Mysterious Bhutan
Well, what’s Bhutan like you may ask? Where to start! Hmmm - this is the start- a 5am start in fact, through the dusty, dirty, smoggy morning of Kathmandu and then the hectic spartan harshly lit airport that we had already spent far too much time in a few weeks ago.
Eventually we are loaded, from a dirty old “cattle bus” onto a clean, spacious “sky bus” with beautiful gracious women pretending to be air hostesses and an engaging 29 year-old monk sitting beside me fascinatingly talk talk talking about what it’s like being a monk all the way through the one hour flight that landed without a hitch at the most dangerous (perhaps second most dangerous - after Lukla our last little rodeo) airport in the world.
The airport was astounding- it seemed like a film set and I felt like Bambi. We have become accustomed to the appalling smog, the filth, the heat, the traffic of Kathmandu and to find myself in this calm, clean, highly decorated with mega Bhuddas and lotus flowers but totally empty hall, was more than strange. The beautiful photos of the revered king and his gorgeous family in mega life size and everything working like clockwork.
No issue with luggage or anything like that and in a jiffy, there we were, outside in the most incredible pristine air that gave my jaded old lungs a kick-start. Warm sun, lots of men in unusual national dress (which includes black loafers and black knee socks) and a jaunty young man holding up a sign with our names on it- all in less than half an hour.
The thing about Bhutan is that they tightly control their tourism and keep it really locked down- you have to pay a hefty daily fee just to be here and even then you are not allowed in without a “ tour guide” to make sure you don’t just wander about asking questions and getting lost or attacked by dogs!
So off we went- said tour guide whose name is Keko giving us a perky party line patter as we drove through empty pristine streets, small tidy towns and views of mountains that were breathtaking,
It’s impossible to describe this place. It is so beautiful and backward and forward. It is the first carbon-negative country in the world, a total ban on tobacco and plastic bags, women inherit the property, the king goes down to work at office each day, everyone has to wear their national dress (for men a kind of fantastic kimono-ish wrap around with immaculate white cuffs- I have never seen a dirty cuff yet- for women a long wrap around skirt and a gorgeous kind of bolero shiny jacket) in public or for work.
There are really good roads, the speed limit is 50 and there are hardly any cars but the government will give you a 70 percent loan if you buy an electric car and most of the country remains in untouched forests. And they also measure their success in Gross National Happiness in which everyone professes to be happy because they are not competitive, love their gods and their king. Call me an old cynic (and many have) but I am suspicious. It is idyllic here but I have a sneaking feeling, that’s as long as you conform.
There are these official people who go round in orange jumpsuits, boots and orange caps- pristine uniforms and very noticeable amongst the people in the subdued colours of their national dress. We are told they are civil defence, Search and Rescue and crowd control. all rolled into one! They are called Guardians of Peace or De- Suung and they kind of super volunteers. They seem benign enough but!
You are constantly stopped in your tracks by the sheer beauty of everything- not just breathtaking mountain views, picturesque hillside villages and impressive monasteries called Dzongs. The people are beautiful, they look healthy and happy and even the many lolling dogs and wandering cows are good looking.
But we can’t seem to touch the real story. Everyone is so polite, speaks good English and is really kind and helpful but they don’t engage further than stilted platitudes. We wonder what is really going on here but while we try unsuccessfully to find out, we are totally immersed in this extraordinary landscape.
Today I ate some of the Yak cheese that they sell at the side of the road. It is in a small cube and as hard as a rock. You put it your mouth and hold it in your cheek for a while and eventually it sort of softens - sort of! It tasted like 100 year old Gouda - probably won’t rush to get it again!
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I’m including a heap of pics separately - the Wi-Fi is a bit dodgy and can’t seem to load them in to the website.
