Richard And Jo Demeester's photos

Traffic control in downtown Thimphu. The reliable story is, the position of directing traffic was replaced with an automatic system, known as traffic lights. However, whether people just didn't like them, or whether they didn't understand, eventually the only traffic lights in the whole country were eventually removed and the flamboyant white gloved "dancers" were returned to the intersection.

Part goat, part cow, part yak, part moose. They're big, and quite unusual.

Motithang Takin Preserve.

It is probably the first time we have been given dishes where chilli is the vegetable, not just the condiment. And then, they add chilli sauce to their chilli based dishes. The market had tons, with some piles approaching a metre in height.

Men wearing traditional outfits, known as the Gho.

The outfit for women is known as the Kira.

On our way out of the Dzong, leaving the tsechu, we passed many families stopping to take photos of each other to remember the day. We found it easy to be included, and realised they liked taking us in their photos as much as we enjoyed them being included in ours.

It did not take too long, and we found a spot big enough for two. We had to climb around a few people, but that was not considered an issue - given the lack of spaces. Everyone remained seated, and men in official capacity walked around, reminding people who were standing or putting up umbrellas, to get down and not block anyone's views. People walking and looking for seats could not stop for longer than 20 or 30 seconds before being moved along.

We slowly circuited, watching for people stirring in a "we're about to leave" kind of way. The tsechu runs for three full days, with spectators coming and going at any time. So, it was a patience game.

Coming up the stairs at the back of the Dzong, we were not quite ready for the scene. The open space with colourfully clothed dancers, and thousands of spectators filling every available vantage spot.

It is Thimphu Tsechu time, and everyone comes dressed in their finest. Some of the younger Bhutanese seemed less satisfied with wearing their finery, but this baby is not yet old enough to mind.

On arrival at Paro airport, collecting baggage is a uniquely Bhutanese affair, with the two baggage carousels running around models of the country's two fines Dzongs.

Unusually, Old Muscat is not at the heart of Muscat city. What tends to happen, is the historic heart remains the heart of the city, to some degree or another. A new centre may spring up, but the new city surrounds and engulfs the old city. Muscat, though, has its new city along the coast. Kind of bumped against the old city, but then sprawled out away from it for the next 20 or more kilometres.

So, we knew we were ordering more than we needed. We forgot they would automatically give the rice, salad, pita, dahl, and hummus. The prawn masala was excellent, but the chicken nashif was out of this world.

Getting close to Muscat, we visited Wadi Shab. It seemed to be the most touristy place we have been in Oman, with many nationalities seemingly represented amongst those heading up. First, there was a boat trip across a smal "lake" from the car park, then on foot, past ancient water channels that are still maintained, modified, and important.

A shop sign in the ladies souk in Sur.