Himalaya Adventure: DAY 7 THURS. OCT. 9 PARO

A long travel day saw us leave our point of entry into Bhutan and spend a six hour plus drive to the bustling town of Phuntsholing. Before leaving Paro, however, we were treated to an amazing display of archery skill and prowess. Archery is the national sport of Bhutan, and the archers aimed at a target 150 meters away and routinely hit it.

Phuntsholing is the gateway to India, and, even though it is in southern Bhutan, the appearance of many of the people, their dress, and the overall vibe suggests the nearness to the Indian colossus. If we were to throw a stone from our hotel room, we'd hit India.

The drive was astonishing. As usual, the condition of the road was terrible, but Dorji, our driver, kept us safe and moving. I have nothing but admiration for this young man. We threaded our way through harrowing and narrow passages, jockeying for space with huge Tata lorries and suicidal dogs and cattle. How we didn't lose mirrors or paint, or kill untold numbers of animals, only Dorji knows. The "hills" were enormous and, as we moved south, incredibly lush. We climbed and dipped, skirting cliffs that dropped off into a green leafy abyss. Death was only four feet away as our bus lurched along. Waterfalls, rock slides, huge ferns that belonged in Jurassic Park and small villages sped past. We paused at a 16th century iron bridge that spanned a fast flowing mountain river. The "bridge" was literally chains, chicken wire and cable. I conquered my uneasiness and crossed it, looking the churning water and rocks twenty feet below my feet.

Then, into the clouds where our visibility narrowed to perhaps fifty feet. Dorji knew the way. Finally, out of the clouds where a huge vista spread below us. An enormous plain, cut in half by a meandering river. As we descended, the heat and humidity increased. The pines gave way to the ferns, banana trees and creepers. We had left the high ground behind.

A hotel welcomed us. A lovely cup of tea, air conditioning and a shower beckoned. But as I sipped my tea, I looked out the window: Dorji was on top of the bus, slinging our heavy bags to the porters below. His day was not done. We say goodbye to Dorji and Tandem today. Sad indeed.