphu, Bhutan’s lively capital city. When we stop for the driver to tighten the screws holding the gearshift together, I step out of the truck to stand above the rushing river. Across the street a spring gushes from the steep rock of the hillside. It is festooned with prayer flags and a small shrine is built around it. “It comes from Tibet,” our driver informs me. As I watch, a busload of Bhutanese travelers pulls up on the opposite side of the road and people pour out the door, dipping their hands and feet in the gurgling water and filling plastic water bottles. Many of them sprinkle the water over their heads in the characteristic Buddhist gesture of blessing. The wind streams up the valley into my face and the sun is hot on my shoulders and head.
Our apartment is nestled in a clump of trees high up on the western slopes of the valley in which Thimphu is located. Somehow, reading The Lonely Planet’s Guide to Bhutan, I had imagined that Thimphu was mostly flat, lining the riverbed alongside the Wang Chu (Power Water). It’s not. Instead, the city rises up either side of the river and the roads are steep and winding. As we enter the apartment, it is immediately clear that we have somehow struck the jackpot. Two bedrooms, two baths, a living room and kitchen, complete with hot water (when the geysers—pronounced “geezer”--are turned on), a refrigerator, rice cooker, and microwave! Better not get too used to this level of luxury, a fact that is reinforced by our landlady when I mention that we will be moving to the center of Bhutan at the end of August. “Oh yes,” she says wryly, “the middle of nowhere.”
The rest of our first evening is spent talking animatedly with Chris’s new boss and a colleague, who arrive shortly after we do to greet us. (Remembering that in Asia, guests should always be offered some sort of refreshment, we scramble to brew a pot of jasmine tea and put some nuts brought with us from Boston in a bowl.) Chris’s boss informs us that we will be moving to Trongsa in central Bhutan the first week in September when at least half of the new campus for ILCS (The Institute of Language and Culture Studies), should be completed. Housing there is uncertain. Buying a car is a good idea. Meanwhile, since we are in Thimphu for now, we should do our best to “get settled in.” He, himself, is leaving for the next ten days. Happily, he then kindly offers to drive us down the mountain to a grocery store to buy something to eat. We find fresh yogurt, eggs, biscuits, milk, tea, native Bhutanese red rice, and a few bags of Indian snacks, all extracted from the packed, towering walls of the tiny grocery store that sells only dried goods. For fresh produce, we will need to visit the famous Weekend Market the next day. We are set for the night. By 9pm, jet lag and trying to adjust to the 7000ft. altitude of Thimphu have taken their toll and we collapse in bed. But by 3am I am wide-awake, staring into the dark silence, slightly overwhelmed by the fact that I am not going “home” tomorrow, or next week, or even next month. In fact, I am home.
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