tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33600656946694719942024-03-14T02:20:23.859-07:00JAGMANJAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-67676160558382204842016-04-20T04:28:00.002-07:002016-04-20T04:28:59.306-07:00This morning arrived on time, it's unwavering reliability reassuring. Final preparations underway for the day ahead.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-90794590375005541832016-04-19T13:52:00.000-07:002016-04-19T13:52:21.544-07:00Tomorrow is scheduled an aortic valve replacement, a procedure which is a routine cardiac operation and normally holds little significance for me other than when it causes a delay or cancellation of a more interesting operation, namely the one that I am scheduled to perform. Not to diminish the value of the heart, nor to minimize the role of the surgeon taking control of it (temporarily), it is an important organ. Some would say critical even, so much so that one can not live without it, maybe even calling it the most important organ of all. This last point is of course debatable as one can easily show that life is just as impossible without other organs. The absence of a functional brain, GI system, lungs, skin, even a skeleton will render one's body just as pointless. Perhaps the heart also houses the individual's spiritual and/or emotional center, while simultaneously pumping blood with its life sustaining oxygen, nutrition and immunologic support to every other organ system in the body. Consider heart felt emotions, feelings from the heart, heart aches, hearts that go out to others, places hearts get left, hearts that are given or taken away, or any other of a number of biologic impossibilities that are attributed to this fist sized muscle bundle cradled deep within the chest. Possible, but maybe such phenomena are more appropriately credited to the infinitely more complex bundle of neurons contained within one's skull. I will leave that debate for the philosopher's. <div>
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OK, back to the above mentioned heart surgery. It involves not just any aortic valve. Despite the fact that 67,500 aortic valves are replaced every year in this country (2013 data), this one is different. At least for me it is. It involves my father, someone I met on my birthday and have known ever since. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8DNcS_j8cbnk-ny-87hLdtxFUOElOsxRTkBSjfFjtACaXxJBuxfBfr5CksWSmBF8bzar4lcaulswRtAnAcXR65stxoqbqiCMdxsy3M3beeKlRmyf4QqD5FxpbNOVtvurNCxJ4it_kDc/s1600/2013-05%257C0001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL8DNcS_j8cbnk-ny-87hLdtxFUOElOsxRTkBSjfFjtACaXxJBuxfBfr5CksWSmBF8bzar4lcaulswRtAnAcXR65stxoqbqiCMdxsy3M3beeKlRmyf4QqD5FxpbNOVtvurNCxJ4it_kDc/s320/2013-05%257C0001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Some combination of age, genetics and total lifetime pizza consumption has rendered his valve stenotic. Stiff and inflexible, rigid and narrowed, the valve makes it necessary for the heart to pump much harder than intended to force adequate blood volume through it with enough pressure to reach every nook and cranny of the organs so dependent upon it. Now God was smart during those 7 days when the world was created, and blessed us with cardiac surgeons (and cows as I will explain), who can replace the valve with a new one, new at least to the recipient. This replacement valve comes from a cow, a bovine xenograft. It just so happens that the bovine derived valve is a good fit for the human heart is reasonably durable, and provides little in the way of immunological problems (coincidence or by design?). Another philosophical debate comes into play here, and that is the relative value of God's creatures. I think it is safe to assume that these donor cows do not give up their valve voluntarily, but rather are coerced into it. In those initial 7 days of creation, I imagine that a lot of issues came up and it is quite conceivable that not every eventuality received adequate consideration. It has become the case that cows eat grass and live in the field, and humans eat these cows on wheat buns with ketchup, or on platters with baked potato, and reserve that same cow's heart valve, previously functioning as God originally intended, for use later in life when the cumulative effects of the aforementioned consumed hamburgers on their own aortic valve have finally been realized. Maybe there is justice in this after all. </div>
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Preparations for the surgery are well underway. Numerous showers have been taken with bacteriostatic surgical cleanser, swabs with MRSA killing ointment have coated the nares, medications have been adjusted, mouthwash used, fresh clothes donned daily, enema (really?), shaving of the beard, and seemingly endless phone calls from family, friends, acquaintances and well wishers received. </div>
JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-46462306812212347512011-08-06T07:26:00.000-07:002011-08-06T07:26:20.101-07:00Final Post<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM_s4jUQTJqXDVixBRYVlqKO4MddidEUX-RmzR7lreS9zu40E0Trf0zLu9LlM1FypxZjiodRIOtdpZu4hN_oHvC5r5RW4ffxdy3E-YmAOj7A_kVLpx76OecaHaURaZHnzCCjEJg2FOxc/s1600/WheatField.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM_s4jUQTJqXDVixBRYVlqKO4MddidEUX-RmzR7lreS9zu40E0Trf0zLu9LlM1FypxZjiodRIOtdpZu4hN_oHvC5r5RW4ffxdy3E-YmAOj7A_kVLpx76OecaHaURaZHnzCCjEJg2FOxc/s320/WheatField.jpg" width="320" /></a>Traveling in Bhutan means unpredictable (unavailable in my case) internet service. None the less, I am back in the Western half of the country now, making preparations to leave.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AvX7srm2y3NJ-D0VSq7e6Fht42HfqrbuXS9UEmvWOW50PBQhIRF-vJgvyR_CHlFg7MTyM5_WtI6EkU1c8uNzTrXoCpMWSnMkdh-ShlTltnhagj7XIkfnzDgrdKezpZHCAigg9EMHoVs/s1600/LamaCeremony.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0AvX7srm2y3NJ-D0VSq7e6Fht42HfqrbuXS9UEmvWOW50PBQhIRF-vJgvyR_CHlFg7MTyM5_WtI6EkU1c8uNzTrXoCpMWSnMkdh-ShlTltnhagj7XIkfnzDgrdKezpZHCAigg9EMHoVs/s320/LamaCeremony.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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In the valley of "Ura" I visited a small monastery. The monks were attending a special ceremony up the road where a higher up lama was giving blessings, so we had a little time to kill until they returned. While we waited, my guide informed me that the people in this part of the country are renowned for their generosity.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdu74FnRoIhE66n5OUHGdFhEIbPCRsfbQwmOEHSauMLGGghF6HBI7ZfL2SliE0V9pYpMjUC7wgtsUYrJ-G6Nvw27ZxgyEDF7R9KFIzXxm14wktszF9tNvq_CzAfxIIdz0j_x_8DzeOGso/s1600/Arawoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdu74FnRoIhE66n5OUHGdFhEIbPCRsfbQwmOEHSauMLGGghF6HBI7ZfL2SliE0V9pYpMjUC7wgtsUYrJ-G6Nvw27ZxgyEDF7R9KFIzXxm14wktszF9tNvq_CzAfxIIdz0j_x_8DzeOGso/s320/Arawoman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This friendly woman approached and offered us all kinds of things including "ara." I had heard about this stuff by way of signs in the hospital warning of the dangers of alcoholism. Ara is home brewed alcohol, true Bhutanese moonshine. Now notice the size of the thermos next to this woman. It was full. Enough to flatten the entire town. Bhutanese liken ara to Japanese sake.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTFiPi093nViSfrfOHBGYpCF-X4DMBzZbnSZsNwU_neFf6lH0mVxCsghALU5JBkAbj4N9mR4lWv1PKhgzX6lQ8gA4qv8O5lXV4BSSZnipxNa5kshnZJ4J4rJLEH5n-Bc5AGIn-qz3wjM/s1600/JakarDzong.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTFiPi093nViSfrfOHBGYpCF-X4DMBzZbnSZsNwU_neFf6lH0mVxCsghALU5JBkAbj4N9mR4lWv1PKhgzX6lQ8gA4qv8O5lXV4BSSZnipxNa5kshnZJ4J4rJLEH5n-Bc5AGIn-qz3wjM/s320/JakarDzong.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
Well, when in Bhutan....She offers up a bowl about like what you might eat won-ton soup out of in a Chinese cafe. Holding it out, she proceeds to fill it to the brim. I take a sip and then perform an act of head and neck acrobatics, simultaneously suppressing my gag reflex, while smiling at the woman, nodding and bowing in thanks, and looking around for an escape to this predicament. And then the nausea hit as this poison reached my stomach. I was then informed by my guide that it is customary to always accept a second portion of anything offered, regardless of how small it may be, even a few drops more (I'm not kidding about this). This woman proceeded to fill my bowl up again overflowing the rim this time.<br />
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Thank God (or Buddha as the case may be) for photography. You see, I had my camera with me and almost without thinking, I grabbed it from the ledge on which it sat, brought it up to my eye, started snapping as I chased after some children running around the corner. As soon as I was out of sight I accidentally spilled my entire bowl of this wicked potion into a rain puddle. Phew.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-6YGEf75SbwwNqNyNjgD72suM8wu119u8ZmqjWrUR12-ZJmObUSkSxj2Sww6iWkzzhfM8Z8Y0hX8ZwBA6mZ0JdGDatD8HMVd5WCcjaZ5n395qBUviQTILxmg-iEktbiEX3GOagkclc0/s1600/Pema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-6YGEf75SbwwNqNyNjgD72suM8wu119u8ZmqjWrUR12-ZJmObUSkSxj2Sww6iWkzzhfM8Z8Y0hX8ZwBA6mZ0JdGDatD8HMVd5WCcjaZ5n395qBUviQTILxmg-iEktbiEX3GOagkclc0/s320/Pema.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
Here is my guide Pema standing by "The Burning Lake."<br />
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Here is my driver Hamraj and our van.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jdFHsC4RE0d45hU-AeVxJvj8lAX-BhpyWwTHAP1NkwiKTYMKqk-SFKDMjeg0oOGMmDWvYp51NuaKjUK5ZM2qlzDAXNW2HcHG_x7_3kDncWnOPp4zdCj9YBJUQx_aDaT1BCDXMZWIFUU/s1600/Hamraj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jdFHsC4RE0d45hU-AeVxJvj8lAX-BhpyWwTHAP1NkwiKTYMKqk-SFKDMjeg0oOGMmDWvYp51NuaKjUK5ZM2qlzDAXNW2HcHG_x7_3kDncWnOPp4zdCj9YBJUQx_aDaT1BCDXMZWIFUU/s320/Hamraj.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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We all know that these dzongs and monasteries I have shown pictures of were built hundreds of years ago, in the 7th. and 8th. centuries. Remarkable how they have stood the test of time with little in the way of restoration. Now, unless I'm mistaken, there was no running water back then. So I would like to conclude by answering that question burning in everyone's mind, "where do the monks bathe?"<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEgTL4V621gmlbinYdOQz2YvHIefxm_zkQ5KD8QMlvtw0ltTLutZx_IMPmcdxII89LtrQM_-gevGhbREl8lcsB9X-W6YwAa9Vq6U-1NH7jahw7UU3Qpe2gieUh4BZAvN48MHgCcpQ3Pg/s1600/BathingMonks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLEgTL4V621gmlbinYdOQz2YvHIefxm_zkQ5KD8QMlvtw0ltTLutZx_IMPmcdxII89LtrQM_-gevGhbREl8lcsB9X-W6YwAa9Vq6U-1NH7jahw7UU3Qpe2gieUh4BZAvN48MHgCcpQ3Pg/s400/BathingMonks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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So that's all for now. See you back in the states.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-13548344912134530842011-08-03T08:49:00.000-07:002011-08-03T08:49:58.692-07:00Roads<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIDPDXVc1hRBwvdKOUwLavX-Q1v6mltelnZvYaAJXEAGjQTKYX5UHOQ6PNsa0XcobEscdQmeNVANIhjbeef9w2C-_GYAs9WN1d-MyhVvyGoH4b0rRimFVd2ioy-1kAkQT54i4FOCiV6A/s1600/Gangte+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIDPDXVc1hRBwvdKOUwLavX-Q1v6mltelnZvYaAJXEAGjQTKYX5UHOQ6PNsa0XcobEscdQmeNVANIhjbeef9w2C-_GYAs9WN1d-MyhVvyGoH4b0rRimFVd2ioy-1kAkQT54i4FOCiV6A/s320/Gangte+002.jpg" width="320" /></a>The roads in Bhutan have something less than a stellar reputation. I am here to confirm that as truth. I have now driven from Thimphu to Jakar, the main city in a region known as Bumthang. Actually, I did none of the driving. This was left up to my driver, Hamraj who is employed by the tour company which arranged this trip for me. We are accompanied by Pema who is my guide. He makes all the arrangements and makes sure I don't do anything too stupid.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNPpmeHHd2xd2Z9VtKvHWVC7dbHHQ3c3X0T5N7YigKFbKSs2nvqD2S1Hk2mkd702M5rbmswyD-Do1rNC0nPcHkF1832VOmhW_EMcVF0rez7nCCh9p69uQtTx0yZxYSN7ZD-_X-GcXdz8/s1600/Gangte+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiNPpmeHHd2xd2Z9VtKvHWVC7dbHHQ3c3X0T5N7YigKFbKSs2nvqD2S1Hk2mkd702M5rbmswyD-Do1rNC0nPcHkF1832VOmhW_EMcVF0rez7nCCh9p69uQtTx0yZxYSN7ZD-_X-GcXdz8/s320/Gangte+003.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueRbSKnm8V1gX8bdgGv4ipuz16o3g-JwFWuDrCJA8U3Scsuqghk07whQxPPGP2AsG6eDlq-9kF952SPv_2SvGGtykQhgXL_8-vf4d6rVgMeWgn_y93-m7dOXM3kZS9F9w3by0orxID5Y/s1600/Gangte+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiueRbSKnm8V1gX8bdgGv4ipuz16o3g-JwFWuDrCJA8U3Scsuqghk07whQxPPGP2AsG6eDlq-9kF952SPv_2SvGGtykQhgXL_8-vf4d6rVgMeWgn_y93-m7dOXM3kZS9F9w3by0orxID5Y/s320/Gangte+005.jpg" width="320" /></a>So back to the roads. I told the tour company that I had little interest in just sitting in the van for endless hours just to reach another town and look at the local sights. We agreed that a bicycle would be brought along and I could get out whenever I wanted and ride for as long as I wanted and then be picked up again. The itinerary would be viewed as only a guideline and could be altered as mutually agreed upon by me and Pema. In any event, we drove for 5 hours one afternoon, covering a whopping 110 kilometers. For those of you math whizzes, that is an average speed of 22 km/hr, or 13.2 miles per hour.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUNiGxRYg_UTKe2Ztsv_WaUDx0s1DLe3YiXL0ZcRMFWeglt-5b3INjAoBZQ2ow1zVC24mcbBVTGC4ZT-KH1r6LxsQLGIV1NTLl9txqUGag2MTgb82sc1Y5pt71WyWdMX9tBde5ceCar8/s1600/Gangte+006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUNiGxRYg_UTKe2Ztsv_WaUDx0s1DLe3YiXL0ZcRMFWeglt-5b3INjAoBZQ2ow1zVC24mcbBVTGC4ZT-KH1r6LxsQLGIV1NTLl9txqUGag2MTgb82sc1Y5pt71WyWdMX9tBde5ceCar8/s320/Gangte+006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXsDNNK_XNiPzFK81IK30fEpnQ-WXaA7vFVLsipn1ME-NGIVE1BaoEUlbX3i01azZVohjDHb3xzEBH5MNi8Z4HbzuM6chXTH1EU4Glj_SdQgHbtxu9po9Y8uhI6Z6RTjYVYttTImKBHA/s1600/Gangte+004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXsDNNK_XNiPzFK81IK30fEpnQ-WXaA7vFVLsipn1ME-NGIVE1BaoEUlbX3i01azZVohjDHb3xzEBH5MNi8Z4HbzuM6chXTH1EU4Glj_SdQgHbtxu9po9Y8uhI6Z6RTjYVYttTImKBHA/s320/Gangte+004.jpg" width="255" /></a>Now you might ask how that can be when we spent the entire time on a road known as the main east to west highway in Bhutan. Well, the word highway is a bit of an exaggeration. Actually it is a complete misuse of the word to apply it to what we drove on. The slight cutout made into the side of the mountains resembled more of what a civil engineer might create in order to indicate their intent to some day construct a road there. It varied in width from 1/2 to 3/4 lane and had intermittent sections of pavement. It followed every curve of the terrain and I maintain a few extra's were thrown in there by the construction crews just for fun and to add to the challenge. The interesting part wasn't even the road itself or the rain or mud. It was the fact that this is a two lane road and an estimated 50% of the vehicles are full sized dump trucks carrying rock, dirt, cement, rebar and other construction materials. So how do cars pass each other?<br />
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I should mention here that horn use in Bhutan is quite different than in the U.S. They are not used out of anger or frustration but rather as a communication tool and their use is encouraged. One relays a message to a slower moving vehicle in front of you that you would like to pass and they will then pull over at the next convenient place and allow you to drive by. Horns are routinely blown when entering a blind curve on the road to warn oncoming traffic of your presence. They are also used as a courtesy warning to pedestrians, livestock (commonly grazing alongside the road and for some reason lying in the middle of the road), and bicyclists. Somehow, vehicles get by each other, sometimes by no more than inches though.<br />
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So we got one flat tire on the way, changed it without any problem to the spare but have discovered that the damaged tire cannot be repaired. So we are driving with no spare until we return to the capital city in a couple days over the same road that caused a flat in the first place. Oh well, at least I have the bike to bail out onto if we get stuck. The spare bicycle tube I brought is still unused. I told Pema I would call for help when I reached the next town. Anyhow, we finally arrived in a town called Gangte, located in a wonderfully, beautiful valley in which several hundred of the endangered black neck cranes spend their Winters. I don't know that I have ever been so glad to pull into a hotel parking lot. The next day I rode the bike the 80 or so kilometers to the next town.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-70462484137213940112011-07-29T07:41:00.000-07:002011-07-29T07:41:48.377-07:00Edward ScissorhandsRemember that movie? I was just reminded of it while sitting in a chair in a local barbershop. Informally, one is sat down, draped in a white sheet and for lack of a better description, attacked with a pair of scissors. The cartoon sound effects of a snapping turtle resembles what it sounds like. The scissors are snapped together rapidly long before ever coming near your head. The rhythmic clacking of blades coming together rapidly continues, uninterrupted while from the other hand runs a comb seemingly randomly through your hair, while small bunches of hair shoot wildly in every direction. As if that's not enough, a brand new straight edge razor blade is then opened and seemingly carelessly slid up and down the back of the neck and around the ears. Amazingly, no blood was seen. Suddenly, all action is stopped and the first word is spoken. "Good?" I said, "great." My first $0.95 haircut and that's no lie.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-60517193082108172332011-07-28T06:34:00.000-07:002011-08-03T08:51:44.212-07:00Pediatric GastronomyChildren are picky eaters, or so the saying goes. How many times have I heard, "I don't like that. That's not kid food." Well, what exactly is kid food and what is it that makes some food kid food and other food poisonous. At what point does the child's body develop resistance or immunity to certain death from letting certain food items touch their plate?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpQwkobH58SYw_TkalfEnfOIryq2hMfgFg7ZSW2zSOTZKTxEulFYxnibmklWzFNQnbCDQQ-C7Xpqg6laOe6KUpfmZhzor-lwY3pPC6FuyBKf8AvxAw6MYVZu9IVaimdEeOu0NBbD9Xbo/s1600/sign+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMpQwkobH58SYw_TkalfEnfOIryq2hMfgFg7ZSW2zSOTZKTxEulFYxnibmklWzFNQnbCDQQ-C7Xpqg6laOe6KUpfmZhzor-lwY3pPC6FuyBKf8AvxAw6MYVZu9IVaimdEeOu0NBbD9Xbo/s320/sign+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>During my travels, I have found an enlightened restaurant which has come closer to offering true kid food than any other.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-362512803710780792011-07-28T06:21:00.000-07:002011-07-28T06:21:08.433-07:00For Julie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwGuEd-SWqjLPGocNN8K9jkVS8kmQ-j1_Zi6jBkdXF6Ix_3Av4I0U8n4MkDgweL1VQB9j4Ahg3sPsKYtN2O95GWr1otnyVK4y6-yCHGZJ5A9PYnpQ29sCPaqq050nXTsXgXY3phmEQ1A/s1600/woman4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwGuEd-SWqjLPGocNN8K9jkVS8kmQ-j1_Zi6jBkdXF6Ix_3Av4I0U8n4MkDgweL1VQB9j4Ahg3sPsKYtN2O95GWr1otnyVK4y6-yCHGZJ5A9PYnpQ29sCPaqq050nXTsXgXY3phmEQ1A/s320/woman4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Women in Bhutan wear something known as a kira. It is simply a rectangular piece of fabric which gets wrapped 2.5 times around the waist in such a way that the final seam meets alongside the right thigh. It is held in place by a woven belt wrapped snugly thrice around the waist. Over the top is worn a tego, a short coat.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgdz5t9p7Q1ei0-gr3_z0hpzynvWAtOMgfzNErMraC9ZdjAYEk1Eg6KXb1F2W8jfr13FVWTCx9_qvAqSPmmgkm21JPXjLWGd1-DR1ILagriyHxTvDrs5WEYC_17oqxs9QjK51evlcTzs/s1600/woman1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghgdz5t9p7Q1ei0-gr3_z0hpzynvWAtOMgfzNErMraC9ZdjAYEk1Eg6KXb1F2W8jfr13FVWTCx9_qvAqSPmmgkm21JPXjLWGd1-DR1ILagriyHxTvDrs5WEYC_17oqxs9QjK51evlcTzs/s320/woman1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>The fabrics give the outfits their dramatic look. Colors are usually brilliant and the woven patterns can be plain or ornate. They are often made of cotton, some fancy once of silk or wool.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-W35eKvRF8vUuppOS_4IL9ZFQ0PpmQgqh22zBKp98b19VqGulsoZeZYFns2abEn9LAMvVGFFUsR5s4bbjLbkd_Xaf2qm97BDRaqRZd1cXg0uQvU58WUsEwpyuqcb-Ff_mjTRiX85lbs/s1600/woman3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-W35eKvRF8vUuppOS_4IL9ZFQ0PpmQgqh22zBKp98b19VqGulsoZeZYFns2abEn9LAMvVGFFUsR5s4bbjLbkd_Xaf2qm97BDRaqRZd1cXg0uQvU58WUsEwpyuqcb-Ff_mjTRiX85lbs/s320/woman3.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>The above description is actually for a half kira. The original, full version is similar, just cut longer and is donned in a similar fashion, the difference being that the front and back are joined with fancy broaches over each shoulder.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YJRyNP-JypFDqxj4inn2PmEFP1c0KdeiDMG09zBYYnQL83IU4fnDQc5N3dUfmfH6-Mc_tywqpQLfnA3Rmeu8i90LEYrJD9Yga9_tI0e285eIQVE0TJQeNfYczTYFJGxzrc1DJ9tdJzg/s1600/woman2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5YJRyNP-JypFDqxj4inn2PmEFP1c0KdeiDMG09zBYYnQL83IU4fnDQc5N3dUfmfH6-Mc_tywqpQLfnA3Rmeu8i90LEYrJD9Yga9_tI0e285eIQVE0TJQeNfYczTYFJGxzrc1DJ9tdJzg/s320/woman2.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>They are set such that the bottom hem essentially skims the ground and women are often times seen holding them up with one hand to avoid soiling them. Why not just secure them a little higher? Only a man would ask such a silly question.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTJgw82YNPow_Re0ULapJXRZQQK7XIZX297eGaJsQI-LlIPLfL7enPJZnkNNjZS3_pub-jzfhjr-5du7j3thUCRLV2A1DQrW2w4RaIYBFC2FQdyW9agD5HVApkOLAVYvh54Jo3SAdS9c/s1600/schoolgirls2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTJgw82YNPow_Re0ULapJXRZQQK7XIZX297eGaJsQI-LlIPLfL7enPJZnkNNjZS3_pub-jzfhjr-5du7j3thUCRLV2A1DQrW2w4RaIYBFC2FQdyW9agD5HVApkOLAVYvh54Jo3SAdS9c/s320/schoolgirls2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3TzP0KwXg9kGfO0bbMaV24rJHzbXNdtuN4OkZ3saKd-N24grJa6jpIxK42fPgj9WnsKqA3EPZWSh1qV-7-hM5MSWOm9Y926FlKVE61I2FtCBJTSvYg0CTCevw8Ei85m0IdEnHpXwqSs/s1600/schoolgirls1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3TzP0KwXg9kGfO0bbMaV24rJHzbXNdtuN4OkZ3saKd-N24grJa6jpIxK42fPgj9WnsKqA3EPZWSh1qV-7-hM5MSWOm9Y926FlKVE61I2FtCBJTSvYg0CTCevw8Ei85m0IdEnHpXwqSs/s320/schoolgirls1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9u2hqwOEqI2rTIlB6ZXLydOnZ_agDLo_DEsNbRPYiX1G0Cl-1zLAKrRln5xhpeel6Iv0T_COyFq-OFm_4hlNetsCZJGGY1tGXmo-Jo7PWeW3ZkjKzLak9FZLEbBoXO04aBR0QBM1JYw/s1600/schoolgirls3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9u2hqwOEqI2rTIlB6ZXLydOnZ_agDLo_DEsNbRPYiX1G0Cl-1zLAKrRln5xhpeel6Iv0T_COyFq-OFm_4hlNetsCZJGGY1tGXmo-Jo7PWeW3ZkjKzLak9FZLEbBoXO04aBR0QBM1JYw/s1600/schoolgirls3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE9u2hqwOEqI2rTIlB6ZXLydOnZ_agDLo_DEsNbRPYiX1G0Cl-1zLAKrRln5xhpeel6Iv0T_COyFq-OFm_4hlNetsCZJGGY1tGXmo-Jo7PWeW3ZkjKzLak9FZLEbBoXO04aBR0QBM1JYw/s320/schoolgirls3.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZRvZyw9pX41cGlGE7nMfkMbk5ysIZy0Gjtyh7Et3QlNZxgrBQyrecBf4gCPn9IbB8E_yoClRENSBfEqwv0cnPT2UIuZNP_NGrBk0yaWLKCwOcB390CXnayzMxj1dpEzChLRGmhI9yXE/s1600/schoolgirls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2ZRvZyw9pX41cGlGE7nMfkMbk5ysIZy0Gjtyh7Et3QlNZxgrBQyrecBf4gCPn9IbB8E_yoClRENSBfEqwv0cnPT2UIuZNP_NGrBk0yaWLKCwOcB390CXnayzMxj1dpEzChLRGmhI9yXE/s320/schoolgirls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Each school has its own outfit which all students are required to wear. The same fabric for both boys and girls. Boys wearing a gho, and girls in matching kira and tego.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-35674141879711280532011-07-20T07:26:00.000-07:002011-07-20T07:26:20.177-07:00Lawn Darts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAINJP0bC_ef9eSrCu-S7Pk8h9x9_G_43b2n00OsEjju8jqrgAZkvtwTjsxXyF3bB90EavGk-r21eD_qk_K9F_eAESepeAe-4F6dNg1V6hsWPs2Nynl1DdIcf7IjPX8PqHq919QVTj0CQ/s1600/darts1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAINJP0bC_ef9eSrCu-S7Pk8h9x9_G_43b2n00OsEjju8jqrgAZkvtwTjsxXyF3bB90EavGk-r21eD_qk_K9F_eAESepeAe-4F6dNg1V6hsWPs2Nynl1DdIcf7IjPX8PqHq919QVTj0CQ/s320/darts1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This is lawn darts, Bhutanese style. The sport enjoys the status of a national sport, but was beaten out by archery for the official title. Pictured here is a tournament which took place last weekend inside the city's Olympic stadium.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsN_gLiJwm0st1gMekQ4F_qHkMh-wmwNl74YxMaXvS6DT0JSB2GTaUmd-6pb-QA-5j1zT2MhVSWpMUqsY_-itWZt8mKUUHgTnKhJO9b6fcXeTh0VK5ZfJYAmTL4y22DNtAK2Yhucxyl0k/s1600/darts2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsN_gLiJwm0st1gMekQ4F_qHkMh-wmwNl74YxMaXvS6DT0JSB2GTaUmd-6pb-QA-5j1zT2MhVSWpMUqsY_-itWZt8mKUUHgTnKhJO9b6fcXeTh0VK5ZfJYAmTL4y22DNtAK2Yhucxyl0k/s320/darts2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The Olympics have never been held here but some supporters of sports development programs hope to become competitive in the future and this facility was built to help promote such efforts. Back to darts. It's not called that here but I don't remember the actual name.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaw9YsTIGcp-z7dRP7Ylo4UNpmUJF7Gc5547rvYf-ozNOIVUUD_bFPjvLRZc-hVIUsd1XfHDmuChsSrasaMxj1-SsCvIS55Kdw7aHJosuunXYQo8IU_fisi61IahYlS37_oA8kpNJGjs/s1600/darts8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgaw9YsTIGcp-z7dRP7Ylo4UNpmUJF7Gc5547rvYf-ozNOIVUUD_bFPjvLRZc-hVIUsd1XfHDmuChsSrasaMxj1-SsCvIS55Kdw7aHJosuunXYQo8IU_fisi61IahYlS37_oA8kpNJGjs/s320/darts8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The players were dressed in fine, silk gho's along the lines of what would be worn for very formal occasions. Only this time they were playing in the dirt. The game is played something like this. There are two opposing teams. They both stand together at one end of the "range." The range is a strip of turf about 10 or 12 feet wide and I estimate about 35-40 yards long. It is surrounded by spectators and some would say cheerleaders.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySV8fTwdQhlsqiOl8mz3B94YDfjW2K_zWar5NWt711Qttc3HirFOr3j7rcVj0RBDnEiZljs3-y9_Nmfc87AB8WVirKankIMTNohqzL_yFPJBy0M2oliq4PqwSrz-c_NYsKzh7c61Ldao/s1600/darts6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySV8fTwdQhlsqiOl8mz3B94YDfjW2K_zWar5NWt711Qttc3HirFOr3j7rcVj0RBDnEiZljs3-y9_Nmfc87AB8WVirKankIMTNohqzL_yFPJBy0M2oliq4PqwSrz-c_NYsKzh7c61Ldao/s320/darts6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Each member of the team has I believe 3 darts to throw. The teams alternate throwing, one dart for each player and the sequence repeats until all darts are thrown. At that point, everyone goes to the other end and does it again, this time in the other direction. The target is a quite small, rectangular piece of hard foam stood upright in the dirt.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Z2D-sGpsPzisMfUOVuLjYbOCpHhqRFvA5g0qz3H57kyTEkePecHvAVmuC5p9hfhho3oXWZtKWNe5GzJC8rAOcWzZnrJDk86FoWhlWfn6uSW-Rfbh9xC_pV2OVQd9q1mlH9ek82S5qP8/s1600/darts3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Z2D-sGpsPzisMfUOVuLjYbOCpHhqRFvA5g0qz3H57kyTEkePecHvAVmuC5p9hfhho3oXWZtKWNe5GzJC8rAOcWzZnrJDk86FoWhlWfn6uSW-Rfbh9xC_pV2OVQd9q1mlH9ek82S5qP8/s320/darts3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Here's the interesting part. Each time a player throws his dart, two of his teammates are standing adjacent to the target at which he aims. They are presenting the target to him, helping him aim accurately and possibly recruiting the assistance of greater beings or the wind to guide the dart to success.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0JpdMUPgGcJ7dsZ8dmFBIwSTS13MQPgmgdN89wpkihrhGGXFh9PvwsZB0DlDa3bj7rBw4wugbsCUZgFv9pEA5O_XUGH_DfBoWy5q9c6UMN6eZGRcfERcGpInMszYLixBbNizB67ROAM/s1600/darts4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0JpdMUPgGcJ7dsZ8dmFBIwSTS13MQPgmgdN89wpkihrhGGXFh9PvwsZB0DlDa3bj7rBw4wugbsCUZgFv9pEA5O_XUGH_DfBoWy5q9c6UMN6eZGRcfERcGpInMszYLixBbNizB67ROAM/s320/darts4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Look at the pictures and note the size of the darts. They are steel tipped, weighted with wood and are hurled full speed at the target. I couldn't help but think that this must be good for generating some practice in penetrating trauma injuries for the emergency on call ophthalmologist.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWB0l1iHMl2HzKRImIis4T0OJrtyKTMnOvvQjbS3_u32rUl4qaljGXBRf9y69MVXYOYThyphenhyphenbNZMlfI98uHT24EY6oU_T3PDSljuHxT1fCAsEe_Raacr6f0sXHLDBLF0lEjFs8bN12rtnk/s1600/darts10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWB0l1iHMl2HzKRImIis4T0OJrtyKTMnOvvQjbS3_u32rUl4qaljGXBRf9y69MVXYOYThyphenhyphenbNZMlfI98uHT24EY6oU_T3PDSljuHxT1fCAsEe_Raacr6f0sXHLDBLF0lEjFs8bN12rtnk/s320/darts10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now, when one player actually hits the target, which does happen occasionally, two to four members of his team break out in song and dance to celebrate the successful throw. It's hard to tell but these guys are indeed singing and dancing. Unfortunately, I have no idea what they were singing about.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0BjswNadOnZpW-WU_P6S8kpfBi7jj7zJRNN-gBrtU5ge2-C6yZbpFZKckiZCNFFs6EVUzuLfwAfvwxCwRVDUj5JlokfYnjnLWGseKtPOX0QDsJFly21DWttMhhOyOrxM2h8XpjZpqLw/s1600/darts11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0BjswNadOnZpW-WU_P6S8kpfBi7jj7zJRNN-gBrtU5ge2-C6yZbpFZKckiZCNFFs6EVUzuLfwAfvwxCwRVDUj5JlokfYnjnLWGseKtPOX0QDsJFly21DWttMhhOyOrxM2h8XpjZpqLw/s320/darts11.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This was one spectator, too cute to pass up.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-27226787696309493262011-07-19T09:15:00.000-07:002011-07-19T09:15:12.925-07:00<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YPZfFmTgxlvg52ybySbFCBfzP8Vb7UcIzIT_mC1eD8Hd57cH6qRD4FDIQDvN0VjbwS42nLjgLKABXZhxOQhWpFFSxPwnEOZdizr8V-fjDxxCc9cpdjkgSYyr6hG-kaDaO1JrdcTyink/s1600/haircutsign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3YPZfFmTgxlvg52ybySbFCBfzP8Vb7UcIzIT_mC1eD8Hd57cH6qRD4FDIQDvN0VjbwS42nLjgLKABXZhxOQhWpFFSxPwnEOZdizr8V-fjDxxCc9cpdjkgSYyr6hG-kaDaO1JrdcTyink/s320/haircutsign.jpg" width="320" /></a>Now this is my kind of barbershop! What better way to assure the clean cut look of the local male population than to invite them in for a "shot and shave," a "beer and buzz," or a "tequila trim?" Now I know what you're saying, "that's just a typo, look at the misspelled name of the city." Correct, the proper spelling is Thumphu, not Thimpu. </div><div><br />
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</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuua2RZ4qxSmpaiUpBlY3af4wYzG7AdDgTRGzRdBcMKTbG56df8pxOmyhgXhPsgc7WzK-EIKeWwnVix3WMluVdNxHgqCZpRY16g3-CYseVEd-9wTim4Li2JYLV_hf5rQUKEri3ZFuwyQc/s1600/haircutsign1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuua2RZ4qxSmpaiUpBlY3af4wYzG7AdDgTRGzRdBcMKTbG56df8pxOmyhgXhPsgc7WzK-EIKeWwnVix3WMluVdNxHgqCZpRY16g3-CYseVEd-9wTim4Li2JYLV_hf5rQUKEri3ZFuwyQc/s320/haircutsign1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div>However, check down the street at this place. </div><div><br />
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</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYaVu9f6udSxS9jdLHAq9kso0sv_eA1N9wwB4q93_helL2AO8vtFuSnjC285KiXtkQ0Fl5tWwzo6CE3gyxq_y8fC_8IpITAHbcsYZepkwkrv3YYuiUcEFVtlr7mzeydM4hMqU-K-3Uqs/s1600/haircutsign2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYaVu9f6udSxS9jdLHAq9kso0sv_eA1N9wwB4q93_helL2AO8vtFuSnjC285KiXtkQ0Fl5tWwzo6CE3gyxq_y8fC_8IpITAHbcsYZepkwkrv3YYuiUcEFVtlr7mzeydM4hMqU-K-3Uqs/s320/haircutsign2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
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</div><div>How about this one? More than coincidental misspellings I would think. It's about time for me to go give one of these places a try. I'll let you know how it goes. </div><div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKskAGTq8-yauwvEzfAJcQTtItQ3kEfh4B7A5z9ec1JYT1nKnwTGQowxz4JxmIpk0Zg6cmO6lgH8VosOCQxy_3awJR9FXQYxOU4u8fuOoigtBnhBzvIHPkoOB-VO-EIu-ERhFwo5AiIe8/s1600/sign3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKskAGTq8-yauwvEzfAJcQTtItQ3kEfh4B7A5z9ec1JYT1nKnwTGQowxz4JxmIpk0Zg6cmO6lgH8VosOCQxy_3awJR9FXQYxOU4u8fuOoigtBnhBzvIHPkoOB-VO-EIu-ERhFwo5AiIe8/s320/sign3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>This is a tribute to my grandmother who, from the time I can remember, always called me Joshi. </div><div><br />
</div>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-89252005905193271422011-07-17T00:01:00.000-07:002011-07-17T00:01:46.576-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQi7Z_41hX6CjJFsArLVeoUjHE6_rwVVSwJmeGUNC_Djt21eI-jo2lft_6GZnUKjEKf7xPXyZpFQAeYRAJ5Dw2aQUyoSvnv9Ovqy87Xn2TXXQeyPC9NU0rPUSQtfZOr72mA9daOdd0fJ4/s1600/jacaranda.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQi7Z_41hX6CjJFsArLVeoUjHE6_rwVVSwJmeGUNC_Djt21eI-jo2lft_6GZnUKjEKf7xPXyZpFQAeYRAJ5Dw2aQUyoSvnv9Ovqy87Xn2TXXQeyPC9NU0rPUSQtfZOr72mA9daOdd0fJ4/s320/jacaranda.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Coffee is available but probably only because the foreigners demand it. Tea is the preferred beverage, cost likely being a major factor. I've found one cafe which makes a reputable latte and has a good selection of Western food. It is well known to the tourists and ex-pats who frequent the place, making it something other than an authentic Bhutanese experience. None the less, the wireless service is good and it provides an opportunity to relax and write something in a blog for those interested. This jacaranda tree is one of many surrounding the Punakha Dzong is is one of the brightest colored ones I have ever come across. It was almost luminescent in the sunlight. There are also others of various colors but they were not in full bloom this time of year. Apparently in the Spring, the show is quite spectacular.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi41Vt3lgvr_bb6TpB929xcfXD0vMYrcvW0SO3W2lY8IJT12y327jN7avcGCjkrSQ8PiU9sBeia8JKLw5vcDUMISf6ueVHucWbVah1Ozs0FDF6pl7dhCwn5MuWg0-_re56f6jV0kk0xLI/s1600/phallus1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi41Vt3lgvr_bb6TpB929xcfXD0vMYrcvW0SO3W2lY8IJT12y327jN7avcGCjkrSQ8PiU9sBeia8JKLw5vcDUMISf6ueVHucWbVah1Ozs0FDF6pl7dhCwn5MuWg0-_re56f6jV0kk0xLI/s320/phallus1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>OK. Here's something to raise some eyebrows. Maybe not strictly orthopaedic, nor even medical, but bound to capture the attention of the Western mind. Bhutan, being a very religious nation, has a long and colorful history, filled with stories, myths and the supernatural. Many religious figures are immortalized in paintings, writings, stories, sculptures and carvings, being considered important by having advanced the Buddhist faith and maybe more significantly, by subduing harmful, evil or destructive demons. For reasons unclear to me, the phallus has become a symbol considered capable of protecting oneself, one's home and family from harmful spirits. Carved specimens are readily available in any handicrafts store and paintings such as the one here are not uncommonly seen decorating the front entrance of stores and homes. There you have it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiE_qm3pQvXFfFDuis9vEcXJA01DZ_2h_NwaTDHgoW36Pj3zsyGs5HVuROiyLqCAC0h9qOSi6l82AlRp98VDKbVt2jn95FKzEsli5eI3PX8szclqSzabi0756VHYOiaCyuXMYX2yv7t2o/s1600/children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiE_qm3pQvXFfFDuis9vEcXJA01DZ_2h_NwaTDHgoW36Pj3zsyGs5HVuROiyLqCAC0h9qOSi6l82AlRp98VDKbVt2jn95FKzEsli5eI3PX8szclqSzabi0756VHYOiaCyuXMYX2yv7t2o/s200/children.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrsh8d-zr2mpOtLM0u-dtGpyTDrvMNWkwToYh5ehVoVz3gR5sM2W8VZAxv0xBZL9cvEW0zy9Hm1s8wlg5i_euKkVXOQ2mU8ftAYJvkcN_j98vJNB2YUY_0skQZLs2bt452Iyy7L4vYn8/s1600/children1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrsh8d-zr2mpOtLM0u-dtGpyTDrvMNWkwToYh5ehVoVz3gR5sM2W8VZAxv0xBZL9cvEW0zy9Hm1s8wlg5i_euKkVXOQ2mU8ftAYJvkcN_j98vJNB2YUY_0skQZLs2bt452Iyy7L4vYn8/s200/children1.jpg" width="200" /></a>I went for a short hike up to the only rock climbing area developed in Bhutan. There are several bolted routes put up but it doesn't look too frequently used based on the amount of moss remaining on the rock surfaces. On the way back I stopped to take a photograph of a child sitting by the roadside.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KgCJDqtvARTQqTtUmIjCoBWyAvz9SRWIp6Sh6Nt5YjwWX2cX7hijD9SU7X5pY37Ur0j0nbHD6_xA2U3pJkIv54Z1eWYOOUSMmu4a0JoAk6e_OGOrYQp9ecuouMoLupvbB1Vv3UMn-1Y/s1600/children3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KgCJDqtvARTQqTtUmIjCoBWyAvz9SRWIp6Sh6Nt5YjwWX2cX7hijD9SU7X5pY37Ur0j0nbHD6_xA2U3pJkIv54Z1eWYOOUSMmu4a0JoAk6e_OGOrYQp9ecuouMoLupvbB1Vv3UMn-1Y/s200/children3.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65DBw_cqCn2ZzautJ3fAsocCVDjg1b-c54-QtqzbvPnXUCjWAGHQPopZxLR8ou60wyEEFhEj-l-5uYBwqENJ9Fzm1T9txSMt_HdpPk1Ad4nyuY5yixbhM9XE9-1Rzeqn63pJ2f2U7HaM/s1600/children2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65DBw_cqCn2ZzautJ3fAsocCVDjg1b-c54-QtqzbvPnXUCjWAGHQPopZxLR8ou60wyEEFhEj-l-5uYBwqENJ9Fzm1T9txSMt_HdpPk1Ad4nyuY5yixbhM9XE9-1Rzeqn63pJ2f2U7HaM/s200/children2.jpg" width="200" /></a>This was in a neighborhood of extreme poverty, the homes no more than shacks with mud walls and scrap metal roofs. Surprising was how immaculately clean they were.<br />
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Before I knew it, I was surrounded by more than a dozen children, screaming with excitement demanding that more and more pictures be taken of them.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo6HSl7GkXJ6rjXR4ycpqIBS2jg95t2lHdXZD9xkPW8EAKNogx4nC1-UovSa7no1a3Sj38aLUnwYzjYbWgKoRV5iqnkxOFlffUbjk_4y4edRoY3W-2syEuQ08tyrcSDvCbmZt908F6EI/s1600/children4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZo6HSl7GkXJ6rjXR4ycpqIBS2jg95t2lHdXZD9xkPW8EAKNogx4nC1-UovSa7no1a3Sj38aLUnwYzjYbWgKoRV5iqnkxOFlffUbjk_4y4edRoY3W-2syEuQ08tyrcSDvCbmZt908F6EI/s200/children4.jpg" width="200" /></a>They marveled with amusement over the LCD images of them. Unfortunately it was getting dark so I promised them I would return during daylight for another session.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzcR47fq5d107kOqhSqkDKuKvYTL45zXagbHeY5mQ4nftn401476HMwdSFVifUq-HdzA2Kgf4pXD_mj9kpKJviiAVsZRNpyWy_4lYU6PmQH4Wc9visI-wCZTF5Br4Kf3EVwTHTcSXcHw/s1600/children7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzcR47fq5d107kOqhSqkDKuKvYTL45zXagbHeY5mQ4nftn401476HMwdSFVifUq-HdzA2Kgf4pXD_mj9kpKJviiAVsZRNpyWy_4lYU6PmQH4Wc9visI-wCZTF5Br4Kf3EVwTHTcSXcHw/s200/children7.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM0hlXdQTXr6vRUleG3ox8PIy3dgX74E4E7zh0j1Y5Byas7p3XW9Fa-rVZspmkwwGaedXbZT0C48qAILyTmGMRR5M2NxUjPaOIuXIGeKS5XW75TbIKxvzNz3mu9-r7yrPt8sRGC0K2X0/s1600/children6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOM0hlXdQTXr6vRUleG3ox8PIy3dgX74E4E7zh0j1Y5Byas7p3XW9Fa-rVZspmkwwGaedXbZT0C48qAILyTmGMRR5M2NxUjPaOIuXIGeKS5XW75TbIKxvzNz3mu9-r7yrPt8sRGC0K2X0/s200/children6.jpg" width="200" /></a>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-36598010645291416432011-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:002011-07-15T09:06:43.747-07:00PopularityThe stats on my blog have revealed page views in the hundreds. I'm famous! More than one person has looked at it and some more than once. Woo-Hoo! I even have a follower or two.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPsPF2UjCrggd-g12ReJtr5Gndb2zBUqViSfbctivpFD_SlMtzgSh_6aqy0OMHTF3Ryv3D46aOpCXQp0XDlZy_f_P3W7HEIBQ8qkW9mGk5WrVo4R-Wh792ti8j4xMSVHzTPRo1qc92vDo/s1600/Buddhastatue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPsPF2UjCrggd-g12ReJtr5Gndb2zBUqViSfbctivpFD_SlMtzgSh_6aqy0OMHTF3Ryv3D46aOpCXQp0XDlZy_f_P3W7HEIBQ8qkW9mGk5WrVo4R-Wh792ti8j4xMSVHzTPRo1qc92vDo/s320/Buddhastatue.jpg" width="212" /></a>I've been requested to provide information about medical care, more specifically, orthopaedics in this country. After all, that is why I'm here. Bhutan is still considered as a third world country although no longer in the bottom tier of world poverty. Medicine is up and coming as one of many priorities as the new King and democracy gains control. There must be dozens of government development programs either already in place, scheduled to start or in the planning stages currently. All kinds of ministries representing all walks of life, from road planning and building, to youth development, to international relations, to upholding religious standards and culture, to drug and narcotic prevention, sports development, tourism, etc. It's obvious that the country is in the midst of a fairly major reform.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIvOZTwYc60d3QCQ-eqnT7QwyeCByX-fmy-2EIqRNgf4E0DrHyq1yy-08mf1xoJnrwdcIh1y_uZxahZ809g1MpkbAM1jWSRqtWlm_ji7ym8ttxTMuw6xhVbwmfclczpaFKYMCZbgo8aA/s1600/woodcarving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwIvOZTwYc60d3QCQ-eqnT7QwyeCByX-fmy-2EIqRNgf4E0DrHyq1yy-08mf1xoJnrwdcIh1y_uZxahZ809g1MpkbAM1jWSRqtWlm_ji7ym8ttxTMuw6xhVbwmfclczpaFKYMCZbgo8aA/s320/woodcarving.jpg" width="320" /></a>The hospital itself is new, although when seen through a Westerner's eye, it looks primitive. Many services are available and many are not. Example: MRI, CT and plain x-rays are fairly easily done and of acceptable quality. There is, however no nuclear medicine or good ultrasound (OB excepted). There is no cardiac cath lab. The laboratory offers a solid base of testing but unfortunately, many reagents for the testing are out of stock. Therefore things like plasmapheresis gels cannot be run, and liver function tests are on hold. There is a limited amount and choice of antibiotics.<br />
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Orthopaedics is plagued by being heavily dependent on expensive equipment. There are three orthopaedic surgeons here, knowledgeable and capable but limited in what they are able to do for a large population. Most fractures can be adequately treated with very basic equipment, common sense and a dash of creativity. Infections are common and often times present late and well established making prolonged treatment necessary. Fancy surgery taken for granted in developed countries are hardly attempted here. Even basic arthroscopy has yet to take hold despite willingness by the staff and the presence of equipment. Total joint replacements are not done here. A set of instruments was purchased but no implants are available to use. People with advanced arthritis are necessarily referred out of the country for joint replacement, usually to India. Since medical care is free here, this is all done at the government's expense. Fortunately, India is very close (physically, politically and culturally) and on good terms with Bhutan, so negotiated discounted rates are given.<br />
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That's all folks.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-3416827287034143672011-07-14T08:49:00.000-07:002011-07-14T08:49:22.006-07:00Inquiring Minds<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolsPFJh5x2kHEyYkx3oEliECIIOrOxyJJz0uYSwKIsC0ezmVluihbZV-8EI9fxL3UIuwbLwMM4haGpbK2xlyaYKZiyLydBEKXYDIEUXDThoIyslc3gKRXTbdK1Rl5x6xFWPFNwhtRCco/s1600/jhugho+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolsPFJh5x2kHEyYkx3oEliECIIOrOxyJJz0uYSwKIsC0ezmVluihbZV-8EI9fxL3UIuwbLwMM4haGpbK2xlyaYKZiyLydBEKXYDIEUXDThoIyslc3gKRXTbdK1Rl5x6xFWPFNwhtRCco/s320/jhugho+%25281%2529.jpg" width="213" /></a> For all of you who are wondering, here is what a gho looks like on a "chilip" (foreigner). It's airy and breezy from below like I imagine a skirt must be. This one is a luxury model made of silk and meant for special occasions. And before someone asks, it is not worn with the same undergarments as its Scottish counterpart.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-21902714714665129232011-07-12T07:51:00.000-07:002011-07-12T07:51:50.340-07:00Drugyel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVkEse6T5Fi061n7wtdCGBe-eouSITPFQyze6XWG1bIBilP9SwEUpM680rbHBxYVtkhBy3wAt90s7__4-UlfkQoAB42lANbD4KQfF-7Jp9EHWNpBnN5rboG0oZTZHlzU4tw0KB9lXAko/s1600/Drugyel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwVkEse6T5Fi061n7wtdCGBe-eouSITPFQyze6XWG1bIBilP9SwEUpM680rbHBxYVtkhBy3wAt90s7__4-UlfkQoAB42lANbD4KQfF-7Jp9EHWNpBnN5rboG0oZTZHlzU4tw0KB9lXAko/s320/Drugyel.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEc3Bx8L-_7KC6qOX9CuTpPAuM2sXRAD4HKAnJhp4-VOfZHg38CGwGWWs-Elo_YsF0iHjovk2vlQEh07m5FJ1v-VVGxWa4Qj3daPyoFcJ2C-V-us0XoeHoWU0GMASgd804DM5Q1A6h8o/s1600/Mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;">Drugyeldzong is the ruins of a once critically important fortress located at the bottom of a valley accessing a pass into China. This place was responsible for defending the country against multiple attacks from Tibet. Some minor attempts have been made at restoration but the government so far has not endorsed such efforts. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEc3Bx8L-_7KC6qOX9CuTpPAuM2sXRAD4HKAnJhp4-VOfZHg38CGwGWWs-Elo_YsF0iHjovk2vlQEh07m5FJ1v-VVGxWa4Qj3daPyoFcJ2C-V-us0XoeHoWU0GMASgd804DM5Q1A6h8o/s1600/Mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghEc3Bx8L-_7KC6qOX9CuTpPAuM2sXRAD4HKAnJhp4-VOfZHg38CGwGWWs-Elo_YsF0iHjovk2vlQEh07m5FJ1v-VVGxWa4Qj3daPyoFcJ2C-V-us0XoeHoWU0GMASgd804DM5Q1A6h8o/s320/Mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Some mountains in the upper Paro valley</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-39388013621551745292011-07-09T08:07:00.000-07:002011-07-09T08:07:14.910-07:00Monk's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY1OMwIuFIAMQI1ZIlXFfwfn45UO_BQ46E4vfyNV8KvRXi9SVlhR_zD8izKm-MgCmQS9m9w_e4TOMi9Ye5H-Zv2G-0JzOGtNXGDhv6_Nk9WRVVm2aE0c3rzdBhlJJ4KIDdI3eVNiigZI/s1600/Monks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBY1OMwIuFIAMQI1ZIlXFfwfn45UO_BQ46E4vfyNV8KvRXi9SVlhR_zD8izKm-MgCmQS9m9w_e4TOMi9Ye5H-Zv2G-0JzOGtNXGDhv6_Nk9WRVVm2aE0c3rzdBhlJJ4KIDdI3eVNiigZI/s320/Monks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here are some monk's (except for the drunk on the left) watching the archery tournament. It's funny to see them wearing flip-flops, talking on cell phones, using laptop computers and listening to their ipods. Around town, they act like anyone else, identified only by their dress. There are shops that specialize in "monk attire."</div>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-26575277168193523392011-07-07T05:57:00.000-07:002011-07-07T05:57:54.648-07:00Convenience Store<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jrvKtoRp1gXLX3tztBILBwHSBA9FvuxzkrxSsVRG2sGU9RbOGiE50E_H6hq-8_E0AzH-55k8fdS8Z_Elt7-dk-YlLsPHLw4Qrc1Tmy6SxZp8X5bgkC9-BAqjfX7PcD9UDb6f8DYUAVg/s1600/Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2jrvKtoRp1gXLX3tztBILBwHSBA9FvuxzkrxSsVRG2sGU9RbOGiE50E_H6hq-8_E0AzH-55k8fdS8Z_Elt7-dk-YlLsPHLw4Qrc1Tmy6SxZp8X5bgkC9-BAqjfX7PcD9UDb6f8DYUAVg/s320/Sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And I thought that 7-Eleven could never be beat.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-66171369533125029082011-07-07T05:47:00.000-07:002011-07-07T05:47:52.261-07:00Botany<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-SaslD7t0A5EjeVZNWJwCCrMnYYVT98RBiJ4of3NyskTUEAuk5hLC4z2VXm3H0X0G8sSx3JzIkjwzbA_wOzHnqnqqjhyphenhyphenH5mDhwxA-lF5YohiJToGA9jSHTwo1spa6lg4K051Wo-lO-E/s1600/THC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji-SaslD7t0A5EjeVZNWJwCCrMnYYVT98RBiJ4of3NyskTUEAuk5hLC4z2VXm3H0X0G8sSx3JzIkjwzbA_wOzHnqnqqjhyphenhyphenH5mDhwxA-lF5YohiJToGA9jSHTwo1spa6lg4K051Wo-lO-E/s320/THC.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anyone recognize this plant? Err, weed? Well, it grows like a weed around here anyway.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-64031655443988424492011-07-07T05:44:00.000-07:002011-07-07T05:44:55.916-07:00Archery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkgLoKDbd6wEDRYvyZUFnDuo7N1BEh5BRd_D5mgGDqjyJIoe1v2KHu3Xt-pFcxj2TzZO8qyTdZ4qHHyfEAReXPAo3WudUqp6bJQKOGUdefsHEKzgZpH6tasGBmFPV4vEvszW6AOgzXLI/s1600/Archery3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZkgLoKDbd6wEDRYvyZUFnDuo7N1BEh5BRd_D5mgGDqjyJIoe1v2KHu3Xt-pFcxj2TzZO8qyTdZ4qHHyfEAReXPAo3WudUqp6bJQKOGUdefsHEKzgZpH6tasGBmFPV4vEvszW6AOgzXLI/s400/Archery3.jpg" width="400" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Archery is the national sport of Bhutan. It is a team sport, each team of 11 members stand on opposite sides of a large field. Targets are wooden planks stood upright and are only about 30 inches high and no more than 10 inches wide. On the top half is painted a standard target although striking the wood anywhere constitutes a "hit." The teams "dugouts" (I don't know their real name) are placed 140 meters apart. Yes, that is one and a half football fields! They are small areas surrounded by flags and in the center sits the other teams target and a place to shoot from. The picture shows the target as seen by the shooter. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVugeEWH7l_b7K_5MlVEQJ1rzz1IO9maXAcUDKQETq4Xt5DC-qCXiD6LvhCZmWDOxh6-BXSknG_l8QqzAKBSVwcUeK9ZJH016GZZ5VllEkWHvfTJDlv9Al42uA6K90aWDF1I5IT3J8Ng/s1600/Archery2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVugeEWH7l_b7K_5MlVEQJ1rzz1IO9maXAcUDKQETq4Xt5DC-qCXiD6LvhCZmWDOxh6-BXSknG_l8QqzAKBSVwcUeK9ZJH016GZZ5VllEkWHvfTJDlv9Al42uA6K90aWDF1I5IT3J8Ng/s320/Archery2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;">If on the other hand, the target is struck, noted by a loud "clack" of arrow against wood, then 4 or 5 members of the shooters team step forward into a circle and sing a celebratory song along with a little dance.</span></div></span>JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-67442840192996301072011-07-07T02:50:00.000-07:002011-07-07T02:50:10.974-07:00Butter Lamp<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9_4pyOoPKasIOwyyOIBBCl1Nd3K45-wQkRmv7cVhmmhZGeNNBLgMTuLgBJX1jMH8g58vsn4-bylh5dId93hXQGL0LJ-PTYcg9YOIThvwZD8kqjLFw_ZG6fsrNxz3L5-qD7Qj6Q3LNg8/s1600/Butterlamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy9_4pyOoPKasIOwyyOIBBCl1Nd3K45-wQkRmv7cVhmmhZGeNNBLgMTuLgBJX1jMH8g58vsn4-bylh5dId93hXQGL0LJ-PTYcg9YOIThvwZD8kqjLFw_ZG6fsrNxz3L5-qD7Qj6Q3LNg8/s320/Butterlamp.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>This is known as a "butter lamp" and this particular one is encountered trailside on the hike up to Tiger's Nest. I don't believe it burns actual butter, but rather some form of oil, possibly soybean oilJAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-42578371383886991732011-07-06T19:27:00.000-07:002011-07-06T19:27:39.852-07:00Tiger's Nest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildH-PcxUjtLh4hyphenhyphen30nC6YC7rO31tDpYAkPDOBmO3DvMgGQwQWSLaTgeZrdP5i7vwxpxN8ZX20d5cz4uw_0LU1KtnbgeCBWV86_I8VaZmejvyzkwuk3hJ0Pu4GsRT3o-dYIcdUSltSe8E/s1600/TigersNest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildH-PcxUjtLh4hyphenhyphen30nC6YC7rO31tDpYAkPDOBmO3DvMgGQwQWSLaTgeZrdP5i7vwxpxN8ZX20d5cz4uw_0LU1KtnbgeCBWV86_I8VaZmejvyzkwuk3hJ0Pu4GsRT3o-dYIcdUSltSe8E/s320/TigersNest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Another view of "Tiger's Nest" monastery. No, I don't believe tigers do actually nest, or roost. Why it's not called "Tiger's Den" I don't know but the legend goes like this. Guru Rinpoche (the second Buddha) in the 8th century was busy establishing Buddhism in this area. He possessed miraculous powers and is depicted in eight different manifestations. One of the challenges was to rid the region of evil spirits and demons. One day, his consort manifested as a tigress. He rode on her back and flew up to this spot to capture and subdue a demon known as Singey Samdrup. Once done, he stayed here and meditated for 3 months. There is a deep hole dug out of the rock (25 ft deep) in which it is said he would wait in hiding, meditating and when a demon would arrive, he would leap out suddenly, and catch it by surprise.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-39076641525182608732011-07-05T06:54:00.000-07:002011-07-05T06:57:46.553-07:00Buddha<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiB9jFcLel_PrL2EnTFUF6bzh50MMkjKUN4Z5yer4qR2E3safVmRf1C0lpZukLGsAqiJkHylaKj3hzp-hC0FDzUiC8vDtc9MhBZ5w7U6Wt-KSgjehzYcuM4NB6wzjA09eThiy1AAeUnk/s1600/Buddha1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyiB9jFcLel_PrL2EnTFUF6bzh50MMkjKUN4Z5yer4qR2E3safVmRf1C0lpZukLGsAqiJkHylaKj3hzp-hC0FDzUiC8vDtc9MhBZ5w7U6Wt-KSgjehzYcuM4NB6wzjA09eThiy1AAeUnk/s320/Buddha1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBw_qUmkEVhtXkW_2VsOieULVOOvNwWNCqNIEJE2sw7gwkNFDeZzwBYJqcyKxisAZFPXqUAmL72fIR7r-MWOohqJmQPtw8kidxxI69MuA8rQ-0EG46aPT2kuyKH91Ey7EDe_yAM4L2z4/s1600/Buddha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBw_qUmkEVhtXkW_2VsOieULVOOvNwWNCqNIEJE2sw7gwkNFDeZzwBYJqcyKxisAZFPXqUAmL72fIR7r-MWOohqJmQPtw8kidxxI69MuA8rQ-0EG46aPT2kuyKH91Ey7EDe_yAM4L2z4/s320/Buddha.jpg" width="213" /></a>Here is the Buddha overlooking the city of Thimphu. It is reportedly the second largest in the world, being bested by one even larger in Nepal. It is still under construction. One source says it was made in China, cut into pieces, shipped here and reassembled. The locals claim it was all made here, on site. I don't know for sure but it is big. The pictures don't really do it justice. Just look closely and realize that the pine trees are full size, between 30 and 50 feet tall, and that there are almost two stories of bamboo scaffolding just to the top of the base supporting the statue.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-72629893271419250452011-07-04T07:42:00.000-07:002011-07-04T07:42:15.576-07:00Hospital<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvDELALwzbxY6l1_iDYR-CyhkrtQpl6cQzw1diA5_EU0NBnnvxjX5NNuSMzwmEIYVNj-kBsufQd5Sw4tZ6FTI6RVp2uJIJruT3eOakyOl0y1kmlf_jvPCTcTT-ibpWN6xZHKhhcAvXxw8/s1600/Hospitaldragons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvDELALwzbxY6l1_iDYR-CyhkrtQpl6cQzw1diA5_EU0NBnnvxjX5NNuSMzwmEIYVNj-kBsufQd5Sw4tZ6FTI6RVp2uJIJruT3eOakyOl0y1kmlf_jvPCTcTT-ibpWN6xZHKhhcAvXxw8/s320/Hospitaldragons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>These guys are the welcoming committee at the main entrance to the hospital in Thimphu. Looks to me like these dragons are enjoying ice cream cones but somehow I don't think that is what the artists intended.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-76747009949063644612011-07-04T06:59:00.000-07:002011-07-04T06:59:56.538-07:00Tiger's Nest<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnLlVltfj5LJO0AJRGwELB_O7xcOSHDKOYpy1gOVpMLXppwE6J2QAqo8fHktwYvv7ln6mQ5mmsL3QSRifzMqC2dSZ1X9Fjb33-MBmd4u3SoGemL-BD1PWPRtsHShrFrIVbY5-boFlSvE/s1600/TigersNest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnLlVltfj5LJO0AJRGwELB_O7xcOSHDKOYpy1gOVpMLXppwE6J2QAqo8fHktwYvv7ln6mQ5mmsL3QSRifzMqC2dSZ1X9Fjb33-MBmd4u3SoGemL-BD1PWPRtsHShrFrIVbY5-boFlSvE/s320/TigersNest.jpg" width="213" /></a>Undeniably Bhutan's most famous landmark, this place is even more spectacular than any picture or written description can convey. After what most would consider a fairly strenuous hike, one passes by what is known as the "cafeteria," a rest stop with a wonderful view. Continuing on, an unreal number of stone steps are negotiated up and down to gain access to this monastery. Once there, all cameras, cell phones and bags are left in a store room. You are subjected to a manual pat down search by the Bhutanese authorities to make sure you are not sneaking some contraband inside this holy place. Names and numbers are recorded. The locals are required to wear their national dress, a gho for men and kira for women. My short sleeved, polyester sport shirt met with some unhappy looks and it was requested that I cover it with a jacket which of course I did not have. I thought it was my bare arms which were offensive but when one of the monks loaned me his zip up vest and this made the guards happy, I realized it was something about my shirt that was unacceptable. Being allowed to visit this place, one cannot help but feel deeply honored, for this is no simple tourist attraction. Difficult to put words to it, but there is magic there. I visited a half dozen rooms which were open to visitor's that day, many more closed and locked. Each room was elaborately decorated with paintings, tapestries, flags, statues and alters. Prayers were made in each room and holy water was taken when offered by the monks. Somewhat odd was the fluorescent lighting and the chirping of smoke alarms with low batteries, but understandable given the extensive destruction caused by fire several years ago.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-49524493529729424552011-07-02T01:59:00.000-07:002011-07-02T01:59:50.918-07:00Photo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BYkcREUUJJhshJkaNdUXY6MzuvtK1LfHxR5gSYpjc9DqHbUxM0qvv-R5DRQHpml2bvaEjGJQQPz9SJw2Y8W_GoCbirXkXU_l2Y1EhyphenhyphenX5PrtjJUhpkPXUUu57Db_Sf2LaaCkTxFbA5Dg/s1600/Cantibridge1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BYkcREUUJJhshJkaNdUXY6MzuvtK1LfHxR5gSYpjc9DqHbUxM0qvv-R5DRQHpml2bvaEjGJQQPz9SJw2Y8W_GoCbirXkXU_l2Y1EhyphenhyphenX5PrtjJUhpkPXUUu57Db_Sf2LaaCkTxFbA5Dg/s320/Cantibridge1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>OK lets try a photo. I now have broadband connectivity. Here is the infamous "cantilever bridge" in Thimphu. Look closely at its construction. It leads to an area filled with flea market type stands populated on the weekend by vendors bringing their products to sell.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-58988790823176542232011-07-01T19:49:00.000-07:002011-07-01T19:49:11.734-07:00HikingI ventured out on a hike to see what I could find. Initially I headed up the western bank of the Thimphu Valley, taking what appeared to be the main road thinking it would take me the furthest. I walked several miles through residential neighborhoods and was turned away by armed guards from a couple of palaces or official government offices. That was ok though, I finally found the Thimphu zoo, or rather a sort of sanctuary for the official national animal, the takin. Apparently, these animals were originally put into captivity for display purposes but this was met with opposition as it was inconsistent with Buddhist belief. They were therefore released but they either didn't want to leave, or couldn't figure out how to return to the wild. So rather than risk these animals being injured or starving, back up went the fences and a little development to support their upkeep. I'll try and get a photo posted.<br />
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I continued on a cross country trail over a ridge to a "dzong" a religious place of worship. Here I met a elderly monk with betel nut filling his mouth so completely, I considered the possibility that he was bleeding, the color of his teeth and saliva was that red. You can't help but smile back at them. Trying to be respectful and considerate of the Buddhist beliefs, I tread lightly across the lawn to view the large, ornately decorated prayer wheel placed within an a cupola type structure. Being the observant one that I am, I knew that each spin of the prayer wheel constitutes one reading of the prayer included within. Still trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I felt obligated to participate in local custom. I stepped up to the wheel, grabbed the handle and gave it a spin, clockwise of course, as I had previously noted was proper. I neglected to note however the stick protruding from the top of the wheel which, once every revolution would strike a brass bell hanging in exactly the right spot. My presence obvious now to all of western Bhutan, I quickly stepped down, looked around to see if I was going to be reprimanded by the monk, and headed down the trail back to town.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3360065694669471994.post-1053431793223253682011-06-30T05:03:00.000-07:002011-06-30T05:03:12.032-07:00Taxi rideSo each country's taxi drivers have their own reputation to uphold. Bhutan is no exception, and in some sense, it would appear that they are playing a bit of catch up, as though they have been left out of this informal international worst driver competition for some time. As it was, I was escorted from the airport to some sort of miniature SUV type vehicle and was quickly reminded of the fact that they drive on the left here (I started to get in the driver's seat). I was reassured by a dotted white line in the middle of the highway, clearly delineating separate lanes, as we all know to allow faster cars to pass slower ones. My driver however, considered this road to have 3 positions and he chose the middle path, straddling the line, 2 wheels on the left and the other two on the right of the line. This of course left extra room to either side of the vehicle enhancing the safety of the ride I explained to myself. He also, I concluded, is employed by the Bhutan Highway Department and is lobbying to rebuild the roads. You see, he seemed to have a strong desire for the road to be straighter than it is. Now, maybe he was just trying to save gas by taking the straightest course from point A to point B. The road as it currently exists follows each and every curve and contour of the river canyon and all of its tributaries (and there are a lot). There has been no fill in, bridges or tunnels. The only exception to my driver's rule of staying in the middle was to cut each corner as sharply as possible to the inside, taking advantage of right handed turns to pass other vehicles. This was all going actually rather smoothly until I had the sudden realization that there were indeed other vehicles coming from the other direction in the right lane. There was no separate road for uphill traffic. The dotted white line lo and behold carried different meaning here. As far as I was concerned, this was a double solid yellow line highway the whole way! I guess that would be too expensive. Never the less, leave it to the locals to navigate on their own turf and all will be well. Good thing the cars are made extra narrow here.JAGMANhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01734624780090738390noreply@blogger.com1