Moving mountains

Bhutan — the very name is enough to evoke images of temples snuggled against the cliffs as if seeking escape from the mists high in the Himalayas. Perhaps more than anything, Bhutan has come to represent isolation.

It is not only a country of rocky mountains where monks retreat to meditate, it is also a small, landlocked kingdom of fewer than 800,000 people squeezed between the world’s two most populous nations. The response over the centuries has been to deliberately disengage with the rest of the world, banning television and the internet until 1999 and couching its economic policy as the pursuit of “gross national happiness”.

But there are signs of increasing engagement, and the rising visitor numbers — 100,000 tourists are expected this year, compared to only 10,000 two decades ago — is just one measure of the heightened exposure of the Bhutanese to the outside world.

As the plane drifts between the mountains bound for the landing strip of Paro airport, said to be one of the world’s most dangerous, I wonder what sort of greeting the Land of the Thunder Dragon will provide.

The scenery, as expected, is spectacular. Peach trees are in full blossom, lining the ever-winding roads that snake through the mountains, while the apples are out of season and their leafless branches reach towards the sky like bony fingers. The air was thinner, fresher and the languid fluttering of the prayer flags by a river suggested time was moving slower. The pace of life in the town of Paro seemed to match.

In the quiet of the next morning, I left my accommodation and climbed a jagged route along a ridge. Wandering around, I came across a small cottage on the hill where an elderly Bhutanese lady gave me a kind smile. “Hello, traveller.”

Hers was a warm welcome, and she showed no hesitation when I asked to photograph the cottage that is her home. Worrying about their reaction to tourists suddenly seemed unnecessary.

Inside, her grandson was having breakfast and preparing himself for school. Her granddaughter was still drowsy from just waking up in a bedroom decorated with Buddhist calendars and posters. Here, Vajrayana Buddhism is practised, and it clearly touches many aspects of people’s lives.

With the grandmother’s permission, I followed the boy as he carried his Spider-Man backpack — a touch of the outside world — and his lunch in a more traditional bag as he and a friend walked to school.

  “What’s your name?” I broke the silence. The boy went shy and smiled without replying. So I asked his friend instead.

“His name is Tandin Dorji,” the friend laughed, finding my question funny.

“May I walk with you guys?”

“Sure, come,” they nodded.

I followed them only halfway to school, about 1km along the ridge. Even in that short distance, we could spy a number of apple orchards and dairy farms, the latter essential to Bhutanese cuisine. The children were enjoying their walk, and it reminded me of journeys to school with my best friend in Nakhon Si Thammarat, my home town.

A far more arduous trek confronted me the next morning, and the destination was 10km to the north and nearly 1km above Paro. Taktsang (Tiger’s Nest) Monastery stands 3,120m above sea level and can only be accessed by foot or horseback. Taking on the more physical challenge, a steep, 7km walk taking three hours and requiring several rests along the way, it was interesting to note the way the forest changes as we get higher, with more pines and fruticose lichen nearer the summit. The wind picked up and the flags with sacred prayers written on them were battered in the bluster at the edge of the cliff.

Finally, we arrived at the monastery. It is something of a marvel, and the mind boggles as to how it was built in 1692. It is built around a cave which, according to legend, was where Guru Rinpoche meditated for three months in the 8th century after riding a tiger from Tibet. I drank holy water and some was sprinkled on my face in a ritual that is believed to regenerate youthfulness. Afterwards, I absorbed Bhutanese art and felt the serenity and cool breeze wash over me.

After coming from Bangkok, nowhere in Bhutan seems hurried or noisy. Even in the capital, Thimphu, the signs of modernity are relatively muted.

It is a twisted, 51km trip to Thimphu from Paro, and we reach the city of about 80,000 people in the dark. Light streams from the windows of the traditional square-shaped Bhutanese-style buildings. There are shops and stalls, more cars on the road and greater development.

In recent years, there have been signs of modernisation and increased engagement, albeit slowly and balanced with the maintenance of tradition. Absolute monarchy was abandoned in the past decade, elections have been held, and the economy — from a low base — is one of the world’s fastest growing.

There are government-imposed limitations to that growth, with a preference for preserving tradition and the stated pursuit of happiness above material wealth. Critics of measuring gross national happiness say it masks poverty, unemployment and corruption. The newly elected government has also shown signs of moving away from the policy. The cost of visiting is still prohibitively high — packages require a minimum of US$200 (6,500 baht) to be spent daily during summer and winter, and $250 a day in the peak spring and autumn months, plus visas and airfares. Return flights from Bangkok cost around 32,000 baht. It is recommended that plans be made three months in advance, but more tourists than ever are now making the trip.

The morning brings another chance to interact. Taking a stroll in the refreshing 15C air, I saw students waiting for the school bus. When I lifted my camera to take their photos, smiles appeared and the sound of laughter could be heard. At the corner of a nearby building, an old woman was praying with a sacred stone.

At Zangto Pelri Monastery, lamas were praying with a wind instrument, a sight which would be out of place in the Theravada tradition of Buddhism popular in Thailand. In one corner, an old woman lit a butter lantern, which signified a call for wisdom.

At the heart of the city is the National Memorial Chorten, a white stupa established in honour of the highly-respected King Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, the third king. Reigning between 1952 and 1972, he was known as the “King of Modernisation”. Here, more prayer rituals are performed, but as well as being a sacred place it serves as a place for families to relax and watch the pigeons.

The surrounding landscape is something worth appreciating. While facing a delay for a bus scheduled to make the 77km trip from Thimphu to Punakha, I and the other travellers enjoyed tea and snacks from street stalls. The lush treetops in the distance, craggy mountain ranges, thin fog and a cool breeze compensated for the delay.

The trip to Punakha, a small town, took more than four hours thanks to a combination of the curves and maintenance work. Punakha Dzong was our first stop. For the Bhutanese, the dzong is the town fortress. In Punakha it is located at the confluence of two rivers, which makes it unusual. Like others, it is a square building with a high roof and decorated with statues of Buddha and devas statues, and works of exquisite craftsmanship.

The dzong there was divided into two sections: one for the government and accommodation for the clergy. Monks and laypeople mingled freely together, and we shared a meal.

Wandering around the town in the evening, there was a thin mist but happy faces from residents as I took their photos. After passing a building of small units, a large open field revealed an impressive sight. Down the hill stood Khuruthang Gompa, and the “Buddha Eyes” at the top of the pagoda could be clearly seen even from afar.

On entering the pagoda, many locals were walking around and spinning prayer wheels. It is said that the Bhutanese strongly believe in Buddhism and take their prayers seriously. The sense I walk away with is that it is religion that binds the Bhutanese people with their traditional peaceful way of life.

In Punakha, I had my best opportunity to ask a worker about their definition of happiness.

A waitress named Santi Maya Rai was a little reluctant at first, but gave this explanation: “Contentment I would say. It’s a simple life. People here are able to live like this without depending on other people.”

On the surface, life in Bhutan seems innocent and I couldn’t help wondering if modernisation would be a corrupting influence.

“I don’t mind changes as long as we carry on with our traditions and culture. Actually you don’t need much for a good life. The more, the messier.”

She looked away to the mountains in the mist and continued: “How can you be happy when giving up your roots for something that can’t tell who you really are?

“Development is an exploration to me but we’re already happy. So why change?”