The primary driver of our exploratory urge is our stomachs

So Jon and I started out our Bhutan-exploring yesterday by wandering over to the east side of the city, which is a bit more provincial than other areas. In an attempt to obtain some vittles, we stepped into the doorway of what claimed to be a restaurant. Inside there was a gaggle of old people chewing betel nut (a mild intoxicant and stimulant that you hold in your mouth like chaw) and basically, as Jon put it, "getting tore up." They unfortunately didn't speak much English, so our attempt to purchase food or drink failed, but we had a good time gesticulating w/ an old man decked out in a gho and a sweet fur hat. Basically all that got communicated were our names, the fact that we were shopping, and that Bhutan was better than India (indicated by raising one hand up and saying, "Bhutan" then lowering another and saying, "India." Big crowd pleaser, that.). Somewhere in the middle of that, we made a small toast w/ water, and I think the cause of international unity was served well.

So still hungry, we left and the first restaurant we ran into afterwards, called Bhutan Kitchen, turned out to be a pretty swanky place. The entrance was guarded by a sleeping dog, the ceiling was covered in a stylized cloud motif, and the waitresses for some reason seemed kind of nervous. There wasn't a menu; a whole bunch of different dishes were all brought out instead. We had kawa datshi (potatoes and cheese; the hotel's version was better), what we think was eggs, beef rice noodles, white rice, yellow rice, and Bhutan's red rice (which was excellent. It's usually described as nutty, which is close but not quite accurate, though I can't put my finger on something similar), squash mixed with pieces of pork fat, diced and wilted spinach, a chili sauce to add to the other dishes (which we cleaned out in order to make a good impression), and the sweet, milky, salty traditional Bhutanese tea. We were pretty stuffed.

That afternoon I ended up buying several food items. Jon and I got some fruit. As you can see below, the fruit here hasn't been subject to the incredible evolutionary pressures of the American capitalist system:

From left to right, we have a crunchy, peary pear, a juicy, hand-staining pomegranate, an orange, the peel of a devoured lemony zesty tiny banana, and a non-edible cell phone for comparisons both physical and gustatory.

I also bought some chugo, which is hardened yak cheese. To make it, local farmers skim most of the fat off of their milk. Then they make the cheese. Then they let it dry and harden outside for a long time. You end up with what appear to be necklaces of really chunky beads. The things even click-clack when you hit them together.

I had noticed earlier that some of the small stores and people on the side of the ride selling things off of blankets had been displaying what appeared to be hole-less powdered donuts:

I really wanted to try one, so on the way home I picked up a bag of them as well. The lady selling them seemed surprised that I wanted a whole bag, and when we got home I discovered why: they weren't donuts at all, or even pastries. They felt heavy and dough-like, and when I asked the clerk at the front desk what they were he replied that they were the cheese you use in ema datshi! Once we are able to cook, Jon and I are really pumped about making our own ema datshi. Should be excellent.

By the way, Jon's blog can be found here.

Once night hit Jon and I went out to check out the Thimphu bar scene. The first place we hit we sat down, ordered a beer, and ended up engaging in conversation with a local taxi driver, who was, if I remember correctly, the cousin of the girl serving at the bar. Also his wife was there, rocking a baby to sleep. Very odd situation to have a family gathering, but whatever. We talked it up about Bhutan and how it compared to the US and India and the like until our taxi driver friend had a bit too much whiskey and we all decided to pack up. Very nice guy, spoke English very well as well. He claimed to be 38, despite looking at most 25. Those crazy asian genes.

The beer we had was called HIT. HIT tastes like skunked Milwaukee's Best, only worse. Very malty, no taste of hops whatsoever, and there's a strong warm sensation from the alcohol. The bottle only states that the law prevents them from producing a beer of more than 8% alcohol content, so it's probably just about there. Jon's guidebook describes it and Druk 11000, a locally-produced competitor, as cheap highs, and at 40 nu a bottle, that's a pretty good description.

The next place we visited was another small local bar operated by a woman whose family was also milling around. We picked up some Dragon Cool Red Wine, imported from Goa. It came in beer bottles, and we ordered one bottle each, though neither of us finished either - elevation really drops your tolerance. I wasn't slurring my words or stumbling around or anything, but I did have problems with using the wrong words and phrases and having to repeat myself. While sipping our beer-shaped wine, we chatted it up, watched some Kung Fu Panda when the bar owner popped in a dvd, and ended up convincing her that it would be alright for us westerners to eat some fried chilis. Oh my goodness, so good. Crunchy and spicy and with a soft chewy center. Then we decided to call it a night at like 11:00 and walked back to our hotel, where we both slept very soundly.

For dinner tonight, Jon and I went off to The Seasons Pizzeria to see how the Bhutanese interpret that most perfect of dishes. We ended up ordering a pizza called "The Devil's Pizza" which was topped with onions and lots of hot chilies. The cheese appeared to be a local yak cheese instead of mozzarella, and it was creamy and gooey. The dish was by far the hottest thing we've had in Bhutan, even making my nose run a tiny bit, but we powered through it with ease as per our extensive pre-Bhutan training in the art of chilies and spiciness. There was also a little tray of american chili pepper (the stuff you find next to the parmesan shaker at American pizzerias), minced garlic in oil, bhutanese chilies, and tabasco sauce (!). I tried all of them on the pizza except for the american pepper and they all greatly added to the flavor. I had decided I wanted to go to the place while we were wandering around earlier, but apparently Jon's guidebook recommends it as well and it's supposedly pretty famous. After going there I can say that it is deservedly so.

At any rate, that's the run-down on the cuisine we've gone through lately. I'm also eating less. The portion sizes are much smaller than American sizes (re-check-out the fruit), and the food's actually kind of expensive (compared to India, I mean. It's much cheaper than eating in America, but since we're not on an American salary anymore...), so my intake has lowered dramatically. I'm basically hungry all the time, which is good since a little hunger makes you sharper mentally and physically, but I feel like I'm almost about to hit some kind of point at which I will...I donno. But just noting the fact that I'm of significantly larger dimensions than most people around here, I know that at some near time (probably the point when we move into our apartment and have a stove) I'm gonna crack and make an American-sized meal.

(15 min later)

Um...yeah, actually just cracked. The hotel restaurant called saying they were closing in 30 min, and asked if we wanted anything and I ended up ordering a second dinner of crispy pork and a Red Panda Beer. The crispy pork is a repeat of my lunch here at the hotel restaurant. It's crispy (duh), bacon-like pieces of pork lightly covered in sauce with fried onions and tomatoes.

The beer is vaguely fruity as well as wheaty and smooth, with a very nice floral aroma. I very much approve.

Also, after having just read about the Red Panda on Wikipedia, I have now decided that Bhutan has an entirely unfair monopoly on cute things in the world and needs to share the wealth a little.

And now I'm going to end this entry abruptly.

Bhutan: Aesthetics Review

The most common image I've seen in Bhutan is the thunder dragon, since of course Bhutan is the Land of the Thunder Dragon.

But all kinds of other paintings adorn the walls and pillars around here, almost all of them primarily images of animals:

And, of course, graffiti is ubiquitous in every city that has ever existed:

If the painting you see on a wall isn't an animal, it's probably a mandala. The one below is very very common, which is odd because I had never before I came to Bhutan seen two mandalas that were alike. This particular painting comes from the doors to Changlimithang stadium, where I saw what I assume was the Bhutan national soccer team practicing.

Here's that same mandala at our hotel, this time in ironwork:

Another ubiquitous sight is prayer flags, which people let blow in the wind until they're completely worn away by the wind.

Here's some vistas. Note that even the gasoline stations have some art in them.

In terms of comparing Bhutanese and Indian children to American ones, the Asian set wins. The kids I've seen aren't the sheltered, withdrawn lot you see in America: they smile at you, wave, play around and laugh. In India some kids who had apparently come from a pre-Holi celebration attacked me w/ paint, and another kid lobbed a water balloon at me from his balcony. I took it as a sign of welcome.

But not only the kids are cuter; the dogs in Bhutan are cute as all get out. And though there's lots of roving packs of wild dogs in Thimphu, they're really placid and completely non-threatening, as well as apparently well-fed.

And for the last item in this entry, check out this sweet knife I bought for 350 Nu:

Everywhere is the same

When Jon and I met two of the other American teachers at Pelkhil yesterday, one of the topics that came up was the difficulty in getting things done that needed to be done, and then they told us a joke, saying that, "Around here, there's this thing called Bhutan Standard Time." I've heard this joke in every other place I've lived; it's quite clearly a universal joke, yet people always seem to think their society is remarkably tardy. I'm actually very tired of it; people are people, nothing changes that.

Notes on Flying Into Bhutan/Barest Bits of First Impressions

I woke up at 3:45 today.

I saw Mount Everest. I think. They all look alike.

I flew into Bhutan.

There was no pre-arranged taxi to pick us up at the airport as had been the plan.

There was a really nice taxi driver named Loday who let us wait around 2 hours and then drove us from Paro to Thimpu, where we wandered through the entire city, stopping to let him ask pedestrians where Pekhil Secondary School is, a rather futile task since the school won't even open for the first time till 15 March.

We found it eventually.

Or rather, he did. Nicest, hardest working cabby in the world. Don't know how we would have found our way if the taxis were like the ones in India.

Bhutan has the same proportions as Grundy, but is much larger. It's like you took the Appalachians and expanded them to three times their size; the mountains around here have that same rounded, settled look that old mountain ranges have. The vegetation and the architecture, of course, are completely different, and the wideness of the valleys means that the sun doesn't set at 3pm, but sometimes I get a wave of deja vu/nostalgia just looking around.

The windows on one side of Jon and my room. The ironworks are three mandalas, there's a candle on that table, the two metal things are tins which were full of ema datshi (chilis and cheese, a soup-like dish) and kewa datshi (potatoes and cheese). The long-awaited moment of tasting Bhutan's famous "chilis are a vegetable not a spice" cuisine deliciously came and went without causing our tongues to burst into flame. In fact (though I admit this might be due to the hotel restaurant catering to the palates of westerners) it was about the heat level of a good Texas chili. But yeah, actually really really tasty as can be expected when you're eating something that's 50% cheese.

In which it does not pay off to be staying in a luxurious hotel

Comped drinks again, this time we notice that there is a Trappist beer on the beer list, a one La Trappe Dubbel by Koningshoeven. Our attempts at convincing the bartender that our comped drinks could totally be a La Trappe, just keep hush about it, fail miserably as expected. What is not expected is what we hear when we ask what the price of one of these beauties is: 1090 rupees. That's like $24. Seriously, the only beer I've seen command that kind of price is Westvelteren and that's cause it's widely regarded as the best beer in the world and only sold in a non-black market way at the Westvelteren abbey itself.

The Disturbing Case of the Missing Monkeys

So I unfortunately wake up of my own accord at six in the morning only to find a nice card slipped under our door entitling us to free breakfast. Don't mind if we do, and how we do. Four types of cheese cut into wiggly-french-fry shapes, white grape raisins, mangos, kiwis, a bajillion other fruits including tomatoes which apparently is never mistaken for a vegetable in India, strawberry-flavored cornflakes (!), mango-flavored corn-flakes (!!), bacon-flavored corn-flakes (!!!) (I made that one up, but a man can dream), honey comb that you can eat, nuts, dates, yogurt, eggs done any way you want, 12 Indian dishes that I could neither pronounce nor tell you what was in them, smoked salmon, fresh non-diarrhea-causing juice and whole, creamy milk, tea, coffee, and the entire cast of Redwall running around your ankles.

So after our post-breakfast comas, Jon and I set out for Tughlaqabad Fort, an ancient ruin which used to encompass the whole of Delhi which our guide map informs us is covered in Langur monkeys. The map's even got monkeys drawn on it. Sick nasty.

So we taxi it up through the old city part of Delhi for a while, arrive at the fort, trade our rupees for tickets that look strangely like rupees, and walk up the path into miles and miles of fort. Seriously, the perimeter is 6km long, which for those of you living in America is approx 4 miles. The entire place supposedly has 8 sides, though we only covered like 3, and in between there's walkways and arches and underground rooms and gigantic pits and Indian folk here and there who have snuck in by climbing over the walls and are enjoying picnics, burning incense at altars, and singing religious-sounding songs. Here's some of Jon's pics, though there's simply nothing 2-d that can capture the feeling of standing among ancient stone structures as far as you can see in any direction:

The strange thing is, though, that none of the stone walkways and stairs and stuff appear to be worn. And I know from walking through the buildings in Princeton that even 100 years of people walking around a place smooths and grooves a place. None of that around here. Maybe Indian people are made from packing peanuts? I don't know. Anyway, after a couple of hours of hard-core climbing up walls and down underground passages (tourism in India > tourism in the US), we followed a couple of Indian mothers with small children through a cascade of traffic to another ancient structure built outside the fort walls (pic courtesy jon).

So here's the story: Once upon a time there was this dude, Zafar Khan, who was totally sweet and then he died and Ghiyathud-din Tughluq decided to build him this sweet tomb. Then all of the sudden, Tuggy (as his friends used to call him) was like, fuck it, ALL YOUR TOMBS ARE BELONG TO ME and he built his own, the beautiful intersection of Arabian and Hindu architecture that you see in front of you right in the same place Zafar Khan totally thought he had all to himself. Not only that, but Tuggy buries his wife, his number one son, his son and his son's wife, and even his beloved hunting dog all in within the grounds of the place (also there happens to be a jail on one side of the compound for some reason). And then he floods the area around it, situating this jewel of a graveyard smack-dab in the middle of a lake like something out of King Arthur myth. Very cool, dick move though.

So anyway, we saw rocks, we saw walls, we saw graves and jails and dog sepulchres, but you know what we didn't see? The supposedly-teeming cartloads of Langurs. Wtf.

In which we venture into the Smog

Our taxi driver was rather disgruntled that we wouldn't pay Rs. 1200 for him to drive us around the whole day, but screw him, we need to get in shape for walking around at 7,600 feet anyway. Jon and I both agree that eating in Bhutan will make us healthy supermen by the time we leave (despite the fact that two of the most popular dishes are basically cheese soup and cheese fries and the basic idea for Bhutanese cooking is "Water, butter, boil!"), but it would be rather nice to be healthy coming in as well. And I am going to have a basketball team to coach. Hopefully the rims will be 4-6 inches shorter than regulation American rims and I can impress my kids by dunking (like I did over ye olde fools at the Terrace Olympics, imho the most awesome moment of my life).

Anyway, we payed the disgruntled taxi man and then went into the Lodhi gardens to discover the cutest chipmunks I have ever seen as well as running into a bunch of parrots and many, many sleeping dogs who think nothing of plopping down right in the middle of a walkway for hours on end. And we also saw an ancient tomb and a mosque, which Feyer took a picture of:

It's probably not visible in the picture, but there were these intensely blue ceramic tiles left in some places on the building that used to cover the whole top, which must have made the thing look like one gigantic gemstone way back when. Behind us as we took the picture is the tomb, which, as Feyer noted, is really odd in that the olden guys built a gigantic monument to honor someone and then didn't even bother putting his name on the thing.

So we visited the tomb, we visited the mosque, we got to do some non-western style in-your-face tourism involving actually going into monuments covered in graffiti and rain-water-induced corrosion and not clinically observing them as part of a tour group, we wandered through the Lodhi gardens and got sprayed by a sprinkler. Then, aided by the position of the sun in the sky, we found our way up to the Indian Gate about a mile an a half north, which is basically India's version of the Arc de Triumph. Took some touristy pictures, had lunch thirty minutes previously (INDIAN FOOD IS DELICIOUS AND AWESOME), then marched down to the Indian Parliament, where we observed a man climbing around the elephant statues (pic courtesy of Feyer) at the top of the Parliamentary fence, probably with the intention of breaking into India's government and staging "the ballsiest coup ever" (q. Feyer).

Then we went off to the bustling heart of Delhi

where we were offered marijuana by a youth, which we declined. Then we walked past the Indian Supreme Court, the Modern School, went over a raised walkway (!) instead of playing Frogger on the highway like usual and ended back up at the Gate, where we flagged a taxi that took us to the Lotus Temple.

The Lotus Temple (picture Fey-fey), we learned, is one of seven epically beautiful awesome temples made by devotees of the Baha'i faith, which according to our handy temple pamphlets, is a religion that wishes to co-exist with Science, has eight major tenets (world peace, compulsory universal education, non-prejudice, the equality of men and women, others I can't remember) and thinks that the number 9, as the largest of the digits in the base-10 system, is a perfect number. We were allowed to go inside the temple, which is hollow, and to meditate in silence, which was very relaxing, transcendent, and enhanced by the echoing warbles of a bird that had decided to fly inside and roost along the ceiling.

I think it's rather odd that people universally have a need to go and make buildings designed primarily to allow one to go and sit and let one's mind unfurl. Epiphenomenal, in its own collective-unconsciousness kind of way. As we left the building, the sun happened to rest perfectly between the petals at the top of the building, and then we were whisked off by our waiting taxi-man to a store where they tried to sell us Kashmir and other fabrics apparently made from sheep beards, which our handy salesman kept telling us about while we continued to emphasize that we were really not going to buy anything and had quite the hankering to leave, thank you but no thank you.

Now I am sitting in a hotel room and debating the merits of complimentary bar Kingfisher beers over $4 room service ones.

Other Sports Exist Besides Football and Basketball

So I read through the paper today. Way too many acronyms, don't have an idea who the Maoist party is (people sitting in the green room smoking Syrian Rue, perhaps? Bad hippy-erudite jokes), and I'm still having trouble w/ lakhs and crores (100,000 and 10 million, respectively). Anyway, the three most interesting things I read:

1. There were near-riots in a predominantly Christian Indian state when a textbook publisher printed a picture of Jesus holding a beer and a cigarette. In the states we get fed (what is, apparently) a line about how Muslims are the only people who kill people for un-politically correct pictures.

In a side note, on the plane I watched the movie Millions (a British film about a young boy who discovers a bag with 200,000 pounds in it) on the plane. The main character has visions of Catholic saints and I had another moment of "Western culture has shaped my thinking" moment when the boy hallucinates some Ugandan martyrs and I remembered that, of course, not all Catholics are white/latino European/N./S./Americans. One of the really useful things about religion is that it's a cultural identity that can be assumed, as opposed to things like race and nationality, which are largely unchangeable. Hence religion has a higher potential for unifying people than the other mentioned identities. Problem is, identifying w/ a religion and buying into its set of moral codes and values often involves being exposed to a lot of shaming language, which makes changing identities or even evolving in one's own faith rather unlikely propositions.

2. Even the Indian newspapers think all the Republicans are doing on healthcare reform is obstruction.

3. The sports page. Oh my goodness, so awesome. I see pictures of people playing cricket, field hockey, and...shooting rifles! My college sport is apparently a legitimate one over here, even to the point of big color pictures appearing on the sports page. I have no idea why this is, seeing as riflery is the single most boring sport I can think of to watch - the targets are too small for anyone observing to look at so it pretty much just involves watching people lie down, stand up, and kneel for 2 hours.

There is good whiskey in India

Delhi has a smell. You notice it about 5 minutes before your plane hits the ground, a kind of spicy almost-like-some-kind-of-food-cooking-but-not. Delhi also has smog like LA. There are men pushing carts with children on them, religious men in what look like white jumpsuits, 3-good-legged dogs hopping through the streets. My hotel has more security than customs does. I drank Jura whiskey and Jack Daniels. The numbers on my money hold no emotion. I am halfway across the world, and I am tired.