Braving the Roads of Bhutan...

I hardly expected the 600km road trip to Rukubji to go completely smoothly and devoid of incident. The bounces and bumps were anticipated, along with the inevitable near-death experiences as my rattly toy-car clung to the edge of some precipice in the roaring shadow of an Indian MONSTER-VAN. Grrrr. They're bullies, them big trucks, with their gaudy headlight-eyes and the ubiquitous 'blow horn' graffiti smeared across their backsides. Those tyrants of the road care nothing for lesser vehicles. And you never see the drivers; I suspect they may not even have any. It would explain the consistently inhumane behaviour they show towards the rest of us.

But I didn't expect to be stopped at the first checkpoint and told that I couldn't drive! There I am 70km from home, bubbling with excitement about my road-trip, handing over my work permit and my UK license and smiling like there's really nothing whatsoever that could possibly go wrong, and... the policeman tells me it is illegal for me to drive in Bhutan. I've been assured it is perfectly fine, but when a policeman says 'No', and you say 'Yes', and neither of you can speak much of the other's language, where can the argument go? Downhill. For me.

My good friend Mr Thukten was in the passenger seat and the Vice Principal was in convoy, so I had help, but I got on the blower to one of the Bhutan-Canada People anyway, the guy who's in the know... the fixer. He spoke to the policeman on my behalf and then assured me everything would be okay. With a sigh of relief I put the phone down and tried to extricate Mr Thukten from the radio room where bosses were being hailed. But the policeman called me back and again told me I couldn't drive. I rang the fixer again. He spoke to the policeman again. Misunderstanding! Everything is now sorted. No problem. Phew. Except the policeman tells me that I still can't drive and must find somebody else to do it for me. By now I am feeling confused and a little helpless. Mr Thukten is philosophical. The Vice Principal is doing everything he can, but it's not looking good.

It becomes clear that I just have to get through this checkpoint to the capital, then I can drive, because it's Losar (New Year) and nothing administrative will happen for days, but my Bhutan license is 'in process'. The policeman has no desire to be bawled out by his boss in the holiday season. If he lets me through another official grabs me on the road and makes an unreasonable fuss, he'll get the old Ferguson hair-dryer treatment.

I am mastering the art of patience and understanding. Last week I spent 6 hours waiting at the Dzong for my Principal to organise a transfer of a teacher to our school where her husband teaches. I was freezing. I was hungry. I mastered the art of waiting. Deep breath then and set to it.

We have to find somebody to drive the car the 80km to Thimphu. Mr Thukten has no license. The Vice Principal has his own car to drive. So... complete strangers. We start asking and after drawing a few blanks we find an amiable fellow who courteously agrees to drive said vehicle to said capital. For 500 Ngultrum! I accept. I don't even negotiate. I just want to get out of there now and reignite the joy of road-tripping. Can't they understand I'm just trying to live dream? I reason that if I ply the amiable chap with enough banter he'll find it impossible to take money from me. The universal currency of good company, gratitude and banter will see me though. And good music of course. It works. He drives me to Thimphu. He was going there anyway, so he hasn't really gone out of his way, but I resolve to balance karma by opening my doors to all hitch-hikers henceforth.

The swirling machinations of fate cut my first day of driving in Bhutan in half, but I still had 450km to cover. Next day... Dochu La, then unknown territory, new lands to discover... the Punakha Valley, Wangdi, Pele La, the Black Neck Cranes and my final destination... Rukubji...