Looking back on the move from Bhutan to Malawi

This article was originally published in Bhutan’s The Journalist on August 14, 2011.

A recent visitor to Bhutan comes face to face with an African reality

I didn’t wake up until the two of them were inside my bedroom. They were young men who had broken through my front door and then stood next to where I slept. They turned on the light, and I was shocked awake. They started shouting.

“Give us your money, give us your money or we will kill you,” one screamed.

I’d only been conscious for maybe a tenth of a second. But that’s about when I realized that I was no longer in Thimphu…

Let me step back.

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A farewell to Thimphu, and all of Bhutan

I wasn’t going to write a farewell post for Bhutan. Goodbyes have never been my thing.

But after five months living with Cara and working for Drukpa, I found that the words couldn’t help but come out.

The magazine fell apart and the Ministry of Information and Media expressed a refusal to continue extending my work permit. I wish I could have stayed longer. And still, I don’t know how to express my appreciation for the time I was able to spend in the tiny Himalayan kingdom. I’ve travelled some 25 countries on five continents and there is just no place like Bhutan.

To call it a “developing country” is a characterization I simply find inaccurate. Economic measurements may rank Bhutan low in terms of GDP and international trade. And admittedly, the friends I made in Bhutan were of Thimphu’s upper class. But after nearly half a year there, I cannot pool a country with people as friendly, generous, and above all, as happy, with so many impoverished and war-torn nations across the world.

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As Thimphu grows, gross national happiness for who?

Thimphu is a city growing on the backs of temporary foreign workers.

With a current population of roughly 80,000 expected to double over the next 25 years, Bhutan’s capital is exploding at the seams. And because most native Bhutanese deem construction work below their social status, it’s Indians who are raising the new apartment blocks you see cropping up in every direction you look.

Similar to the situation in Dubai—though, it must be noted, nowhere near as extreme or as cruel—this expatriate labour pool is growing to constitute a sizable chunk of Thimphu’s population. It is also, as I understand it, a group vulnerable to be taken advantage of.

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Photos of the rain in Thimphu

Things have been pretty slow around the office lately. The magazine is really struggling financially. For two months now, an unresolved debt owed to our printing press has prevented us from putting out an issue. Subscribers are beginning to call, et cetera. So there really hasn’t been a lot of work to do.

Most of us still come in every day. But we just hang out, more than anything else.

So yesterday, when Bhutan’s daily spring rains came, I thought I would take a break from a music download binge and go and try my hand at photographing water.

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My bartender in Thimphu

An introduction that is long overdue.

Anuge is my bartender.

Owner and operator of Benez. Connoisseur of spirits. Tobacco aficionado extraordinaire. Professor of cricket. Late-night musician. Therapist and confidant. Inadvertent guidance councillor. Occasional sage. And natural raconteur.

He takes good care of me.

Cheers.

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One month in Bhutan’s healthcare system

Over the course of the last month, I’ve gotten to know Bhutan’s public healthcare system pretty well.

I’ve had a sebacaceous cyst on my upper back since mid-January. It was completely benign, harmless, and did not require treatment of any sort. Until the girlfriend got to it.

A lesson learned: Do not, under any circumstances or state of intoxication, try and pop a cyst. One “super infection” later—as my medical chart actually reads —I now know that.

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Thimphu to Tehran? -Three hours on Google Maps


Click to enlarge.

I haven’t written here in a while. Between a few different projects that I have on the go, I’ve been crushed under deadlines. That doesn’t mean that I haven’t made time to procrastinate, though.

Anybody who knows me knows that I love to travel and I love to plan trips. I have routes planned for the east coast of Africa, the west coast of Africa, down through the deep south of the United States, up through Kashmir, back and forth across South America -wherever.

Here’s a road trip that a guy here named Kyle and I came up with over a bottle of whiskey. Between a slow internet connection and the fact that Google Maps is utterly useless at calculating routes through any country between India and Turkey (who would have guessed?), that graphic took us three hours to create.

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Fire next door

Our neighbour, Jessica, on the forest fire next door to our apartment in Thimphu, Bhutan.

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Spring is on its way and dinner with the guys

Spring is on its way to Thimphu. All over the city, pink flowers are sprouting to break the million shades of brown that dull Bhutan for the winter.

That being the case (rebirth, new beginnings, and all of that) and seeing as the magazine has been stuck in a bit of a financial rough patch, our editor-in-chief decided that it was time for a little party.

All the guys were called in, food was collected, and vodka was brought forth. Huddled around a heater in the small room that plays home to the editorial department, we spent the evening making light of the situation and brainstorming ways the magazine might actually make some money.

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Nescafe in Thimphu

Back in Thimphu. Happily sipping bitter Nescafe coffee, freezing any time I step out of the sunlight for more than three seconds, and showering with barely enough water pressure to rinse the hair of a monk.

I had all but given up on returning to Bhutan. But here I am, working on my laptop with a very pleasant view of the Himalaya Mountains outside my window.

The flight into Paro is worth mentioning. It was a truly breathtaking experience. We passed Mount Everest just as the sun rose above the mountains opposite the world’s tallest peak. For several minutes, this gave me a perfect view, which was stunning in the morning’s crystal-clear sky. Then, as the small airplane prepared to land, we banked sharply to the left and descended to an altitude lower than many of the surrounding mountain peaks. Finally, when it seemed as if the airplane was practically brushing the rocky terrain so close below, a clearing emerged. And with barely any further descent, the plane’s wheels were on the ground in Paro.

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