We flew from Bangkok to Paro, Bhutan on Druk Air, the royal Bhutanese airline. It took us about three hours to fly to Bagdogra, India, for a 30-minute stop, then another 20 minutes or so to Paro. Druk Air has three planes (two Airbus 319s and a small turboprop) and eight pilots. Only eight commercial pilots -- and guess who they are! -- are qualified to fly into Paro Airport; they may only land when they can physically see the runway (instrument-only landings not permitted).
The last 20 minutes of the flight were spectacular. Paro International Airport regularly ranks as one of the “world’s scariest runways” because of the approach. As Travel + Leisure magazine put it:
"It’s 10:45 a.m. on a cloudy day, and the crew of Druk Air flight KB205 is preparing to land at their home airport of Paro, Bhutan. Suddenly, ominous warnings start blaring, alerting them that their flight angle is all wrong and their rate of descent is far too fast. They fly a series of unconventional right-and-left banks through a narrow channel of hillsides before centering the swaying jet and putting it on the tarmac. An emergency situation? Not quite. In fact, this is a completely normal -- however nail-biting -- landing at Paro Airport, set 7,300 feet (2,225 meters) above sea level. Because of the airport’s tightly cropped valley, surrounded by 16,000-foot (4,877-meter)-high serrated Himalayan peaks, this drama replays itself on every flight."
Sure enough, our plane wound through a mountain valley, banking hard right and left to follow the contours of the terrain. We felt as though we could reach out and touch individual trees as we flew past. A final big turn, a sudden drop, and we were on the runway, which we're told is the longest stretch of straight road in the country.
At baggage claim we saw that the Prime Minister got a new television!
We were met outside the airport by Namgay, our guide from Bhutan Footprints, and our driver for our trip, Tilley. They drove us to the Uma Paro Hotel, a gorgeous luxury hotel set on a hillside overlooking the Paro valley.
Tourism in Bhutan is tightly regulated. All tourists must work through a registered tour company, and each tourist must pay an all-inclusive fee of $250 per person per day. This fee covers government taxes, tour guide services and all meals, lodging, and transportation. We were paying a premium to stay at the Uma, but we would soon be convinced that it was worth every penny.
After a tour around the hotel and a short rest, Namgay took us to lunch. We'd heard horror stories about the food in Bhutan from friends who'd travelled to Bhutan before us. We were surprised at how good our first meal was -- if we had to compare it to anything, we'd say it was a mixture of Indian (rice, dal, curry) and Chinese (noodles, stir-fried vegetables). Of course, we knew that the restaurant was one that catered to foreign tastes ... and our foreign taste buds were happy to be catered to!
At lunch, Patrick mentioned a beverage he'd had once in Nepal, called thongba. Namgay knew it right away. "I can arrange," he said, promising that we'd have the opportunity to drink thongba later in our trip.
After lunch, we visited the National Museum of Bhutan. The museum is in two buildings -- the former watchtower of the Rinpung Dzong, the fortress-monastery that protected Paro in medieval times, and a large adjunct building, still under construction. We visited the addition first, where we saw a gorgeous collection of animal masks used in religious ceremonies and an extensive photo essay about the royal family. (Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed in the museum.)
Then we moved to the watchtower building, which is constructed like a conch shell, one of the eight auspicious symbols of Tibetan Buddhism. We proceeded clockwise through the labyrinthine corridors of the museum, taking in a bewildering display of artifacts, sacred paintings called thankas, icons, tools and weapons. We saw rhino-hide shields and a helmet of fish scales; a 400-year-old water clock; a stuffed snow leopard; and tea kettles with dragon handles and elephant spouts.
As we walked around, Namgay explained a Bhutanese proverb to us: "Always carry a knife and a cup, for you never know when you will meet an enemy or wine." He told us that it is customary in Bhutan for travellers to share moonshine -- ara -- with each other, "but you have to bring your own cup." Apparently, if you don't have your own cup, you're out of luck.
After the museum we descended the hill to Rinpung Dzong. Every district in Bhutan had its own dzong -- a fortress that served as the stronghold for the governor as well as a home for the Buddhist monks of the area. No woman may be present in a dzong between sunset and sunrise. Dzong construction is fascinating -- no blueprints or architectural drawings are prepared, and no nails are used in the building. The Rinpung Dzong -- "fortress on a heap of jewels" -- was first built in the mid 1600s; today it houses government offices and the court for the Paro district as well as the main monastery for Paro.
To enter a dzong, every Bhutanese must wear proper national clothing. As Foreign Policy magazine explains:
"Since 1990, Bhutanese have been required by law to follow the official national dress code, known as Driglam Namzha, in public. For men, that involves a knee-length robe known as a gho. For women, it's a type of ankle-length kimono called a kira. Those caught wearing anything else can be subject to a $3.30 fine, which amounts to three days' wages. The rules are even more specific for civil servants, who must wear sashes of various colors and designs depending on their office."
Namgay wore his gho every day we were in town; for the visit to the dzong he put on his sash, or kabney, that denoted him as a regular citizen.
The dzong was protected by the Guardians of the Four Directions -- here we see Yulkhorsung, the white lord of the East, who plays a lute and is dedicated to celestial music.
This mural depicts the legend of the Four Harmonious Friends, a favorite Buddhist tale. The four animals here cooperated to plant a seed, grow a fruit tree, and harvest its fruit to share with each other. Compare that to the Musicians of Bremen, or Aesop's tale of the Fox and the Crow!
The structure of the dzong itself was incredible -- huge and impossible to photograph well. Cold wind coming straight off the Himalaya seemed to get trapped inside the walls, setting hair and kabneys awry. Civil servants and elected officials bustled to and fro on official government business on one side of the courtyard, while young monks prepared for a ceremony on the other side.
Namgay explained that many families will send one son to the monastery as a means of making merit. Monkhood is nominally a life-long commitment, and boys who entered the monastery at eight or nine often find themselves getting into trouble at 17 or 18, when their hormones take over. (Later in town, we saw a woman hiss in admonishment at some teenage monks who were making eyes at her.) Monks may leave the monastery, but they have to pay a small fine for the rest of their lives.
After visiting the dzong, we headed into downtown Paro for a short stroll. Paro, one of the largest cities in Bhutan, has about 22,000 people. Patrick recognized many of the souvenirs in the local shops from his visits to Nepal. Paro sits at 7,480 feet (2,280 meters), and we could already start to feel the altitude whenever we climbed stairs.
We bid Namgay and Tilley farewell and settled into our hotel for the evening. In the hotel bar we tried Red Panda beer, an unfiltered Weizen brewed in central Bhutan in a brewery started by a Swiss man named Fritz Maurer. Not bad! After a light dinner we went to bed, awaiting our first light hike in the morning -- to the Tiger's Nest.
