Bhutan – The Land of the Thunder Dragon
Unsurprisingly, for a small country at the junction of India and China high up in the Himalayan mountains, the country of Bhutan has a complex history. It’s often been revered by the outside world, impenetrable to all but the most adventurous. As a result, over the years it’s had many captivating names; the land of ghosts, the dark land, the dragon land, the land of medicinal plants, the land of the thunder dragon, and these are just the ones I can remember. It hints at a mystical kingdom, hard to enter, sometimes violent, sometimes enlightening, but always filled with spiritual promise.
I’ve wanted to visit Bhutan for as long as I can remember, its mystique has always fascinated me. After only a short while in the country though, I can’t help but ask how anyone can reconcile it. My mind is a haze, struggling to grasp its complexities. One part of me is observing the most logical, respectful, calm and natural place I have ever visited. It’s a country where people understand the importance of everything that makes a great society. Eating well, exercising, looking after each other, caring for your family, finding beauty wherever you can, and respecting nature; to the point of being fearful of damaging it. Both education and healthcare are completely free, something I’ve come to appreciate is actually quite rare. It’s unequivocally wonderful in every regard. But how can you reconcile such unadulterated logic with mystical snow lions that travel on the clouds, Buddhist masters who travel on the rays of the sun, dark magic, mystics, mermaids, dragons, mountain deities, animal spirits, auspicious days and mysterious astrological numbers? These things are spoken of casually in the present tense. For example, high altitude mountaineering is banned in Bhutan. Many of its highest peaks remain unsummited. The main reason though is not safety, it’s because it offends the mountain deities. Their beliefs are both complex and at times bewildering. It’s utterly dizzying. But, there’s absolutely no doubt, I’m in love with Bhutan.
For the three weeks before our arrival we were in neighbouring Nepal. As you may know from that previous post, it was great, but the country has its problems. I didn’t expect to find scenes out of ‘Severn Years in Tibet’ in Nepal, but I hoped for less rubbish and perhaps more culture and authenticity. I had also, perhaps naively, expected more Buddhism. As our plane took off from Kathmandu airport, I remember looking out the window and pondering where it went wrong. The houses are butted right up to the airport fence, less than 200m from the wingtips. It’s a reminder of the many challenges Nepal faces. Consequently, as we fly over the Himalayas, with Mount Everest in clear view outside, I’m hoping for something different. The gentle background music on the plane, along with the free Halls mints to help your ears adjust are promising signs of a more tranquil and calming environment. As we cruise along on a clear day, the views of the Tibetan plateau are incredible. It looks harsh, dry and barren. It’s as if the greenery of the lower Nepalese plains tried desperately to climb up the steep slopes of the Himalayas, but failed to make it over.
(Clouds whip from the top of Mount Everest out the plane window on our way to Bhutan)
The flight from Nepal to Bhutan is painlessly short, less than an hour. Only two government owned airlines fly in. The plane banks sharply twice in a tight S-shape between tall mountains to make its final approach for the narrow flat strip of ground at Paro airport. As we come in to land, the wings of the plane seem only a few hundred meters from the steep mountain slopes dotted with ornately decorated houses. I’m getting all the right vibes.
As we disembark we get our first glimpse of Bhutanese architecture up close, the airport terminal is intricately painted and visually stunning. Inside, all the baggage carousels have scaled down replicas of major Bhutanese buildings, complete with miniature leaves and trees. I think it must be the only airport in the world containing an art exhibition.
(An ornately decorated baggage carousel at Paro airport, Bhutan)
As our Bhutanese journey is about to start, I consider their unique, if not perhaps somewhat elitist, approach to visitors. You have to pay a flat fee to visit. In our case, $250 per person, per day. This covers your accommodation (3 star, the charge increases if you want 4 or 5 star), three meals a day, drinking water, guides, entrance fees and private transport. My wife, Jess, and I are here for 15 days. You can easily do the maths on what it’s costing. The flights over from Nepal are not included, costing another $500 each. The Bhutanese model is simple, it’s called ‘low impact, high value’. They want tourists to visit, but on their terms, and only bringing with them behaviours and influences that help to maintain their traditions and culture, not dissolve or dilute them. It’s as if one of their former kings had visited the Costa del Sol in Spain, Kathmandu in Nepal, or Cancun in Mexico and said “no thanks”. It’s an odd system, and certainly removes that autonomy you search for when travelling, but you can’t deny the logic. Bhutan is not a country that’s adapted to tourism, tourism has adapted to Bhutan. It’s clear from the start of the trip. On our first day we witness the formal daily ceremony for lowering the flag at Thimphu Dzong (a temple/monastery), but we only catch a glimpse of it through the railings with shrubs obscuring the view. I ask why it’s not possible to view it and the question is met with slight confusion. It’s a flag lowering ceremony, not a show put on for tourists. After the ceremony is complete, we’re finally allowed to enter. It doesn’t make you feel like you’re an intruder, but it certainly feels a little odd.
To assist us on our visit we have a dedicated guide, Phongsho. We also have our driver, Karma. We meet them both on arrival at the airport. They’re both wearing a Gho, the traditional male Bhutanese outfit. It’s like a dressing gown with a belt around it. The belt, when done up tightly, acts like the base of a large pocket that runs around the waist, allowing its wearer to store things casually inside. It’s not uncommon to see a man take out a bottle of water, his car keys, some food, or a book. It’s like watching something out of Mary Poppins. Sashes are worn outside the Gho to indicate a persons role in what is a highly structured society. A judge wears green, ministers orange, national council members blue, the king saffron, and the common man, white. Phongsho and Karma are entertaining from the start. They’ve known each other since school, resulting in that jovial dynamic that only school friends attain. Our trip will involve some long days in the car, so their close friendship is a bonus as they drive the country chatting and listening to moody music that all seems to sound like Enya.
After general introductions are done away with, we make our way to our first sight, a bridge over a river made from large heavy iron rings welded together to create a series of interlocking chains. It was created more than 600 years ago. Unfortunately, a local habit of chipping small sections of iron away to make items such as jewellery has meant that this is the last one remaining. Phongsho, slightly embarrassed, turns a small ring nervously on his finger that his grandfather made from this very bridge many years ago.
(Tachog Lhakhang bridge over the Rio Paro, Paro, Bhutan)
It’s also here that our headfirst kamikaze into Bhutanese traditions and Buddhism begins. We spot a large collection of cupcakes that appear to have been deposited at a stupa. At this point perhaps I should explain a few more details:
- A stupa is a Buddhist structure, typically square. They can also be circular and are often found in rows. In English, they are sometimes called Chortens.
- You should only walk around a stupa clockwise.
- Prayer wheels are regularly found around stupas. They are cylindrical devices of varying size that are turned by hand, always clockwise, to spread good karma into the world.
- Each prayer wheel delivers good karma because they contain copies of text inside that repeat the Buddhist ‘mantra of compassion’ over and over again.
- All clear? Excellent….
Anyway, back to the cupcakes on the stupa. It turns out, that whilst they look exactly like cupcakes they are, in fact, painted and made of clay. Phongsho picks a couple up and hands me one. He turns his over and points to a small dot of grey/black in the middle of the base. He explains that this dot is ash from a dead person and the family have made these cupcakes and embedded the ash within them on the anniversary of their loved ones death. It’s not clear which anniversary, and for how many years the process goes on for, but if you thought that was the confusing bit, that’s just the beginning. They don’t just make one, no, no, they make 108. Why? Well, because it’s a mystical number. Apparently, this is in part because it’s the distance to the sun divided by its diameter. It’s also the same for the moon. The celestials speak through the language of maths. I ran some of the numbers, assuming they would be way off, but I’m a little surprised by the results. The sun came out at 106 and the moon 110. Maybe they took the average? But also the orbits of both are elliptical, and Google just gave me one number, so very likely at some point on their orbits, quite amazingly, 108 may be accurate for both.
(Clay cakes and prayer wheels at a stupa at Tachog Lhakhang bridge, Paro, Bhutan)
After the mental strain of interpreting these revelations, we drive on towards the capital city, Thimphu. The river from Paro to Thimphu is crystal clear, there’s no rubbish in sight, even at the side of the roads. Unfortunately, somewhere along this drive, Jess realises that the visa in her passport has been stamped with the wrong month. It means it’s expired before she entered the country. Fearing this might cause a problem when we leave, we head to the immigration office in Thimphu. A lady takes the passport, glances at it briefly, then changes the month with a biro pen and the issue is fixed. It’s how problems were meant to be resolved. A human computer says “yes”.
The capital city is pretty small, only around 100,000 people, and nestled in a valley, a phrase you could probably use for almost any town in Bhutan. From the windows in our hotel room we look out onto the huge National Memorial Chorten as locals walk around it clockwise. Ideally, they must circle it three times. But if you happen to find yourself with a few hours to spare, circling it 108 times is even better. We circled it the customary three times. Then two young girls come up to us with a microphone and ask if we have any words for the people of Bhutan to celebrate their upcoming National Holiday. It’ll be broadcast on their national radio. Jess takes a subtle step back that makes me smile. I awkwardly do the best I can with less than a day in the country.
In a large playground nearby, a group of people are practicing a dance for the upcoming festival. The men leap into the air and the women shuffle back and forth and all turn in unison. I just can’t imagine anything similar in modern day Britain.
(Local people circumnavigate the national chorten in Thimphu, Bhutan)
(Men practice their dancing for an upcoming festival, Thimphu, Bhutan)
That afternoon, we visit a giant statue of Buddha, 177ft tall. Inside is an ornate Buddhist temple where the walls are lined with thousands of small Buddhas, each 6-8 inches high, paid for by donations. Massive crystals sit in front of various large statues of Lord Buddha in sitting position, alongside other figures of importance to Bhutans religious history. A stack of the teachings of Buddha sits off to the left, the texts folded in rectangular blocks and stacked neatly. The architecture inside is complex and highly colourful. Strips of bright cloth and flags hang from the ceiling and large intensely coloured, hand painted, murals adorn the walls. It’s an assault on the senses from all directions. No photos are allowed. Phongsho makes an offering and prays by prostration whilst we sit cross legged in silence and enjoy the ambience.
(A large statue of Lord Buddha in lotus (seated) position, Thimphu, Bhutan)
As the sun glides behind the mountains flanking the Thimphu valley, the cacophony of the barking dogs of Bhutan begins. The country has a lot, and I mean a lot, of stray dogs. Killing them off would obviously be uncompassionate, and as a result their numbers have grown and grown. The outcome of their compassion is a terrible nights sleep. They bark, and bark, and bark, all night long. It’s a recurring issue throughout our entire trip in Bhutan. The locals laugh it off and call them ‘solar dogs’, they recharge by day and bark all night. I can only assume they’ve become accustomed to it as background noise, but for me, as a lover of dogs, they test my patience within an inch of its limits. Multiple times I come close to running out of hotels half naked to chase them madly down the road.
The next morning, bleary eyed and angrier than normal, I try to channel my inner Buddha before we hike up to the Wangditse monastery, originally built in the early 1700’s. Prayer flags covered with the mantra of compassion line the paths as we hike up the steep dusty path. At the top, a hermit walks out and sits looking serenely over the Thimphu valley. He says he’s been meditating for 2 years so far. In total, he’ll be up here for 3 years, 3 months, 3 weeks and 3 days. Apparently, it’s another auspicious number. Whilst he’s meditating, people bring him food and supplies in support of his endeavours. I couldn’t figure out for how long each day they meditate, the guidebook to attaining inner enlightenment seems somewhat unfixed. It’s such a strange concept, that someone might opt out of society as we know it for so long and be respected greatly for doing it. If I said to my parents “I want to sit and contemplate my existence for 3 years, please can you trek food up a steep mountain to me each week?” I’m pretty sure they’d say “get a job you lazy bum”.
(Prayer flags alongside the path to Wangditse monastery, Thimphu valley, Bhutan)
(Wangditse monastery, Thimphu valley, Bhutan)
Our journey then takes us from Thimphu towards the east. On the way out of town a ‘learned master’ who is visiting the western valley causes a minor traffic jam. His name translates to ‘he who rides on the rays of the sun’. People flock to seek his council for advice or blessings. Apparently, he’s big on YouTube. Once out of the city, the roads hug the sides of the steep forested mountains, making it painstakingly slow progress. Article 5 of the Bhutanese constitution demands that at least 60% of the nation be covered in forest. It’s currently over 70%, making the nation absorb more carbon than it emits. The car climbs gradually up through the forested slopes to the Dorchula pass at 3100m elevation. 108 stupas sit looking out over the Himalayas to Bhutans highest peaks to the north. Unfortunately for us, the clouds are in so the view is non-existent.
(108 stupas at the Dorchula pass, Bhutan)
From the pass we start another hike up through dense forest made of huge fir trees, rhododendron and birch to the Lungchutse monastery. It’s a quiet hike up, gaining around 600 meters in elevation, we don’t see anyone else along the way. A single monk is looking after the building at the top, his only way up and down is the route we’ve taken. It must be a lonely existence at the top of the world with only the occasional visitor, squirrels, and a friendly dog for company.
After the hike, our journey continues further east. Over lunch we’re treated to our first proper Bhutanese meal. It’s somewhat eye opening, or I should say, eye watering. Their main ingredient in almost everything is chillies. A chilli soup, a chilli curry, potatoes with chilli, beans with chilli, a chilli chutney, nothing appears beyond its fiery addition. Almost everything is spicy. Quite unbelievably, it’s equivalent to our potatoes. Phongsho says “if there’s no chillies there’s no life. They’ll be treated as red gold come winter”. I don’t think that’s in the scrolls of Buddha, but it’s a good line nonetheless. As we drive along we become accustomed to seeing the tin metal roofs of houses covered in small yellow and red dots, thousands of chillies drying in the sun.
(Chillies drying on a tin roof top, Bhutan)
Our next stop is Punakha, the former capital of Bhutan until 1955. It feels small, there’s only just over 7,000 people here. It has two main attractions, the sublime and the ridiculous. Sublime is a word that should rarely be used, but to describe the monastery at Punakha as anything but sublime would be a travesty. It’s up there as one of my favourite buildings in the world. It sits majestically proportioned at the confluence of two rivers. It looks like something pulled from a mystical land in a world only the imagination conceived. It’s stunning. We walk around the ornately decorated interior, whilst young monks walk the grounds discussing religious matters, and probably football.
(The beautiful Punakha dzong, Bhutan)
(Young monks wander the grounds of Punakha dzong, Bhutan)
Now the ridiculous. Like the sublime, ridiculous is not a word I use lightly, but I think it can be comfortably applied to ‘the divine madman’. I’m not really sure how to explain this next bit. He was a Buddhist master, born in 1455 in a village near Punakha, who in an act of social criticism chose to live life slightly differently. His ‘weapon’ used to achieve this was his ‘phallus of flaming wisdom’. He apparently slept with more than 1,000 women, was a drunk, and dressed as a tramp. But, apparently, despite his flaws, he was a ‘realised being’ that preached Buddhism by not conforming to the norms imposed by society. That’s of course one way to interpret it. Another could be a lazy madman that loved women and booze, but perhaps I’m being disingenuous. It’s hard not to be jealous of a man with a phallus of flaming wisdom. The legacy of this gentlemen is a country wide prevalence of penis iconography almost everywhere. It’s not unusual to find a tiny red penis dangling from the rear view mirror of a car. Often, large paintings of penises can be found on the sides of buildings or the entrance to a shop or restaurant, fully endowed with a scrotum, hairs and all. It’s really quite disconcerting. Like some practical joke, it’s not uncommon to climb stairs running your hand along a bannister, only to realise it’s a carved 12 foot penis at the end. The divine madman definitely has a lot to answer for.
(A pair of larger than life penises drawn outside the entrance to a restaurant, Bhutan)
Our trip then moves us further east, winding up and down steep valleys covered with rice paddies or thick dense forest. We head towards Bumthang, a town that sits on a flat river bed in a valley where marajuana grows by the roadsides. Nobody seems interested in smoking it. We cross over two high mountain passes before having lunch, a fantastic pumpkin soup, at a tiny cafe under a stunning waterfall. In Bumthang itself, we stay in the Swiss Guest House, named because a number of Swiss worked in the area in the mid-20th century and used this building as a base. As a result the valley has a number of Swiss subtleties, including an interesting cheese factory with a brewery right next door. It’s a nice place to stay. It’s here that Jess falls in love with Mary the cat and I notice a recurring and perhaps disappointing theme. Monks, depressingly, appear to love mobile phones. I’m not really sure how to feel about it. They sit wearing their traditional scarlet robes and are supposedly on a path towards inner enlightenment, but often they use their phones much more than I do. They’ll sit eating dinner whilst staring at whatever is available on YouTube. The constant stream of information pushed into your brain by modern technology seems counter to the search for inner peace, emptying the mind of one’s own thoughts, and the attainment of ultimate clarity. I can’t conceive any immediate solution to the problem, perhaps they don’t think there is a problem, perhaps there actually is no problem, censorship and restricting internet access is obviously a step in a dangerous direction. I’ll be interested to see how the issue evolves over the coming years. Bhutan’s identity has been built on maintaining a way of life that encourages the shedding of both desires and possessions. How the youthful monks of today will respond to seeing the veneered online portrayal of western consumerism, only time will tell.
(Lunch with a waterfall view on the road to Bumthang)
(The many mobile monks of Bhutan, they love their phones)
(The cheese factory at Bumthang, the Gouda was particularly good-a, sorry…)
By day 6 of our trip we’re moving into the more remote parts of eastern Bhutan, rarely visited by tourists. We drive for 8 hours to the small hillside village of Mongar. The high pass we cross over on the way is apparently haunted, every year in the winter people die on it, either through accidents or landslides. The mountains seem steeper, more rugged, the forest more wild. Miles and miles of winding roads hang to the cliffside. Clay cupcakes and prayer flags are placed at the most dangerous bends, an attempt to appease the spirits. On the way, we drive through a national park, but you wouldn’t know it, it’s the same either side, more forest and more mountains. We’re constantly on the look out for tigers, but there’s only 131 in the country so the chances are vanishingly small. We stop briefly and I eat a chocolate eclair whilst Jess has a cream cake. It’s a brave decision and the first time we’ve eaten cream in a few months. As we descend down on the other side of a mountain range towards Mongar the temperature starts to increase and the road becomes lined with Poinsettias, fruit trees and palms. The loud sounds of insects make the mountain forest feel like rainforest. We descend further through terraced rice fields with cows on the roads and assam macaques in the trees. An abandoned fort sits high up on a hill, being reclaimed by vines and trees.
(The winding and accident prone road to Mongar)
Mongar is just an overnight stopping point before we drive north to a large statue of Guru Rimpoche, 131 feet high. We then move on to the village of Khoma where women weave intricate patterns on back strap looms. It’s an art that nearly died out completely in Bhutan but is starting to make a revival. After purchasing the obligatory tapestry, we start the long drive back west towards Trongsa. It’s an 8 hour drive, and after about 6 hours Jess starts to feel car sick. At least we think that’s the problem. As the journey progresses she deteriorates rapidly and we have to stop every few minutes for her to be sick. It’s clear it’s more than car sickness. As we approach the town of Trongsa, with the hotel in sight, she can’t hold on and has to get out the car again. She vomits at the side of the road in front of some monks and school children walking up the hill. I think she’d call it an all time life low. Once we get to the hotel, I try to turn on a heater to warm the room as she shivers in bed, but it blows the fuse and all the power goes out. I head to reception to fix it. When I come back down the power is still off and it’s pitch black. I turn on the torch on my phone and open the door to the bedroom slowly. In the dense darkness I hear a series of violent guttural noises that scares me half to death. I cast my torch left and right into the black filled room. The narrow cone of phone light settles on a naked, hunched, figure on the floor, her arms wrapped around a bin with a mass of thick hair cascading over it. It’s like a scene out of the exorcist. After recovering myself, I help Jess as much as I can. I think the cream cake of yesterday was a mistake. Thankfully though, the lights come back on and Jess starts to recover as quickly as she went downhill. I put the cross and holy water back into my backpack, no exorcism required.
(Jess watches as a woman prepares a ball of wool for weaving, Khoma, Western Bhutan)
The next morning, with Jess feeling much better, we visit the Dzong in Trongsa. It’s a highlight of our trip because local men and women are practicing dancing for an upcoming festival in the main square. In a small private courtyard to the rear, we find a group of young monks also practicing their dancing. Their scarlet robes fly outwards as they spin in turn to the noise of loud cymbals. We just sit down and watch them for as long as we can. It’s a beautiful scene and one of my lasting memories of Bhutan.
(Monks practice their dancing for an upcoming festival, Trongsa, Bhutan)
(Local men practice their dancing in a courtyard at Trongsa monastery, Bhutan)
On day 10 and 11 we move further back west again, this time to the Phobjika valley, a pristine alpine valley where black necked cranes visit each year. We walk along the valley admiring the scenery, birds and general tranquility of the place. We then play a strange, long range, version of darts with some locals. The target is a small piece of wood shoved into the dirt about 20m away, it’s borderline impossible. After two hours, determined not to fail, I manage to hit the target once. Other than the darts, there’s little to do here other than relax.
(Jess throws a Bhutanese dart at an impossibly small target, Phobjika, Bhutan)
As our tour approaches its end we move further west to the Haa valley, which was only made accessible to tourists in 2002. We hike for 5 hours on pristine trails through pine forest, stopping beside a small monastery to eat our lunch. As the hike approaches its end we come to a monastery clung to a cliff face. We squeeze through two narrow rocks to access it where a monk invites us in. He asks us to sit cross legged and we discuss strange aspects of philosophy, like does milk taste the same if drunk from a clay cup vs a gold cup. The vessel has no impact on the milk. But the question is, am I the milk or am I the cup? It’s a fascinating and somewhat bewildering stop.
(A small monastery clings to the cliff face, Haa valley, Bhutan)
After the Haa valley we move to our final location, back to Paro valley, where it all began. It’s here that we’ll begin the Bumdra trek to the Tigers Nest. A large monastery precariously perched on a cliff face. It’s one of the main attractions of Bhutan. The Bumdra trek is an optional way to get there which takes two days trekking over a high pass. We arrive at camp in good time, which allows us to visit a sky burial site in the afternoon. It’s a traditional funeral method in Bhutan. The hard frozen earth often makes disposal of a corpse challenging, so the body would often be taken to a high place and vultures allowed to scavenge it. Buddhism teaches that the body becomes empty when someone dies, so what perhaps to us seems callus, to them represents a practical solution to the problem of body disposal. At the top of the mountain, 108 large pine poles stand tall, covered with cloth printed with the mantra of compassion. They flutter loudly in the afternoon wind.
(108 prayer flags in the wind at a sky burial site on the Bumdra trek, 4000m elevation, Bhutan)
(A mountain dog surveys his empire as the sun rises, Bumdra trek, Bhutan)
After we hike back down we have a cold night in the tent, before waking up to find some mountain dogs outside, curled up with frost on their fur. They couldn’t seem to care less as they wake up, stretch and have a bark at each other. Even at 4000m we can’t escape the barking dogs of Bhutan. Once we’re warmed up we hike down to the Tigers Nest, which only takes a couple of hours through short bamboo forest. Ice crystals are still on the leaves and tiny icicles form on the waterfalls of a bubbling stream we walk alongside. As we get close to the Tigers Nest the anticipation starts to build. As I mentioned at the start, I’ve always wanted to visit Bhutan, and seeing images of the Tigers Nest when I was younger was a major influencing factor. As we climb backwards down a rusty ladder and then turn a sharp bend in the path, it finally comes into view. Sitting majestically on the cliff face, seemingly defying gravity in the shade of a mountain. It’s a beautiful sight and one of the highlights of all of our travels so far. We hike down hundreds of steps to the bottom of a gully and then ascend more steep steps up the other side to enter the Tigers Nest. We hand over our bags and phones and walk in. Jess, in casual conversation, occasionally calls it the Eagles Nest by mistake, each time I have to laugh. Confusing one of the most beautiful Buddhist monasteries in the world with the summer house retreat of the Nazis could not be more ironic. Whilst wandering around inside, we’re directed to climb through a series of crevices on wooden ladders that descend down. At the bottom we enter a narrow channel. At one end a small cave sits lit in the faint yellow glow of a small butter lamp. At the other end of the channel the light cascades in through an opening to the outside world, with a sheer 800m drop down to the valley floor below. It’s great to visit the buildings, but to be honest, viewing it from a distance is the real highlight.
(The Tigers Nest monastery, Paro valley, Bhutan)
Afterwards we hike down to the valley floor where Karma collects us in the car. We then head to Paro to watch and learn archery, Bhutan’s national sport. It’s quite unbelievable how far they can accurately shoot. Our performances are somewhat disappointing. Our tour ends with a traditional Bhutanese bath. They heat up a pile of cobblestones in a fire, then place them at the end of a bath full of water with herbs and petals. It’s amazingly relaxing after a long hike.
(Jess tries her hand at archery, Paro valley, Bhutan)
Our time in Bhutan has been quite exceptional, and delivered on everything I’d hoped it would. Yes, it was a guided tour and yes it lacked spontaneity and freedom, but the culture and sights were unparalleled on our travels. It’s a special country where you could spend many years and still not fully come to comprehend it. But is Bhutan a perfect country? Absolutely not, but it might be as close as you can get with a population of variable humans with different skills and work ethics.
Bhutans flaws lie in its restrictions. Restrictions that make broad assumptions about the country’s people. There is an assumption within Bhutan that you’ll be Buddhist, 84% of the population are. There’s an assumption you’ll be happy to wear the formal attire when demanded, that your house or building design will conform to a certain style, and that you will speak the required language. It makes an assumption of compliance that limits freedoms. Rightly or wrongly, it’s done to try and maintain a sense of national identity and cohesiveness. But it’s not an approach that would work in the U.K., with its cultural diversity and freedoms galore. In fact, Bhutan can only achieve this by maintaining a largely similar ethnic and religious status quo. Populations that have threatened this have historically been forced out in a sort of cultural cleansing. For example, the Lhotshampa, a Bhutanese ethnic group with its origins in Nepal, were persecuted in the second half of the 20th century, resulting in more than 100,000 refugees fleeing under Bhutans “One Nation, One People” policy. Their language was prohibited in classrooms and their clothing replaced with the national dress code. Even the most considerate societies don’t appear immune to Big Brothers heavy hand.
I would also say that at times Bhutan feels slightly self-contradictory. I’m no expert on Buddha’s teachings, but I’m not sure he would have approved of the somewhat gaudy golden interior of the many temples, or the many offerings being given by people with little to give, or the general worship of idols and deities. From what I understand, Buddha would not have wanted a temple at all, but instead for people to find peace and happiness within themselves. It feels perhaps like a set of simple rules has been lacquered with layer upon layer of later additions, making it hard to see the simplicity of the original teachings. But, then again, how are the 10 commandments of Christianity any different when compared to the Vatican.
Bhutan is undoubtedly approaching a turning point, particularly as it opens up to the outside world. Many of the younger generation are shunning the traditional ways of life and emigrating overseas, Canada and Australia seem particularly popular. Their birth rate has declined rapidly since 1980 (6.5 births per female down to 1.4), so both brain drain and population decline are very real issues. Many of their traditional ways of life, like yak herding and weaving, are also decreasing rapidly whilst the internet becomes increasingly prevalent. It’s a delicate tightrope the country is walking and I hope they navigate it successfully.
The best way I think I can conclude what feels like a true rambling disguised as a blog is as follows: In western society we often strive to have our desires met. To buy what we want as soon as we can, then realise it’s meaninglessness and move on to the next purchase. To obtain meaning from status and the validation of those around us. In Bhutan, they simply strive to have no desires. As one of their phrases goes; ‘to be old and wise sometimes you have to have been young and stupid’. Perhaps our version of society is just young and stupid, and one day we’ll all grow up to be like Bhutan.
(Prayer flags and the Himalayas at a high pass from Bumthang to Mongar)
(Top image: Tigers Nest monastery, Bhutan)