Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [12]
By the time we landed, I was so blind from the overstimulation and exhaustion, I couldn’t keep track of what hour it was or how long Ngawang must have been hanging around. I apologized for keeping her waiting.
“No problem,” she said. “We went into town to my sister’s place when we heard you would be delayed and ate breakfast.”
A sister, a brother. I wondered how large Ngawang’s family was. As we approached a tinny white passenger van with the orange Kuzoo FM logo painted on the side, it became apparent who she meant by “we.” A handsome gho-clad young man with a Kennedyesque square jaw hopped out and bowed slightly. I felt like the newest member of the royal family.
“Madam Jane,” he said shyly, averting his gaze. My eyes were drawn to the black socks that covered his calves. I looked forward to fishing out a few pairs from my Gold Toe stash and presenting him with them.
“This is Kesang, the Kuzoo driver,” said Ngawang. “But he doesn’t understand English. I made him practice your name.”
“Kuzu zampo,” I said. My first attempt at speaking the only words I knew in Dzongkha was easy. I’d been thinking this word Kuzu for months; now here I was saying it out loud, to someone for whom it actually had meaning.
He smiled, whisked my bags into the back of the vehicle, and hopped behind the wheel, as Ngawang installed me in the front seat next to him. It was a British-style vehicle, driver on the right. It had been ages since I had ridden as a passenger on the left side, but I was so disoriented that it didn’t feel as off balance as it otherwise might have.
“We have to go now or else we’ll get stuck on the road,” Ngawang said, sliding the van door shut. “If we can get behind Her Royal Highness, we can proceed on to Thimphu. If we do not, we’ll have to wait for the go-ahead. Maybe a few hours, even.”
She explained that construction was under way to widen and smooth the forty-mile stretch between Paro and Thimphu, the capital city. Paved roads were chief among the modernization plans launched forty years ago, yet still only six main arteries traversed the entire country. Though they were called highways, this one resembled a rocky country thoroughfare you hoped lasted only a few miles. Improvements to this essential stretch of road were among the projects in anticipation of the coronation of the new king; the date had still to be determined, as the royal astrologers hadn’t yet weighed in on the most auspicious moment for the occasion. But in anticipation, and to meet the country’s growing dependence on motor vehicles, traffic was stopped for several hours every afternoon in order for the work to proceed. Of course, royalty would not have to be subjected to this inconvenience.
“How do you know a queen is on the road?” I asked, bewildered by the thought of being so close to royalty—I, who didn’t even notice or care about the inevitable celebrity sightings that occurred at various spots around Los Angeles.
“Not one of the queens. A princess. Elder sister to the new king. She was on your plane.”
Which of the Bhutanese women on that plane could have been a princess? I mentally ticked through the few passengers stuck in the waiting area in Bangkok. Ngawang read my mind.
“A lady with a baby, wearing kira,” she said. “And several ladies helping her.”
I had seen a baby being passed among several bored Bhutanese ladies. We waited at the gate for so long I was surprised I didn’t play with the kid myself, much less memorize the face of every single passenger. Much of the delay I’d spent talking to a physical therapist named Beda, who was returning home to her husband