When you’re cycle touring, especially through an area like northeastern India, where there are zero tourists, and minus infinity other cycle tourists, when you do meet another cycle tourist, you’re automatically friends for life, and develop telepathy (OK, I mean the internet) to sync your thoughts even if you are hundreds of kilometers away from each other. This is exactly what happened with me and Sam, a cyclist chap I met at Din Dang Natural Building Center just before I got Dengue Fever. Sam got Dengue too, and although we didn’t talk much more when this happened (Dengue saps your energy and makes you have to sleep upwards of 16 hours per day), and he and I parted ways soon after we recovered. Months down the road, I get a telepathic message, and this blog post is titled eponymously with that message. So, even though I’ve read that it costs $250 a day to go to Bhutan and that you absolutely must utilize an organized tour operator, Sam’s message left me with the impression that one could just waltz into Bhutan, as long as one is riding a bicycle. And that’s just exactly what I did.
The border at Phuentsholing is just this little gate, seen below. I just saw a couple of traffic cops, and no immigration facilities, so I just kind of rode through and nobody stopped me. I ended up spending the night in Bhutan, and even though I was just meters from regular old India, it was as if I’d entered a completely different world. Everyone was friendly, and nobody tried to accost me in the street. Nobody stared at me even though I was definitely the only white guy around. Everyone spoke fluent English, tried to strike up genuine conversation with me, and I ended up spending more than an hour chatting with the nice people in the photograph you see two pictures down. I asked the man in the photo what’s fun to do in Bhutan, and in spite of the objections of the ladies, he led me down a deep dark back alley, where I thought for sure I was either going to be murdered or solicited for sex. Instead, he lead me to a cute “bar” where the woman you see above was performing traditional dance to electronic versions of traditional Bhutanese songs. She didn’t even have to take off her clothes, and the other patrons were seemingly scandalized by what they saw, all the while shyly sipping their beers.
Bhutanese moolah.
Sad but true story: Mike and I had planned to meet up in Phuentsholing and make the border crossing attempt together, after a long couple weeks apart from each other. We took slightly different routes to get there, and I arrived a day earlier than him. With nothing to do, I decided just to go for it, thinking it was no big deal, and not realizing how lucky I would be to even get in. I spent the night in Bhutan, came out the next day, and met up with Mike, who tried to make a go of it himself, but was thwarted by now savvy border guards (because of me? I don’t know). He did manage to step foot through the gate before being turned back though. Too bad for him, but at least he got to hear all about it from me, and who knows if the two of us had tried to go in together whether or not we would’ve made it at all. Peace out Bhutan, hope to see you again soon!
Above: A Bhutanese dancer performs on stage.
The border at Phuentsholing is just this little gate, seen below. I just saw a couple of traffic cops, and no immigration facilities, so I just kind of rode through and nobody stopped me. I ended up spending the night in Bhutan, and even though I was just meters from regular old India, it was as if I’d entered a completely different world. Everyone was friendly, and nobody tried to accost me in the street. Nobody stared at me even though I was definitely the only white guy around. Everyone spoke fluent English, tried to strike up genuine conversation with me, and I ended up spending more than an hour chatting with the nice people in the photograph you see two pictures down. I asked the man in the photo what’s fun to do in Bhutan, and in spite of the objections of the ladies, he led me down a deep dark back alley, where I thought for sure I was either going to be murdered or solicited for sex. Instead, he lead me to a cute “bar” where the woman you see above was performing traditional dance to electronic versions of traditional Bhutanese songs. She didn’t even have to take off her clothes, and the other patrons were seemingly scandalized by what they saw, all the while shyly sipping their beers.
Above: The front gate to Bhutan. Below: My new friends (one of them is Indian)
Below: Will one of you please be my girlfriend?
Below: Bhutanese beer, Druk 11000!
Bhutanese moolah.
Bhutanese food. This was basically potatoes au gratin, but made with spicy peppers.
Chris is so happy, he got his little Bhutanese flag!
Now we’re back in India, and I am gesticulating excitedly at BHUTAN! Somebody give me a few thousand dollars so I can go in legally!
Sad but true story: Mike and I had planned to meet up in Phuentsholing and make the border crossing attempt together, after a long couple weeks apart from each other. We took slightly different routes to get there, and I arrived a day earlier than him. With nothing to do, I decided just to go for it, thinking it was no big deal, and not realizing how lucky I would be to even get in. I spent the night in Bhutan, came out the next day, and met up with Mike, who tried to make a go of it himself, but was thwarted by now savvy border guards (because of me? I don’t know). He did manage to step foot through the gate before being turned back though. Too bad for him, but at least he got to hear all about it from me, and who knows if the two of us had tried to go in together whether or not we would’ve made it at all. Peace out Bhutan, hope to see you again soon!
