Radio Shangri-La_ What I Learned in Bhutan, the Happiest Kingdom on Earth - Lisa Napoli [75]
Since before I’d gone to Bhutan, we had kept in touch by email. Each time we’d communicate, once a week or so, he’d invite me to his cabin, as if he forgot I lived clear across the country. “You’re welcome, anytime,” he’d say. A visit east for a family reunion meant I’d finally be close enough to take him up on the offer.
In the hours before he picked me up in the Upper West Side of Manhattan for the drive north, I felt a strange sense of anticipation and nerves, as if I were a girl with a movie-star crush about to meet her idol. Who was this man, really? What was he like? What would it be like to see him again? There was no way this second meeting could match the intensity of the first. Imagination in these matters could get you into trouble, I knew well from experience. Charming, witty emails and phone calls were not accurate measures of how you would get along face-to-face. I was about to get an intensive crash course in the reality of Sebastian.
FOR HOURS WE TALKED and cooked and laughed and ate and drank, starting with tea and graduating to wine and then a special whiskey he’d been given as a present. We moved from the kitchen to the porch to the kitchen and back outside again. We covered everything and nothing in particular, like old friends who’d been reunited after a long separation.
Bhutan was a part of the conversation, of course, but it wasn’t the only topic. We got done with that at the beginning. He explained the little mystery I’d been unable to solve, that his ties to the kingdom were through an old friend who helped him to become a guide many years ago. After he’d led trips for several years, Bhutan had become something of an addiction. The connections continued back in the New York area, particularly with the handful of Bhutanese dignitaries and students who traveled through and temporarily resided there. He felt a deep love for the country and its people, and an attendant sense of obligation to help however possible.
I told him about my visits with the friends whose names he’d given me, and how they’d welcomed me warmly. And how every time I gave him credit for connecting me to Bhutan, I was corrected that it wasn’t Sebastian, but rather my karma that had united us.
We discussed his business at length, for it was at a crossroads, and my own personal crossroads with my work. I teased him that since he’d hooked me up with Kuzoo, perhaps he could come up with what it was I should do next. He teased back, wondering how it was possible for an East Coast person to love Los Angeles. We stared at the lumbering turtles, and even spotted a deer, and as the sun began to set, a chill infused the night air. I excused myself to get a sweater from inside the cabin. And as I stood up, Sebastian reached over and grabbed me, kissed me hard and long, and held me tight.
FOR MANY PEOPLE, the happiest end to this part of the story would be to tell you that this magical weekend never ended. That I eloped with Sebastian to Bhutan in a fit of passion, where a venerable lama presided over a ceremony uniting us forever. That we returned to New England and I helped run his business, eventually growing it into a mighty empire as our love deepened and matured. How, with all these riches, we eventually adopted several Bhutanese children and sent piles of money back to build schools for the kids we couldn’t take in. A fairy-tale romance that swept across international borders, born out of a single chance encounter. Cue the music; get Hollywood on the line.
What actually happened was this:
On Sunday afternoon, Sebastian drove me back to a town just outside New York City, where he was scheduled to deliver a lecture on tea. My childhood friend Liz, who lived right nearby, picked me up so I could spend the night with her family. When we got to her house a