standing on the timeworn stone steps of the
Gangtey Monastery, an eerily quiet religious
complex perched above a misty valley, where
monks slipped like ghosts through a cobblestoned
courtyard. Until that moment, Max (his
Bhutanese name is Nawang Gyeltshen) had been
a polite but disciplined font of information—
the sort of guide whose aim is to usher travelers
along a well-established path rather than get
them behind closed doors. Now he was looking
at me with a mix of alarm and curiosity.
I explained that a friend in New York, Erin
Levi, a Bhutan guidebook author, had told me
about a fabled yeti hide hidden in the tantric
chamber of the Gangtey Monastery. The relic
was last documented by the Italian adventurer
Reinhold Messner in 1991.
“I have heard the skin is still here,” Max
admitted. “But it is totally off-limits. Only the
highest religious oicials can see it.”
This was good enough for me. “Let’s find the
abbot.” I declared, marching into the courtyard.
“We can request special access.” Max at first
looked per t urbed, but t hen hur r ied behind me,“CAN I SEE
THE RED
YETI SKIN?”
Even in Bhutan, the tiny Himalayan kingdom that
has one of the world’s highest standards for strangeness,
the question stopped my guide in his tracks. “Who told
you about that?” Max asked suspiciously, pulling his
gho closer as if to wa rd off a sudden chi l l. We were