After passing my 20 minute test (when I can make it 20 minutes without using the bathroom) I peeled myself off the floor, put some clothing on, and staggered down to the hotel lobby where my friends made me a deal: if after an hour of travel I thought I would truly die we could turn back. Well, I made it about 40 minutes in the car before I had to clamor for us to pull over. But this was just another opportunity to test my friendship with Nara. And she passed with flying colors: rubbing my back, handing me a water bottle, and having tissues at the ready. If our roles were reversed I would have just left her on the side of the road, especially because due to our little delay we missed the official sunrise at the temple at the top of the DochuLa mountain pass.
So forgive me if the details of the day are a little sparse. I hung on admirably but that's about all I could manage. Even taking photos was too much.
After a very slow breakfast (my fault), we moseyed up to the temple where the monks had created beautiful floral mosaics using colored rice around the courtyard. We weren't allowed in the temple itself because the Queen Mother had just arrived to dedicate a butter lamp in honor of her husband's birthday. This is unfortunate because Papa Lee, who was trying to get as far away as possible from pukey me, recounted later that it was the most beautiful temple he had ever been in.
After I managed to keep down some banana and rice we rolled on to the Royal Botanical Garden where we saw a crapload of different rhododendron species and I impressed the guide with my knowledge of lycopodia. Then we drove another few hours to the Punakha Dzong.
Back in the old old days, there were several Tibetan Buddhist kingdoms, each of which built a fortress doubling as administrative center and monastery. They are generally build in defensive positions such as on mountain ridges or, as in this case, at the confluence of two rivers. The Punakha Dzong is the second oldest in what is now Bhutan and was the capital of the country until 1955.
Interestingly, all new construction in Bhutan (including their lovely airport) must maintain the stylistic elements of the dzongs such as the white-wash, painted decorations, and colorful roof.
While at the dzong it was revealed just how inept birders we are. I pointed out a bird to Nara and asked her what kind it was. She answered, "It's a pigeon." When I said that it was definitely not a pigeon she replied "Well, it's some other bird then." Thank you Yale Forestry for bestowing us with such brilliant powers of deduction.
Because the dzong is still used as administrative offices for district government we could only go inside the temple, outside of which a British scholar-type was expounding to a tour group on how Buddhism is so different than Christianity. Reductionist but vaguely interesting. Again, I'm sorry I can't recall details.
Next we decided, misguidedly, to delay lunch and hike 20 minutes to a fertility temple (Chimi Lhakhang). Phuntsho, our guide verified with Nara that it wouldn't be awkward for her or her father which in itself was awkward. Y'see this temple was built after the site was blessed by the Divine Madman, a great Buddhist master who emphasized the more earthy pleasures as a means of achieving enlightenment. In fact, he espoused the use of the phallus symbol to ward off the evil eye and bring blessings. So each of us were blessed with a large wooden penis. (My friends later said that the blessing only works if you stay in the temple overnight, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.)
The town of Lubesa, in which the monastery is located, was celebrating for the king's birthday with women performing traditional dances while the men were participating in a darts contest. The large, weighted darts were thrown at a distance of about 30 meters at a target about the size of a typical dartboard. We watched for a bit until I was struck by the fear that I might lose an eye from one of the errant darts. I will say, though,, that even the errant darts were surprisingly accurate.
Post lunch, where I worried several restaurant staff by only eating rice and bananas (again), we headed back to Thimpu for a dinner with our Bhutanese grad schoolmates. Despite sheer exhaustion and having puked one more time right before meeting, it was totally worth it to see everyone and chat about all manner of issues: invasive species, service projects that involve schoolchildren burning marijuana plants, the up-and-coming potato chip industry, Frozen, the country's sole helicopter, Donald Trump, and, of course, Bhutan's finest phalluses. (Phalli?) I'd be glad to expand on any of these conversational topic upon request.
The prevailing wisdom when sick in the USA is to eat lightly, stick to a bland diet, and drink plenty of fluids. So by the end of the dinner I thought I would lose it if one more person told me "eat more", "drink some brandy", "try yogurt", or "rice and toast aren't a sufficient meal." Nara tried to come to my rescue with the exhortation to just treat me "like an American." but that only prompted one well-meaning person to suggest a hamburger restaurant that foreigners love. Ah well, visited 20 countries and puked in 6 of them. And the company for this round was fabulous: from my sister Mary (in spririt) to Nara to the whole Bhutan crew. Chobs! (with some ginger ale.)
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