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.

We visited Paro for the weekend to hike the famous Tasksang Monastery and the baths would be a nice reward for the climb. All around town I asked if anyone knew Aum Kencho’s baths; the ladies working at our hotel, taxi drivers, random shopkeepers and strangers we passed on the street. Some said they may have heard of such baths but, “No, no la. I don’t know where it is.” Others just shook their heads saying, “Yes, ok.”

On our last night we had dinner in town at a local restaurant. Aside from the family who owned the place, it was empty. Eventually a few groups of diners trickled in. One fellow in particular was very chatty with the family—he obviously knew them well as he laughed with his friend and happily teased the baby girl. He seemed like the kind of guy who knows everyone, so in one last attempt I showed him my torn article. He stood quietly for a long moment then, “Yes!”

“I have been to these baths. Oh they are very nice la, veeeery nice. You will like very much. I call my friend and find her for you!” After several phone calls he had Aum Kencho’s number. By this time it was approaching 10pm. “You want to go now? Stone bath veeeery nice at night,” he said bouncing his eyebrows. But we agreed that, for the views, it was best to go during the day. He gave me his number instructing us to call him from the cab tomorrow so he could give the driver directions.

Aum Kencho's village. Jomalahari peak in the background

We arrived late morning along a rutted dirt farm road cut through the middle of a dry field. There was smoke rising behind a house and we walked around to find a shack of sorts with a big fire burning out front, piled high with rocks. Two little girls emerge in fuzzy pajamas and a woman with wet, black hair stands in her bath robe, head glistening like an oil slick in the sun. From the looks on everyone’s faces this is clearly not a place that attracts many tourists, but their surprise is quickly replaced with an easy smile and another young woman tells us she’ll have a bath ready soon.

Yangtzo chopping wood for the fire

We change in a small room with an empty wooden bed platform meant for guests who wish to stay the night (duly noted for next time). The bathtubs are wooden troughs about 2 meters long by .5 meter wide and set into cement block bases. On one side of the trough is a wooden cage to house the stones. For privacy we have a pink shower curtain separating us from the neighbor tub. We snuggle in, tucking feet behind each other’s back. Some of the wooden joints are stuffed with strips of cloth to prevent leaking. The water reaches chest level and is hot and swirling with bits of floating debris. Except for a small space left open for easy access to the stone cage we are completely enclosed by blue and green tarps. Sunlight shining through plastic colors the air turquoise.

The young woman who greeted us is Yangtzo; Aum Kencho’s eldest daughter. Designed by her mother and built in 2010, these six baths are the family’s primary source of income. Since mom isn’t here today Yangtzo, 21, is running the show; shuffling back and forth between fire and tub carrying red hot stones with a pair of gigantic forceps.

Just as the water in our tub has started to cool Yangtzo pops her head in. Through the gap I watch her select a glowing stone from the fire and drop it in the tub. It screams and hisses and the rumble is sucked below the surface where it grumbles about, releasing its heat. I’m sitting closest to the rocks and have to jump out to swirl the scalding water to the other end of the tub. Some of the stones glitter; rays of light sneak under the tarp igniting golden flecks in the rough, black flesh. Others are pyramidal with alternating layers of red and orange. Some round and speckled like dinosaur eggs. The minerals they contain supposedly seep into the water and are said to be very medicinal, curing all sorts of ailments.

There are two other families soaking. The Bhutanese make an event of it; people travel from surrounding villages for these baths. Families will stay the entire day rotating in and out of the troughs, breaking for a full hot lunch atop the empty bed platforms. Soak, dry, eat, repeat.

The kids in the bath next to us burst into a chorus of Frozen’s ‘Let it go.’  Even in the middle of nowhere Bhutan, in the most rustic of settings, Disney finds its way in.

Yangtzo peeks in holding up her peace fingers and says, “Two more?” We agree and she laughs, looking at me on the edge trying to keep my feet above the boiling broth. The rock routine continues like this every 30 minutes or so. We watch through the small gap as wet, flip flopped feet scuffle past and cold rocks are thrown back in the fire.

After a few hours we are pruned and dehydrated. Changing back into my dry clothes I feel surprisingly clean (and like I have noodles for bones). Yangtzo congratulated us saying that we outlasted the few other chillups who never endure longer than an hour.  We would be back, I promised, and next time we’ll bring lunch. And maybe a sleeping bag.

Walking back up to the road, we took pictures of surrounding landmarks to remember how to find the turn again.