Bhutan is beautiful

Beautiful BHUTAN




Quick Read: arrived in Bhutan, met guide Kunle and driver Tsehering, went to Paro, eventually had food, went to bed.
‘Bootiful Bootan’ – ‘Bhutan, a week of your life, a lifetime in a week’ – I tried to invent a few slogans to help attract more tourists to Bhutan. But why? Wisely, successive kings (who are honoured and respected throughout the country) have limited the impact of the tourist invasion by: a) making Bhutan a very expensive place to visit – roughly $200 per day, more if in a small group, and b) insisting that tourists are only allowed to take out a package deal, which involves a guide, a car, a driver and pre-booked hotel accommodation and meals.
And, quite brilliantly, $65 per day from tourist fees is paid straight to the government and used to restore old religious buildings. This means that hundreds of people are employed in woodcarving, painting or embroidering intricate and colourful religious pictures, or weaving beautiful fabrics. It also means that the ancient arts are respected and in no danger of dying out. And decaying buildings become beautiful once again.

Paro, Bhutan’s airport, has one of the hardest approaches in the world. The plane has to almost dance around the narrow Himalayan valleys, turning left here, right there, at one point seeming to pivot on a wing. As we approached, we could see roads and houses higher than the plane. But all was well; the plane managed to stop (ten metres) before the end of the runway and we were in Bhutan. Our guide, Kunle, was waiting for us. He had been waiting since morning as our itinerary was wrong, but he didn’t seem to mind. The driver was Tsehering (pronounced ‘Sring’). Small and cheerful, he looked about 16 but assured us that he was 23.

The car journey was a revelation to eyes and ears jaded with noise, overcrowding, litter and the hooting horns that were everywhere in Kathmandu. It was SO peaceful. We caught up with a car – it pulled over to let us pass. A dog lay in the road; Tsehering tutted softly and drove around it. Each house, white with carved wooden balconies, windows and doors, was in its own plot of cultivated land. Walls were decorated with dragons, religious figures or, disconcertingly, rather large penises, painted in lurid detail. These were to protect against evil and ensure fertility. The air was clear; we passed rice fields (red rice is a delicious part of Bhutan’s cuisine), trees and people walking with a purpose. And wherever we looked, there were the mountains – not distant and remote, but rising directly from the valley in multi-vision, like a 3-d drawing.

Soon we were in Paro, a thriving metropolis with only two main streets. Shop windows were small and beautifully carved, making the interiors look like treasure caves, or something magical from a Harry Potter book. Some shops had no doors. So how did you get in ?– by climbing the small ladders in the street, of course. The moon shone bright and clear – it was almost full moon and it illuminated the large dzong which dominated the hill-scape in serene beauty. Part of ‘Little Buddha’ was filmed there.

Back to reality. Our guide, Kunle, was having problems. Despite being an experienced guide, he did not seem to know Paro very well; in fact, he couldn’t find any of the restaurants where we were allowed to eat. We toured the streets, looking at souvenir shops and having a great time, but Kunle asked directions in each shop we visited. I suspected it was a new type of chat-up line as most of the shop assistants were quite beautiful, but he became increasingly worried. Eventually we found somewhere but soon after we were seated, a Japanese invasion happened; the dining room was filled with noisy people who settled in rapidly, drank a lot and had a thoroughly good time, without a clicking camera in sight!

Early to bed because of…
(Quick Read: climbed sheer cliffs to monastery, visited another monastery with saint's footprint, saw penises and dzong, saw another monastery and King’s grandmother. Had food, went to bed.)
Day 2: Taktsang Hermitage, more romantically called Tiger’s Nest monastery. This truly awe-inspiring place clings to a sheer cliff. It all started when Guru Padmakara flew there on the back of a tiger to subdue a troublesome demon. Tapestries in the temple (when we eventually, after much suffering, reached there) showed a severe and slightly tubby personage serenely surfing on his tiger. He spent months meditating in a cave, developing the spiritual strength to subdue the demon, whilst the tiger waited patiently in its nest slightly higher up the cliff. Eventually the demon was subdued, fixed under stone and the monastery / hermitage was built above it to keep it under control.
Many famous Buddhist figures meditated there and the monastery itself was built in the 13th century (?). Vast amounts of stones, wood and images had to be transported along narrow, winding paths, across a waterfall and up a steep climb of over 600 metres; hundreds of artisans carved, wove and painted the artefacts and, above all, the temples were secured against the sheer cliffs; they had to be indestructible,.
And they were, until 1998 when fire broke out and destroyed two of the three temples. Tinder-dry hangings were set alight by careless use of butter lamps, which constantly burn in the temples to honour the manifestations of Buddha. Careless? Or criminal? The jury is still out on that one. The people of Bhutan were mortified. The King himself came to visit and vowed that the temple should be restored to exactly what it was before. A massive community effort took place, replacement materials were hauled up the cliffs, hundreds of people were employed to re-instate the buildings and nowadays it is impossible to tell old from new. But there is one modern touch – fire- extinguishers at every corner.
I think I’ll gloss over the amount of suffering we endured as we slogged up the cliff. Some parts were horrendously steep, others just tough. “It’s the altitude….” Or “What a beautiful view….” Or “Must take a photo…” You name an excuse – we used it. A young monk skipped down the path and stopped to chat to Kunle. He had been meditating in one of the temples for three months and was returning to his monastery.
Long strands of lichen, hanging from the trees, moved in the gentle breeze. The forest was untouched and beautiful. Gaps in the trees revealed the long-distant valley or occasional glimpses of the even-more-long-distant monastery. Then we rounded a corner and saw the white buildings, framed with carved wooden supports and doorways and magnificent golden roofs. And we were at the same height! We had made it! Prayer flags fluttered in celebration. Then we looked down and realised that the worst was yet to come. A narrow, winding set of steps led down the vertical cliff-face, across a tumbling waterfall, then back up again to our goal. We did not look down again; one false step and we would join the waterfall. We edged onwards, close to the cliff-face until the path opened out again and there was just one long final slog up to the monastery.
Because we had taken so long, most of the other tourists had passed us on their way back. This meant that it was almost empty. We saw dark corners, winding steps and magnificent views. I climbed into the small cave where the tiger had waited patiently whilst the guru meditated. We gazed at huge, ornamented statues and tiny ones, we smelt incense and butter-lamps and waited while Kunle prostrated himself in front of his deities as if time had never changed. We took holy water in the accepted way – in the palm of the hand; any water not sipped has to be rubbed into the hair. Each temple had its own atmosphere. My favourite was the original cave where the guru had meditated. Its rough walls were covered with ornate silk hangings of the guru and the small entrance looked out over the valley. What a peaceful place.

Just when you think it can’t get any better… on the way back, we passed a sign written in Bhutanese. Kunle translated it – it pointed the way to a smaller temple, higher than Tiger’s Nest, “It is where the guru’s consort lived,” he said. “And there is her footprint in stone.”
Was there a choice? We set off, leaving Julie and Tsehering to take the ‘direct’ route back. The path led upwards; it was smaller than before and obviously not used a great deal. “Tourists do not come here,” Kunle said and admitted that he, also had never visited before. The climb was seriously steep, quite close to the waterfall. We passed over two streams then realised that we were above the waterfall and also above the monastery, which looked quite small in the distance. Round a bend in the cliff stood the temple, small, almost hidden by trees and slightly shabby. A family group was seated around a small trough of holy water, filling their bottles and drinking. As I reached the actual temple, I realised that they had gone further along the path and were climbing an almost sheer rock-face, followed by a tree-trunk ‘ladder’. They helped each other up, pulling and pushing the stouter members – and a small boy who could not have been more than five.
“They are pilgrims and will spend the night on the mountain,” Kune told me. “They have visited this temple and will visit two others, one at the top of the cliff.” He gestured and I could just see the roof of a small building, hundreds of metres above.
We continued to the temple. The monk caretaker was old and moved with cautious care up the worn steps. He and Kunle spoke animatedly; Kunle showed me the footstep in the rock which was indeed, very like a footstep with indentations where the toes and heel should be. We looked at the consort’s meditation cave and the place where she had subdued the demon and enclosed it behind a wall of rock. We also saw a small rock ‘statue’ which she had turned herself into when her task on earth had been completed. It was all very simple and timeless; there was a small shrine with her image and some hangings, but all on a far smaller scale than Tiger’s Nest. The monk was clearly delighted to have company and talked with Kunle for a while. On the way down, Kunle said that he felt ashamed for never having visited the temple before and said he would like to spend a while visiting all the temples on that mountainside.
Good for him!
The descent was far, far swifter. I was very glad of my stick; even with it, I almost fell a few times. But:
What a day! What an achievement! We continued to see a dzong (castle) which had been placed to stop invading Tibetans – but closer inspection would have required an uphill walk. We had walked enough! Instead we observed it from outside a house which was decorated with disconcertingly accurate penises. We then visited a temple but there was a problem as the King’s grandmother was worshipping there. We waited and, when she came out, she said that we could go inside. Kunle said that it was very unusual for tourists to see members of the royal family. So, it was the perfect end to a perfect day. AND Kunle found our restaurant after less than ten minutes of searching!