Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [41]
At this time of day, I’ll be lucky to find an open shop. The only place where it might be possible is on the main strip, Norzin Lam. Midway down the block, I see a sign of life. There’s an open door at the Zeeling Tshongkhag, a place that’s becoming one of my usual stops. I poke my head in.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
I’m always polite to people in stores, but in Bhutan, I am hyperaware that every place I go I am representing not just Kuzoo FM but the United States.
The proprietor, Pema, welcomes me with a shy smile. “Yes, madam.” I have learned I am madam not by virtue of my age but as a sign of respect. People with less experience using their English nervously call me “sir,” aware only that it is an honorific, not one that is gender based.
“I need some cookies. To bring to Kuzoo, for the Early Bird show,” I say, somewhat apologetically because of the early hour. As it would be with most merchants on the planet, why I need what I need isn’t as important as the fact that I am here to buy. But I also announce this to remind him that I’m not some random tourist. Not that many tourists are typically on the streets of Thimphu, at any time of day. But here, as in other places around the world, if you look like an outsider, prices can rise quickly.
“Of course, madam.”
I’ve been stopping in nearly every day for weeks now, and usually buy from his sister, who hasn’t yet arrived.
There are no fresh baked goods in this store. None of the few venues that do bake are open yet. So I choose a package of peanut-butter-filled cookies from India. The radio jockey hosting the Early Bird show today loves those. I need a snack to soothe my stomach, so I grab some plain digestive biscuits. I buy a box of tea bags, black, just in case the studio’s supply of tea is locked up. I hand the man a 100 ngultrum note, a little over $2 with the current exchange rate, and get back 40 ngultrum in change.
The streets are coming to life. Some passersby return my smile warmly, if shyly. A few—the minority—don’t look so happy that I’m here, and glower a bit. Most children see me as an excuse to practice their English, and they giggle when I respond to their spirited shouts of “hello.” After I’d been here a week, a few kids who hang out near this particular store started running after me whenever I walked down the street, shouting “Kuzoo FM, Kuzoo FM.”
There is a slight hill up the road a bit, and a steeper one when you turn at the Dutch-sponsored dairy station, the only place in town where you can buy fresh milk—if you bring your own container. Men and women and kids leave clutching Coca-Cola bottles filled chalky white. Dogs roam this side street, as if the gates of the pound have been busted down. (Soon I learn there isn’t a pound, and that’s part of the problem. Stories abound about people being swarmed or bitten by the strays.)
As I make my way back to the upper road, I’m breathless, both from the altitude and from the steep incline. On the far side of the street, directly across from the Bhutan Chamber of Commerce and Industry, adjacent to the Danish embassy and in front of Bangladesh’s, sits the place where I spend my days.
By the time I march up the narrow flight of stairs to the studio, I’ve had quite a workout, and I’ve walked only about a mile. With the cookies in hand, I feel suddenly aware of the sensation I’m experiencing. I’m falling in love with Bhutan.
THE BUDDHISTS WOULD SAY that everything you need is right here, within you. There’s no need to seek outside yourself for the answers. Nothing—no place, no person—can complete you or make you happy. The longer I live, the more I see and experience, the more certain I am that this is true. And yet, occasionally, a shakeup in location, or in the company you keep, can touch you in just the right way, awaken