The road to Bhutan

"Solo travellers are not allowed to enter," said the Bhutanese immigration officer. "What should I do?" I asked. "Get a partner and come," he said. I was travelling alone by road from India to the Himalayan Kingdom of Bhutan. 

I was waiting in Kolkata airport when I heard a flight announcement to Paro. I could have taken that flight and flown directly to Bhutan. But instead, I had decided to enter Bhutan by land, because it is invariably more adventurous. My plan was to fly from Kolkata to Bagdogra, and then reach Siliguri by road. From Siliguri, I planned to take a bus to the Indian border town of Jaigaon. At Jaigaon, I planned to cross the border to Phuentsholing, Bhutan and then take a bus to Paro. The flight time for the direct flight from Kolkata to Paro was about one hour. I would reach Paro in three days. 

There was a prepaid taxi counter in Bagdogra airport, but it was run by a taxi mafia. Passengers had to take a taxi only through that counter, at their highly inflated prices. They quoted an outrageous fare to go from the airport to Siliguri bus station, a distance of just 15km. I spoke directly to a taxi driver, "How much will you charge to go to the bus station in Siliguri?" He said, "I cannot take you. You have to go through the counter." "What will happen if you do?" I asked. He said, "They will beat me up. Or they will, maybe, burn my house." I paid the inflated fare at the prepaid taxi counter, since there was no other choice. "How much do you get?" I asked the taxi driver. He said, "I get 25% of what you paid. They keep 75%."

In the bus station in Siliguri, I had a choice. I could take an Indian bus, or I could go by a Bhutanese bus. I chose to go by the Bhutanese bus. Most of the passengers in the bus were Bhutanese. I had a window seat and there was a young Bhutanese woman, Lhamo, sitting next to me. Lhamo was from the small Bhutanese town of Gelephu, but lived in Phuentsholing. She ran a travel agency there, along with her sister. "The only way to reach Gelephu from Phuentsholing is through India," she said. There were no Bhutanese roads connecting the two towns. "Most of my business is from Indian visitors," Lhamo said. She tried to sell me a tour, but soon realised that I was an independent traveller. She then said, "They do not allow solo travellers to enter Bhutan." "Why?" I asked. "Bhutan is a family destination. They do not want solo independent travellers," she said. "What should I do?" I asked. Lhamo gave me her business card and said, "If you buy a tour from me, they will allow you." I decided that she was trying to scare me into buying a tour from her.

The bus stopped for lunch in a restaurant. It was a Bhutanese restaurant. Lhamo suggested that I have an emma datshi (rice cooked in beef fat with a stew of chilli peppers, onions and yak cheese). Instead, I decided to have a shamu datshi (it's emma datshi with mushrooms), since it sounded like my name in Telugu, my native language. It was time to pay the bill and the restaurant owner refused to accept Indian Rupees. He wanted Bhutanese Ngultrums. Lhamo paid the bill for me and I paid her in Indian Rupees. I wonder if it's legal for a restaurant in India to not accept Indian currency. We got into the bus and sat down. The bus did not start. The driver said, "You will have to wait for a replacement bus." The replacement bus would have to come from Bhutan and it would take quite a few hours. Lhamo said, "I will find a solution." 

Lhamo went back into the restaurant and spoke to a Bhutanese family having their lunch. She came out and said, "We will get a lift in their car." They were a Bhutanese man, a Bhutanese woman and their 16-year-old daughter. The car was a Hyundai i10, a small hatchback. On top of the car, there was a washing machine and a refrigerator tied to the car. They had tied them to the roof of the car with ropes. So, it was five of us in the small hatchback with a washing machine and a refrigerator on the roof. I was sitting in the rear seat with Lhamo and the daughter. I asked them, "Why are you carrying a washing machine and a refrigerator?" They said, "They are cheaper in India. It's double the price in Bhutan." The daughter said, "We do all our shopping in the malls in Siliguri."

"They won't allow solo travellers to enter Bhutan," they said. Lhamo said, "I told you so." The India - Bhutan border is an open border, but to go beyond the border town of Phuentsholing, Indians need a permit. The daughter said, "They won't give permits to a solo traveller." I decided to go to the Bhutanese immigration office and figure it out. Lhamo said, "You can stay in the Indian side of the border in Jaigaon. The hotels are cheaper and are more value for money." They stopped in front of a hotel in Jaigaon. 

As I was getting out, the Bhutanese man said something in Dzongkha to his daughter. The daughter also got out of the car and said, "I will come with you to the reception." I said, "Why?" She said, "Nothing." We walked to the hotel reception and I checked into the hotel. Then the daughter told the receptionist, "We brought this person to your hotel. Give us a 20% commission." The receptionist refused. She went out and came back with her father. A verbal fight ensued. The receptionist flatly refused to pay any money to them. They then stormed out of the hotel, angrily. I changed some Indian rupees to Bhutanese ngultrums, had a couple of Bhutanese 'Red Panda' beers and went to sleep.

The next morning, by foot I crossed the border which was an archway. The moment I stepped into Bhutan; I was in a different world. There were hardly any people. It was exceptionally clean. The road was smoothly paved. There were wide pedestrian footpaths on both sides of the road. It was quiet. There was no honking. I walked and entered the Bhutanese immigration office. There was a large signboard that said, 'All visitors must be dressed in their national dress'. I was wearing my usual jeans and a t-shirt. I continued to walk in and met an immigration officer, who was wearing a gho (traditional Bhutanese dress for men). He refused to give me a permit. "Solo travellers cannot get a permit," he said. I showed him my hotel reservations in Paro and Thimphu, but it was to no avail. He said that he cannot give a permit. "What do I do?" I asked. "Find a partner and come back," he said. 

It was only solo men travellers that were not allowed to enter. Solo women travellers were allowed to enter. It was a sexist rule. When Dervla Murphy was asked how she had managed, as a woman, to travel through Ethiopia, for her book In Ethiopia with a Mule (1968), she replied, "It was simple. I went as a man." I wondered, 'Should I try to get in as a woman?!' I still had Lhamo's business card with me. I walked across to her office. Lhamo smiled and said, "I knew you would come." She tried to sell a package tour to me and said that she could get a permit. I said, "I do not travel on package tours." She then said that she would give me a letter stating that I am on a package tour. She said, "I will charge you ₹600 ($8) for the letter." I said, "You get me the permit. I will pay you the money." 

She then typed out the letter and went into an inner room. She came out wearing a kira (traditional Bhutanese dress for women). She said, "All Bhutanese must be dressed in the national dress when entering a government office." That was what the signboard was for. We then went back to the immigration office on her scooter. Lhamo met the same immigration officer, gave him the letter and explained to him that I was on a package tour. Lhamo called me at 5pm and said, "Your permit is ready." She had a dual SIM phone, with one Bhutanese SIM and an Indian SIM card. She called me using her Indian SIM card. I got the permit that evening at 5:30pm. 

The next morning, my bus to Paro was a comfortable Toyota Coaster. But it was not heated. Everyone kept the windows closed and with the sun shining through, the bus became warm quite rapidly. It was a long, winding and uphill road through the Himalayas. It was the first road built in Bhutan in 1962. Until 1962, Bhutan was a roadless country or an 'inhabited wilderness'. Everyone in the bus was Bhutanese. I was the only foreigner. The bus stopped in front of a fruit vendor. Everyone bought baskets full of bananas. The old woman sitting next to me said, "Bananas cost ten times more in Paro." As the altitude increases, the price of bananas increases. On the way, I saw several cars lumbering up with various items like microwaves and televisions, tied to the roof.

We reached a checkpoint. Everyone's national identification card was checked. My permit was checked, stamped and matched against my passport. I was asked, "Are you carrying any cigarettes?" I said, "No." Cigarettes are banned in Bhutan. My bags were thoroughly checked for cigarettes. This happened seven more times in seven more checkpoints on the way. The thought in my head was, 'This is one paranoid country.' The bus finally reached Paro in the evening. Paro was a one-street town, about 200 metres long. Every second shop was either a liquor store or a bar. I checked into my hotel and the heating had been turned on in my room, in anticipation of my arrival. I ordered a hot chicken soup and the waitress said, "We do not kill animals in Bhutan." I asked, "How do you get the meat?" She replied, "The chickens are killed in India and the meat brought here." The thought in my head changed to, 'This is one strange and paranoid country.'

Have you ever had problems entering a country, as a solo traveller? If so, where?

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