The five ladies that I met that morning had come to Dochula Pass to walk the circular path and pray, as they do once or twice or month. I had stumbled across their morning break and I was immediately captivated by the close knit group. The vibrant colors of their clothing, the anachronistic feel of their cellphones being pulled out of their traditional Kira, their genuine smiles and friendly teasing with each other. I asked if I could take a picture. They asked if I would like some tea. We sat together and spoke broken English and sipped black tea with sugar and powdered milk. They gave me chhurpi (an incredibly hard cheese made from dried yak milk that I eventually had to give up on after an hour of trying to get it to soften in my mouth), and the ubiquitous betel nut that stains everyone’s teeth red. They asked me many questions about my trip to Bhutan and offered me their daughter’s hands in marriage. I told them everything I had done already on my trip and politely declined the marriage offers. They took selfies and sent text messages. I took pictures and chewed on the betel nut. At the end of our time together they packed up their small picnic and headed back to the chortens to continue their pilgrimage.