
I scramble up the road between the Wang River and the cows grazing along fairways of Thimphu's nine-hole golf course, hoping to reach the covered bridge near the dzong before the rain...
...I rush by an old woman with a basket of vegetables on her back, then a man leading a horse followed by a mangy dog. Just as the downpour begins I see my friend Ugyen Wangchuk whom everyone calls “Wangchu.”
“Hey, Wangchu! Kuzuzangpo!”