Boys posing!
DAY 3: Sunday
We were glad to sit in the car and do very little today. The journey to Thingpu was delightful; the road ran alongside a turbulent river and we
stopped a few times to take photos.
Everything seemed prosperous; houses were whitewashed and cared for; rice was waiting for harvest.
Bhutan has no traffic lights! Not one set in the entire country. In Thingpu, occasional junctions were controlled by policeman who stood in ornate white pagodas. Traffic moved easily, with little if any horn-blowing. I had the impression that drivers were saying: “After you!” “No, after YOU!”
We were glad to sit in the car and do very little today. The journey to Thingpu was delightful; the road ran alongside a turbulent river and we
stopped a few times to take photos.Everything seemed prosperous; houses were whitewashed and cared for; rice was waiting for harvest.
Bhutan has no traffic lights! Not one set in the entire country. In Thingpu, occasional junctions were controlled by policeman who stood in ornate white pagodas. Traffic moved easily, with little if any horn-blowing. I had the impression that drivers were saying: “After you!” “No, after YOU!”
It was (literally) awe-some to watch weavers at work, painstakingly threading different shades of delicate colours into the fine fabric.
Surely their eyes couldn’t last for long; as it was, several women were peering far too closely at the slowly growing patterns. “How much do you weave in a day?” I asked. “Two, maybe three inches, depending on the pattern.” Prices were very high – but these weavers were paying a far higher price.
The Memorial Chorten was a huge Buddhist stupa, built recently, but to the age-old style. People were celebrating the night of the full moon and the place was crowded with pilgrims walking clockwise, some rotating small prayer-wheels s they walked, or softly chanting. A hut to one side contained larger prayer wheels and several of the faithful were pushing them around. I asked Kunle the reason for prayer wheels. “They are to counteract your sins.”
“What sort of sins?”
“All through the day we sin, hopefully only in small matters. We might think a bad thought about someone, or we might kill an insect. The prayers help us to be more mindful of what we are doing that is wrong.”
Oh dear.
The wheels were big and red, covered with Buddhist mantras. Each time they revolved a small bell would ring – the sign of a prayer given to heaven.
Another beautiful place was the butter-lamp house; hundreds of tiny flames glittered and flickered in the semi-darkness – more prayers against mindlessness. Nearby monks chanted quietly as people walked or whispered. A toothless man with lined, grimy face came and grinned, asking for a photo. He had been limping painfully around the stupa; his left leg had a huge, weeping ulcer. I took two photos of him and he looked delighted to see his image on my camera.
We spent a long time there, watching and admiring the devotion of so many people. Then came a high point of the day - archery! William Tell, eat your heart out. Robin Hood – where were you? We went to the huge open-air stadium, just in time to see a victory dance in full swing. Arms around each other, the archers circled, shouting and chanting enthusiastically. One of their archers had scored a hit.
The next man took his position, held the bow (a fine steel one which looked very modern), aimed carefully and fired. Far, far away, a tiny pillar marked the target; it was almost too far to see, especially as it was getting dark. He missed. Men at the other end did a similar, if less enthusiastic, dance. The contest continued; when it was almost over, in semi-darkness, there was a slight commotion, Kunle told us that the winning team had asked to have another round, so that the losing team could catch up! How Bhutanese.
In contrast, the Ambient Coffee Bar showed modern Bhutan. It was stylish and friendly, with a weekly haiku competition. One of the customer was a Welsh Lama, from Swansea, who was involved in a drug rehabilitation programme.
Day 4: Monday
BHUTANESE BOOTS ARE BEAUTIFUL! We wandered around an open-air craft-market and one stall had these glorious white-leather, embroidered boots. Your social class is shown by the background colour of the embroidery. Personally I’d have been happy with any social class at all as the colours were rich and vibrant; deep green was the colour of ordinary people. The King’s mother was due to open the exhibition and a traditional red carpet had been laid for her. I smoothed out a fold in it – it would have been very bad luck if the lady had tripped!
My favourite place was the Arts & Crafts Centre – training young people in the skills of woodcarving, statue making, embroidery, painting & mask-making, Every room was filled with teenagers painstakingly creating works of art. Each year-group had various set pieces to create; there was no room for improvisation as they were training to make temple art and furnishings, all created in unshakeable and unchangeable styles. Each room had its own atmosphere, particularly the mask-making which was dark and shadowy, reeking of animal glues.
We posted our cards in the Post Office. All the public buildings look like temples or works of art; built in traditional style, they have the ornamental windows, doors & porches. So the young people from the Arts & Crafts Centre know that their talents will be appreciated and used, whether they are restoring a monastery or building offices.
Our afternoon journey was along increasingly winding, precipitous roads to Punakhar. Clouds swirled in as we stopped at a mountain pass, embellished with 108 chortens and thousands of prayer flags. The chorten were built to commemorate the people who had been killed when the Butanese army kicked out insurgents from Assam – one for each of the insurgents. How Bhutanese.
And the rest…
The week continued as a series of delights. Bhutan was beautiful, calm and peaceful. We visited many monasteries, each with their own character although many were quiet as the monks were either preparing to migrate southwards for the winter, or had already gone. A definite highlight was when Kunle said we should go and listen to the morning dedication ceremony in one of the monasteries. We sat silent against wall-hangings, in the dimly lit room. In front of us, monks sat cross-legged on cushions, the senior lama on a large cushioned chair. He led the chanting, which was accompanied by rhythmic banging on a large vertical drum and blowing on long Tibetan-style trumpets. Time disappeared as we listened. Then the holy water was blessed, the chanting ended and the monks became human again, rushing off to get breakfast.
Kunle quite casually asked us, “You would like to visit my uncle?”
“Yes, why not?”
“My uncle is one of the senior lamas here. You can visit his cell if you wish.”
His cell was bright and cheerful, decorated with religious pictures from various calendars. It had a fridge, a kettle and cooking equipment, as well as bundles of quilts to sleep on. Kunle’s uncle appeared briefly. I asked him how far he was on the road to enlightenment. He laughed and said, “It isn’t like that. I have no idea,” then left.
We couldn’t follow the whole programme as rain set in, causing landslides and blocking roads. Although this was inconvenient, it was only a minor problem to us – but the people of Bhutan needed to harvest their rice. Damp rice would go mouldy and they needed sun to dry it all out. The blocked roads also caused them severe problems. We were stopped once in a long queue while people waited patiently for a bulldozer to force its way through a landslide; when the way was opened, Tsehering drove through a gap with possibly a foot to spare overall. Not quite sure how the buses managed! But delays like this are commonplace - even in a country like Bhutan, weather is an enemy that has to be placated.
People criticise Bhutan for its rigid tourism policy and its laws which insist that its people wear Bhutanese costume for all formal occasions. BUT – I think they’ve got it right. Compare Bhutan with frenzied Kathmandu, its noise, pollution and crazy driving, the changes brought about by tourism… I know which I prefer.
The Memorial Chorten was a huge Buddhist stupa, built recently, but to the age-old style. People were celebrating the night of the full moon and the place was crowded with pilgrims walking clockwise, some rotating small prayer-wheels s they walked, or softly chanting. A hut to one side contained larger prayer wheels and several of the faithful were pushing them around. I asked Kunle the reason for prayer wheels. “They are to counteract your sins.”
“What sort of sins?”
“All through the day we sin, hopefully only in small matters. We might think a bad thought about someone, or we might kill an insect. The prayers help us to be more mindful of what we are doing that is wrong.”
Oh dear.
The wheels were big and red, covered with Buddhist mantras. Each time they revolved a small bell would ring – the sign of a prayer given to heaven.
Another beautiful place was the butter-lamp house; hundreds of tiny flames glittered and flickered in the semi-darkness – more prayers against mindlessness. Nearby monks chanted quietly as people walked or whispered. A toothless man with lined, grimy face came and grinned, asking for a photo. He had been limping painfully around the stupa; his left leg had a huge, weeping ulcer. I took two photos of him and he looked delighted to see his image on my camera.
We spent a long time there, watching and admiring the devotion of so many people. Then came a high point of the day - archery! William Tell, eat your heart out. Robin Hood – where were you? We went to the huge open-air stadium, just in time to see a victory dance in full swing. Arms around each other, the archers circled, shouting and chanting enthusiastically. One of their archers had scored a hit.
The next man took his position, held the bow (a fine steel one which looked very modern), aimed carefully and fired. Far, far away, a tiny pillar marked the target; it was almost too far to see, especially as it was getting dark. He missed. Men at the other end did a similar, if less enthusiastic, dance. The contest continued; when it was almost over, in semi-darkness, there was a slight commotion, Kunle told us that the winning team had asked to have another round, so that the losing team could catch up! How Bhutanese.
In contrast, the Ambient Coffee Bar showed modern Bhutan. It was stylish and friendly, with a weekly haiku competition. One of the customer was a Welsh Lama, from Swansea, who was involved in a drug rehabilitation programme.
Day 4: Monday
BHUTANESE BOOTS ARE BEAUTIFUL! We wandered around an open-air craft-market and one stall had these glorious white-leather, embroidered boots. Your social class is shown by the background colour of the embroidery. Personally I’d have been happy with any social class at all as the colours were rich and vibrant; deep green was the colour of ordinary people. The King’s mother was due to open the exhibition and a traditional red carpet had been laid for her. I smoothed out a fold in it – it would have been very bad luck if the lady had tripped!
My favourite place was the Arts & Crafts Centre – training young people in the skills of woodcarving, statue making, embroidery, painting & mask-making, Every room was filled with teenagers painstakingly creating works of art. Each year-group had various set pieces to create; there was no room for improvisation as they were training to make temple art and furnishings, all created in unshakeable and unchangeable styles. Each room had its own atmosphere, particularly the mask-making which was dark and shadowy, reeking of animal glues.
We posted our cards in the Post Office. All the public buildings look like temples or works of art; built in traditional style, they have the ornamental windows, doors & porches. So the young people from the Arts & Crafts Centre know that their talents will be appreciated and used, whether they are restoring a monastery or building offices.
Our afternoon journey was along increasingly winding, precipitous roads to Punakhar. Clouds swirled in as we stopped at a mountain pass, embellished with 108 chortens and thousands of prayer flags. The chorten were built to commemorate the people who had been killed when the Butanese army kicked out insurgents from Assam – one for each of the insurgents. How Bhutanese.
And the rest…
The week continued as a series of delights. Bhutan was beautiful, calm and peaceful. We visited many monasteries, each with their own character although many were quiet as the monks were either preparing to migrate southwards for the winter, or had already gone. A definite highlight was when Kunle said we should go and listen to the morning dedication ceremony in one of the monasteries. We sat silent against wall-hangings, in the dimly lit room. In front of us, monks sat cross-legged on cushions, the senior lama on a large cushioned chair. He led the chanting, which was accompanied by rhythmic banging on a large vertical drum and blowing on long Tibetan-style trumpets. Time disappeared as we listened. Then the holy water was blessed, the chanting ended and the monks became human again, rushing off to get breakfast.
Kunle quite casually asked us, “You would like to visit my uncle?”
“Yes, why not?”
“My uncle is one of the senior lamas here. You can visit his cell if you wish.”
His cell was bright and cheerful, decorated with religious pictures from various calendars. It had a fridge, a kettle and cooking equipment, as well as bundles of quilts to sleep on. Kunle’s uncle appeared briefly. I asked him how far he was on the road to enlightenment. He laughed and said, “It isn’t like that. I have no idea,” then left.
We couldn’t follow the whole programme as rain set in, causing landslides and blocking roads. Although this was inconvenient, it was only a minor problem to us – but the people of Bhutan needed to harvest their rice. Damp rice would go mouldy and they needed sun to dry it all out. The blocked roads also caused them severe problems. We were stopped once in a long queue while people waited patiently for a bulldozer to force its way through a landslide; when the way was opened, Tsehering drove through a gap with possibly a foot to spare overall. Not quite sure how the buses managed! But delays like this are commonplace - even in a country like Bhutan, weather is an enemy that has to be placated.
People criticise Bhutan for its rigid tourism policy and its laws which insist that its people wear Bhutanese costume for all formal occasions. BUT – I think they’ve got it right. Compare Bhutan with frenzied Kathmandu, its noise, pollution and crazy driving, the changes brought about by tourism… I know which I prefer.
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