204
last leg of the day's journey, to Bumthang.
We were now passing into Central Bhutan. The country gets more remote and primitive the further east one goes. The road by now resembled a quarry, thanks to the ambitious road-widening project that has been under way since late 2000. Until then, road vehicles were required to cross into Indian Assam in order to get to the east of Bhutan. This route became less favoured when some Indian militants shot a Bhutanese bus driver in order to prove a point. (Brian did not mention that in the briefing notes!) To compensate for the road, the trees had become particularly impressive. We were now driving through gigantic pine trees, just like in the Hundred Acre Wood. I could easily imagine Pooh Bear falling out of one, had he been there.
About half-an-hour short of Jakar, the capital of Bumthang province, two or three woollen goods shops formed the nucleus of a knitting and weaving industry, so of course we had to stop and boost the local economy. I saw a scarf I particularly liked. The young lady in the shop told me it was 300 ngultrum (about HK$50), I have never really learned the art of bargaining, and so I offered her 250 and a large hopeful smile. She smiled back, but the smile quickly faded. 'Excuse me' she said, 'there's 50 missing.' I was so flustered that I tried to pretend that it was all my fault and I quickly gave her the missing note. I hung around a bit to listen to how the hardened shoppers managed to bring the price down, but I had to bow out in the face of such expertise and experience.
We reached the hotel at dusk and found it to be rather like a ski lodge - fresh and inviting on the outside and warm and toasty on the inside, with pine-clad walls. Welcoming tea and bickies were laid out in the communal sitting area of the dining room. The bedroom was also toasty, almost a sauna. The source of the heat was a wood-burning stove. This gave off a terrific amount of heat, but burnt through its contents very quickly. When I returned to the bedroom after dinner it was like stepping into a fridge, so quickly had the heat disappeared. As the electricity supply was rather intermittent, each room was provided with a candle. ‘Ah-ha' I thought, ‘salvation.' I lit the candle and held it against a thinnish piece of pine for no less than fifteen shivering minutes, but the blighter wouldn't light. So I had to climb into bed, wondering about such news headlines as: ‘Careless cigarette
Page 205
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204
last leg of the day's journey, to Bumthang.
We were now passing into Central Bhutan. The country gets more remote and primitive the further east one goes. The road by now resembled a quarry, thanks to the ambitious road-widening project that has been under way since late 2000. Until then, road vehicles were required to cross into Indian Assam in order to get to the east of Bhutan. This route became less favoured when some Indian militants shot a Bhutanese bus driver in order to prove a point. (Brian did not mention that in the briefing notes!) To compensate for the road, the trees had become particularly impressive. We were now driving through gigantic pine trees, just like in the Hundred Acre Wood. I could easily imagine Pooh Bear falling out of one, had he been there.
About half-an-hour short of Jakar, the capital of Bumthang province, two or three woollen goods shops formed the nucleus of a knitting and weaving industry, so of course we had to stop and boost the local economy. I saw a scarf I particularly liked. The young lady in the shop told me it was 300 ngultrum (about HK$50), I have never really learned the art of bargaining, and so I offered her 250 and a large hopeful smile. She smiled back, but the smile quickly faded. 'Excuse me' she said, 'there's 50 missing.' I was so flustered that I tried to pretend that it was all my fault and I quickly gave her the missing note. I hung around a bit to listen to how the hardened shoppers managed to bring the price down, but I had to bow out in the face of such expertise and experience.
We reached the hotel at dusk and found it to be rather like a ski lodge - fresh and inviting on the outside and warm and toasty on the inside, with pine-clad walls. Welcoming tea and bickies were laid out in the communal sitting area of the dining room. The bedroom was also toasty, almost a sauna. The source of the heat was a wood-burning stove. This gave off a terrific amount of heat, but burnt through its contents very quickly. When I returned to the bedroom after dinner it was like stepping into a fridge, so quickly had the heat disappeared. As the electricity supply was rather intermittent, each room was provided with a candle. ‘Ah-ha' I thought, ‘salvation.' I lit the candle and held it against a thinnish piece of pine for no less than fifteen shivering minutes, but the blighter wouldn't light. So I had to climb into bed, wondering about such news headlines as: ‘Careless cigarette
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