Previous Lives

One valley west of Phobjikha is the city of Punakha, famous for a temple dedicated to the worship of a Buddhist leader known as the Divine Madman, or Lama Drupka Kunley, who had a magic phallus he used to fight off evil spirits. Penis imagery is everywhere: Painted on walls in great detail, sometimes wearing a sash. More subtle versions include the giant wooden penis that graced my hotel room mantle, and the red-painted wooden penises with airplane wings that hung off each corner of the hotel roof as a form of spiritual protection.

But I had come to Punakha not just for penis imagery, but also to visit what Phuntso and my other guide and driver, Kinga Tenzin, said was the best dzong, or fortress in all of Bhutan. It’s a vast complex with both administrative offices and monastic spaces, including temples that tell the story of Buddha’s life. The week I was there, it was hosting the Moenlam Chhenmo (The King of Aspirational Prayers), an annual festival for the faithful in which the Chief Abbott, the top religious officer in Bhutan, recited blessings and prayers for world peace over a loudspeaker.

For miles heading to the dzong, the road was lined with pilgrims: men in traditional gho outfits (a knee-length robe tied at the waist, with a colored sash across the chest to show societal rank) and women in their brightest silk jackets and ankle-length wrap skirts called kiras. When we arrived, a field was filled with thousands of devotees, along with tents where they’d sleep for up to two weeks. Some were taking a break to see the country’s longest suspension bridge nearby. They’d traveled days from other parts of Bhutan, and had never seen this part of the country.

That night, I stayed in the Pamtsho Lodge guesthouse in Thimphu, the capital, and ate dinner with the owner, Tsewang Nidup, whom everyone calls Uncle. Both of my guides agreed that he had so much wisdom that it seemed to emanate from his pores. I told him about my day at the Punakha Dzong, and how I had looked around and hadn’t seen another Westerner in that sea of Buddhists.

“You must have accumulated enough merit in a previous life to be part of the event,” he said. “Or maybe you are already associated with it in your previous life, so now it’s a continuity.” People who’d seen me there, he said, likely thought the same thing, which is why no one seemed to give me a second glance.

“We are Bhutanese-born here and still we did not get the opportunity to see the blessings,” he went on, “and you did.”

Had I arrived at Bhutan any earlier in my 52 Places trip, I’m not sure I would have been as grateful as I am now, so close to the end of my journey. I spent so many months stressed out about logistics or finances or work. I don’t know if it’s because of the exhaustion that set in when I was in China and hasn’t lifted, or the asceticism of living out of a suitcase for a year, but the Buddhists stories my guides told me all seemed to make sense.