Kindness of Strangers

Saturday, September 13, 2008

We awake this morning to clear blue skies and cotton ball clouds perched above the densely forested peaks of Bhutan.  From outside our hotel we can turn our head left and right and see the whole of Thimphu’s main drag – the only capital city in the world without a traffic light.  Instead, a traffic cop in a smart navy and white uniform directs traffic from a colorful pagoda in a the town’s main traffic circle.  His arm gestures are graceful and precise, the white gloves flashing in elegant sweeping motions.  To the left we can see a beefy pick-up truck marked “Police” in English, with a crowd gathered close.  Our guide, Dorji, dressed in a heather gray gho, the national dress for men, required to be worn during business hours, approaches, and we hop in our Kia Sorrento.  “What’s with the crowd?” we ask.  “Dead body.”  This is not what we expect to hear.  Bhutan is a very small and very safe country.  “I don’t think it’s murder, though,” continues Dorji.  “I think he, like, drink too much or something and falls.”  Still, it all feels a little surreal, just like when we see wisps of smoke billowing up from a house in the valley later in the day.  “You see that smoke?” asks Dorji.  “That is where people are cremated.  Everyone from the province goes there when they die.”  Everything is more raw and real and vivid in Bhutan, life in Technicolor. 

Bhutan is known as “The Last Shangi-La,” and it’s evident as soon as you arrive at the Drukair ticketing counter at the airport.  We are issued hand-written boarding cards, and are disappointed when we learn that, despite arriving three hours before our flight, all the seats on the left-hand side of the airplane are taken; these are the seats that offer dramatic views of Mt. Everest, promising the most stunning scenery you will ever see from a plane.  Just as we walk away from the ticket counter, the agent runs after us.  “You are very lucky today,” he says.  “I have seats for you on the left side.”  Everything about this trip has been guided by a divine hand.  In Istanbul I searched, unsuccessfully, for Beyond the Earth and the Sky, an obscure Bhutanese travel memoir.  When I got to Jordan, Kristi had a friend who loaned me the book – a friend who grew up in the same, small Canadian town as the author.  I am not surprised when fate has stepped in once again.

We are greeted by flight attendants wearing delicate lavender kiras, the national dress for women.  The cabin is a mix of Bhutanese, Indians (most of whom deplane in Kathmandu), and older American and European tourists.  We are by far the youngest ones of the bunch.  As we drop out of the clouds outside of Paro, my eyes have a difficult time registering the spectrum of greens that I am seeing.  It looks as if a great patchwork quilt has been draped over the countryside in every shade imaginable:  jade, lime, mint, sage, moss, evergreen, grass, emerald.  We are just outside the airport, notorious hinterlands of industrial cement buildings, and there are more trees than I have ever seen in my life.  Towering pines elbow each other for space, and it looks as if we’re going to crash into the side of the mountain:  we are that close.  Soon the airport comes into view, and I have never seen anything like it.  Each building is constructed in the traditional architectural style:  trapezoid rooflines, intricate wooden cut-outs, brightly painted designs.  The main terminal looks like a Buddhist temple.

Our passports are stamped, the exit date and tour company hand-written in ballpoint pen.    We meet our guide, who is not much younger than us and speaks excellent English.  Bhutanese youth learn English in school, and most signs in the country are written in English.  But for such a small country – only 600,00 people, about the size of Albuquerque – there is an astounding number of dialects spoken.  Still, some Bhutanese, especially those educated abroad, choose to speak English, even amongst each other.  “It’s a pride thing,” explains Dorji.

As we drive into Thimpu, we learn that the road connecting the airport and the capital city has recently been improved for the king’s upcoming coronation.  In fact, there are all sorts of construction projects taking place.  The drone of heavy machinery and pick axes hitting stone soon becomes Thimpu’s soundtrack.  “The coronation was supposed to be last year, but the astrologers said it wasn’t auspicious.  We just learned three weeks ago that it will be in November.”  It will take place in the soccer stadium, another traditional building that looks as if it were built hundreds of years ago, not your average sports arena.  The new king is only 29 years-old, but his father decided to retire.  When we visit the School for Traditional Arts the next day, all of the students are busy with projects related to the coronation, from weaving fabrics to constructing ceremonial garb.  For most Bhutanese, this is the first coronation of their lifetime, and there is obvious excitement in the air.  We learn that the current king lives not in a grand palace, but “in a small cottage.”  As we’re walking down the street one evening, an American gentleman we met here leans in and whispers, “That was the prince who just walked by.”  We twirl around to see four young men ambling off, three dressed in jeans and T-shirts and one in a traditional gho.  There are no bodyguards.  This is Bhutan. 

Everything about Bhutan is unique.  Of the utmost importance to this nation is preserving its cultural identity, from its dress to its architecture and natural environment.  Even the national animal, the takin, is extraordinary.  “We’re going to the zoo,” said Dorji.  When we arrived at The Takin Reserve, we were confused by the presence of a singular fenced area.  “Our zoo has only one animal,” explained Dorji.  The takin has eluded taxonomists, looking like something between a cow and a goat.  Its curly horns are affixed to a great shaggy body, not unlike Scotland’s Highland cattle, but with a much flatter head.  As we entered the Reserve, a wooden sign told the story of how the takin came into existence – a myth involving The Divine Madman bringing a heap of cow and goat bones to life through his magic.  Everything – from unusual animals to lightning strikes  – can be explained through a secret, hidden meaning.  Mythology and symbols rule the day. 

I find myself struggling to adequately capture this remarkable country in this limited venue.  If I have piqued your interest in any way, I highly recommend checking out Bhutan’s national newspaper, Kuensel, which can be accessed online at:  www.kuenselonline.com  It will put you on the pulse immediately.  (Today’s cover story, for example, involved a recent lightning strike producing a namcha, a stone with magical properties.) 

I also recommend Beyond the Earth and the Sky by Jamie Zeppa, as well as the Bhutan chapter of The Geography of Bliss by Eric Weiner.