As in all dzongs, only the courtyards are open to foreigners, and only when accompanied by the requisite guide and permit. But the local monks graciously open a couple of chapels for us, where we perform the ritual three prostrations before the altar, with the instruction of our guide, before being blessed by juniper-infused holy water. The chapels are dark, lighted only by small butter lamps, so it takes some time for our eyes to adjust before we notice we are staring into the beatific eyes of a giant gold Buddha. So far, we have been traveling with our mandated guide and a driver in an Indian minibus. But now that we have reached the start of the trek, our party swells to include a mountain guide, a cook and a local farmer who is renting us her pack ponies.
Women own most property in Bhutan, from which they derive their status as equals to men.
But our horsewoman is taking no chances and accompanies us throughout the trek to keep an eye on her animals. Unlike in Nepal, there are no sherpas or porters in Bhutan. But the Government mandates that everything on treks, including cooking fuel, must be taken along so that the countryside remains pristine. Every few hours, we emerge from the canopy to sight more rows of green, undulating mountains. These are not the high Himalayas, where treks last a minimum of a week and are more arduous.