Day 1 in Delhi was just gathering in the lobby of the Ashok Country Resort. Lots of other Westerners begin their trips there, too, so we had to figure out who was who. The bar had been grabbed, so we made our home a table and sofas in front of large screen TV. Beers and peanuts fueled the discussion as we shot it and waited for Helen, our guide from KE, to show up. That was like waiting for Godot, although in her case, she at least left a message. It said, “we’re leaving the hotel lobby at 2:30AM!”, so I for one turned in before either she or my two friends from CT (a small state on the eastern seaboard of the US) showed up.Dutifully, we were all dressed and ready at the appointed hour. Helen had not managed a wink after arriving from the UK. My friends had showed. Bikes and duffels were loaded into buses and we began a longish day of travel. We would have longer.
OK, we packed a bit two much stuff. What was it, 200kg too much? There was some misunderstanding about the allowance, but with bikes, it simply is not possible to get close to the allowance. With powerbars, too, not a chance. So, we forked over the penalties and waited for Druk Air to take us first to Kathmandu
Kathmandhu from the air
and then on to Paro, Bhutan. The route in remind me more of a winding descent on a bicycle than any airport approach I’d ever experienced.
Incidentally, I learned a few things about Bhutan on the flight. First Bhutan is not India. The plane was as immaculate as a newborn Boeing. In fact, it was an Airbus 319. Who knew there was such a plane? Second, the Bhutanese women are very beautiful. Later, we learned the they are so beautiful, the king has married four of them. But, put away your visions of Utah. Bhutan is no Utah, either. If you’ve ever flown United, you are probably more than a little jaded about the friendliness of the hostesses of the Friendly Skies. You might even have feared that one of these ladies might whack you upside the head with a lead filled purse if you dared to ask for something, or that one of their smiles would fall off and cut you. Not so with these Bhutanese hostesses. They had a purity of innocence about them, as well as an elegance of simplicity, and a radiant beauty. I barely dared to look at at these young women whom I now visualize as a cross between my little sister (I don’t have a little sister) and my 7 year old daughter.
I’m going to leave off here, with some photos from the tarmac.
