And here... we... go!

Upon exiting the plane, this banner was the first thing I saw. Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was there to welcome the SAARC delegates, not simply everyone who came through the airport, but hey, that's written in small letters. And yes, that building is the entire airport. I was liking this place already.

I made my way past the Iranian and Indian private jets parked beside us and into the customs office, where I was quickly let through. The architecture was just like that of the buildings I had seen flying in. It was all white paint, huge pillars and colorful detailing everywhere. I made my way outside, where I spotted my guide instantly among the crowd, as he was the only one holding a sign with my name on it. He is a young guy (later I found out he is 25) with a mustache and goatee and hair about the same length as mine, but far more straight. I smiled and said hello, and with surprisingly good English, he greeted me in return and forced me to let him take my bags.

We made our way over to the far parking lot, because, he told me, due to the SAARC conference, they had closed off the main parking lot for delegates. My guide phoned up our driver (oh yes, we have a driver) and told him where we were. While we waited, I simply walked around in circles, taking in the sheer size of all of the mountain surrounding us. Every direction you looked in, there were mountains. And towards the bottom, wherever it was level enough, there was a house or two surrounded by farmland.

Our driver found us quickly, and we loaded up and headed out toward the hotel. On the way, my guide introduced himself and the driver. They are both named Tashi. "Easy for you to remember," my guide said, "only one name. Tashi square."

We headed out along the one-and-a-half lane road for the town. Every time a car was coming from the other direction, we both had to slow down, and move to the side, so that both of us were driving with our left wheels off the road and on the gravel shoulder. If a cow happened to be crossing the road you were on, too bad. Wait your turn. After turning off the main road, none of the streets were paved. Just dirt and gravel, and traveling about the same speed as the people walking outside the car. The roads seem to just kind of have ended up where there was room around the houses and fields and piles of lumber, so they twist and turn a lot, making for pretty slow going. I didn't mind though, as it gave me a great opportunity to get my first glance of what life was like in Bhutan.

What I've found so far is that it's a fascinating mash-up of two different time periods. On one hand, there's the things that wouldn't be out of place if this were the 17th century: chickens running around the streets, people wearing the traditional gho and kira (dresses the men and women, respectively, wear), and farming done without the aid of machinery.

On the other hand, you're just as likely to see a young buddhist monk wearing a headset attached to his cell phone, a man riding a new Kawasaki Ninja (with his 3 year-old sitting in front of him on the gas tank sans-helmet, of course) or a Toyota SUV that looks like someone just stole it from a showroom.

It's a place where a traffic jam is only caused by a pack of horses carrying saddlebags refusing to move off the road, and the men wear Metallica T-shirts under their gho.

After winding our way through the haphazard streets for quite some time, we reached the hotel, the Tenzinling Resort, which was very nice. Once again, I was forced to give up my bags as I was herded inside and my guide and I were served glasses of mango juice while we talked about when dinner would be and what we would be doing for the rest of the day. Even though I had already been up for nearly 8 hours, it was still barely noon in Bhutan.