Chele La

Views from Chele La pass, the highest motorable road in Bhutan at 3810 meters, 12,500 feet. 

Hot Stone Bath

Armed only with a torn page from an old Tashi Delek Magazine, I set out for Paro determined to find myself an authentic Bhutanese hot stone bath. The article featured warm photos of families relaxing in steaming wooden tubs. And I wanted to be there. There was no address or phone number so all I had to go off was the owner’s name, Aum Kencho.

Homestay in Ura

Driving over the pass to Ura, there are so many trees. The density is hard to grasp. How big would this country be if the mountainous blanket was stretched out tight? It’s so hard to imagine what it looks like for the birds. Here on the ground, the only things that exist are within the grip of the nearest mountain.

Ura valley is cut into fields of rounded rectangles, in shades of gold and straw, separated by the brown pegs of wooden fence posts. A cluster of houses huddle close together, surrounding the lhakhang. They blend into the land. Whitewashed stone walls reveal their age with worn patches of mud and woven bamboo peeking through. Stacks of firewood make tall extensions atop rock walls marking the winding paths through the village.

Blessings and Lunch in Tang Valley

We duck into a narrow room hanging out over the cliff. Three walls and a slanted floor made of wooden planks are built around a supporting rock wall where a fire charred boulder has been converted into a kitchen and big, fat pots blacken over open flames. Women and children line the perimeter of the floor and two little ones are shuffled to the side to make room for us to sit. Bright light leaks through slender, glassless windows, slashing silver streaks across the room washing the shadowed faces in a soft, serene glow. Everyone is staring at us, eyes wide and full in the center, pinched like a teardrop at the outer corners, plump lips curled into amused grins.

Jakar Town

Warm in bed at the Swiss Guest House, bukhari  blazing, our adopted German Shepard curled up on the rug. Coziest sleep ever.

Bus to Bumthang

Early morning at the Thimphu bus station is a flurry of diesel fumes and relatively organized commotion. Buses leave promptly on schedule top loaded with suitcases, boxes and 50kg sacks of potatoes, onions and rice. Waiting passengers spin a giant prayer wheel, an Indian man dressed in a bubblegum pink shalwar kameez paces back and forth; the whole scene is far less hectic than I had imagined.

California Raisins

Last time I was in California I was 18 years old with an unfounded tendency for rebellion. My best friend, Steph and I were visiting her soon to be college campus in Santa Barbara- this was our very first solo trip after high school. In hindsight this trip would be a sort of premonition for things to come; we experienced many firsts out there in Cali... I somehow ended up with a cross tattoo on the back of my neck... and Steph with the Chinese symbol for Scorpio.

Eleven years later I was happy to be returning to California a more mature version of my 18 year old self. This time to Northern Cali via San Francisco along the very curvy road to Santa Cruz. Three of my best friends from college (and a pug and a sister and a mentor/friend I met in Bhutan) have made Santa Cruz their home. These three ladies have been by my side dancing, growing, evolving since those larger than life years in Charleston. Together we've survived some of the highest highs and lowest lows of the human experience. Through the best and worst of times we came together; leaning on each other for support, shoulders wet with tears, picking each other up (literally) and when necessary, putting each other in her place. People say that in order to understand joy you must experience pain... I am so proud to see how these women have each transformed personal struggle into something far more productive, impactful, caring. 

Colorado the Beautiful

It happens every time. The nostalgia. Memories flooding back, washing down the mountain threatening to overflow through my eyes. 

I love this place. So much it hurts sometimes. 

Tiger's Nest

Taktsang Monastery is the holiest, most well-known and most widely photographed landmark in Bhutan. A visit to the infamous monastery is included in every tourist itinerary and it lives up to the hype.                               

A cluster of white structures cling to the face of a cliff with all its strength. 

This was the first image I saw when I googled Bhutan for the first time twelve months ago.

Phobjikha, Valley of the Cranes

It is said that when the Black Necked cranes arrive from Tibet in late October, they circle above the Gangtey monastery three times as if practicing kora, the meditative ritual of circling around a sacred site or building. Their arrival in Phobjikha is celebrated each November with a huge, colorful festival to honor the endangered bird; a legendary symbol venerated throughout Bhutanese folklore, music, dance and art. Known locally as Thrung Thrung Karm, the birds are a revered Buddhist symbol for peace and longevity. Shrouded in mysticism, the sacred cranes are celebrated as messengers from the heavens; if seen flying above their fields, local farmers rejoice it as the sign of a good harvest; others believe they are carrying the souls of deceased lamas back to Gangtey monastery to pay their respects. Something about these tall, sleek birds has enchanted humans for centuries. Only when you see the cranes with your own eyes will you understand. 

Chasing Mountain Bikes

We left Thimphu at 12:30 p.m. Our taxi drivers Karma and Namson Dorji assured us there were no road blocks (they teamed up to take turns driving for the 12 hour round-trip to Phobjikha). They had the tunes pumping; a mash up of the latest radio hits, club bangers and a few legit hip-hop classics. Pharrell’s Happy rings over the music and Namson answers his phone. Appropriate ringtone for this infamously smiley country. 

Winter in the Himalayas

Blue skies, white peaks, hot sun, cold wind, happy dogs, tired legs, prayer flags fluttering, eyes trying to take it all in... Our first Himalayan winter...

Run BKK

Bangkok, you are insane.
Street art, traffic, tuk tuks, and Christmas mayhem in the Buddhist capital. MEGAN SEAVER I'LL SEE YOU HERE IN THREE WEEKS!!!

Sssshhh... don't tell anyone

Welcome to Long Beach. Watch out for that giant hole in the road on the way in. Once you're here you'll understand what real Thailand living is supposed to be. Barefoot, mosquito nets, best food in the country. Don't tell a soul...

Koh Chang

This is the view Michael and I woke up to out of the bungalow window our first morning in Lonely Beach, Koh Chang island.

Chiang Mai

Ceiling of the World

Ode to the Penis

Oh Great Penis,

Thunderbolt of Wisdom

Slayer of evil spirits

Defiler of virgins

Giver of good fortune

Merriment of maidens

Envy of the impotent

Phobia of nuns

Pastime of monks

Devious snake

Gallant gentleman

We salute you in all your veined glory. Flaccid or hard, long or short, skinny or chubby, we recognize your power to thrill and indulge. You are a throbbing example of how to let go of the past and live in the present. Your uncomely beauty is a vital lesson in self-love. You are strong yet sensitive, rigid yet flexible, your eagerness to please does not trump your pointed authority in the world. 

Oh Great Penis, soldier against demons, protector of families,   we welcome you into our beds and hearts. 

Punakha

We walk in the cold dark looking for a cab but the streets are empty. The capital is still asleep. We negotiate a fare at the taxi stand and as we drive out of Thimphu the darkness is just beginning to dissipate. Dogs stretch on the side of the road and the first signs of life stir in homes on the outskirts of the city. On the crest of Dochu La pass the sky cracks open revealing a robin's egg blue. The clouds simply can't resist opening to it. The sun yawns a bright orange through the mist, silhouetting the chortens as we round to the left. Whipped cream steam rises between the ridges.

Down we wind into the high alpine jungle to the song of tinkling voices and Bhutanese wind instruments. Ferns drape themselves over precipices and moss clings tenderly to the rocks. The fogs twists and curls itself amongst the trees, enchanting the eyes who relay a message of disbelief to the brain. Some of the leaves celebrate the change of season with jubilant displays or yellows and reds. This is my first fall in the jungle.
 

Charamellas do Bhutan

It is no easy journey to Bhutan. When I arrived I was out of breathe and jet lagged for a week. Globetrotters Nancy and Bob, however, were champs and hardly seemed not to notice they were suddenly 8,000 ft above sea level and half a day ahead of their bodies. They arrived cheery and bearing gifts of jerky, coffee, protein powder, crafting supplies, hand knitted scarves and cuddle duds. 

We spent the first week exploring the Thimphu craft markets, paper factory, textile museum, observing the weavers, and hiking to several of the nearby monasteries.