The Bhutanical Adventures of Dave Green: The End of the Himalayan Road to Tibet... Gasa

After school on Tuesday I took a lift to Chuzom from a colleague. At Chuzom the road splits, one goes to Paro, the other to Thimphu. I left my colleague and jumped into a bus. There I met an American lecturer and we chatted our way to the capital. In Thimphu I stayed in the residence of Mark, the representative of the World Bank in Bhutan. There is no host like Mark. I had Shephard's Pie and salad! Holy Moly! And a G&T, his speciality. And bacon and eggs with real coffee for breakfast. The bed was lush, replete with down duvet and pillows. It was so lush I almost didn't leave, but leave I did. The mountains were calling me... I was on my way to Gasa, the town at the end of the road to Tibet.

The Road to Gasa

From Thimphu it was a 3 hour journey to Punakha, site of the famous dzongh and traditional winter retreat of the royal family. I lingered here for a while after securing a good rate for the final taxi ride up to Tamji where my friend Sarah is teaching; the launch pad for my trip to the end of the road. I visited Noorin, another teacher in Punakha and spent some time in her classroom with the little ones. We had a rousing chorus of 'Choe ton say nia sim baar maar chaar...' After a hearty lunch and some shopping for Sarah, I called the cabbie on his mobile and he picked me up and off we went.

Punakha Dzongh

The road got sweeter and sweeter. The mountains got steeper and steeper. The drops got deeper and deeper. The forest was stunning. It grew dark. Two hours later we pulled into Tamji. Despite my skilful negotiations, I disregarded our agreed price and overpaid the cabbie. I didn't envy his drive back in the dark.

The next day I rise earlier to a foggy day. I eat well and then head off down the road. Within 5 minutes I hitch a ride to Gasa, 12km away! My driver is an engineer from Thimphu. We chat. Turns out he's a screenwriter too. He's had 11 films made in Bhutan and directors now seek him out for scripts. We chat some more. He wants to collaborate on a movie. I'm happy with this. We chat some more. He'd like me to act in the film if we get it finished, but he warns me the shooting will take a month, so it will have to be in the winter break. Shall I be a movie star? What a hilarious and ridiculous question. I decide to collaborate and we agree to meet in Thimphu on Saturday after I've read one of his new scripts.

(I have edited it ruthlessly and as I type now, I'm half an hour from our coffee date back in Thimphu).

Rhododendrons by the Pond

Gasa. The end of the road. The Dzongh here is impressive, set against the backdrop of the Himalayan range. I amble around it, exploring nooks and crannies until I find the altar room, where I prostrate and try to understand the conversation the monks are having. Outside, by a pond with Rhododendrens around it, a policeman asks me where my guide is and I find great enjoyment in replying that I don't need a guide; I live here. I have the freedom of the country because it's my country, for at least a year!

Gasa Dzongh

When it starts to rain I duck into the Dzongh canteen and secure a seat by the Bukari for some tea with the local administrators. I plan two physics lessons and then go walking.

A glimpse

The clouds are swirling above me, blocking my view of the spiky snow-capped peaks I came here to see. I invoke the weather gods with pleas and mantras for the clouds to leave, and they promptly bombard me with more rain. It comes down thick and fast and the world goes milky white. Horses appear out of the mist. The forest drips. Birds are chirping and belching like bullfrogs. I duck into a shop-cum-bar for a cup of Naja and there I meet Dowa Tsering.

Horses in the Mist

Dowa Tsering is from Laya. I ask him the same question I've asked everybody... is it possible to trek to Laya in July? None of the trekking companies go there in monsoon. I've emailed a few local companies and they all suggest different itineries at different times of the year. Some of the school children in Tamji are from Laya and Lunana, and they go home for the midterm break! If a 12 year old can make it, surely I can? So I ask Dowa and he says, yes, it's a good time to go. The Yak herders will be coming down from the highlands and the village will be busy and full of life. What about the weather? There's a few big rivers to cross, but if the bridges are washed out, there are other ways. We'll need horses. There'll be leeches. We camp half way, but it's only 2 days journey. And Lunana? Another 5 days at least. Tibet? 4 days. It's not far but it's up, up, up. My ambition to write a book called 7 Seconds in Tibet might yet be fulfilled.

I take Dowa's phone number and tell him I will see him in July. On the way back I inquire about Dowa's character from the villagers, and they all say he's the right man for the job. Excellent. A screenwriter and a guide in one day. My luck is in!

Tamji

When I get back we eat noodles and head out again, to the local village of Tamji. There we visit a sacred relic – the shoes of the Shabrung. The Shabrung came down this valley when he fled Tibet in the 16^th century. He brought Tibetan Buddhism to Bhutan. He united the nation and shares many an altar with the Bhudda and Guru Rinpoche. The shoes are kept in the altar room of an old lady's house in the village. The same family has lived there since the 16^th century. The shoes have been there that long too. My day ends with a blessing from some holy shoes. Holy Shoes! I exclaim, much to the delight of myself.

Not the Holy Shoes - My shoes