All names of people and some place names have been changed as a nod to the veil of fog that often envelops Bhutan. As much as possible I’ve tried to update things that have changed during the almost two decades I’ve had associations with the country, but I also want to convey the idea of Bhutan as I see it, or saw it from the beginning. The country and its people are making tremendous changes, but the things that matter—family, culture, humor—remain. The little house on the farm where we lived outside the capital of Thimphu is still there, but the farm has become a large school.
The Bhutan I married is a rural Bhutan, full of religion, superstition, wonderful friends and family, hard work, and jaw-dropping beauty. I never use the word pristine anywhere else, but I do in Bhutan. Most of the people described in these pages will never read this book. My audience in Bhutan is the intelligentsia, the average resident of Thimphu: educated, savvy, and self-examining to a degree that would surprise most Westerners, but we are a little patronizing that way. For this reason, educated Bhutanese might take issue with my characterizations of life in Bhutan, my insistence that Bhutanese look at time differently and might not be punctual getting to the office. I beg their indulgence. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
I make no secret of the fact that I think my Bhutanese friends and family live more sanely than many people around the globe. They are my patient teachers. What I write and all I know is the experience of an outsider who had the extraordinary good luck to be welcomed into this unique place. It has been life-altering. In a way, it is a real marriage. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, my life belongs to Bhutan.