Bhutan: Scenes from a Kingdom

Miles do not measure distance in Bhutan, a time-locked mountainous country squeezed between Tibet, India, and Bangladesh. We drive hours and hours on narrow and uneven pavement, hardly wider than a single vehicle, and I think of a stretched out slinky toy, but the experience is anything but smooth. Coiling around each mountain, high above a raging waterway, inches away from the precipice each time we meet a gravel truck head on, we will reach our destination late in the day. Yet it's only 62 kilometres away by the crow flies

I feel one or two incarnations away from myself after such journeys. And we've been doing these trips every other day in this baffling kingdom scented by smoking pine, incense, and yak dung.

"You are on Bhutanese time," says our guide Sonam. "Everything is a bit slower here."

Sonam is tall and willowy as a prayer flag. He has been a guide for three years now. He has also been a ceramic sculptor,  newspaper illustrator, radio announcer, continues to practice mountaineering, speaks three languages, and is well traveled in southeast Asia. In his free time, he dabbles in tatoo art. He rolls up the sleeve of his gho. His arm is etched all the way to his shoulder as intricately as the pillar of a dzong.

"Doesn't it hurt to tatoo yourself?"

"Pain is addictive, la." There's the sparkle of the crazy demon in his Mongol eyes.

For nine days Dan and I will share a jeep with our crazy demon and Penamunge, our driver. I can remember Sonam's name because it's a common one here. In fact it's doubly common because it's used for male and female with just an extension to clarify sex. And since there are no sir names either, bets are on as to how many off-duty guides will respond when I call out to Sonam in the parking lot.

Penamunge does not speak English. He's only recently joined the lay world having spent 20 years in a monastery. He left in order to donate a kidney to his younger brother, an operation that took place in India, fully paid by Bhutan's free health care system. If a procedure is not available in the country, it will pay for it out of country.

As a driver, Penamunge has the patience of a  monk and I feel safer on these brittle mountain roads with him. There's a general notion that Buddhist drivers are cautious out of courtesy and approach a round-a-bout tentatively:

"Please, after you."

"No, you first."

"I insist, please go."

When it comes to Sonam, however, I would not trust him driving. Our crazy demon is rarely serious, and parties hard. A new Bhutan is emerging.

******

We are enchanted by the Himalaya foothills, the Tibetan architecture, its dsongs and all the strings of colourful prayer flags sending their blessings to the wind.

"Carolann, you need to pinch me so I can believe I'm really here," says Dan a day after our arrival.

Soman turns around from the front seat. "Carolann la, let me know if pinching doesn't work and I'll slap him."

Bhutan is a curious place. I've done my research and know that it's a kingdom ruled by a well-loved King who recently succeeded his father at the young age of twenty-eight. Considered a hot, eligible bachelor around this part of the world, he married two weeks before our arrival amongst televised national festivities. Hearts were broken as far away as Thailand.

I also know that with the exception of a Nepalese minority in the south, the thinly populated country is ethnically and religiously homogeneous. Probably this cultural cohesion is one of a few factors behind the Bhutanese acceptance of imposed restrictions on their daily life, including importation of western elements of dress, architecture, and until a decade or so ago, technologies like television and internet.

The gho for men and the kira for women are regular business attire. They are worn by everyone who works in an office, or in business, or government, or tourism. I think back to my own world in the 1960s when dress codes were strictly applied to the office and classroom. Jeans were for the weekend. Here too, jeans are for the weekend. Proper Bhutanese attire is required of everyone, including the King, and its styling does not come from Calvin Klein.

God bless the child who's got his own.

The reign of the current King's father was a long one, characterized by foreign criticism against his isolationist and protectionist policies. Internally, however, he was greatly admired for his benevolent administration and foresight with respect to environmental protections. Bhutan has free education and health care and 72% of its forests are protected.  Following the recent earthquake here, the government is also assisting families to rebuild homes declared unstable. Once this year's high tourist season is over, Sonam will return to his father's home to supervise its reconstruction.

The royal family's popularity in Bhutan is undeniable. It's hard not to love a king who sent his children to the same neighbourhood elementary school as anyone else. And in 2008, he turned over his rule to his son after introducing a dramatic constitutional change that established a two-party, electoral democratic system.

But the old King's best known legacy outside Bhutan is the concept of Gross National Happiness. It's an analytical framework through which the civil service evaluates policy options.

With limited resources, most of which comes from selling hydro electric power to India and from tourism, political decisions on how to use them are debated in terms of how it would result in the most good. Political spin?  

Alas, my experience in life makes me cynical. But then, I'm not a Buddhist.

******

Over dinner, Sonam orients us to aspects of the culture.

"You will eat lots of different food here," explains Sonam. "Fish, chicken, beef, pork."

"But you don't kill anything, not even a fly," I reply. (Note to tourists: Bring a fly swatter in your luggage).

"Bhutanese are very practical. We don't have slaughterhouses here, but we have no problem if others have them. We get our beef from Bangladesh because the Indians won't touch the cows. Then we get our pork from India because the Muslims in Bangladesh won't touch pig."

One of the attendants, seeing me struggle with a fly around our table and he grabs it in his fist with a lightening motion. He walks over to the wood stove and throws it in the fire.

"He can't be a good Buddhist." I observe.

"Cremation gives us an escape clause, la."  

******

Dan and I have come to Bhutan by paying what we understand is a disincentive fee. We are each charged $230 USD per day for our nine days. In Nepal or India or Thailand we can travel on a quarter of this money so it's an effective means of capping tourism to levels that the government believes will not disturb the culture. This daily tariff covers our personal guide, driver, all meals, admissions, and accommodation.

Since we still need a little local currency, we pooled our Canadian currency to exchange $45 so that we would have tip money for the duration of our stay. The ATM was not an option because a machine with the international cirrus symbol was only available in the capital city, two days off in the schedule. So far, now seven days into our visit, this amount is holding out well since tips are in the order of fifty cents to a dollar. But the real reason it's holding up well is because Dan and I have sworn off alcohol while we slip between altitudes of 2,200 meters (Mexico City elevation), and 3,000 meters (Quito elevation).

Sonam picks a leaf off a spindly plant growing along the roadside, presses it flat with two fingers and holds it to his nose.

"Who needs alcohol, la?"

******

Bhutan is an agrarian society with more than 70% engaged in subsistence farming.  We drive past rice fields in Paro. An old woman - well perhaps not so old given the life expectancy rate of 62 years - bends under the weight of a basket of freshly cut rice stocks. Her load will be threshed by another pair of brown hands. Their collective labour fills our plates and those of other tourists to come. If there is a national posture, it's a body bent at the hip, in worship, at work, even in celebration.

We are hiking an hour up to a dzong at the top of a wooded hill. Magpies argue in the bows of towering cypress trees draped in moss. Dan studies blue primula growing in the ditch. A stubby legged deer looks down on us from a higher place while a red-cloaked monk quickly rushes past, a spring to his step. It's all a bit befuddling. If a rabbit leapt out of a water wheel and checked a time piece in his waist-coat, I'd probably just ask Sonam to explain why rabbits are exempt from wearing the gho.

******

There's only one thing worse than driving mountain roads in Bhutan and that's driving them in the rain. No wait. There's something worse than that. Driving the roads in the rain after you've eaten a box lunch of boiled egg and cherry juice. There's no chance of a washroom for two hours.

While there's a romantic quality to observing an ageless civilization and an environment lightly touched by man, the hard reality is that the infrastructure is poor for travel. Our neighbour's wake-up call is someone knocking on the door. The meals are largely the same across the country and between hotels, seasonal vegetables, leathery meat, and chilli cheese, a spicy melee for which you must acquire a taste and have lots of water handy. I love it.

I'm finding that I'm rewarded in two ways by travelling Bhutan. When you get your head around the disincentive fee, and don't expect fancy accommodation in return for the high price, then you feel like you're actively donating to the protection of the environment. The other reward is the unique opportunity to gaining entry to something like a cultural biosphere. We were fortunate to join an annual festival, only recently opened to tourism. 

On the way back from the festival, we see a cow on its side in a ditch. The cow is barely alive, heaving in the throws of death, leaching life fluids and eyes rolling. Across the field is a fat, white stupa, the sacred eyes keep watch, protecting the valley from bad spirits.

By 2013, the government is committed to providing every village with road access, electricity, and water. It's a significant commitment but we see evidence of progress. Bhutan will change. Here in this peaceful village, the sacred eyes will grow wide.