Home » Bhutan » Paro, Sunday the 7th of August

Day 50!
 
Gosh, it seems like a long time. Thinking about it, it is a long time. Looking at a map, I find it hard to believe that I have covered all this ground. 50 days represents the half way point of my journey, not only in time (I have planned for a 100 days trip) but also geographically: I am now turning around to make my way back home. Until now, I was always heading towards the east, now I am looking towards the west, towards home.
 
The morning is fresh and for the first time, the skies are blue.

Paro, Sunday the 7th of August

Degrubenc
2005-12-09 17:50:07

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at hotels and restaurants seem to be the exception to the rule. All to often they bring the wrong items or bring nothing at all due to the embarrassment that they would no doubt have to go through if they asked again.

The trek takes us a couple of hours after which we reach a small temple half way up the mountain facing the Dzong. I am keen to enter the temple as much to see the inside as for the chance to sit down and rest. Mr. Nice seems to be tortured by the idea, he explains to me in embarrassed terms that he has forgotten his white scarf in the car and that Bhutanese people may only enter official and religious buildings with their scarves draped on their shoulders, on the other hand he is not allowed to leave me alone should anything happen to me. I reassure him by saying that the temple consists of only a room and a courtyard and should there be any problems I will scream rape and he can come with his white shining armor and save me. Before he has time to figure out what I said I disappeared inside. The temple is actually nothing to write home about. It has the same yak butter lamps, the deep red Bordeaux color on the columns, the same wall paintings depicting all the gods and their various activities, and the same random monks doing the prayers in long lines facing each other as in most other temples in the region. Mr. Nice is much relieved to see me return safe and shake my hands uncontrollably to congratulate me on my safe behaviour.

I find the walk down far more painful and straineous than the walk up, by the time we reach the army academy I am in need of some rest and I stop below the officer’s mess to have a drink of water and a quick sit down on the wall. A Major rushed out of the mess and down the steps talking to us all the while in Bhutanese, I immediately assumed that I broke one of those obscure military traditions which can only be traced back to the British and their bizzare sense of tradition but after ...