Following the Old Ways
16 - 21 Feb, Ian
Democracy is killing the planet. This week we
have been walking through a country that is still a monarchy and that is
nervously taking itself along a path to democracy that it sees as both
unavoidable and perilous.
Our first hike here was a day walk up to Taktshang ("Tiger's nest") monastery, which is built with breath-taking implausibility into the side of a cliff. It was a beautiful sunny day, which also meant that it was hot and the 600 metre ascent was pretty demanding. I believe that this was a tester day to see if it was safe to let us on the real treks in which we spend several nights camping in remote areas away from easy assistance. Bhutan has few roads and only one helicopter, and in extremis it can be necessary (if by some miracle you can get a phone signal) to call a helicopter from India, at a cost of $1,500. None of us had any physical problems on the walk, although Heidi would have been happier to rest at the tea house on the way from which you get an excellent view. Nonetheless, we pushed up to a closer viewing point from where the monastery looms directly across a canyon in the cliff face. Since we had permits for the monastery Paula and Zoe continued across and went into it. Heidi didn't fancy the round trip of about 1,500 steps down and up the rocks and I balked at the prospect of walking alongside a sheer vertical drop of maybe 100 metres, so we left them to it.
Inexplicably, I'd left the hotel without a card in my camera so I could only take a few snaps using the camera's memory: here's one of them:
The site of the monastery has had religious relevance since the eighth century, and there's been a monastery there since the seventeenth. It was rebuilt after a fire within the last decade and since they wouldn't use the nation's only helicopter for such mundane purposes, even that recently all of the materials were transported using animals and ropes.
I think that this was the first time on this trip - or maybe even ever - that vertigo stopped me doing something that I might have liked. People call vertigo a fear of heights. It isn't, at least in my case. I can be as high as you like and feel wonderful so long as there's not a precipitous drop to certain death within throwing-myself-off distance, and even then I'm fine with a harness for climbing or abseiling.
Before getting into the proper trekking we transferred to Bhutan's capital, Thimphu. Our tour of its sites took in the National Library where, the day after I'd written a blog mentioning spooky coincidences that ended with a reference to Michel Foucault's Discipline and Punish, I found a most conspicuous article - the headline piece in a newspaper in English laid out on a table just by the entrance - that criticised Foucault's opinions on the birth of the prison. Strangely for a library, it's not permitted to remove the books: they can only be read in situ. As I mentioned last time, this isn't because everyone is sitting at home watching TV: Bhutan became the last country in the world to launch its own TV station as recently as 1999, and this only broadcasts from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m.
We also stopped off at the weekend market, which is usually a colourful way to get some sort of insight into local life. Alongside the fruit and veg you can buy crossbows and arrows - archery is the national sport - and various Buddhist accoutrements such as rosaries or the type of prayer wheel that comes on a stick. You can also buy meat, which is an uneasy topic here since it's regarded as unholy to kill animals and Bhutan's current religious head has taken a strong stance against it. Apparently, much of the meat is thus shipped in from India. Our guide Bhim claims that the cow parts that we saw laid out at the market came from animals killed "accidentally', though he was honest enough to admit that these mishaps may have been hastened by grazing them at the edges of cliffs. Subsequently I asked Bhim about the livestock that the villagers keep around the house. While he was able to explain the cattle away as dairy or oxen for their ploughs he had to admit that the pigs were destined for the table. In this case he explained that Indians do the slaughtering. Sensing the thrust of my questions on this topic Bhim told me that the religious authorities are considering whether having taken a hard line against killing animals they should now also crack down on meat eating. And in Bhutan if the religious head wanted to ban meat eating he could.
The Bhutanese have a different view of human death, too, and different rites surround it. From a hilltop we could see the smoke from the crematorium where bodies are burned next to the river. The ash is scattered into the water while the more stubborn bones that don't burn down are kept at home for 21 days and then mashed into clay and fashioned into standard relics that are lined up along death walls with others. We saw one such wall of death outside a monastery that we visited on the way to the start of the trek that's taken us most of the last four days.
The terrain we've been walking through so far is forested and we've ascended to a little over 10,000 feet. We have seen snowy peaks and even the odd patch of snow on the path but it hasn't been a feature of our walk and so this is not the TV Himalaya.
We began on Friday with a half day covering about 8 km and then after two days of about 16 km each we had a short hop of about 4 or 5 km down into the valley this morning. As well as Bhim, we've had a local guide who sometimes walks with us and sometimes goes off on his own. Apart from a day pack our bags are carried along with all of the camping gear on half a dozen ponies (another one walks with them for the company) and these are led by an old guy and a boy of 15. Each day the ponies leave later than us, pass us and arrive early. There's also a cook who travels with the ponies. At the start of the trek Heidi latched onto Bhim's claim that if she was struggling she could get on a pony, although in reality she only got to do this for less than an hour on the first day, and then we found that this required wedging her between all of the baggage rather than on a pony of her own.
The flora in the forests has been lush and varied. On the first day we walked among tall straight firs that Bhim says are called "hemlock", but they're not "our" hemlock and they aren't poisonous. The firs were all laden with straggling strips of moss ("Spanish moss" apparently). They can be felled and sawn into lumber where they stand. When Bhim told me that they do this with traditional two-handed saws I had recollections of Hardy's The Woodlanders set in the late nineteenth century and thought that it must be a translation error - until I saw a couple of guys carrying one. In between the firs there were dense bushes of a white flower called daphne that gave off a heavy sweet perfume.
On the first night we camped in a clearing amongst the daphne and "hemlock". It was different from other camping that I've done. We had two two-person tents for sleeping in, a mess tent that the guys use for cooking, a small dining tent and a toilet tent (although the "toilet" is a hole of the size of a shoe box on its side dug into the ground). Inevitably, we've had a fire every night too. The girls loved it.
It sounds quite extravagant until you learn more about the Bhutan tourist system. As I noted last time, the policy here is to welcome tourists on condition that they leave some of their wealth behind. Specifically, whatever you do here you have to spend at least $200 per adult per day. This is not too bad if you're staying at a good hotel or trekking with a decent support fleet. I guess it might be harder to swallow if you wanted to do one of the longer treks in basic fashion. For example, to do the notorious 25 day snowman trek no matter how frugally they camp and provision a couple would have to spend at least $10,000. Surprising, then, that fewer than half the people who set off on this trek complete it.
On our first evening we played a throw-and-hit game with sticks for a surprisingly long time. We invited the pony boy to join in, too. His name was Karma, which seemed less unusual when we discovered that he's a monk taking time out to help his grandad. In Bhutan boys can be given up by the parents to become monks at as young an age as five or six, and, unlike in Thailand, here the journey to the monastery is almost always a one way ticket. With so many boys going into monasteries arithmetically you might expect that the society is polygamous, and I learned from Bhim that it is.
On our second day we moved into deciduous forest that was more jungly than some of the jungles we've been in. There were oaks, though not of a kind I'd seen before, bamboo and magnolia. It's autumn here and the paths were thick with maple leaves although for the whole day I didn't see a maple tree: like the way that coincidence keeps interrupting my flow of consciousness, it gave me the sense of a programming error. We took lunch in front of one of many huge blooming rhododendrons. In its branches many vivid hummingbirds flitted around; incongruously, I also saw a nuthatch that reminded me of home. Our campsite that night was in a larger clearing ringed all around with high mountains.
But the best campsite was the one that we reached last night. Our pitch was on a ridge line in the shadow of a large chorten - this seems to mean a memorial and in this case it was a monastery. Young monks in red played around by the walls and toddlers from the few surrounding houses wandered around with bows and arrows that even those who could barely walk seemed confident in firing. Zoe and Heidi joined in with the monks in a game in which they hurled a heavy oversize dart at a 6" by 3" target the length of a cricket pitch away (22 yards - I paced it out). The speed and accuracy of the monks was amazing. I gave one of the monks my spare camera to use, which entertained him and his friends. In an hour or so he ran off almost 200 pictures until he ran out of memory.
We all had fun. The only disappointment was that we learned that a party that we had met in Paro were two days ahead of us, not one as we'd thought, and so we wont be able to catch them up as we'd hoped. We were all disappointed - they were a like-minded couple with girls aged nine and seven - and Zoe was particularly upset; but she was very grown up about it and reconciled herself to getting their contact details and getting in touch later.
Earlier in the day we passed through our first village since we started the trek. It was quite a shock, although it was only a few houses sitting over terraced fields growing rice, bright yellow mustard and potatoes. One plot was given over to the chillies that they like so much here: they have a terrific dish that's simply chillies cooked in some cheese. Even the ordinary village homes are impressive: alongside its remoteness, Bhutan's architecture is possibly its most striking asset. We happened to see a home being built today: while the guys lazily thought about the carpentry the women stamped down the clay and mud bricks, singing as they did so to get a rhythm. The woodwork on the homes is beautifully painted and the walls, when plastered, often have exotic tiger or dragon designs painted on, too.
About half of the households currently have electricity and there is a plan to bring it to all of Bhutan by 2020. Bhim was brought up in the countryside and now prefers the facilities that he has in Thimphu. The worst thing about not having electricity, he told me, is that it gets very dark. They don't have gas lamps - for those without electricity the only artificial light comes from candles made from vegetable oil.
So the country's infrastructure is being modernised. Our trek took us along mule trails, which until roads were laid here in 1980 were the only way to travel between the surrounding towns. According to Lonely Planet about 50% of houses in Bhutan are still at least a day's travel away from a road that's fit for a car. Even the new roads are pretty rudimentary, and the van that we tootle around in often has to pull over when cars or vans come the other way. We have, though, seen a new shiny black dual carriageway running along the valley from Thimphu. It's not open yet but when it does it will surely suck more cars into the country and the roar of the rivers and the wind will be lost under the drone of traffic.
While not wishing to keep people literally in the dark, I hope that as the country is criss-crossed with roads and power lines they don't lose the beauty and charm of the place. It's a quiet country. The population is hard to guage. In 1970 the government put it at one million, but this happened then to be the qualifying population size for membership of the UN. After joining the UN and receiving many financial benefits the government revised the population figure down to around three quarters of a million. Since then they've done a census and failed to find much over half a million citizens. Tourist numbers are also low: over the past few years Bhutan has attracted 7,000~8,000 visitors per year. Right now Bhim estimates that we're amongst about only 100 tourists in Bhutan - I've been through the numbers and it looks about right.
Over dinner a few nights ago I overheard an elderly American travelling alone telling his guide about his sales and margin targets. By the end of his meal when I tuned in again he was telling the guide about what Bhutan needs to "open itself up": his recipe was for more flights, cheaper air fares and more aggressive marketing to "realise the potential". He couldn't be more wrong: "what Bhutan needs" is for people like him to stay at home. The attractions of Bhutan are its differences from other places and its reluctance to steam thoughtlessly into a nineteenth century vision of the twentieth century.
This is nowhere more evident than in the monasteries and dzongs. We've been to several now. Usually I'm not allowed to photograph the most special places, which is as reassuring as it is frustrating. The monks live in the most simple conditions - a mat on the floor - and their shrines are charming. This afternoon Zoe and I visited a place that is perhaps my favourite, and certainly the most impressive: the Punakha dzong. It's a massive fortress that at times of crisis has protected its citizenry, who have retreated into it like an impregnable village. Today it's home to 600 monks. The Buddhist imagery painted on the walls is delightful, and the large prayer wheels, the masonry decorations and the raw architecture of the place are very evocative. There is a new temple that has the Bhutan standards - murals showing the stations of the life of the Buddha; literally 1,000 Buddhas painted in a frieze on the upper floors; huge Buddha and guru figures - and they are superbly executed. We also lucked out by stumbling across a ceremony in which the religious head of Bhutan - a figure of whom Bhim clearly stood in awe - lead about a hundred monks kneeling in rows in chanting from sacred texts. It was mesmeric. Afterwards we saw him in his special kick-ass yellow robes leading the other monks across the courtyard.
All of this is vulnerable to democracy under the US and post-Thatcher UK models in which the only strong institutions are a centralised and unaccountable presidency and even less accountable media. There is nothing in such government to prevent the destruction consequent upon a failure to recognise that the every individual's most urgent desires do not sum to the best for all. Lao's corrupt communist regime, which has failed to provide even the most basic services to its people, has at least the authority to recognise the value of its heritage and then to protect it. Even in the tiger economy of Thailand it is the royal family, which remains relatively powerful, that is credited with serving the nation best, and not the elected government. I hope that in Bhutan after the king steps down in a couple of years' time the institutions that he leaves in place are strong enough to guard the country from the tremendous pressures coming from those who would improve it.
Our first hike here was a day walk up to Taktshang ("Tiger's nest") monastery, which is built with breath-taking implausibility into the side of a cliff. It was a beautiful sunny day, which also meant that it was hot and the 600 metre ascent was pretty demanding. I believe that this was a tester day to see if it was safe to let us on the real treks in which we spend several nights camping in remote areas away from easy assistance. Bhutan has few roads and only one helicopter, and in extremis it can be necessary (if by some miracle you can get a phone signal) to call a helicopter from India, at a cost of $1,500. None of us had any physical problems on the walk, although Heidi would have been happier to rest at the tea house on the way from which you get an excellent view. Nonetheless, we pushed up to a closer viewing point from where the monastery looms directly across a canyon in the cliff face. Since we had permits for the monastery Paula and Zoe continued across and went into it. Heidi didn't fancy the round trip of about 1,500 steps down and up the rocks and I balked at the prospect of walking alongside a sheer vertical drop of maybe 100 metres, so we left them to it.
Inexplicably, I'd left the hotel without a card in my camera so I could only take a few snaps using the camera's memory: here's one of them:
The site of the monastery has had religious relevance since the eighth century, and there's been a monastery there since the seventeenth. It was rebuilt after a fire within the last decade and since they wouldn't use the nation's only helicopter for such mundane purposes, even that recently all of the materials were transported using animals and ropes.
I think that this was the first time on this trip - or maybe even ever - that vertigo stopped me doing something that I might have liked. People call vertigo a fear of heights. It isn't, at least in my case. I can be as high as you like and feel wonderful so long as there's not a precipitous drop to certain death within throwing-myself-off distance, and even then I'm fine with a harness for climbing or abseiling.
Before getting into the proper trekking we transferred to Bhutan's capital, Thimphu. Our tour of its sites took in the National Library where, the day after I'd written a blog mentioning spooky coincidences that ended with a reference to Michel Foucault's Discipline and Punish, I found a most conspicuous article - the headline piece in a newspaper in English laid out on a table just by the entrance - that criticised Foucault's opinions on the birth of the prison. Strangely for a library, it's not permitted to remove the books: they can only be read in situ. As I mentioned last time, this isn't because everyone is sitting at home watching TV: Bhutan became the last country in the world to launch its own TV station as recently as 1999, and this only broadcasts from 8 p.m. to 9 p.m.
We also stopped off at the weekend market, which is usually a colourful way to get some sort of insight into local life. Alongside the fruit and veg you can buy crossbows and arrows - archery is the national sport - and various Buddhist accoutrements such as rosaries or the type of prayer wheel that comes on a stick. You can also buy meat, which is an uneasy topic here since it's regarded as unholy to kill animals and Bhutan's current religious head has taken a strong stance against it. Apparently, much of the meat is thus shipped in from India. Our guide Bhim claims that the cow parts that we saw laid out at the market came from animals killed "accidentally', though he was honest enough to admit that these mishaps may have been hastened by grazing them at the edges of cliffs. Subsequently I asked Bhim about the livestock that the villagers keep around the house. While he was able to explain the cattle away as dairy or oxen for their ploughs he had to admit that the pigs were destined for the table. In this case he explained that Indians do the slaughtering. Sensing the thrust of my questions on this topic Bhim told me that the religious authorities are considering whether having taken a hard line against killing animals they should now also crack down on meat eating. And in Bhutan if the religious head wanted to ban meat eating he could.
The Bhutanese have a different view of human death, too, and different rites surround it. From a hilltop we could see the smoke from the crematorium where bodies are burned next to the river. The ash is scattered into the water while the more stubborn bones that don't burn down are kept at home for 21 days and then mashed into clay and fashioned into standard relics that are lined up along death walls with others. We saw one such wall of death outside a monastery that we visited on the way to the start of the trek that's taken us most of the last four days.
The terrain we've been walking through so far is forested and we've ascended to a little over 10,000 feet. We have seen snowy peaks and even the odd patch of snow on the path but it hasn't been a feature of our walk and so this is not the TV Himalaya.
We began on Friday with a half day covering about 8 km and then after two days of about 16 km each we had a short hop of about 4 or 5 km down into the valley this morning. As well as Bhim, we've had a local guide who sometimes walks with us and sometimes goes off on his own. Apart from a day pack our bags are carried along with all of the camping gear on half a dozen ponies (another one walks with them for the company) and these are led by an old guy and a boy of 15. Each day the ponies leave later than us, pass us and arrive early. There's also a cook who travels with the ponies. At the start of the trek Heidi latched onto Bhim's claim that if she was struggling she could get on a pony, although in reality she only got to do this for less than an hour on the first day, and then we found that this required wedging her between all of the baggage rather than on a pony of her own.
The flora in the forests has been lush and varied. On the first day we walked among tall straight firs that Bhim says are called "hemlock", but they're not "our" hemlock and they aren't poisonous. The firs were all laden with straggling strips of moss ("Spanish moss" apparently). They can be felled and sawn into lumber where they stand. When Bhim told me that they do this with traditional two-handed saws I had recollections of Hardy's The Woodlanders set in the late nineteenth century and thought that it must be a translation error - until I saw a couple of guys carrying one. In between the firs there were dense bushes of a white flower called daphne that gave off a heavy sweet perfume.
On the first night we camped in a clearing amongst the daphne and "hemlock". It was different from other camping that I've done. We had two two-person tents for sleeping in, a mess tent that the guys use for cooking, a small dining tent and a toilet tent (although the "toilet" is a hole of the size of a shoe box on its side dug into the ground). Inevitably, we've had a fire every night too. The girls loved it.
It sounds quite extravagant until you learn more about the Bhutan tourist system. As I noted last time, the policy here is to welcome tourists on condition that they leave some of their wealth behind. Specifically, whatever you do here you have to spend at least $200 per adult per day. This is not too bad if you're staying at a good hotel or trekking with a decent support fleet. I guess it might be harder to swallow if you wanted to do one of the longer treks in basic fashion. For example, to do the notorious 25 day snowman trek no matter how frugally they camp and provision a couple would have to spend at least $10,000. Surprising, then, that fewer than half the people who set off on this trek complete it.
On our first evening we played a throw-and-hit game with sticks for a surprisingly long time. We invited the pony boy to join in, too. His name was Karma, which seemed less unusual when we discovered that he's a monk taking time out to help his grandad. In Bhutan boys can be given up by the parents to become monks at as young an age as five or six, and, unlike in Thailand, here the journey to the monastery is almost always a one way ticket. With so many boys going into monasteries arithmetically you might expect that the society is polygamous, and I learned from Bhim that it is.
On our second day we moved into deciduous forest that was more jungly than some of the jungles we've been in. There were oaks, though not of a kind I'd seen before, bamboo and magnolia. It's autumn here and the paths were thick with maple leaves although for the whole day I didn't see a maple tree: like the way that coincidence keeps interrupting my flow of consciousness, it gave me the sense of a programming error. We took lunch in front of one of many huge blooming rhododendrons. In its branches many vivid hummingbirds flitted around; incongruously, I also saw a nuthatch that reminded me of home. Our campsite that night was in a larger clearing ringed all around with high mountains.
But the best campsite was the one that we reached last night. Our pitch was on a ridge line in the shadow of a large chorten - this seems to mean a memorial and in this case it was a monastery. Young monks in red played around by the walls and toddlers from the few surrounding houses wandered around with bows and arrows that even those who could barely walk seemed confident in firing. Zoe and Heidi joined in with the monks in a game in which they hurled a heavy oversize dart at a 6" by 3" target the length of a cricket pitch away (22 yards - I paced it out). The speed and accuracy of the monks was amazing. I gave one of the monks my spare camera to use, which entertained him and his friends. In an hour or so he ran off almost 200 pictures until he ran out of memory.
We all had fun. The only disappointment was that we learned that a party that we had met in Paro were two days ahead of us, not one as we'd thought, and so we wont be able to catch them up as we'd hoped. We were all disappointed - they were a like-minded couple with girls aged nine and seven - and Zoe was particularly upset; but she was very grown up about it and reconciled herself to getting their contact details and getting in touch later.
Earlier in the day we passed through our first village since we started the trek. It was quite a shock, although it was only a few houses sitting over terraced fields growing rice, bright yellow mustard and potatoes. One plot was given over to the chillies that they like so much here: they have a terrific dish that's simply chillies cooked in some cheese. Even the ordinary village homes are impressive: alongside its remoteness, Bhutan's architecture is possibly its most striking asset. We happened to see a home being built today: while the guys lazily thought about the carpentry the women stamped down the clay and mud bricks, singing as they did so to get a rhythm. The woodwork on the homes is beautifully painted and the walls, when plastered, often have exotic tiger or dragon designs painted on, too.
About half of the households currently have electricity and there is a plan to bring it to all of Bhutan by 2020. Bhim was brought up in the countryside and now prefers the facilities that he has in Thimphu. The worst thing about not having electricity, he told me, is that it gets very dark. They don't have gas lamps - for those without electricity the only artificial light comes from candles made from vegetable oil.
So the country's infrastructure is being modernised. Our trek took us along mule trails, which until roads were laid here in 1980 were the only way to travel between the surrounding towns. According to Lonely Planet about 50% of houses in Bhutan are still at least a day's travel away from a road that's fit for a car. Even the new roads are pretty rudimentary, and the van that we tootle around in often has to pull over when cars or vans come the other way. We have, though, seen a new shiny black dual carriageway running along the valley from Thimphu. It's not open yet but when it does it will surely suck more cars into the country and the roar of the rivers and the wind will be lost under the drone of traffic.
While not wishing to keep people literally in the dark, I hope that as the country is criss-crossed with roads and power lines they don't lose the beauty and charm of the place. It's a quiet country. The population is hard to guage. In 1970 the government put it at one million, but this happened then to be the qualifying population size for membership of the UN. After joining the UN and receiving many financial benefits the government revised the population figure down to around three quarters of a million. Since then they've done a census and failed to find much over half a million citizens. Tourist numbers are also low: over the past few years Bhutan has attracted 7,000~8,000 visitors per year. Right now Bhim estimates that we're amongst about only 100 tourists in Bhutan - I've been through the numbers and it looks about right.
Over dinner a few nights ago I overheard an elderly American travelling alone telling his guide about his sales and margin targets. By the end of his meal when I tuned in again he was telling the guide about what Bhutan needs to "open itself up": his recipe was for more flights, cheaper air fares and more aggressive marketing to "realise the potential". He couldn't be more wrong: "what Bhutan needs" is for people like him to stay at home. The attractions of Bhutan are its differences from other places and its reluctance to steam thoughtlessly into a nineteenth century vision of the twentieth century.
This is nowhere more evident than in the monasteries and dzongs. We've been to several now. Usually I'm not allowed to photograph the most special places, which is as reassuring as it is frustrating. The monks live in the most simple conditions - a mat on the floor - and their shrines are charming. This afternoon Zoe and I visited a place that is perhaps my favourite, and certainly the most impressive: the Punakha dzong. It's a massive fortress that at times of crisis has protected its citizenry, who have retreated into it like an impregnable village. Today it's home to 600 monks. The Buddhist imagery painted on the walls is delightful, and the large prayer wheels, the masonry decorations and the raw architecture of the place are very evocative. There is a new temple that has the Bhutan standards - murals showing the stations of the life of the Buddha; literally 1,000 Buddhas painted in a frieze on the upper floors; huge Buddha and guru figures - and they are superbly executed. We also lucked out by stumbling across a ceremony in which the religious head of Bhutan - a figure of whom Bhim clearly stood in awe - lead about a hundred monks kneeling in rows in chanting from sacred texts. It was mesmeric. Afterwards we saw him in his special kick-ass yellow robes leading the other monks across the courtyard.
All of this is vulnerable to democracy under the US and post-Thatcher UK models in which the only strong institutions are a centralised and unaccountable presidency and even less accountable media. There is nothing in such government to prevent the destruction consequent upon a failure to recognise that the every individual's most urgent desires do not sum to the best for all. Lao's corrupt communist regime, which has failed to provide even the most basic services to its people, has at least the authority to recognise the value of its heritage and then to protect it. Even in the tiger economy of Thailand it is the royal family, which remains relatively powerful, that is credited with serving the nation best, and not the elected government. I hope that in Bhutan after the king steps down in a couple of years' time the institutions that he leaves in place are strong enough to guard the country from the tremendous pressures coming from those who would improve it.
Posted: Tue - February 21, 2006 at 07:00 PM
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