A culturally insensitive, politically incorrect and historically inaccurate account of trekking in the Hermit Kingdom.
Chapter Three: Fortress Bhutan and a Flawed Guide
The trail we are following leads up the eastern end of the Himalayas behind which lies the Tibetan plateau. This is one of the paths that Tibetans have used at least seven times over the past 800 years to invade Bhutan. It’s hard for me to imagine an army marching down a muddy, boulder-strewn and very narrow path like this. Roger, a former British Gurkha Captain, assures us that it was feasible provided the invaders had a sense of supply chain command and killed or stole everything edible along the way. Except for the Philosopher-Cynic and me, everyone in our group has some kind of military experience, some of it in high altitude. This is somehow reassuring. I am not sure why.
Shagging and cursing escapades aside, it was the Warrior-Monks and other Bhutanese leaders that repeatedly re-buffed these invasions. Not once were they known to take the offensive. This strategy of a strong defense and no offense seems to have worked for Bhutan. It is one of the few countries in the world that has never been conquered, occupied or governed by an external power. Evidence of its defensive planning can be seen everywhere. Monumental Dzong (massive fortresses) are situated in strategically significant hilltops that overlook likely Tibetan invasion entry points. Some, like the Rinpung Dzong near Paro, are still functioning today. Others are magnificent ruins like the Drukgyal Dzong where our Trek began or the un-named broken down towers at the 4,015m Chomolhari base camp where we will be marooned for several days. All are designed to keep Tibetans and other ill-advised adventurers out.
Like the Tibetans before us, our expedition will end in failure. A bit of lingering snow in a high mountain pass, a risk-averse guide and an unfamiliar sense of caution that has snuck up on a 50yr old will send us back the way we came with crusty underwear, foul smelling socks, ill tempers and tremendous hangovers.
The Warrior-Monks did well by Bhutan. Our Philosopher-Cynic is doing good by us. Long after we have given up on forward progress for this trek and have started the descent towards the Paro Valley, he puts his finger on the problem with our guide: “He is a tour guide, not a mountain guide”. Why didn’t we see this before? It’s true. He knows all the local lore, dates and details. He revels in telling the stories even when Roger feigns narcolepsy directly across the table.
But he has zero creativity as a mountain guide. He has a knack for finding the only lunch spots or camp sites where litter and trash abound. He is lazy and prefers late starts to early ones. He is hardly more fit than the rest of us and certainly less than our Philosopher- Cynic. He is the only one who laughs at his jokes which are repeated far too often. He is like the kid in high school who honestly thinks he is part of the cool crowd despite all evidence to the contrary. Even his mother knows he is not cool.
Worst of all, he is one of those people who demands authority and control while doing absolutely nothing to deserve it. He treats his staff with impunity and doesn’t even know the name of his head horseman. And when we fail to follow his instructions, a frequent occurrence, he moans and sulks. Roger recognizes him instantly as the First Lieutenant most likely to take a friendly fire bullet or bayonet to the back of the head at the start of the first skirmish.
Not long after we arrived in Bhutan our guide bizarrely told us that he doesn’t like “Chilips”. Chilips are tourists or foreigners. We are not sure if it is a derogatory term. Either way, it is a strange thing for a tour guide to tell his group just after arrival and before the start of an eight day trek. Our answers to the mandatory questions about ‘where are you from’ were admittedly confusing. Ben is Australian but lives in New York, I am American but live in Thailand, Bagger is English but lives in Sydney, Roger is English but lives in the Caribbean. Only John, who is also English, lives where expected: in London.
After establishing that we have a quorum of Englishmen, the guide tells us the story of some British India envoy that came to Bhutan in about 1860 on a feeble conquering mission. His name was Ashley Eden but we hear it as Ashley Gideon which sounds much more romantic. We are already imagining Gideon as a take-no- prisoner adventurer and survivor: a guy who always comes out on top no matter how dire a situation.
All we learn from our guide about the real Ashley Eden is that he came with an agenda to take advantage of the Bhutanese. He met with the King and (this is where the story gets a little confusing) one of the two spat in the other’s cup of yak milk tea. This resulted in Ashley being ejected from the kingdom or simply leaving with a bad taste in his mouth.
We Google this story back at the hotel and find (from the Western biased and not always reliable Wikipedia) that the story was somewhat less confrontational than we were led to believe. Ashley did visit Bhutan on a diplomatic mission. He had previously been to neighboring Sikkim with an expeditionary force where he extracted a free trade and travel treaty with the Raja there. A few years later he was sent to Bhutan, this time without any armed forces, where he eventually signed a treaty favorable to the Bhutanese king. A short 5 month war with British India, opportunistically started by the British in the aftermath of a civil war in Bhutan, followed a few years later but this didn’t have much to do with Ashley.
In any case, we decide our entirely made up version of some hard-ass British India adventurer is far more interesting than either Wikipedia’s questionable history or our guide’s mixed up story. Bagger sends John off to buy an empty journal and a few pens so he can write the story of Ashley Gideon as we trek along. Of course, he never gets around to the actual writing and the blank journal is eventually donated by John to some school kids.
