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By Root 669 0

The resort is built on land owned by one of the queens and attracts the kind of tourist any country would love: The price for a room is a thousand dollars a night. And it’s as beautiful as it should be for that much money, a Westerner’s fantasy interpretation of Bhutan. It evokes the kingdom, but it is nothing like it, with sophisticated muted tones, instead of the local brightness; plush furniture, instead of the hard-backed utilitarian fare in most places. Giant picture windows to showcase the view. We are enjoying lunch here at a reduced price, the local’s discount no real local can afford, $50 a head. As nice as it is to eat a lovely meal in luxurious surroundings with good company, I wish we’d given the nomadic people this money and gone to my place, where I’d have made us spaghetti from the Swiss Bakery.

“Here’s to the new year,” we say, hoisting our glasses. “Here’s to the king and a long, healthy reign. Here’s to all of us in Bhutan.”

Ed’s face twists with tears; he doesn’t even try to conceal his emotion. Mayumi is leaving in a week, and that’s when Pam is going on the road. And I will be gone not long after. Our shared meals and confidences will soon be history. We are like four whirlpools that have run together for a while, Ed declares poetically; these weeks we’ve had together have felt like years. When time is limited and the environment is so different from your own, relationships skip the “how do you do” phase and go straight to the heart of friendship.

He’s right, I think, as we toast again, but surely not just any environment could conjure these feelings. There’s something about Bhutan, even in the language. Kuzu zampo means hello in Dzongkha, but there isn’t a word for good-bye.

9

THE THUNDERBOLT,

PART TWO

ON THE MIDDLE FINGER OF MY LEFT HAND IS A circle of hammered gold, topped with a large, tear-shaped oval of turquoise. I got it at the shop across from the bank on Norzin Lam. There are five or six such stores up and down the main strip that sell the few items you can take home to remind you of your visit, as if things could possibly do justice to an experience here. The stores sell beautiful handwoven textiles, many of them purported to be relics from the shopkeepers’ family trees; in an age of inexpensive machine-woven copies imported from India, it’s better to turn grandmother’s handiwork into cash. Little statuettes of various Buddhas, jewel-adorned prayer wheels. Prayer flags that couldn’t possibly look the same when displayed in one lonely string anywhere other than in the magnificent open landscape of these mountains.

The only souvenir I wanted was this ring. The yellowness and the heft of its matte gold, and the simple, brilliant blue of the stone, drew my eye when I’d seen it on the hands of men and women around town. The question was where to buy one for myself.

A tiny, hunched old lady guarded the entrance to one particular shop. Day in, day out, she stood out front with a cat curled by her feet, its stomach rising and falling softly with each breath, the two of them a still and quiet duo. Occasionally the lady’s face would brighten into a smile in response to a passerby’s “Kuzu zampo-la.” But this wasn’t tourist season, so buyers were scarce.

After careful consideration, I decided this would be the place where I would spend my money. The shop was a bit run-down, and might not have had the selection of the others, but I preferred it to the shinier outfits on the other side of the traffic circle, over near the tourist hotels.

The lady seemed surprised as I made my way through the door. She’d probably long ago given up hope that I might make a purchase, for I passed by the shop at least a few times each day. She motioned for me to stay by the counter as she walked to the back, I supposed, to fetch someone. A woman about my age, who identified herself as the lady’s daughter, emerged. She could help me, she said, since she could speak English. She asked where I was from, what had brought me to Bhutan, and when I was leaving. I told her that I was headed home tomorrow.

“So