I am grasping the seat of our car. Once again one of those curves taken much too fast in my estimation! Convex-mirrors like at home at any dangerous curve don't exist here. Our lives again depend for about 8 hours solely on the concentration and skill of my 26-years-old driver. One mistaken move with his muscular sun-tanned little legs, and he could have easily forwarded us into eternity. Only a few centimeters on my left separate us of an abyss several hundreds of meters deep.
But in spite of the danger we are constantly in, I cannot stop myself from staring at these legs under the little coat Bhutanese men wear. How I would love to fondle them, kiss them, find my way upů Read more