This article appeared
in Volume 19: No. 2 of the Orient
Express magazine.
LETTER FROM BHUTAN
HRH Princess Michael of Kent explores the Land of the Thunder Dragon.
Bhutan is a tiny Himalayan kingdom perched precariously between
Tibet, Nepal and India. The world’s highest and most hostile
mountains have protected it for centuries, and it was only in 1974
that the government decided to admit selected tourists for much needed
revenue.
The national airline of Bhutan has two aeroplanes: one flies in
as the other flies out. We boarded for Paro, the only place in Bhutan
with enough flat ground for a runway. Coming in to land offered a
new dimension in terror as our plane’s wing tips appeared almost
to brush the trees on the mountain slopes on either side. We staggered
out, giddy with relief and altitude. This mountain kingdom is known
as the Land of the Thunder Dragon, and thunder and rain it surely
does. The result is lush jungle greenery and the most amazing vegetation.
Bhutan is governed from gigantic castle-monasteries called dzongs
with whitewashed walls, carved and decorated wooden balconies and
three-tiered roofs. The greatest of these is Tashichho in Thimphu,
capital of the Dragon Kingdom. This is the seat of the Head Abbot
of Bhutan, houses 2,000 monks and dates from the 12th century. Decoration
of such temples is elaborate. Animal heads carved from wood snarl
from the walls and balconies, and no detail of the dzong is without
some divine symbolism whose main purpose is to frighten away evil
spirits.
According to legend, Buddhism was brought to Bhutan in 747ad by
the great Guru Rinpoche (Most Precious Teacher), who arrived on the
back of a flying tiger. They landed on a cliff top not far from Paro.
Taktsang monastery, known as The Tiger’s Nest and Bhutan’s
most sacred shrine, was to be our first stop. Sadly, we arrived on
the road opposite the cliff to find the monastery badly burnt and
still smouldering. House fires are frequent in Bhutan as numerous
butter lamps in shallow saucers surround the many deities and statues
in temples and homes.
And so began our trek in search of mountain temples and rhododendrons—the
purpose of our journey—both of which we found in abundance.
Several cows wandered past munching and staggering slightly. Altitude
was not the problem, and it was not grass that they were chewing.
In fact, they were grazing on marijuana and were completely stoned.
Unfortunately, the cows sometimes miss their footing on the steep
mountain paths and fall off—as do the ponies carrying trekking
equipment. No matter how tired, we decided never to take a ride.
The national animal of Bhutan is called the takin. Tall as an American
buffalo, with sloping shoulders and narrow haunches, it has a large,
woolly broom of a tail, small horns and the face of a bewildered
moose. Added to that is a shaggy coat of bright blonde, dark feet,
ears and tail, and a black stripe down its back. It is the most gentle-natured
of creatures. As the takin was designed by God (or Buddha) to live
in the upper Himalayas on slopes of at least 45º, they cannot
reach the grass/marijuana when on the flat, so they kneel to graze.
We walked up steep mountain passes, reaching 4,000m and breathed
with difficulty. Swirling mists lent an air of mystery to the dark
slopes around us, and the flapping of dozens of prayer flags on the
passes added to the wonder. Clouds drifted by at waist height and
we were surrounded by forests of tall rhododendron trees in glorious
flower. The mass of scented flowers above and below, coupled with
the altitude, made my head spin.
Often, usually on steep mountain passes, we met fearsome-looking
yaks, with soulful eyes and long coats of black-and-white hair scraping
the ground. We saw astonishing
varieties of butterflies—some yellow with tiny spots, others
in hues of blue lustre. All around were endless varieties of birds,
deer and bear, and the most enchanting monkeys—with pearl-grey
coats and a white fur frill all around the head and face, like an
Elizabethan lady’s headdress. Having expected peace and quiet,
we found the forest surprisingly noisy—as if each bird and
monkey was involved in a quarrel.
All of the above was the good news. Other aspects of the trip were
less thrilling. Camping in tents (especially in the early monsoon
rains) is for younger, more intrepid souls. I am too old to squat
over holes at night; too spoilt to wash in a small basin (in which
supper was cooked the night before) or plunge into freezing Himalayan
streams. The Bhutanese are a small people and their tents do not
readily accommodate large Europeans. The biting bugs are outsized
and starved of sweet blood, which I provided most unwillingly. It
was compulsory to become vegetarian as the cool boxes were not always
cool, and by day the sun shone fiercely. Electricity, when we found
some, was erratic. Occasionally, we tucked in to freshly caught fish,
but mainly we existed on rice, potatoes, onions and tinned fruit
and vegetables. Sometimes we found mushrooms and we discovered a
new delicacy: young fern shoots in yak yogurt. On this diet and with
hours of hard walking each day, I felt great.
We visited many monasteries, spun countless prayer wheels, heard
the chanting of a thousand mantras. Some of Bhutan’s monasteries
date from the 7th century, although most are from the 17th. All are
rather alike, some in more spectacular settings than others. In the
main, they are grubby places but give one an overwhelming sense of
mystic history and peace. The majority have interior walls painted
in the most lyrical frescoes, which depict the life of Buddha or
the many deities. There is always a Wheel of Life showing the different
realms of reincarnation, including gruesome descriptions of the “hungry
ghosts” and Hell. There are many vengeful gods doing unpleasant
things to the bad and just as many benign gods rewarding the good.
All are depicted in the same style—there is a school of painting
in Bhutan where students learn this traditional art form, unaltered
since the 7th century.
Novices can be taken into the monasteries as young as five years
old. They start by learning the holy texts, which they must chant
while rocking back and forth in dim temples, heady with incense.
Everywhere we prayed and made the customary donation of paper money
to Buddha. Sometimes I was moved and sometimes revolted. One must
take off shoes in the temples and, as the monks chew betel nut and
spit red on the floor, reaching the altar is an unsavoury slalom.
The architecture of Bhutan is quite the most pleasing I have seen anywhere
and it is obligatory to build in the traditional style. Houses are
square and whitewashed, with delicious frescoes of heavenly animals,
Buddhist saints, demons and symbols covering the outside walls. The
most surprising of these are enormous phalluses, often tied with
pretty ribbons, which straddle either side of the main entrance to
private houses. Their purpose is to terrify evil spirits and to offer
a prayer for fertility. There is much carving around windows, all
decorated in polychrome patterns of flowers, dragons and other fanciful
motifs. The roof is flat and raised on pillars above the house, seeming
to float.
The people of Bhutan are astonishingly beautiful, with facial features
similar to those of the Tibetans. Women are especially favoured and
everyone wears traditional costume by law. For men this is a check
dressing gown caught at the waist with a money pouch. Beneath their
bare knees are long black socks and shoes. The women wear the same
kimono garments, but theirs reach to the floor. All wear dazzling
colours in unlikely combinations that, like flowers in the wild,
fail to clash.
I left the Land of the Thunder Dragon full of admiration for its
people and entranced by its beauty. Despite two weeks of abstinence
of every kind it was a thoroughly enriching experience in many ways.
|
