T H E B A T H H O U S E
SEPTEMBER/OCTOBER 2019 AFAR 97in the town of Paro was, according to my guide, a mod-
est storefront unworthy of much description. Fine by me.
As a blind guy, I don’t always care what the world looks like.
What mattered most was the water inside.
My wife, Tracy, and I had landed in the Paro Valley for
a week’s journey through Bhutan, the reclusive mountain
kingdom tucked between China and India, near Tibet. Re-
nowned for its Himalayan vistas, which would be wasted
on me, Bhutan is also a destination for luxury travelers
interested in the pursuit of “wellness.” The government fa-
mously measures the country’s success not by its economy
but by its population’s happiness. When considering
foreign investment, the kingdom considers how it might
impact the nation’s Gross National Happiness. The Bhu-
tanese must know a thing or two about feeling good. I was
keen to find out.
Wellness isn’t exactly my default. My blindness is
certainly a challenge, but perhaps more challenging is the
armor of my ironic disposition. Humor has carried me
through much, but I sometimes worry that this has been
at the expense of a deeper spiritual well-being. Something
healthier than a joke. I hoped to emerge fresh from the
Paro bathhouse open to new experience and perhaps even
to a new understanding of happiness itself.
The tiled room was private, as was my tub, a wooden
trough like an open coffin that extended through the wall
and into another room. In there, a fire crackled as two
Bhutanese bath attendants prepared to cook me stupid.
They dropped red-hot river stones one at a time into the
water at their end of the tub, thus raising the temperature
in mine. Each stone released a hiss of steam and a balm of minerals that
our guide, Yountin, said would soothe my joints and, bonus, wash away
any bad luck, or what he paradoxically called “ bad merits.” I could ring
an electronic bell on the wall to stop them or to demand more hellfire.How peculiar to smell smoke
and feel water at the same time.
How contradictory to scrub your-
self in a bath tinged with soot. I
luxuriated in it. Fire and water.
Earth and air. An appreciation of
elemental things is, I would come
to learn, fundamental to the Bhu-
tanese point of view. A traditional
bath steeps you in the richness of
its modesty.
That is until, feeling around
for a towel, I knocked down the
wall between me and the work-
ers. For a moment they stared at
my naked honesty. Privacy was
gone. Modesty was, too.A
bout an hour and a
quarter from Paro is
Thimphu, the king-
dom’s capital, home
to approximate-
ly 100,000 people and no traffic
lights. Cows and stray dogs wan-
der the streets as if looking for
parking, Tracy noted. Passing
through, we climbed a winding
mountain road to the first of three
Six Senses resorts we would vis-
it, each in a different region and
elevation, each inviting its guests
into a unique landscape where
they can participate in a specif-
ic wellness experience. The re-
sorts are the childhood dream of
their owner, Dasho Sangay Wang-
chuck. A funny and loquaciousThe town of Paro
stands on the banks
of the river known
as Paro Chhu in
Dzongkha, Bhutan’s
national language.