After a few days of taking care of travel logistics in Thimphu, we were ready to take on the most intensive cycling section of our trip. We pedaled up to Dochu La for the second time, with the mountain panorama mostly enshrouded in clouds this time. Then we bundled up for the descent down the other side to Punakha, a fun ride on a freshly paved double-laned road, perhaps the most completed section of the ongoing effort to widen the entire East-West Highway.

However, we were far from finished climbing for the day, since we managed to select a homestay in a village high above the valley floor. We called our host, Aum Leki, at the turn off to begin the ascent and estimated it would take us an hour to reach her farmstead. She informed us that a monk would be waiting for us on the side of the road since it would be difficult to find her house on our own. One hour turned in to two hours, and after gaining about 2,500 feet, we finally saw a cell phone light illuminating the outline of crimson robes in the darkness. We apologized to the monk, who was Aum Leki’s neighbor, for the long roadside wait, but Sonam responded that he simply used the time to conduct his evening prayers and immediately launched in to the specifics of US politics until we reached his house. Then Aum Leki’s father-in-law took over escorting us down the rough dirt road to their house, unnecessarily grabbing on to my bike to “help” me walk it along. With only partial control it was a bit difficult to keep the bike steady with the weight of the panniers on the back rack, but he was quite determined not to let go.

Aum Leki was quite relieved to see us arrive and per Bhutanese custom, we immediately sat down in the altar room for tea, snacks, and welcome pours of ara. We were soon joined by a guide, Chencho, and his Australian client, Pete, both of whom we had met in the Bhutan Swallowtail office in Thimphu a couple of days before. At first we were a little put off by the “hotelness” of our room, but as soon as we realized our attached bathroom had a piping hot shower, all misgivings of lack of authenticity were somehow forgotten. After cleaning up from our long day of cycling, we headed over to the kitchen and sat on cushions around the bukhari to eat a typical Bhutanese dinner of red rice, ema datsi (chilies in cheese sauce), dal (blended lentil soup), and bitter gourd and finished up with a few more cups of ara before heading off for an early bedtime.

The next morning we bid farewell to Pete and Chencho and sat outside on a sunny patio with lovely views of the valley for a late leisurely breakfast. The lower elevation of Punakha made it feel semi-tropical with roses blooming in the garden and citrus ripening on the trees. We walked around the property and met Aum Leki’s “pet” wild boar kept in a tiny enclosure, which she caught in her fields as a boarlet. Apparently the boar is a picky eater and only eats rice, so she wants to give it away, but not to anyone who will eat it. Looks like she will be keeping it for a while…

Aum Leki took us on a short hike to Norbugang village, the home of the four Queen Mothers. We passed by their Royal Palace where preparations were underway to celebrate the first birthday of the Gyalsey (the Crown Prince) on February 5th. Then we met a Forestry Officer returning from a wood use inspection, and he invited to his house for tea. It was getting late in the afternoon by the time we began walking again and we were ready to chill back at the farm, but for some unknown reason Aum Leki seemed to really want us to see her daughter’s school, so we kept going. The students were on winter break, but we explored the grounds and met the friendly principal while he was washing his car in the driveway.

Meanwhile, the father-in-law had been preparing a hot stone bath for us, and indeed the third one of the trip was also a charm. It was one big tub sunken in to the ground enclosed in a wooden hut, but the open doorway allowed partial valley views. This time I overdid it asking for hot rocks, so we spent about as much time out of the tub cooling off as we did soaking, but it still worked wonders on our sore muscles from our ride the day before. After we were finished, their friends came over to enjoy the bath while dinner in the kitchen was a similar affair as the night before, this time with the addition of some fresh curd that Aum Leki had picked up at a neighbor’s on the way back from our walk.

The following morning, I bought one of Aum Leki’s weavings as a way to remember her sweetness, then got going on the epic day we had plotted out for ourselves. We zoomed down to the floor of the valley and crossed the river, rejoining the National Highway at Bajo. The reality of cycling through the road widening work hit us hard with a very dusty and loose gravel section right off the bat. Fortunately, as we slowly progressed up toward our next pass of Pele La, the road substrate improved even if the dust levels did not. Matt had developed an energy-zapping cough that was further aggravated by the cold temperature and road dust, so it became a struggle to reach the only lodging we knew of, a simple guesthouse a few miles below the pass. We rolled in around 7pm, tired and hungry, and grabbed one of the frigid rooms above the restaurant. After snarfing down rice, kewa datsi (potatoes and chilies in cheese sauce), and dried beef curry, we brought a bucket of hot water from the kitchen up to the bathroom since the pipes were frozen, then crashed in our sleeping bag on top of the bed, both for warmth and the fact that it was obvious the sheets had not been changed for quite some time. We know this because there were little pieces of chewed doma (betelnut) and stains of its characteristic red spit when we pulled back the covers, as well as a forgotten flashlight.

We got a fresh start on tackling Pele La the next morning, taking about two more hours to reach the top and having gained about 7,000 feet of elevation since leaving Punakha Valley the day before. With not much to see at the pass except a chorten and some souvenir stalls, we did not linger and began our hard-earned ride down towards Trongsa. It took most of the day to reach a famous viewpoint of the Trongsa Dzong at roughly the same elevation across the valley, so close but still so far away. We were reminded of cycling along the fjords of Iceland, as we had to descend all the way down to a river cutting through the back end of a side valley and ride all the way back up the other side to actually reach the spot we had gazed upon a few hours before.

The road dust had turned to mud in the side valley excursion, so we arrived to the wonderful Tashi Ninjay Guesthouse in a sorry state of cleanliness. The lovely staff were not phased in the least and gave us a great room with a balcony overlooking the massive, stately dzong brightly lit up in the night.

Purely by luck, we arrived to Trongsa midway through a multi-day tshechu (Buddhist festival) held in the courtyard of the dzong. We decided to stay an extra day to attend the remainder of it, as well as to let Matt recuperate. Pushing through his sickness for two big days of cycling had definitely caught up to him. Having observed several tshechus already, this one felt familiar, but also had a few dances that we had not seen before. Much like visiting Bhutan’s monasteries, there is a high degree of commonality between tshechus, but each provides a unique experience created by the setting, the local community in attendance, and paying attention to the details of the costumes and the dancing.

Matt rested up in the afternoon, while I watched until the end of the cham (sacred masked dance) performances. In the evening, we wandered through a temporary tent city of restaurants and karaoke bars that had popped up for the festival. We cozied up next to the bukhari in a particularly inviting tent for some momos (dumpings) and beers, trying not to be too obviously intrigued with a group of monks who were fully participating in the drunken revelry surrounding us.

The last day of the tshechu displayed a thondrol, a beautifully embroidered multi-storey tapestry featuring Guru Rinpoche, a great Tibetan saint that liberated many parts of Bhutan from demons. The thondrol is believed to be able to remove one’s sins upon sight. It is only unfurled once per year at daybreak, and while we were still snoring away at that point, we did make it to the courtyard before it was rolled up again. Semi-organized, or perhaps semi-chaotic, lines had formed in the courtyard to pass by the base of the thondrol and underneath a statue of Zhabdrung Ngawang Ngamyel, Bhutan’s unifier, to receive a blessing. We skipped the wait for the blessing and instead did some fascinating people watching from a balcony overlooking the entire courtyard.

Unfortunately, the person who most captivated our attention was a chilip in a bright green jacket and a camera with a tremendously long lens. He seemed to think that his camera gave him absolute entitlement to walk anywhere he pleased at any time and point it at anyone he felt like with any prior permission or interaction. He would stand in front of others and block their view, then walk across the dance floor in the middle of a performance for a new angle. With the lens he had, there was really no need to do either. Even if he was a legit professional, which somehow we highly doubted, his behavior made us cringe, yet we did not have the willpower to ignore him and gave in to watching his every annoying move.
​
After we had done our own more discreet documenting, we took our leave from the tshechu and spent the remainder of the day cleaning off our bikes, hand washing some laundry, sorting out gear, and shopping for an immanent two-week diversion from the cycle tour to explore the little-visited southern district of Zhemgang the least developed dzongkhag of Bhutan.

We spent most of New Year’s Eve cycling from the lovely Haa Valley Homestay to Thimphu. Heading downstream, the road actually brought us higher and higher up as the valley narrowed. This road has not yet been subjected to widening construction, so it was a really pleasant ride with sweeping views of rural homesteads dispersed across rolling hills. We descended abruptly to Chuzom, a river confluence and road junction point, then rode the “busy” road back to Thimphu mostly in the dark.

We celebrated NYE by taking a cold shower (not by choice) at our usual Thimphu base, Hotel Sambauv, then headed out to our favorite restaurant, A La Carte, for our favorite food in the city: amazingly authentic tasting Thai papaya salad with grilled chicken, and a “KFC” chicken burger, much better than the real thing. The place was already packed with partiers dressed in their best ensembles, knee-high boots, 80s ripped jeans, purple faux fur coats, and the like. As for us, we splurged out on some $1.25 drink specials, hot apple cider whiskey and butter-fried ara, of which the latter tasted like a harsh egg nog when using a bit of imagination. Then, as our tradition dictates, we were in bed before midnight, listening to fireworks and a surge of general revelry around that one very special minute.

Our arrival in Thimphu marked the end of our concrete plans for the rest of winter break, so we had to put in some time figuring out the logistics of, well, the entire month of January. We met with our friends at Bhutan Swallowtail who were a great source of knowledge and advice, of course, being that they own a travel company and all. Slowly, and with a few investigatory phone calls and follow ups to those communications, a somewhat confirmed itinerary began to take shape.

Simultaneously, I took advantage of the down time in Thimphu to get up close and personal with Bhutan’s nationalized health care system. It had been several years since I had a thyroid function test to ensure I was on the proper dose of medication for my hypothyroidism. While traveling in Asia, I could walk in to any pharmacy and get the prescription medication for a couple of dollars, so there was little incentive to seek out a doctor after leaving the States.

Upon arriving at the Jigme Dorji Wangchuck National Referral Hospital, I had no idea where to begin the process of getting a blood test, so we walked in to the Emergency Department and were advised to go to “Old Building 1,2,3,4,5”. We asked passersby until we found the Old Building, and then deduced that I needed a numbered call ticket to queue outside of either door 1,2,3,4, or 5. After a short wait, my number came up and I entered door three, not sure what should happen behind it. I had barely uttered hypothyroidism and blood test before the “generalist” doctor had written up a lab order, kindly but efficiently instructing me to go to the lab the next morning because it would already be closed for the day. We decided it would be a good idea to preview the lab’s location and found it in the New Building. The door was still open and we noticed a technician drawing a patient’s blood, so I simply walked in and sat down at a sampling station. We would have to come back the next morning for results though, which we did, queuing in a long but fast-moving line at a little window in the outdoor courtyard of the New Building. After receiving my print out of the test results, we hustled back inside to the window that gives out numbered call tickets to visit the “specialists” upstairs. This is where the real waiting began. After a few hours of sitting in the hallway, my number was finally coming up, so I huddled near the door along with a few other numbers ahead of and behind me, as custom appeared to require.

The doctor competently reviewed my test results, but was a bit dismayed that she could not reference my medical records in a hand written composition notebook like the other Bhutanese patients carried. I explained that my medical records were kept in my health care provider’s computer system in the US and assured her that I did not have a very interesting medical history. She wrote a prescription for the same dosage of levothyroxine that I had been self-medicating with, and a lab order for a whole slew of blood tests including liver and kidney function, glucose, electrolytes, and cholesterol. I first had to go next door to get a blood pressure check, then I was free to take my prescription to the pharmacy in exchange for a numbered ticket. The order was filled quite quickly and I received my pills in an unlabeled plastic baggie.

The next morning, we walked to the hospital for the fourth time (one time was a futile attempt when we didn’t realize it was closed for a national holiday), this time confident that we knew the drill. I got the follow up blood test and was told I could pick up the results between 1 and 2pm. When we returned in the afternoon, the print out was indeed ready, but the specialists were already gone. According to a bystander who noticed us looking around in confusion, once a doctor reaches 60, they stop seeing patients for the day. We weren’t terribly upset by this since all of my values fell within the normal range and I had done my own research regarding what each test signifies.

I left the hospital having paid nary a ngultrum, nor owing any, only having spent a decent amount of time there over the course of three days. I received reliable services and quality care even if the process was initially a bit confusing for an outsider. Ultimately, it was fascinating to participate in a system of health care so different from the US. At least for my scenario of non-urgent preventative care, I certainly preferred the investment of time over money. By shifting more of the responsibility and legwork to the patients, the hospital was able to operate efficiently while still accommodating all the people seeking medical assistance. Seemingly, no one is turned away because they cannot pay, because they are uninsured, or because they could not get an appointment. They have to wait their turn with patience, they have to keep track of their own medical history, they have to run around to different windows in different locations, but this system allows lab results to be available in a matter of hours and specialists to consult at least 60 patients per day. Could you imagine a doctor in the US with 60 appointments in a single day? That said, Matt and I wondered if we would have a similar reaction with a more complicated and/or time-sensitive medical condition. We have the privilege of paying for privatized health care if we need it, but most Bhutanese could not.
​
By then, we were ready to move on from Thimphu. Each time we are there, we always have the best intentions of doing fun stuff like day hikes, visiting local temples, and even a few museums. Yet somehow, running errands, shopping, eating non-Bhutanese food, and sorting gear always takes precedence. This time was no different, but it was essential for the success of the rest of our journey back to Bumthang.

We were proud of ourselves for getting a fairly early start (for us) to what we anticipated would be a challenging day of cycling over Chele La and down into Haa Valley. Even so, after a quick stop at the ol' ATM and a few photo shoots along the way, including a plane taking off through the narrow valley with Paro's majestic dzong in the background, it was late morning before we reached the turnoff for the pass and began our long ascent. We could see the summit from our base in the valley and it looked daunting. However, the road was graded consistently and quite reasonably, so we soon settled into a rhythm, albeit a slow one, switchbacking through the forest. 

Once while we were taking a break, it quickly became apparent that we managed to stop in the middle of a yak crossing and while the massive beasts shyly kept their distance, it was a bit unnerving to be completely surrounded by them. As we approached the top, we could see the wind blasting the extensive collection of prayer flags lining the road. The temperature was dropping quickly too, so we bundled up before cresting the pass and had just enough sunlight for a few photos before it sank into a bank of clouds sitting on the other ridge of the valley below us. We had pedaled against 6,000 feet worth of gravity to reach Bhutan's highest motorable, and cycleable, pass at an altitude of 13,000 feet. With the sun, we too began our hard earned descent, pausing a couple of times to rewarm fingers and toes and at least mentally combat the windchill with chocolate. Still, I can think of worse ways to spend Christmas.

We hit the valley bottom in total darkness and called our host at the Haa Valley Homestay for the last leg of directions. As soon as we reached the gates of their courtyard, we were ushered inside and our bikes were swiftly lifted up a ladder-like staircase for safe keeping inside on the first floor. We were shown our cozy room inside the historic house and after taking off a few layers, we sat down in front of the radiant bukhari in the kitchen for further rewarming with tea and bamboo baskets of Bhutanese snacks. We were introduced to some of the family members, Ugyen the father, Dole the mother, Tenzin the 13-year-old daughter, and "Auntie". Dole's aunt lives with them as well. Kinga, their 15-year-old son, was away at a football (soccer) camp. Ugyen's nephew and co-manager of the homestay, Sonam, was also there giving us a really helpful orientation to the house and the area. We soon figured out that through the ever present small country connections of Bhutan, Sonam had been recommended to us as a trekking guide by his ex-pat college professor whom we had randomly started chatting with at a coffee shop in Thimphu a few weeks before, completely separate from our booking at this homestay.

Despite our tired legs, we spent our first day in Haa getting a lay of the land by taking a leisurely cycle up to the end of the valley, or at least until the guarded gate of the Bhutan Army post. There is a permanent presence of both Bhutanese and Indian military in Haa due to its proximity to the Tibetan border. On our return, we stopped in Hatey village in search of the Lechuna Heritage Lodge where Lonely Planet made mention of serving filter coffee, as in real coffee. We instead found the Soednam Zingkha Heritage Lodge and ended up with some regular old Nescafé, not realizing the Lechuna was a separate entity until after it was too late. 

In the evening we rewarded our Chele La efforts with a hot stone bath in a private hut in the house's courtyard. This time we each had our own deep wooden "trough" to recline in, but similarly we would give a little holler when we needed new stones from the fire to be added to a compartment of the tub that stuck through the wall for outside access without disturbing the bathers. We felt that we could really become connoisseurs of the hot stone bath, except we felt guilty about how much work goes in to it and how much wood it burns. At least we were relieved of one worry when the family took advantage of the opportunity when were finished, even the adorable grandparents came over for a soak. As for the wood, Bhutan has 72% forest cover and is the only carbon negative country in the world. Of course, we all know that carbon emissions stay within national borders, right?

The next day we tried our hand at Bhutan's national sport, something I had been hoping to have the opportunity to do since moving here. Even though we stood at a fraction of the distance that Bhutanese archers shoot at the target from, our best attempts were quite amusing for the crowd that instantly materialized as soon as they saw two chilips pick up the traditional bamboo bows. Once our fingers hurt plenty and we fully acknowledged there was no hope for hitting the target, we tried a couple of other traditional target-aiming games that we had not seen before. Jigdum is sort of like knife throwing with a short stick whittled to a point on both ends. Soksum is akin to a javelin and the most difficult to use of the three.

In the afternoon, Tenzin became our de facto tour guide and showed us the recently renovated Lhakhang Kharpo, or White Temple, and the Lhakhang Nagpo, or Black Temple. Both were originally built in the 7th century by the Tibetan king Songtsen Gampo, making them some of the oldest of their kind in Bhutan. The White Temple houses Haa's Dratshang, the monk body of the district, whereas the much smaller Black Temple is associated with the protective deity of Haa Valley. 

We still had some time to spare after a tea break back at the house, so Ugyen suggested that we visit the government run trout fishery. Since it was a few kilometers away, we asked Tenzin if she had a bike and she responded in the affirmative. As we were leaving, her father was urging her to wear a helmet and she used us as rationale why she didn't have to since we were skipping them for the minor ride. Only after we departed did we realize that she was not very confident with her bike riding skills and the bike was actually a rental for homestay guests, but fortunately there were no accidents. The fishery itself wasn't much to see, but Tenzin was so enjoying practicing riding a bike with us that we continued to explore down the valley and tried to teach her how to shift gears.

Our third day was the first day of Lomba, the Haap New Year, and the reason we timed our visit when we did. When planning our trip, I was searching for places to stay in Haa and came across a blog post by a couple of Australian teachers who visited Ugyen and family during Lomba a few years back. We began the day with a marathon hoentay making session, sitting crosslegged on the incredibly polished and always immaculately clean hard wood floor of the kitchen. As special food is central to most celebrations in the world, hoentay are an essential part of Lomba. No ordinary dumplings, the dough is made with buckwheat flour and the filling has no less than ten ingredients, depending on who was explaining hoentay to us. These included an item that no one new the English translation for but we suspect were ground black mustard seeds, as well as turnips, and turnip greens, Sichuan pepper, mushrooms, cheese, ginger, garlic, onion, butter, and of course, chili... Ugyen and Dole were the experts in the production line. Dole made perfectly symmetrical dough cups which would receive a spoonful of the filling by Ugyen before he shaped the mass and closed it with precise and delicate pinches. Then Dole would collect a batch and boil them on the wood burning stove. The more I tried to imitate Ugyen, the worse my hoentay would look, so eventually I "perfected" my own style that, while perhaps not proper, held their own in the aesthetics department. Matt and I also found redemption in the fact that our dumplings looked no worse that Tenzin's! I inquired how many hoentay the tremendous bowl of dough and filling would make and Ugyen estimated a couple hundred. Why so many? Well, it turns out that neighbors not only share hoentay with each other, essentially creating an elaborate hoentay swap, but send them across the country to dispersed relatives and friends via Bhutan's skeletal public transportation system. Adding to that, traditionally hoentay are the only food eaten at Lomba dinner!

Once the hoentay were all boiled up, we accompanied Sonam and Tenzin to the Black Temple where there was a ritual underway for the village's protector deity. Each household in Dumcho village had sent a younger family member to bring back a piece of torma, dough shaped into a small decorative tower, which had been blessed during the ceremony. This would then be mixed in with the dough that each household will use to create a lu, a small effigy that removes negative energy from the house at each new year. The youth also set about collecting samples of various plants that surround the lu.

Upon returning to the house, Sonam began molding the dough into a figurine of a little man riding a horse while we observed and sipped the obligatory late afternoon tea. We were impressed with how quickly he made it and the level of detail involved, even dressing the lu in a robe, and adding a miniature butter lamp, offerings of grains and hoentay and money. Each member of the house then created a chi chi by squeezing a length of dough inside their fist to make their unique palm print. The piece of dough was then passed around the body to remove the person’s negative energy and spit on, then placed on the plate bearing the lu. Lastly, the butter lamp was lit and a trail of flour spread from where the lu sat on the kitchen floor to the door of the house. As the lu was carried out of the house, Tenzin swept away the flour trail. Kinga carried it all the way down to the river and set it down facing south, all the while the group was yelling loudly to scare away the lu. As an extra precaution to ensure the lu did not return to the house with all of the negative energy it was carrying, the boys lit a couple of firecrackers, which didn’t exactly blow up the lu, but did crack the plate it sat on. Then we returned home and ate plenty of hoentay for dinner, of course.

The next morning we got a fairly early start on a hike that Sonam invited us to join him on, along with his friends from the village. The Tourism Council of Bhutan had recently built the Meri Puensum Nature Trail to help promote tourism in Haa, taking its name from a series of similarly shaped hills known as the Three Mountain Brothers. These sacred hills represent the Rigsum Gonpo, a trinity of three important deities called Chana Dorji, Chenrizig, and Jambayang. The group of young men from the village had decided to take on the upkeep of the trail and their mission that day was place rubbish bins proclaiming “Use Me!” at intervals along the way. We were pleased to keep pace with them in the middle of the pack while still stopping to pick up litter as we saw it, despite taking the steep shortcuts in between gentler graded switchbacks intended for mountain biking. Even though this was designed as a  mountain biking trail, it would have been a pretty rough one, requiring a good deal of pushing and even carrying in a few sections, so we were happy with our decision to be hiking it. 

The guys were quite welcoming to having two random tagalongs join their close knit group and while we didn’t understand their jokes or good natured banter, it was apparent that everyone was in high spirits. While I hold no illusions that “Happiness is a Place” as the Bhutanese tourism tagline would like the world to believe, I had an overwhelming feeling of contentment within myself on this particular day and sensed that our companions were experiencing the same. We stopped for a break in a meadow midway up and were amazed to watch most of them pull out full size thermoses of tea out of their small packs. Likewise, at lunch on top of the ridge that runs behind the Meri Puensum hills, bulky insulated containers of packed lunch appeared out of those same bags. While traversing the ridge, we had yet another great view of Jhomolhari from a new angle, then descended back into the forest to complete the kora (loop) around the three sacred hills. We returned to Ugyen’s house at dusk, to the surprise, and perhaps relief, of the older family members who were doubtful we would make it out of the forest before dark. Best of all, Sonam informed us that we must have been the first chilips to hike that trail, yet another place to add to our list of first foreigner to visit in Bhutan. 

We were awoken the next morning before daylight by a chorus of deep-toned horns, bells, drums, and guttural chanting. We laid in bed just listening to our unique but lovely alarm clock for a while. This was the first day of the family’s annual ritual, a two-day affair on auspicious dates determined by the local astrologer. Yesterday, a few monks had spent the day at the house creating torma, elaborate towers made of colored butter shaped onto a base of dough. The collection of torma were lined up the length of the altar where the monks had begun conducting extended ceremonies in honor of each torma in the altar room. Meanwhile, Ugyen’s family was busy preparing special foods for their relatives arriving from Thimphu, Phuentsholing, and perhaps beyond. We joined them in the kitchen just in time for some tasty thup, a savory spicy rice porridge, and filled up on it assuming that it was breakfast. It turns out it was just a pre-breakfast and a mid-morning feast of meat curries over rice was served as official breakfast. As soon as that was wrapped up, preparations for lunch began, with Ugyen and Dole donning their kabney or rachu to dash in to the altar room for a specific prayer or ritual as required, then returning to the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Matt and I gave a bike maintenance crash course to Sonam, Kinga, and their Uncle Dodo to help them take care of the rental bikes they had recently purchased for homestay visitors. At lunch, dried yak meat was served, including pieces of pure fat that Sonam coached us on the best way to eat: put the cubes on your plate first and cover with steaming rice to soften, then eat them last, like dessert. It didn’t exactly substitute for chocolate ice cream in my opinion, but it was still cool to try a delicacy that came from the family’s herd of yaks currently grazing at pasture above Paro. We socialized with recently arrived relatives in the afternoon, then got out for a stroll around the village just before dusk to get some fresh air and attempt to digest a bit before dinner. We had noticed that a suspicious number of dogs had been lurking around outside of the house that day and we soon figured out why. They recognized the sounds of the annual ritual and knew that the torma would be carried out of the house and discarded. As soon as Ugyen and Kinga set them down and walked away, a pack of black dogs devoured the beautiful displays of butter and then cows finished off the job with the dough and turnip bases. It was a good reminder of the prevalence of the concept of impermanence in Buddhist philosophy. By the time we ate the last large meal of the day, we were more stuffed than any Thanksgiving. In fact, the whole relaxed day filled with special food and family felt a lot like Thanksgiving, sans parades and football. And since we had not spent the holidays with our own families, this was the best substitute we could have imagined. 

Before departing the last morning, we were invited to join Ugyen and Kinga on the covered roof of their house, which serves as a "cellar" for dried turnip greens, strips of meat, chilies, and grass fodder for their cows. The father and son performed an offering ritual to Dumcho village’s protector deity and we were honored to witness it. It was one of those travel moments made more rich and meaningful because we chose not to bring our cameras up the ladder hewn out of a single massive log. We were fully focused on absorbing every vivid detail with our senses without the filter of lenses. 

As we bid farewell, Ugyen told us that it was karma that brought us together to celebrate Lomba and their annual ritual, because even members of their own family were not able to make it. Indeed, the traditions seemed strong and vibrant from our perspective, but some relatives spoke to us about how the current celebration is an echo of the past, a time when the entire family would gather for a week or more without the pressures of modernity and distractions of technology. Regardless, we were grateful for our temporary adoption into a welcoming Bhutanese household and earnest inclusion in their festivities.

Being a little tired from finishing the Druk Path Trek the day before, we had a leisurely morning of packing up and getting out of the hotel, thus beginning our Bhutan cycle touring tradition of never arriving to our intended destination before dark. Actually, that might just be a Matt and Casey cycle touring habit in general...

We might have made it before the sun set, had we not made it our mission to document the plethora of very punny, rhymey, and/or straight up bizarre road signs expounding all sorts of wisdom between Thimphu and Paro. Gems such, "Peep Peep Don't Sleep!" and "If you are married, divorce speed" come courtesy of Project DANTAK of the Border Roads Organization, a subdivision of the Indian Army Corp of Engineers, which has build more than 1500 kilometers of roads in Bhutan since 1961. The signs have always entertained us during the many times we had driven between Thimphu and Paro, but the freedom of the bicycle allowed us to honor them in their full glory for the first time. 

Other excuses for our slow progress were a decent headwind whipping through the canyon until we reached a river confluence at Chuzom, which then transformed into the rare and elusive tailwind that we never seem to feel at our backs. And then there was that ridiculously steep hill after passing through Paro as the final push of our day, but our reward made it worthwhile. Our much anticipated arrival at the Taktshang View Hotel included tea by a cozy bukhari (wood burning stove) in a gorgeous lobby that made me gasp with surprise when I walked in the door. Every wall was painted floor to ceiling with detailed Bhutanese motifs and traditional Buddhist scenes. Dinner was served in an equally beautiful dining room that felt grand enough for a king's banquet. This would definitely be the fanciest place we would stay during our independent travel this winter break. The friendly staff took an interest in our preference to travel by bicycle, so we ended up chatting with them for a while before heading to bed.

In the (not too early) light of the morning, we got to see why Taktshang View is aptly named. It does indeed have a great view of Bhutan's most iconic landmark, the Tiger's Nest Monastery, hugging a cliff face at its midpoint roughly 3,000 feet above the Paro Valley below. Leaving the hotel, we zoomed down our hard-earned hill and turned north for a ride up to Drukgyel Dzong towards the end of the valley. The dzong was built around 1650 to commemorate victory over attempted Tibetan invasions of Western Bhutan. Mostly in ruins since a butter lamp started a fire in 1951, restoration to its former glory began in early 2016 in honor of the birth of the Gyalsey (Bhutan's Crown Prince) as well as the 400 year anniversary of the arrival of Bhutan's great unifier Zhabdrung Ngawang Namgyel. We parked our bikes and hiked up to its hilltop location to see what there was to see, which was mostly a construction site, but also included exploring a series of watchtowers that historically protected access to the dzong's water source far below. 

Passing by the window of only handicraft shop in the little village at the base of the dzong, a tiny painting of a chorten on a square of wood caught my eye for its absolute uniqueness. To my disappointment, the shop was locked but some men nearby quickly offered to fetch the owner for me. I was curious enough about it that I agreed. When I picked up the little painting, I was shocked at how heavy it was, at least two pounds, and not wood but stone. I literally had to weigh if it was worth carrying on my bicycle, after all, we had actually done a decent job of packing lightly for once. I decided it was. Merry Christmas to me, a hefty little Buddhist painting, lol!

Speaking of the holidays, we spent a good chunk of the following day scouring the internet for Christmas and Chanukah gifts to order for family members. This turned out to be a striking reminder of how far removed our lives have become from consumer culture with our particular existence in Bhutan. While working, meals are provided at the cafeteria and we live high up on steep hill above the main town. We can go weeks without actually spending any cash, and even then it is usually just a bike ride down to town to stock up on a very limited selection of treats: locally made yogurt and honey, Cadbury chocolate, and mid-grade Bhutanese whiskey at $5 per bottle. This is not to deny that there is growing consumerism as Bhutan continues to modernize, but there are few temptations for us chilips amidst the cheap imports of Western clothes and, well, the usual plastic crap.

In contrast, I found myself sucked in to the website Uncommon Goods, beginning to fantasize about owning cute house things and kitchen gadgets I would never use, at the same time I was incredulous that anyone would spend $20 for a pack of 10 snowflake-shaped marshmallows from Williams-Sonoma. We couldn't even deal with the endless options for the same thing on Amazon. Is it real or will you get ripped off with a knock-off instead? Are those real or fake reviews? Aargh! What to do? We were reminded of the lesson we learned returning to the US after our extended journey in Asia in 2014-16. More choice does not lead to deeper satisfaction with life, and by choice I refer strictly to the consumer kind. Rights and freedoms are another matter altogether.

Of course, we wanted to show appreciation to our families, and at the end of the day we found items that we felt expressed it well, but we definitely benefited from the therapeutic de-stressing effects of a hot stone bath that evening. Somehow we had been in Bhutan for seven months without enjoying this Bhutanese tradition, perhaps because it is a bit labor intensive. Rounded granite river stones ranging in size from a softball to a soccer ball are embedded into a raging bonfire for several hours until they are literally red hot. Then the very skilled attendant removes them with long tongs and plunges them into a compartment of a wooden tub that heats the bath water while also releasing minerals from the rocks. Medicinal herbs such as artemisia (wormwood) are mixed in as well to further soothe sore muscles and ease aches and pains. Since the water gets pretty darn hot, we were told that tourists rarely last longer than half an hour. Of course, we were determined to get our money's worth and were proud to soak away an hour and a half.

For our last day in Paro, we hired a taxi to drive us up a windy road climbing up the side of the valley to the Sanga Choekor Shedra, a Buddhist college where the monks were about to begin their exams that morning. We easily picked up the trail for the Bumdra Trek, usually a two day excursion that we were going to do as a day hike and end up back at Taktshang View. After an hour or so of hiking, we reached Chhoe Tse Lhakhang, a simple temple tended by an single elderly lama who invited us in to his home for tea (and entertainment by his three kittens as companions). He showed us the altar room where we left some fruit we had carried with us and a small donation. 

As we continued upwards, we hoped that the cloudy sky would clear by the time we got to the luxury camp below Bumdra Goempa, embedded into an outcrop of cliffs. The heavy clouds made no effort to dissipate, so we were out of luck for mountain views for the day. We poked around the camp and marveled at the wall tents with real wood framed beds inside, as well as the effort that was required to haul them up there.  Then we climbed a couple of extended ladders from the base of the cliff to pay our respects to the singular altar of Bumdra attended by a rather shy monk. From there, we descended steeply through a rhododendron forest and, of course, the sky began to clear. By the time we emerged at the collection of temples dispersed along the slopes above the cliff face of a Taksang, it was warm and sunny. We visited inside whichever temples were already opened or those where we could find a caretaker without being too disruptive, each with their own unique features, and passed by the rest. 

Reaching the main trail to the Tiger's Nest late in the afternoon, we decided to bypass the star of the show since we have been lucky enough to visit it three times before. Besides, in the five temples visited along the way, we had definitely done plenty of prostrations, taken many pours of holy water, and spun enough prayer wheels for one Christmas Eve! We bombed down the well-trodden trail past the row of "Buy something!" souvenir vendors in the parking area, arriving back to Taktshang View at dusk. In 11.5 miles, we hiked up 3,800 feet and came down 5,300, surely a logical way to rest up before we would leave Paro the next morning and cycle over Bhutan's "highest motorable pass"...

It’s funny to think back to nearly two years ago when we spent ten days in Bhutan as a “once in a lifetime” experience. As we careened around bend after bend on the narrow mountain roads with barely any traffic, I daydreamed about how amazing it would be to freely cycle Bhutan. Never gonna happen though, how would we ever get such an opportunity? At best, we might be able to join an organized cycling tour, someday, after first winning the lottery.

And now, with the School for Field Studies fall semester all wrapped up, that same dream was launched into reality. Panniers stuffed onto the back racks of our mountain bikes, mandatory route permit tucked in to a side pocket, and us wrapped in various warm and windproof layers to combat the winter morning chill, we set off from Hotel Sambauv, practically our second home in Bhutan. We were easing in to bicycle travel in Bhutan with a mini-tour from Thimphu to the top of the closest mountain pass, Dochu La, a wimpy 3,000 feet of elevation gain spread over 16 or so miles. We were relieved that it did not feel too strenuous, since that would not bode well for the rest of our itinerary, but in true Bhutanese fashion we stopped anyway for a tea break mid-journey in the village of Hongtsho. Of course, our ulterior motive was to locate the new Serbhum Brewery that had just started distributing Bhutan’s first stout to select pubs and bars in Thimphu. A nice local man offered to drive us a ways back down the hill, but the brewery was closed as the tasting room wasn’t finished and open to the public yet. But we will definitely keep checking on its progress during future trips to Thimphu.

We crested the pass and were greeted with a panorama of distant snowy peaks against a bluebird sky. After making the traditional three clockwise circles around a cluster of 108 small chortens (stupas) forming an island that gracefully separates the lanes of the East-West Highway, we continued a short distance down the other side of the pass to the Dochu La Eco Retreat. We settled in to a spacious but cozy wood-paneled room with a bukhari (wood burning stove) and an even more impressive view of the spread of mountains than from the pass. We felt high, at about 10,000 feet, but more so from a successful first day and the prospect of fifty more days of Bhutan exploration left ahead of us.

Our specific motivation for staying at Dochu La was the Druk Wangyel tshechu held the next day. This festival is unique in that it only occurs for one day every December 13th and commemorates the Fourth King Jigme Singye Wangchuck's efficient and effective expulsion of Assamese (Bodo) separatists hiding out in Southern Bhutan back in 2003. Dochu La is a fitting location since the 108 chortens were commissioned by Ashi Dorji Wangmo Wangchuck, the eldest of the fourth king's four wives, as a memorial honoring the Bhutanese soldiers who lost their lives in the battle.

From the chortens, we passed through a decorative gate and down a long cobbled walkway, entering the festival grounds just ahead of the opening procession of dancers, dashos (VIPs), and even members of the Royal Family. One glance at the "dance floor", a perfectly rounded hillock rising above the seated audience, and we knew this would be a tshechu to remember. Not only was the backdrop of snowy peaks against a perfectly blue sky simply stunning, but the costumes were even more elaborate and vibrantly colorful than usual.

We were soon "adopted" for the day by a woman named Rinchen after we randomly began chatting with her while watching the dances. She claimed some of the limited chairs for us, introduced us to her husband and friends, and fed us tea and Bhutanese snacks like zau (puffed rice) throughout the day. We were meekly offered to join in their picnic lunch, but she was concerned that it had too much chili for us chilips (foreigners) to handle, so she did not insist as per usual Bhutanese hospitality.

Midway through the festival, some Royal Family members including one of the queen mothers, a princess, and a prince, as well as the Prime Minister, came out of a beautifully embroidered tent presiding over the festival grounds and mingled with the festival goers. When we noticed that they were greeting all of the chilips in particular and asking where they were from and about their experience in Bhutan, we tried to keep our distance and hide amongst the crowd. As much as it would have been an honor to meet them in person, we were unfortunately wearing our outdoorsy clothes. While tourists can get away with wearing Western clothes to a tshechu, Bhutanese must wear the national dress and usually opt for their finest ghos and kiras at that. We would not feel comfortable telling the Royal Family we live here in Bhutan while dressed as tourists at a tshechu, even with the excuse that our gho and kira would have taken up half the space in our bicycle panniers.

After watching the entirety of the program, including some dances specially choreographed to represent the battle with the Assamese militants, we returned to 108 chortens and combed the stretch of vendors set up along the road. We picked up some tasty beef samosas, amazing cheese momos (dumplings), some peppery thup (a savory rice porridge with bits of fresh cheese), and some ngaja (milk tea), then sat out on a lawn with other picnicing folks before wandering back to our hotel. That evening we were treated to even more beauty with a nearly full moon rising up through a hazy pink and purple glow on the mountains.

The following morning we set off for a hike through a dense rhododendron forest up to Lungchutse Goempa. The temple was locked and the only monk we could see around was meditating on a flat rock embedded into a ridge running below the monastery. We were not disappointed though, since the location provided our first glimpse of Jhomolhari, Bhutan's second highest peak. We descended down a different trail to Trashigang Goempa where we inadvertently aggravated a dog as we passed by the monks' living quarters. A monk, who later turned out to be much more afraid of the dogs than us, came out of his house to see what the commotion was and immediately invited us in for tea. While sitting in his courtyard and chatting, we learned that his monk friend staying with him was one of the dancers in the tshechu the day before. We happened to have a video clip of him, unmistakable in a large wooden mask of a blue-faced wrathful deity, which we showed him. Then he pulled his phone out of his robe and showed us an almost identical video of his performance, taken by one of his friends at the tshechu as well.

Our host, Penjor, gave us a thorough tour of the 18th century monastery which houses statues of certain Je Khenpos (Chief Abbots) who meditated there. While Himalayan Buddhist monasteries share many characteristics in common, each one still has a distinctive feel if you pay attention to the details. This time, while scanning an altar cluttered with relics, a brown oval-shaped polished stone set upright in a chalice caught my eye, much like a poached egg. Indeed, we were informed it was a dragon egg when I inquired about it. Penjor then took us to the monastery's source of water, a drupchu (holy spring) encased in a chorten. We filled our water bottles with the sacred water and wondered if the UV light of a SteriPen would also kill its holiness along with the bacteria. We parted ways with Penjor after forcing a small donation upon him and caught a ride back to Dochu La after walking for a while down down the dirt track from the monastery.

Our third time to a monastery that day was less than a charm. Despite having crossed Dochu La plenty of times since first coming to Bhutan, we had never visited the Druk Wangyel Lhakhang, a modern temple dedicated to the Fourth King that includes murals of monks using laptops, a DrukAir plane, portraits of members of the Royal Family and contemporary events. Unfortunately, the temple was guarded by a disgruntled monk who did not look pleased at the arrival of some chilips without a guide. Matt only enhanced his surliness when he unknowingly began to enter a side chapel with open doors that he was not allowed in to. Therefore, when I politely asked if we could go upstairs to see the unique murals, I was met with a harsh no without further explanation. We left without further ado and decided we would have to try again another time, already knowing that other chilips had been allowed upstairs in recent times.

Before leaving the hotel the next morning, we took a last look through the incredible gigantic binoculars mounted on the balcony of the Dochu La Eco Retreat. Besides seeing every detail of the mountains and villages below them, we lingered over the view of the Gasa Dzong, so close but so far away. Our intention for staying in Bhutan for the duration of the break between programs was to see new regions, so we had planned to cycle up to the northern district of Gasa after our time at Dochu La. It would have been a challenging ride made worthwhile by hot springs at the end of it, but the Immigration Office would not approve a route permit to go up there. Apparently there is no problem for tourists, but within the last year they have denied ex-pats entry. We were curious as to why, but no one ever offered any explanations. Since independent travel is outside of the norm of tourism in Bhutan, it tends to works in mysterious ways, so instead we headed back to Thimphu on a quick downhill ride.