Dheet-Trekkers' Bike Trip to Bhutan

View Larger Map

Dates: 10th June, 2012 to 17th June, 2012

The Dheet-Trekkers: PP, Manish Kutaula, Khandi, Danish, Upreti, Amit Bisht & yours' truly

Dheet7: "So what is the secret behind being an expert biker?"

Dheet1: "It’s simple. Just grip the handle firmly, and make sure the bike stays underneath your ass and not the other way round…"

How do I find the words to describe this trip of ours? Well, if you’ve ever seen the video of the headless chicken on Youtube, you’ll know. 

Without our Sardar, the planner and the shepherd, we were just a bunch of rebels without a clue. But I kid you…

The fact is, it was a wondrous trip, immaculately timed (by chance). We not only had our first experience of riding an Enfield in the hills, amidst green valleys and treacherous fog and rain, but we were introduced to a nation that although is considered one of the poorest countries of the world, but where we met some of the most civilized people and experienced nature in its most pleasantly adulterated form. And it was so immaculately timed that the monsoon hit the country just the day our trip got over.

I would have used the word unadulterated for nature, but burning petrol and riding on metalled roads isn’t exactly unadulterated. Hence I used pleasantly adulterated.

It’s still unclear why we chose Bhutan. Maybe it was the photograph of the Tiger’s Nest monastery that we saw on the net that made us drool rainbows, maybe it was the adventure of going to a different country on a motorbike, maybe it was the novelty of the whole idea, I cant be certain. But once we had decided it would be Bhutan that we would be headed out to, nothing could change our minds.

Not even the Sardar opting out of the trip because he had to join some darn IIM.

The plan was to get our asses to Siliguri, then head out to the border at Jaigaon, go biking around Bhutan and be back within the week. It would be a biking trip more than an excursion, and so our first issue was to find a way to get our bikes to Siliguri. We could either risk our bikes’ integrity by booking them for the said station through a transporter, or we could take them along with us on the train ‘on ticket’.

We did not think that the first option apt cause any delay by the transporter/railway staff could mean that we would reach Siliguri with our bikes still parked in Patna or Delhi. Also, if our bikes got damaged in transit, our immaculate plan would take a bow and exit stage right.

Second option was to book the bikes on ticket. In this type of transport provided by the Indian Railways, we could book the bikes for our destination along with our confirmed train tickets, and could receive them at Siliguri or NJP. The bikes would travel in the same train as us and the schedule of our trip would be undisturbed. Only problem was, the bikes had to be in the name of the traveling passengers. And the traveling passengers needed to have confirmed seats.

It was holiday season for the schools and train tickets being the bitch they are, we could only manage to get tickets starting with 129 waiting when we booked almost a month before departure. We could always try for Tatkal but then our future would lie uncertain till 24 hrs before departure when the tatkal opened. If we failed to get tickets for everyone, the bikes would have to stay back and the trip would get ruined. Also, supposing we did somehow manage to get our tickets and get the bikes to NJP, it would be uncertain if we would get the time to get return tatkal tickets, and there was a big chance that we would be stranded at NJP with our bikes. All of us being mentally confined to the voluntary slave cell that is the office, this was a strict no-no.

God knows how much I wanted to take my ageing, headlight swinging and engine oil consuming Unicorn to Bhutan but in view of the above difficulties, we decided we would rent the bikes.

Araib searched on the net and found out about a few guys who could give us the bikes on rent. Some had Enfields, some had Pulsars, which I hate (my apologies to Mr.Vinod Upreti but I am entitled to my opinion), some were cheap and some were quite pricey. Perhaps the best review we got was for a company called Adventure Unlimited, based in Darjeeling. Although the price was high, we were assured that the bikes would be in good condition. Plus he would give us protective gear, puncture repair kits, tools and even a sidekick mechanic who could accompany us if we could afford one! The owner, Gatty, is a decent guy who was very detailed about the preparations, but who has not refunded to us 20,000 from our advance till date. Apart from this unsettled 20,000, everything about his service was great… (the amount has been since repaid in totality)

Now we were a little uncertain about taking out Enfields on a trip like this. We only had a bit of experience riding them, and none of us were experts. Enfields are known for their frequent break-downs and require at least some bit of mechanical acumen. Unlike the Spiti trip, where some of us went on bikes wearing Hawaii chappals, Enfield cannot be taken for granted. They are vengeful bikes we were told. In true dheet style, we read the rules and then blatantly disregarded them. My burnt calf skin, Kutaula’s bruised toe, knee and arm and Khandi’s swollen forearm are testimony to that.

Getting to Siliguri was a task in itself. I was posted in Aurangabad and so I took a bus to Nagpur on the night of the 8^th of June, 2012. It was a Friday. On Saturday, I attended office in Nagpur, even though it is not my office. Tata Motors is an amazing company in that way. Or perhaps is my understanding with my bosses. Or both. In the evening, I caught a plane to Kolkata and from there I took an overnight bus to Siliguri. My friends came on the North East Express from New Delhi.

The story of how my friends reached Siliguri is quite a battle epic in itself. To get Tatkal tickets, those slippery sons-of-bitches, my friends made a plan. They decided to go to the railway ticket counter in the wee hours of the morning and be the first in line when the Tatkal counter opened up in the morning at 8. The plan was stringently laid out. There would be three teams, of 2 members each, and together they would each go to the counters at Gurgaon, Lajpat Nagar and Noida at 6 in the morning and be the first in line to get the tickets, with two guys occupying two different counters at each station to increase the chances. Then they thought some more and changed the time to 5 in the morning.

On the night of the 7^th of June, 2012, one day before the Talkal window would open for our tickets, Kutaula thought of going to the reservation counter to make sure he would not miss it in the morning and what he beheld was both horrifying and amusing. At 12 o’clock at night, there were some 21 other people already in line at the Tatkal counter! They were apparently going to camp the night out at the reservation counter in order to be the first ones to get the tickets in the morning!

The other stations were tried and it was found that there were 15 people at Lajpat Nagar and 7 at Noida. My friends were screwed.

Without much hope, they tried online reservation for tatkal in the morning. After the obligatory 10 minutes of a hung server, they managed to get waiting 1-4. By the evening, through the grace of Allah, the seats were confirmed.

The journey through Bihar in sleeper class, although better than in the old days, is still pretty indecent. The coaches are packed full of people, most without proper tickets, who even occupy the toilets when everyplace else gets full. Gutkha, cigarettes and locally brewed liquor flow freely. It’s a pretty horrible journey if you’re looking for decency. But as they say, if you can’t beat them, join them. So our friends joined in the party, got drunk, smoked up, and somehow managed to get to Siliguri without committing suicide. Considering that everyone was ready to travel by general class had the tatkal tickets not been confirmed, this was supposedly paradise. Their bravado makes me cry.

There is an easier way to get to Siliguri. There are multiple direct flights to Bagdogra from New Delhi everyday. But the flights were bloody expensive. So we had to break our asses, me sleeping in buses for two nights straight and my friends enduring the train journey through Bihar.

Day 1, Sunday, 10^th June, 2012: Siliguri to Darjeeling

We were scheduled to reach Siliguri by 8 in the morning. From there, it would be a 4 hour taxi ride to Darjeeling. We would pick up the bikes from Darjeeling and head out to whatever distance we could make that day, so as to reach Thimphu by the evening next day. God had other plans.

As fate would have it, the train got delayed by 4 hours and my bus got stuck in a traffic jam. While the train reached New Jalpaiguri at 11.30, my bus reached Siliguri at 1.30 in the afternoon instead of the scheduled time of 8 in the morning.

Part of the reason for the jam was the attitude we have towards public property. There is a 4 lane tolled highway from Kishanganj to Siliguri, but on both sides of the road, one lane had been occupied by farmers who had spread out corn kernels on the road and were using the road as a place to dry them. For KMs on end, there was only one lane available for use, while the other lane was spread out with the corn that might have ended up as your popcorn at PVR when you went to watch Jism 2.

National Highway being used to dry corn kernels...:D

We met up at Siliguri at 1.30 p.m., as against the original schedule of 8 in the morning, and took a shared taxi to Darjeeling. It is around 4 hours from Siliguri, and the road is pretty narrow and the traffic bad. We reached Darjeeling at 5, and headed out to Gatty’s place to check the bikes out.

The bikes were parked in a room. One look at them and we knew this trip was going to be tough. There were 2 Bullets, one Thunderbird, one Machismo 350 and one Machismo 500.  Although we are all stubborn and can walk and climb mountains at will, none of us is too tall or muscular. And in the room, the bikes looked so big and overbearing that we all, for a while, became uncertain whether we could pull this off without an accident. Or few.

Before we did the paperwork, we had to look for a place to stay. It being season, the hotels were mostly full. We found a place which had one big room with 3 beds. We were asked for a thousand and two hundred for it. The room was shabby and there were seven of us, so one person wouldn’t get a bed. We asked the owner for an extra bed or mattress and also asked him for a discount. Now I don’t know what got into him, but the owner got so pissed off at this that he refused to talk to us anymore. Said he didn’t have a room anymore and almost threw us out!

So we were back on the street, looking around to see which way to go and wondering if we had made a mistake in refusing that room at face value, when someone on the road pointed out to a woman calling out to us. Just across the road, two storeys up, a woman who had seen us looking for a hotel was calling out to us. There were a few rooms vacant in her hotel, Abhi Satya, and the rooms were much better than the other hotel. We so liked her manner of calling out to us, of showing us rooms like we were guests and not making us feel like we were in need, although we were, that we gave her the 1400 she asked for without any negotiation. Women can sometimes beat the shit out of men when it comes to business sense.

Later in the evening, we did the paperwork and paid the security and rental in advance. We were planning to set out early next morning, by around 7, but were told to wait till the sun rose up so that the roads would clear of sleet, which is very slippery and risky. So we decided to meet up in the morning at 8, try the bikes out and head out by 9. Carefree though the dheet-trekkers are, somehow everyone was suddenly uncertain of riding rented Enfields whose handling and peculiarities we were unaware of. Our first day’s agenda would be to stay alive and not get our legs broken…J

Day 2: Monday, 11th June, 2012: Darjeeling at this time is cloudy and rainy. That’s all we remember of it.

As per our original schedule, we were supposed to reach Phuentsholing today. So we had to cover up for the lost time and make the distance today.

At 8, Gatty gave us a walkthrough of the bikes. We started the bikes, warmed them up, got familiar with the feel of them. There were four 350 cc and one 500 cc bikes. All were manual kick starts. The 350 cc were ok, but we were worried about the 500 cc bike. Starting it we thought would be a hard task.  There’s an art to starting an Enfield. Due to the higher cc single cylinder engine, you can only rotate the engine once through the kick. So you only have one chance to do it. If the position is wrong and the kick is not strong enough to get the engine past the Top Dead Centre (TDC), the compressed air will rotate the engine backwards and you would feel a back-kick. Sometimes that’s bad enough to dislodge your knee caps.

So to start an Enfield, you have to slowly rotate the kick and feel the engine going past the compression stroke. Ignition is just after the compression stroke. So just as the engine reaches past TDC, you kick. If the engine goes too much beyond TDC, the bike won’t start. If it is before TDC, you’ll get a back-kick and the kick will be heavy on your knee. We soon learnt, that if you feel the position of the engine “like it were a woman [sic]”, then you can start the bike with even a very mild kick. Starting the 500 cc proved to be the easiest of the lot this way! There was an art to it for sure!

Unlike the other bikes which have an alternator, an Enfield runs on its battery. So it will not start if the battery is drained, or if the ignition fuse is blown up, even if you get the engine rotating. Also, if the starting quantity of fuel is low, the bike won’t start in cold condition. However, if you keep the idle fuel quantity high, the spark plug would get carbon deposits and the bike would stall or start farting, indicating that the spark plug was not burning the fuel and which was getting burnt up inside the silencer, causing the farts. So one had to adjust the carburetor in the morning for a high fuel delivery, warm the engine up for 5 minutes, and then reduce the idle fuel quantity for the engine to work well.

If you kept the above in mind, your ride should be hassle-free for most part. Of course, we learnt this during the course of our trip, and we were as uncertain as anyone when we first tried the bikes out.

We found that the 500 cc bike was blowing up the ignition fuse very frequently. While checking out the bike itself, the fuse blew out 2-3 times. So Gatty tied a wire around the fuse to get it started. Big mistake. It started out all right, but a few meters down the road, it started smoking out from beneath the seat, and Upreti barely had time to get off before his ass caught fire. Repairing that wiring took the first half of our morning that day. But I guess it was a good thing too. We got time to familiarize ourselves with the other bikes and rectify the other little complaints. The Thunderbird’s front mudguard was broken. Got that rectified too.

Gatty gave us three extra fuses, three spark plugs, tools for running repairs, two saddles for keeping our stuff in (one of which we forgot in his office!), puncture repair kits, a foot pump, superglue and even a fire extinguisher. His dedication and transparency was commendable. He said that since often foreigners would hire his bikes, their safety was a prime concern to him and so his standards were high. Again, had he not failed to return 20,000 bucks of ours which he had taken as part of the advance, we would have recommended him to everyone.

While we had planned to set out by 9, in view of the above, we were delayed to about 2 o’clock in the afternoon. Our itinerary had a spare day so we could afford to be late by one day but first the delay in reaching Siliguri and now this meant that we could get 2 days behind our schedule if we did not reach the border today. We had to cover some 200 KMs.

It was raining in Darjeeling when we set out but it stopped raining as we gave up altitude. Darjeeling is a tourist place in itself, but all we remember of it is that it is cloudy, foggy and wet. We did not even get a chance to taste the tea there. No regrets.

Anyways, the rohlaa (excitement) of riding an Enfield is perhaps most noticeable in a group. When we started up all the bikes together, the bikes created such terrific thunder that all the people around us would turn their heads to look out for us! We found that we were suddenly conspicuous. Not sure if I’d like that now, and the trick to being a good tourist is to be as inconspicuous as you can and not disturb the place, but it was surely enjoyable for a while.

The journey begins...

A temple on the way to Sevoke

We headed out towards Kalimpong and took the short cut to Mangpu, from there we took NH31A to Sevoke, crossed the Coronation Bridge (or Baghpul) which connect Darjeeling to Jalpaiguri and which is strangely painted a gay magenta colour that stands out and hurts the eye, crossed Malbazar and reached Chalsa via NH31, the took NH31C to Nagarkata, Binaguri and reached Telipara. It was dark by the time we reached Telipara.

The border at Jaigaon was 50 KMs away and we had to cross the Jaldapara Wildlife Sanctuary to reach Hasimara first. The 350 machismo had an electric problem and it was blowing up the fuse on switching to high beam. Also, we found that the high beam of the Thunderbird‘s headlight was not working. The indicators were working, but the beam was so weak that it could not show the way. So we kept the Thunderbird sandwiched between two bikes but it being the plains and with the help of the lights from the other vehicles, we rode on. We were not planning to travel at night on the coming days and so it wouldn’t be needed anyway. We had reached Birpara and it was 20 KMs to Hasimara through the Jaldapara National Park. People warned us that there might be animals, but experience has told us that people always make the roads sound harsher than they are to new people. And anyways, we were a group, so animal attack would be unlikely.

When we did finally cross those 20 KMs through the Jaldapara National Park, we found out that those men were utter liars. The road was the most improbable place for an animal attack, because the road was full of heavy truck traffic. And it was the most shameful road that India must have near its borders. 15 Kms of the road are hell, with potholes bigger than the size of a car, like lunar craters. In fact, calling it a road is an overstatement. It was a nightmare to cross it. It took us about an hour and a half to cover those 15 KMs.

The roads after Hasimara are very good and have been built by Dantak (Bhutanese road agency). We cruised along till Jaigaon, the border town on the Indian side. We had read that the hotels in Phuentsholing were better than those in Jaigaon, but it being 10 o’clock, the border was closed and we had to stay in Jaigaon. There are two decent hotels in Jaigaon, and we stayed at the one that had a security guard in the parking. We paid him 100 bucks to especially watch out for our bikes, and he did is job well.

The group at Coronation Bridge, minus the photographer

Day 3, Tuesday, 12^th June, 2012: We enter Bhutan; another night journey…

Owing to yesterday’s long ride, we woke up late, at about 8. Got ready by 9. Got our stuff strapped on to the bikes by 10. I in the meanwhile went to a cybercafé to take a printout. One of the bike’s insurance was expired, and Gatty was supposed to mail us the same. Then we found out that 4 of the bikes did not have a valid PUC. So we went and got that. By the time we crossed the border and got to Phuentsholing, it was around 11.30.

Crossing the border is hassle-free. You just ride into Bhutan like you would ride into Delhi from Noida. There’s just a gate that demarcates the boundary. But the bigger difference lies in something else. While there are fuming autos and traffic jams, unruly traffic, crowds and litter strewn roads on the Indian side, there is utter cleanliness and road discipline on the other side. And a lot less people!

We went straight to the Regional Immigration Office to get our entry permits. On the first floor, counter 7, you can get forms, which you have to fill out and attach photocopies of your passport to the same. Voter ID card is also valid if you don’t have your passport. There is no need to carry photographs as they have a webcam and take your photograph on the spot. There were a lot of workers from Eastern UP applying for an entry permit. They were going to Thimphu to work as day laborers.

Upreti’s name has some enigma surrounding it. The people who made his voter ID card got his name wrong and it spells Vinod Urpeti. The Immigration Office too played the game as per the norms and wrote down his name as Vino Durpeti.

I was asked go and see the Immigration Officer, who asked me who we were and why we had come to Bhutan and shit like that. I told him we were tourists and had come to visit the Taktsang monastery in Paro, and then he signed our papers. We would get the permits after lunch at 2 o’clock.

Next thing was to declare any contraband that we might be having. Only thing with us was cigarettes, and Upreti went to the customs office and paid the duty. Tobacco Act of Bhutan of 2009 prohibits the sale of tobacco in the country, and you have to pay 100 % tax for any cigarettes that you take into the country for personal consumption. Cigarettes are available in many shops on the sly, but they are not officially sold.

The customs guys there didn’t check our bags or anything. What we declared they assumed to be true. We were starting to experience the Bhutanese ways now…

Next was to get a route permit, and for that we had to go to the 2^nd floor counter number 3 of the building at the bus stand, and what a beautiful building it is. You have to write an application to the RTO, stating that you wish to visit Thimphu or Paro (only 2 places you can get a permit for from Phuentsholing) and from when to when and how. Then you have to get the application signed by the RTO, pay an entry tax at the cash counter (320 for 5 bikes), and submit, the application, along with photocopies of the entry permits and the tax payment slip at counter 4. The woman there will then give you a form that you have to take back and get signed from the RTO from counter 3. After the RTO’s signature, give back the forms at counter 4 and she will issue the route permits for the bikes.  Whole process, if the RTO is in office, takes about 20 minutes.

When we got there, it was lunch time and the RTO did not return till 1 hour after lunch. The fee payment counter is open only till 3, and the RTO was not in office till 2.45. So I asked the man at the counter if I could pay the fees in advance before the sign by the RTO. He replied that the RTO’s permission is required first and that although the counter closes at 3, he has to stay back till 5 to settle the accounts, and so he would be available and we could make our payment till 4 also.

Once the RTO signs your application, getting the route permit is a breeze. It was around 3.30 by the time we got our permits. Thimphu was 176 KMs from where we were and we again would have to travel at night. This time in the hills with the sightless Thunderbird. We were game.

It is hilly from Phuentsholing onwards and the road is very beautiful. Broad, clean, proper banking on each curve. Little traffic. I was reminder of the roads back in Nainital, but these were certainly better. The traffic was also much disciplined. All along the way, people would step over to the side and let our vehicles pass without our having to honk or ask for a pass. Whenever there was a vehicle coming to us from the other side, it would slow down and in many cases, even go partially off-road in order to make way for us. Headlights would be dimmed from the distance we became visible. We were not used to such politeness on the road and it came as a surprise. A very impressive surprise.

Those awesome roads...

The vehicles we saw were quite impressive too. Land Rovers, Toyota Helios pick-up trucks, the best of the Indian made models of Ford, GM and Hyundai… Considering it being the 162^nd biggest economy in the world, or about the 26^th poorest, this was indeed a surprise. But GDP per capita is higher than India’s, at $2,121 for 2011 by World bank estimates. India at $1,389 is ranked below Bhutan in per capita GDP.

Real GDP growth is also impressive, and in 2007, Bhutan had the second highest GDP growth in the world. The currency is linked 1:1 with India’s, the basis of which is still uncertain to me, as both nations have having different monetary inflation. However, it should be noted that Bhutan has pioneered a method in which they do not measure progress by just the GDP. GDP measures economic activity, but overall growth means economic as well as spiritual development. Hence they have a 9 point measure whereby they measure the Gross National Happiness (GNH). It is a fascinating concept, worth a separate post in itself…

There are 2 check-points on the route to Thimphu from Phuentsholing, where they check your permits. It is advisable to get photocopies of all permits, as they have to be submitted at the first check-point.

A little after Gedu, the first big town on the way, we encountered dense fog. So dense it was difficult to see more than a meter or so. This went on for about 20-30 Kms, and was the densest fog I have ever driven in. Then we ascended above the fog and it became clear again.

Fog on the route to Thimphu

We had dinner at Tshimasham-Chukkha. The restaurant we went to was serving pork momos and some of us wanted to try it. I tried the vegetarian Sak-dakshi, which is basically green vegetables in a soup heavily laden with red chili, mint, melted cheese and good for just a few tea-spoons, then opted for fried rice and omelette. Danish had Maggi.

Liquor is common in Bhutan and is sold over the counter like any other beverage. In one place in Paro, we would find a board that read Bar & General Store. To us Indians, used to strict licensing of liquor and drinking on the sly, it was quite amusing. We also found the locals chewing beetle leaves (Pan), but without the lime and tobacco that we find in India. The beetle nuts were also raw and when I chewed one whole, I found my head floating above the room in a dizzy state.

The shop-keeper gladly accepted Indian rupee. The Bhutanese currency, called the Ngultrum, but usually referred to as the Nu, is at par with Indian currency and everywhere people will gladly take Indian rupee in exchange for the Nu. 500 rupee notes are also easily accepted.

Driving the Thunderbird without the headlight was a bit of a task at night on the hills. We first tried sandwiching the bike between two, but later found it was also easier with only one bike behind it. It took a fair bit of judgment to drive that bike, and we were slowed down a bit owing to it, but that did not stop us from keeping speeds of 40 to 60 KMPH in the hills. Amit Bisht and I were the unlucky ones that drove around 80 KMs at night on the Thunderbird that day.

When we reached the second check-point, while I was making the entries, the others chatted up a woman who offered to book rooms for us in Thimphu at her friend’s place. Not having any prior bookings, we asked her what the rates were and she spoke on the phone and told us it would be 700 per room. Not having anything to lose, we told her to confirm 2 rooms for us. And that is how we got to stay at the Hotel Central Lodge!

If this were India, we would’ve smelled something fishy about a woman on a lonely check-post offering to make a booking for foreigners. But when you’re in a country where you have been warned not to offer bribes, where the policemen at the check-post smile and greet you and wish you a happy journey as you leave, you decide to take a chance for humanity’s sake and see how it works. And I say that dare you not try this in India, or in most other countries for that matter, but the hotel booking that was made that night was both genuine and reasonable. The hotel was good, was located strategically on the main road just beside the only theatre in the whole of Bhutan and the staff was courteous.

We reached Thimphu at 10.30 that night. The roar of our Enfields was the only sound that disturbed the chilly air. The roads in Thimphu were well lit and we found the hotel without much difficulty. Checked in and chatted for a while before we went to sleep. When I noticed that our talking might disturb the silence outside, I asked Upreti to speak a little less loudly as our voices would travel far in the quite of the night. To this Upreti replied that the dogs were also barking outside, why did he only had to shut-up? I was left speechless and rolling on the floor laughing…

At 10.30 we enter Thimphu 

Day 4, Wednesday, 14^th June, 2012: Thimphu & Punakha

I woke up late. Or no one woke me up on time, should I say! Some of the guys had gone to the market for breakfast and had come back a little shocked. While window shopping for souvenirs, they had seen little wooden phalluses being sold as key chains. They were there on postcards too. Little squirting phalluses, alongside postcards of the tiger’s nest monastery and the mask festivals. The shopkeepers were women, so it was a little disconcerting for us conservative Indians. Then someone saw the same squirting phallus symbol painted on some house walls. This was indeed a curious country…

Anyways, we had to get our route permit for Punakha from the Immigration Office at Thimphu today, and also do a little look see around the town. The task of getting the route permit was entrusted to Danish bhai, who, for want of proper food and who had only had a Maggi since yesterday, was so decimated and weak that he had given up on both the tasks of getting the route permit as well as his breakfast.

Kutaula and Danish were dragged to the Immigration Office and then we went for breakfast. Tried out the local cuisine at a restaurant. While I had Potato Dakshi, Kutaula had beef paa, which is beef fried with red chilies. We also had Suja, the local tea. Although it was called tea, it tasted more like salted tomato soup with a dash of cheese, and I doubt if it had any tea leaves in it. Sadly, none of these could satisfy our appetites, and we had to resort to fried rice and coke in the end.

The streets of Thimphu are very clean and the city is very colorful. The men wear something that resembles a woolen/tweed overcoat, knee length. This is teamed up with slacks or knee length socks. In all government buildings, we found notices reading out that only people wearing this traditional dress would be allowed inside.

The women’s clothing is very colourful. The kira is the official dress, but it’s the toego which is most impressive and colourful. It’s like an overcoat worn over a blouse called the wonju, and the sleeves of the wonju are folded back onto the toego. The toego is made of silk and you’ll find them in all colours, from yellow to magenta to black. As the Bhutanese are fair, it suits them well and looks very elegant.

Getting souvenirs was a bit pricey, but we bought a few fridge magnets and post-cards, avoiding those with the phallus on them. Kutaula and I even bought some incense sticks and a smoke powder that allegedly claimed to ward off Naga spirits. Among its ingredients was the milk of a white she-goat! It also had musk, ‘Garuda Claws’, the three whites (milk, curd and butter), the three sweets (sugar, molasses, honey), blah blah. We just had to get it! I also bought 2 toega for my sisters.

While paying for our food and our shopping, we found that the Bhutanese, like the Japanese when they offer you their visiting card, hold money with both hands while taking it or giving out change. It looks very courteous, and had I not come to know that Bhutan had evicted more than one lakh Lhotshampa Nepalese from their country in the 90’s for the purpose of ethnic cleansing, I would have believed them to be the most hospitable people I had ever seen.

Our bikes, neatly parked for a change

City square, Thimphu

Almost all buildings are intricately painted and made to resemble buildings of old

There are two cellular operators in Bhutan. One is the government owned B-Mobile and the other is the privately owned Tashi Cell, which allegedly has better coverage. Getting the sim card is easy. You just require a photocopy of your passport (any passport for that matter) and 75 bucks. We bought a sim on Khandi’s name even though he was not there with us at the shop. The guy selling it was an Indian whose parents had settled in Thimphu. A Bengali, he complained about the dishonesty in Indian people, which was a bit sad because the people he was complaining about were the ones who he had descended from.

Perhaps some three or four hundred years ago, when the people of India were ruled by kings, when people had no opportunity to grab more than their desert, by either shaking a few hands or scratching a few backs or the other means thereof, the majority of Indians too might have been honest, caring people. Now the opportunity of gain is so great and the status of living within one’s means so poor and pathetic that honesty seems a small price to pay for it.

Careless as we are, we only bought a single sim where we should have bought at least three. This single sim was only good to call back home. We could not keep in touch with each other, and hence our group got separated a couple of times. In these cases, one phone call to the other phone would be begged from the generous locals.

There are no spectacularly must visit places in Thimphu, but there is an idol of the Buddha that overlooks the city from atop a hill, like the statue of Christ the redeemer in Rio but less awesome. There’s also the Royal palace, where we did not have any business, some towers, blah blah. But we were not there to be tourists. We were there to traverse the country on our bikes.

So after lunch and a little shopping, we collected our route permits and headed out to Punakha.

The plot unraveled just as we had set it up by not bothering to buy the sims, and our group got separated with 3 people on one side and 4 on the other just as we started off. We wasted about 1.5 hrs trying to find each other. But the local borrowed phone came to the rescue and we met up at the entry check-post on the route to Punakha. There we were told that the road after the Dochula Pass was under renovation and would be closing down in about 10 minutes.

Now Punakha is the second most important city of Bhutan and was the capital till 1955. It has to be reached through the Dochula Pass from Thimphu, a place worth visiting in itself. But because the road to Punakha was getting closed in 10 minutes, we rode past it in about 30 seconds. Those 30 seconds were all the time we got to see the Pass during the day! Anyways, it was foggy so there was no view from the Pass of the surrounding hills...

On the way down, the Thunderbird started misfiring and we had to replace the sparkplug. The rear brakes of the Electra first became weak and then totally gave way. But as we were running late, we ignored it and went on.

Punakha has Bhutan’s biggest Dzong (fortress), called the Palace of Great Happiness. There are also caves of Guru Rimpoche visiting which is supposed to give fertility to barren women. While the Dzong is in the city, the caves are 12 KMs from it and require about 2 hours of hiking.

I was under the impression that Dzong meant monastery, and so I took everyone to a monastery that was en-route instead of visiting the actual Dzong while there was still light.

Upreti was the last rider, and he alone managed to see the Dzong in daylight. The remaining 6 of us went to see the monastery instead and rotated the prayer wheels a little. Little monks were praying inside the monastry, and they gave us some camphor scented water to drink. They had an instrument, called the Tibetan Temple Horn that gave out a very low pitched grunt. The sound of that instrument was sufficient to raise the hair on your back and would have made a great addition to the black metal genre. As in all monasteries, there were paintings of the Buddha on all the walls except the entrances, which had those Defenders of the Faith.

By the time we came out of the monastery, it was dusk. During our discussion over tea, Khandi told me that a Dzong is a fortress and not a monastery. I then realized that the place to see in Punakha was a fortress and not this monastery that we had just visited! The others were however not even aware of what they were here to see anyway, so I got away with the blunder. Upreti came back from the Dzong and told us that it was some 5 KMs down the road. By time we reached the Dzong, it was dark and…closed! We managed to cross the bridge and see exteriors of the Dzong and take a few photographs anyway. Just before the security guards asked us to move out.

Punakha Dzong is the biggest fortress of Bhutan, and even then it is miniature compared with the fortresses of Agra, Jaipur or Srirangapatnam. It is a statement to the fact that the Bhutanese have never really faced tough wars. The outer walls are low, with a river on one side, and the walls are slanted. It’s made of wood and stone. Perhaps it has been renovated and the original fortress might have been more robust, but the current fortress is pretty scalable. I guess it reflects in the nature of the people there. They are so much more peaceful than those of the battle torn middle India.

On the way back, the Machismo refused to start. It kept burning up the fuse until we were left to our last fuse. Then Danish, who been riding that bike so far, guessed that it must be the high beam that was making the fuse blow, and was proved to be correct. At 8 we started our ascent back to Thimphu, with the head-light-less Thunderbird and the Machismo on low beams. The Electra’s rear brakes had failed and Upreti and Amit Bisht took turns to ride it on the front brakes alone. Bisht was miffed and it was understandable because yesterday he had been given the bike without the headlight and today it was the one without rear brakes.

We stopped for dinner at a place halfway up where the exterior walls were painted with a squirting Phallus. A couple of guys who were en-route to Thimphu stopped by for a beer at the same place, and we got a chance to ask them about what these phalluses painted on the walls meant. We were told that contrary to what is obvious, these were not painted to bring fertility. They were meant to ward off spirits.

The tradition had started when Guru Rimpoche visited Bhutan (Guru Rimpoche is credited with bringing Vajrayana Buddhism to Bhutan in the 8^th century). His Phallus, we were told, had power to ward off evil spirits and could make Barren women conceive. It was a symbol of Guru Rimpoche’s phallus that was painted on the walls now. We were impressed!

This time, we were able to stop at the Dochula Pass and take a few group photographs. It was about 11 by the time we got back to Thimphu. The night club across the road from our hotel was just closing and the locals gathered around us to enquire who we were. We found out that those guys had parties every Wed, Fri and Sat, and that the Wed party went on till 11 p.m., but the Fri and Sat ones went on till 3 in the morning. We were invited to the party on Fri and Upreti started drooling rainbows until he realized that we would be in Paro that day. His heart broke up in despair and he started crying.

What we saw of the Dochula Pass

and what we missed... (Dochula Pass)

We missed this too... :(

Punakha Monastery

Punakha Monastery

Punakha Monastery

Punakha Dzong

Punakha Dzong

Punakha Dzong by night

Day 5, Thursday, 14^th June: The Tiger’s Nest Monastery

Our journey had been good so far and there had not been any rains or mishaps. Today we would visit the biggest attraction of the journey, the Taktsang or Tiger’s Nest monastery. We checked out of the hotel at Thimphu early and went to the Buddha point where the idol overlooks the city. Strangely, it does not look in the direction of the city, but more towards it’s entry from Paro side. The place was still under construction but the statue itself was complete. It is a towering structure, made of bronze and copper. There is a panoramic view of the Thimphu city from there too.

On the way down, the Thunderbird again started sputtering and the spark plug gave out. We replaced it and moved on. Paro is about 2 hrs from Thimphu, and the roads are beautiful, along hills and the riverside. Paro is the only airport in Bhutan, and DrukAir runs flights from New Delhi and Bagdogra. Paro too has a Dzong, although smaller, and is a most beautiful city. The buildings and roads are  schematically laid out, and the city is clean and beautiful.

Buddha Point, Thimphu

Panoramic view of Thimphu from the Buddha Point. Right at the back is the King's Palace

The airport at Paro is such that whenever a flight lands or takes off, the roads are closed for traffic. We encountered such a scenario when we entered Paro, and had to wait about 15 minutes till the oncoming plane had landed. The airfare for this flight is generally fixed, irrespective if you book in advance and costs about Rs.16000 ex-Delhi. It is said that the view of the Himalayas from the fight is breath-taking. But that is for another day another trip.

Bhutanese buildings are built to look like they are still from the old ages, but are actually built of concrete and painted upon. Intricate artwork will be found on almost all the houses and their walls, both inside and outside. We found a good Hotel, the Lhaki Yangchak (Tourist Standard Hotel) for 1500 per room. Had lunch and headed out to go to the Tiger’s Nest monastery.

Although we had tried our best, our mismanagement of time by deciding to visit the Buddha’s point at Thimphu, not keeping a few hours of safety in our schedule and the burning of the spark plug causing us an hour's delay, all added to make us late and it was 3.30 by the time we got to the foothills of the climb to Tiger's Nest Monastery. We had read that it was a three and a half hour climb to the top, but one of the locals who ran a mountaineering company had said that they could do it in one hour and a half. The monastery was scheduled to close at 5 p.m. So that gave us exactly 1 and a half hour to reach the top.

It was every man for himself now as we made a race to the top before the monastery closed. The climb is pretty steep, and is actually suited for slow ascent. But this monastery was the crux of our journey to Bhutan, the orgasm before we withdrew tomorrow, and we gave it everything we had. The climb got tougher as we ascended and even Upreti was compelled to ask why we tortured ourselves like this every time we traveled, traveling at night when we could travel by day, sleeping away when we should be awake, deliberately idling away time and then running off schedule, putting every rule of a safe journey aside. Ok, he didn’t extrapolate that much, but the effect was the same. And just as we were about to reach the top, we started to meet people who were on their way down, coming back from the monastery - a sign that it was closing. One of those people, an Anglo-Chinese woman of about 50, started clapping her hands and said ‘bravo’ when she saw us huffing away on the way up. And it came as such a surprise and such a compliment that I knew why we never bothered with schedules. We don’t give our best until we’re challenged. Even if it means creating that challenge through our own lethargy.

Danish was the first one to reach the monastery. He took about 50 minutes. Upreti and I reached in an hour. All of us were inside the monastery by 4:45. There we found that the monastery stays open in the summers till 6, and not 5 as we had been told. As almost all the visitors had left, they were preparing to close it down for the day. We requested a monk to show us around and he took us to the temple that had a bronze statue of Guru Rimpoche, in deep meditative post in the centre. On the two sides were Gondo and another demon whose name I forget, in war gestures mixed with a standing coital pose. It was quite remarkable.

Then he took us to another room that had a trap door, beneath which was the chamber where Guru Rimpoche had meditated between the rocks. It was a privilege to see that place.

The reason why the Taktsang monastery is called the Tiger’s Nest monastery is because there is an actual tiger’s cave inside the monastery. Guru Rimpoche, who is said to have brought Vajrayana Buddhism to Bhutan, came riding on a tiger and is said to have meditated there in the 8^th century. The cave is vacant now, but there is a small door that leads to it through a wooden staircase. It is a small cave that is open to the monastery at the rear and opens onto the cliff edge at the front. To get to the front, you have to crawl by pressing yourself between the vertical walls and then take a leap. It looked pretty impossible and the risk was a fall to solid rock some 15 feet below, but the monk showed us how and Danish and I were successfully able to reach the edge.

The view from the monastery is breath-taking. There is a waterfall along the cliffs at the entrance stairs and one can only imagine how awe-inspiring the place must be when the waterfall, although a trickle now, would flow in full swing during the rains. It is no wonder that the Buddhist monks chose such isolated places for meditation. And while their religion has made them strong-willed, peaceful and honest, it has also made them superstitious. Even though the newer generations find these superstitions a little unpalatable, but we were told that their effect on the lives of the people was noticeable and hence they continued to believe. Judging by the honesty of the people and the peacefulness of the place, I am compelled to believe that it somehow works.

On the way back, a guard from the monastery showed us what he claimed to be actual tiger’s paw-prints in stone. Then he also pointed out certain places on a rock that had been painted red. He explained that there were different organs of Guru Rimpoche’s body that were fossilized in stone.

Taktsang Monastery

Taktsang Monastery

Supposed Tiger's paw prints in stone

View from the Taktsang Monastery; marked on the pic is the starting point of the climb

In the evening we went around the town. Danish bought a sweater for his sweetheart. There is a restaurant on the road parallel to the main road that serves Indian food and we had dinner there.

We had planned to go to the Paro Dzong at night, thinking we could compile a photo album of Bhutan’s fortresses at night, but forgot about it after dinner and hence that album is incomplete now. But the funny thing is, you never see the photos of the Dzongs on the net that have been taken at night, whereas all the fortresses we had seen were at night so far. Anyways…

Day 6, Friday, 15^th June, 2012: The return to India, and rain

Kutaula, Khandi and I woke early to go to the National Museum of Bhutan. Before that, we tried the local mechanic, who we found was an Indian, to see if he could fix the rear brake shoes of the Electra. Sadly, he didn’t have the parts for Enfield. Said they would be available at Thimphu, where we were yesterday.

The National Museum is a must visit as it gives you insight into Bhutanese culture more than anything else. The original building is under renovation after a portion of the wall fell off, and the artifacts have been shifted to a newer building just across it. Timings of the museum are 9 to 5 in the summers, and cameras are not allowed inside. There are artifacts from the kings, masks from the various dances, and a room dedicated to the royal family. It also had a shop where we found a book that told us the three ways to become…invisible!

Now this was interesting. First we found the smoke powder being sold in the market to ward off naga spirits that were inflicting evil upon the youth, then we saw phalluses painted on the walls of houses to keep away harmful spirits, and now here was a book that told us how to become invisible. This country was fun!

The first method to become invisible is called drib shing. Drib means shadow and shing means twig. It is a twig that makes the possessor invisible. But how do you find that twig? I will tell you.

First you have to find a crow’s nest located very high on a tree, and steal its eggs while the crow is away. Care should be taken not to touch the eggs with the hand, and a bamboo sleeve is preferred. Then you take the eggs home, boil them, and put them back inside the nest. The crow, unaware of your mischief, will continue to roost, but when the eggs do not hatch (as they have been boiled by you), she will fly and bring a twig, the drib shing, in its beak that can make the eggs hatch.

Now you steal this twig, the drib shing, and become invisible! Its identification is that it will float upstream in a river instead of going downstream with the water. Whenever it will come in contact with your skin, you would become invisible. The recommended modus operandi is to keep it inside one’s hat, such that whenever the hat is worn, the person would become invisible!

The next method is called the drib khang. It requires one to take a black dog or cat with golden eyes into the forest unseen. The cat should not have even a trace of another colour. Exactly at midnight, the cat is beheaded and buried. It is revisited after two weeks at midnight, dug out from the ground and taken to a river. While the flesh and all the other bones would go downstream, the drib khang would float upstream.

Another way to become invisible is by using the placenta of a black cat. Just after delivery, the cat is prevented from eating its placenta, which is then dried in the sun and made into a powder. This powder is filled in an amulet and worn around the neck. Wearing it makes one invisible.

The last method dates back to the 15^th century, and requires a sacred mantra to be written on a mirror with the menstrual blood of a nubile lady (God knows how one can manage o get that :P). The mantra is then recited and blown ten thousand times on the plumage of a peacock. Then the plumage is fixed on the mirror. Carrying this makes a person invisible.

Now, sometimes it may be that the person becomes invisible but is unable to come back to the visible state. In such a circumstance, a different mantra is read and blown twenty-one times in a container containing goat’s milk. Smearing this milk on the body would bring back visibility to the naked eye. 

At 11, we checked out of our hotel to head back. While we were checking out, a man came to us and said something which we did not understand. His manner was like a beggar so we asked forgiveness and looked away. He then came close and insisted on what he was saying. To our surprise, we realized that he was not a beggar asking for money. He had Bhutanese Nu, and he wanted us to give him Indian Rupee in exchange for them. This made us realize that we had not found a single beggar in the parts of Bhutan that we had visited. And that says a lot.

National Museum of Bhutan, Paro (under renovation)

PP trying on a mask :)

We started for Phuentsholing at about 11.15. We had to cover 165 KMs to Jaigaon in India today, head out into India as far as we could, and return the bikes at Darjeeling tomorrow. From Darjeeling, we would return to Siliguri and head back home.

The trip had been good so far. No accidents, no major encumbrances. In spite of the fear of the looming monsoon, the weather had been clear. We were all set to end our journey on a safe note, when halfway through to Phuentsholing, we again encountered the fog. Dense fog that lasted for some 30 KMs. But the worst was yet to come.

Just as we were about to cross the fog, it started raining. Rain that had no intention of stopping and that hit our faces like stone. The monsoons had arrived. And for the next two days while we were there, it was raining cats and dogs.

We had no option but to ride in the rain, to be able to return the bikes tomorrow and catch the trains and flights. So we rode in the rain, the Electra still without its rear brakes. In spite of our rain gear, the payment for which is still pending from two of my friends towards me, we got drenched. Just the chain or the collar was enough to let a stream of water from the helmets inside and wet all our clothes. And our bags. And all our clothes and the toego and the incense sticks we had bought.

There were minor landslides at many places as we were heading down, and at many places there were board that reminded us to be wary of shooting stones – stones falling from the landslides above the road. At one place we almost hit a big stone that had fallen in the middle of the road and which we could not see from afar due to the fog. PP quietly got down, picked up the boulder and placed it at the side of the road, for the benefit of the other motorists.

Being drenched to our bones, we decided to halt at Jaigaon for the night. We spoke to Gatty and he was helpful enough to get the bikes picked up from Siliguri.

Back in India, this would be our last night together. We had left Bhutan and our trip was over. Washed over too, in a way.

Day 7, Saturday, 16th June, 2012: The return home, and more rain

Danish left at 5 in the morning to catch the train back to Delhi and made good time. He did not have a reservation, but managed to get the coach attendant’s berth for some payment. By the time we left Jaigaon at 10, he was already at Siliguri and on the train to Delhi.

The reason why the rest of us got late was because we got the Electra’ brake shoe changed. It was still a long journey back, and relying on the front brakes alone was both dangerous and foolish. In Bhutan we had had no choice, but here we did. We found the brake shoes required in a Bajaj authorized service centre selling non-OEM spare parts of all makes for all brands.

It was still drizzling at Jaigaon when we left. Around 30 Kms down the line, while crossing that blasted crater road after Hasimara, we met an accident. While trying to avoid an oncoming vehicle, Kutaula hit the front brakes harder than the rear and his bike skid on loose gravel. Khandi and Kutaula were on that Electra together and both landed on their sides, bruising their hands and legs. And scoring Gatty’s favorite helmet. The bike’s headlight broke and the leg guard got bent, among other damages.

Kutaula, who was evidently more hurt, was sent to the next town in a vehicle that had stopped at the scene, while Khandi and I got on the bikes and followed behind them. The rain and the riding conditions were such that we couldn’t get hold of the others on phone to apprise them of the situation. Upreti’s number was switched off and Amit Bisht was not answering the phone. At the hospital, they gave both Kutaula and Khandi a tetanus injection and bandaged their wounds. Khandi’s fore-arm had started to swell by now and it was starting to pain him.

In true dheet style, considering the swelling on Khandi’s hand, Kutaula got on the saddle and took off. Like nothing had ever happened! Khandi and I followed behind him till we caught up with Bisht just before Telipara. After that, we kept close on each other’s heels and rode together for the rest of the way. It rained hard on the way back, but the road was good and ran alongside tea estates. Although we again got drenched, it was a nice ride.

Kutaula only had one more near death experience on the way back, when an Innova nearly crashed into him and a Pulsar almost collided into his front wheel. On his part, he had tried his best to die but his time was not yet come.

At Siliguri we returned the bikes and hired a taxi to Kolkata. The end of a trip is always the worst part about it, but when you have been riding in the rain since two days and have not had anything to eat since the morning, it feels worse…

We reached Kolkata next morning from where we caught our respective flights and headed back home.

The trip was over.

Kutaula says that there are two kinds of bikers. One who we saw on our trip to Spiti. Wearing protective jackets and pads, they come to the hills with the intention of reaching their destination. They move in groups and have an expert escort lest they should encounter a hurdle on the way to their destination. Look closely and you might find a frequent flier tag on their rucksacks too. Then there are the kind for whom the roll of the throttle signifies an escape from the day-to-day and the mundane. Who love to feel the air upon their skin, and who breathe in the sweet smell of freedom as they ride into the unexpected and the unknown. Care and worry are put aside for when they are due. Like the bikers in the video of wasn't born to follow…

And when you think about it, it makes sense too. Left on our own, each one of us is capable to find the way and the resources back home on his own. And if it were a sports bike, and the speeds high, or when going through snow and sleet, one needs to be careful and pad-up. But on a cruiser bike on sunny day, doing speeds of 60 KMPH, it would be a shame if you got bereft of the mountain breeze because you were too careful not to get hurt. And even if you did get bruised up a little, they’ll be the tattoos that you get engraved for the rest of your life. Tattoos that would stand for something significant in your life, and not be just the ink that an artist injected into your skin. If it won’t kill you, and you never know what will, you’ll live to tell a hearty tale.

Weren't born to follow..we were born to be awed by the awesomeness.

P.S. Kutaula has since bought his own Enfield Classic

Visit this site for pics that we could not take and feel the journey...