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Bhutan Travel Journal My first impression of a place is always a color. New York and Shanghai are different gradients of concrete grey; occasionally, on a red-eye flight, they can be the neon orange or yellow of city lights. Bhutan was a definite green from above, but not the lime green of paddy fields that you would expect from many Southeast Asian countries, rather the jade and olive of undisturbed sacred forests. Mountains and mountains of them. As we descended into the Paro Valley, where the country’s only international airport sits, I was reassured of my first impression, with possibly the addition of maroon red from the paint-coated wood used to build their traditional houses. Thinley was waiting for me patiently outside the airport, in Bhutan’s national dress, amongst a small crowd of (presumably) relatives of the locals on my flight, who were eagerly and actively searching for a familiar face. Thinley and Dorji were going to be my guide and driver for the duration of my 9-day trip, and we set off immediately after a brief introduction and some small talk. He told me later on, over an off-itinerary beer and dinner when we’ve gotten more comfortable with each other, that in preparation for meeting each and every one of his guests, he would always listen to a song or watch a movie from the country that his guests were from. He was apparently prepared to call me “Brother Yu” the way Cantonese mafias greeted each other, until I introduced myself as “Johnnie,” because he binge-watched Cantonese action movies from the late 1900s. Our journey began in Paro, a large city in the very east of the country, taking us westward to Thimphu, the capital and the most populated city, then the Punakha and Gangtey valleys, before returning back to Paro. I was told that in nine days, I would merely just graze the surface of what Bhutan had to offer. Despite traveling westward, we would never even reach the central cities, not to mention the major eastern and southern ones, too. Before I reveal my highlights of this trip, I must confess: I love long drives, for absolutely no good reason except for the fact that it gives your brain ample time to wonder about stupid things. Kind of like shower thoughts, but less showering and more thought, if
you can even call it that. For that reason alone, I think the Gangtey & Punakha Valley excursions (plus the 5-hour drive from Thimphu and 5 hours back) had to be some of my favorite days.
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We arrived in the afternoon of our fifth day, and Thinley jinxed the weather immediately. After our five-hour car ride and one hour hike, he exclaimed that we were lucky that there was no rain and only sunshine during this monsoon season. Then the rain hit, together with the icy, piercing mountain wind. But we were received with more than enough warmth at Gangtey Lodge, where we were greeted by the staff with a welcome song, warm towels, and a cup of hot cider, by the communal fireplace. I took the afternoon off to rest and take a hot shower, a luxury that I find was not always available. I woke up early to watch the sunrise the next day. I realized then that during the monsoon season, there was no sun; there was just light. The sky turned from a foggy grey to a foggy white. After a leisurely two hour hike in the paddy fields, we arrived at a stupa on the top of a mountain. Four steep flights of stairs up is a small viewing platform with a million-dollar view of the river and paddy fields we crossed. I think this is often the most satisfying moment of a hike — seeing your progress and the steep paths you thought you couldn’t cross, which seems so insignificant in retrospect. We sat down on the side of the Buddha and meditated for a while.
I wasn’t very good at meditating. I just begin wondering about other things. This rabbit hole was a trip of awe at how people I’ve met here can devote their entire lives to something they believe in. I couldn’t think of a single thing that I’ve encountered in my life I would be willing to commit to for life. One of the most amazing people I’ve encountered is Kencho Dekar, a master dyer who learned his crafts from his father, who studied organic textile dyeing techniques abroad. He dedicates his entire life to keeping the art of organic dying alive in Bhutan. He had an extraordinary understanding of the chemistry behind dyes, too, and I think it’s safe to say that he’s one of the only organic
dyers in this country who has a full understanding of the science behind the chemical process entirely. What amazed me most was the fact that he had “experiments” lying around of new materials he could potentially use as dyes. Some of them he had kept drying for almost half a decade, just to test and see someday if the dye can hold on textile — a moment that could take no more than a couple of minutes. In between his work and experiments, he spent his time working on a book that he had almost completed, formally documenting these extraordinarily complicated processes and the chemistry behind. I also vividly remember Ani, an elderly nun whom we met at a nunnery. She kindly invited us into her office for tea and was rather shy. Despite undoubtedly understanding English (she could understand our questions without translation), she insisted on replying with her local language and had our guides translate. She shared her knowledge of Buddhism with us, enlightening us with her own personal interpretation of the faith and belief, and their daily routine. I tried to imagine what it would be like for me to believe in something so much, I would give my life to studying it. Not only so, but I would also have to give up many of my guilty pleasures to adhere to a stricter set of rules set forth by my predecessors, and genuinely believe and follow it for life. … I think this trip was especially valuable to me in that it was one of my toughest solo adventures. Unlike a major metropolitan city, like London, Tokyo, or New York, you can’t keep yourself occupied every moment and crash immediately out of exhaustion at night, then return to the same routine the next day. Since our destinations were spaced out, we could only hit one or two attractions every day, which left me with a lot of alone time. These moments helped me understand more or less how to be alone with myself and my thoughts. These moments prompted self-reflection, which synthesized my experience during the day into a new kind of understanding and appreciation for life. These moments were only possible because I chose to travel here alone.
— J
fin.