A View of Downtown Thimphu

The walk downtown takes about a half-hour. First, I lock the inside door of the apartment, and then slide the bolt and lock the enormous gold padlock that secures the outer door. These padlocks are ubiquitous and I often wonder if the keys are exchangeable. On the stairwell, we press ourselves against the concrete wall to avoid jostling the woman coming up the stairs balancing three huge bowls of what looks like fried rice, each with a fried egg on top. She is bringing lunch to the offices of Druk Green Energy Co.—offices that surround our apartment on three sides. It smells delicious.

As we enter the parking lot, we have to weave in-between the cars that are double, triple and quadruple-parked. In fact, the entire parking lot is chock full of cars, so full that in order for anyone to leave, those who parked in the entrance will have to pull their cars out so that the next line of cars can move and so on and so on until the parking lot is empty. We wonder how they strategize who parks on the outer edge and who is utterly boxed in? We wonder too, how so many cars jive with the notion of “green energy?”

Approaching the main street leading downtown we pause, waiting for a few long moments before traffic coming each direction has cleared enough to dart across the street to the one sidewalk leading precariously down the steep incline the street follows. I’ve learned early on that in Bhutan, pedestrians do not come first. They do not even come second. At best, they might come in third. Cars rule. No one slows down or moves over if you find yourself walking by the side of the road. Given that people drive British-style, this means that we often look the wrong way when we do try to cross any street, narrowly missing stepping out into the path of an oncoming Maruti.

On the way down the hill the following events take place: a group of small boys wearing matching small ghos pass us heading the opposite direction. They scream “Hi!” at the top of their lungs in spite of the fact that we are right there. “Hi,” I say in response, smiling down at them. They scream “Hi!” “Hi!” “Hi!” all the while laughing hysterically as we continue on.  Second, a woman with long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, dressed in a brilliant purple kira (Bhutanese women’s dress) with a matching purple jacket, smiles shyly at me as I meet her curious stare and greet her with the traditional Bhutanese greeting, “Kuzuzangpo-la.” Her high-heeled sandals pose no impediment to her ascent of the nearly vertical slope she is climbing. Her gaze lingers on my large, white feet, flip-flopping casually down the hill. Third, from one of literally hundreds of construction sites that can be found throughout Thimphu, a large group of Indian laborers halt their work, their dark heads swiveling towards me with what I might find a humorous synchronicity if it wasn’t for the fact that I feel completely undressed beneath their burning gazes. I level my umbrella at an angle that at least obscures my view of them, whether or not they can still see me. It makes me feel better. Chris positions himself slightly in front of me, further obscuring their view. It is our agreed-upon strategy every time we pass a construction site. Fourth, a group of teenaged-school girls approaches up the hill. Each girl is dressed in her uniform kira, a backpack slung over one shoulder, carrying a colorful, wicker basket with her lunch (or whatever is left of it) inside. They stare at us as we pass, giggling madly. Their laughter follows us down the hill.

The main street of downtown Thimphu is bustling with an array of activities. Women from the country perch on their haunches at the edge of the sidewalk, an array of greenery—asparagus (bought once and even though cooked nearly to death it was much like chewing on a bunch of sticks), spinach, peppers, apples, sometimes tiny yellow Chanterelle mushrooms hand-picked in the wild (these are my favorite!) spread out on the cement in front of them. A few monks in red robes sit at intervals along the main drag (there really is only one main street) reciting their texts. One is wearing a red hat with a huge yellow flower on top. He looks adorable but I am too shy to photograph him. Men in various colored ghos, women in kiras, some of them with the traditional short bowl-cut hairstyle, a child slung in a colored scarf across the back, an occasional tourist bearing a huge camera and looking vaguely stunned by the bustle and action. Mannequins gaze serenely out at the activity from their stands in front of “western-style” clothing stores. Various configurations of the most typical “shop” sign prompt Chris and I to catalogue the progression of attempts to communicate the essence of the shop’s contents. There are shops selling electronics such as TV’s, cell phones, and computers together with washing machines and refrigerators. There are shops filled with Thai and Indian dry goods—biscuits, cereals, rice, barley, soy sauce, nuts, together with hair products, facial products, soaps, children’s toys and shoes. Numerous fabric stores sell ready-made ghos and kiras as well as bolts of fantastically woven fabric that can be sewn at the nearby tailors shop. Feed stores sell different kinds of grains for “roasters” or “layers,” depending, naturally, on what kind of chickens YOU have at home. Tiny, one-room “restaurants” send out tantalizing smells—meals available for about $1.

Arriving at the justly famous Thimphu Weekend Market, we try to keep track of how much money we spend to supply ourselves with fresh produce for the coming week. As we wander through the colorful array of people, veggies, and various nameless and most curious items, we try to decide which vender to buy from. Usually we buy from as many venders as types of vegetables. It’s impossible to tell whose wares are “better.” They all look wonderful or odd or simply unknowable—what on earth would I do with such an item if I did buy it? Chris purchases bananas from a woman who tells him in a loud whisper that she “has a special price for Sir.” (On a side note, we went to check out the Tashi-Taj Hotel—the only Five Star hotel in downtown Thimphu and noticed to our great amusement that I was also referred to as “Sir.” “Sir” this and “Sir” that—it seems to be an honorific title of sorts.) Climbing back up the mountain through the afternoon rain carrying our bundles, we calculate that we spent less that $25 for a week’s worth of vegetables and fruits, including three large bags of those fantastic Chanterelle mushrooms, fresh! Anyone who has ever bought those in the USA knows how expensive then can be.