Bhutan Himalayan Wonderland

Deepika Belapurkar journeys through this quaint little mountain country, which is fast emerging from its self-imposed isolation.

It's deathly quiet up here in the eastern Himalayas on the bank of Paro `chu’, Bhutan. It’s neighbours - India, China and Tibet may be right at the heart of action (with terrorism, political uncertainty, re-evaluation of the Yuan, spiritual squabbling, et al) right now, but it's another story at Kyichu Resorts in Paro perched at 7,200 feet. The unmistakable sound here is the twitter of an incurably romantic pair of white-capped redstarts as they cleave the water surface.

Tashichoedzong, the seat of government in Thimpu All pics: Deepika Belapurkar

Until the 70s, this ‘Land of the Thunder Dragon’ locally called `Druk Yul’, had appeared to be a mythical place. Particularly for those who had never received a royal invite, then the only overture to Bhutan. Today, all it takes is one pre-planned and pre-paid package tour courtesy a Bhutanese government- approved travel agent. However, this budding cultural destination, stepping out of its cocoon of isolation, is quite an expensive proposition but worth every penny.

Whilst developing countries wrestle with imagined or real terrors of radical westernisation, our genteel neighbour Bhutan has more of the bourgeois kind of problems to fix. Such as globalising a delicacy called `ema datse’ so that arctic taste buds can work around this dish's ingredients: fiery hot green chilies in a yak cheese sauce. Crime is practically fictional, despite the average local's fondness for cannabis (continues to be a fodder for pigs, but now an over-abused drug too) that grows unhindered in the wild and which the government is trying to raze. Juxtapose this with the fact that the country recently achieved the distinction of becoming the only non-smoking country in the world.

Local boys dressed in traditional finery pose for the camera	Monastery in Paro valley

Cut to 2005. Most Bhutanese have their pates stuck in front of the idiot box and the Internet. As unbelievable as it seems, only as recently as 1999 did these fogey agriculturists (read Bhutanese) usher in technology. Until then, the Bhutanese had made a lifelong commitment only to preserve their ancient heritage. Bhutan glorifies its own isolation and fights shy of unrestrained development and external influence. Statistics indicate as much - merely 9,000 visitors in 2004 as opposed to Nepal's million from a few years ago. Hitherto lacking in adequate tourism infrastructure: low-key accommodation and saddled with the ‘world's worst cuisine’ tag, Bhutan is now waking up to offering luxurious holidays with the recent opening of spa-equipped Amankora by AmanResorts.

Equal to Switzerland in size (north to south 110 miles and east to west 200 miles) and the quality of mountainous life, Bhutan is indeed a marvel of nature with its large number of climes and eco-systems. In the entire Himalayan region, western and central Bhutan is supposedly the most beautiful. The topography is irrepressible, changing form and allure between its three regions (north, central and south) separated by humbling mountain ranges. Within any region, high passes (or la’s) separate the intervening valleys, through which flow perennially babbling rivers (or chu’s). If western Bhutan is a pastoral delight with its cascading rice fields and fruit orchards, the black mountains and valleys of the central region have legendary beauty and hospitable terrain. The subtropical plains of eastern Bhutan, with depreciating forest cover, are the least visited. Though, to let out spiritual steam, this is the place among the most ancient spiritual sites. Monasteries uniformly pepper the country and are present almost everywhere.

Naturally, a country that boasts a 'single' road (national highway) - the connecting link between Bhutan's bigger cities - perforce has to be unraveled on foot. Loosely construed as trekking, these walking options are plentiful, from the easy ones for the weak-limbed to the impossibly strenuous kind in the north with their views of firs, junipers, pine trees and snow-clad peaks. In western Bhutan, peaks range from 5,000 to 14,000 feet. Lush forests include conifers, laurels, maples, and oaks. On the Chelela pass at 12,000 feet, Mount Jhomolhari is visible through fluttering flags, a view sure to give one a `high.' If not beers offered by the flag bearers will do the trick. This central-cum-western temperate zone is superbly suited for travel through the year, with frolicsome mildly warm summer days and withering cold winter nights. The northern artic-like Bumthang and Mongar valleys separated by Thrumshing La are icy spectacles in the winter; summers are never warm either. End-May until end-September - the summer monsoon is the best for sightings of the wildest of orchids. For those who place Himalayan views above all else, fall brings the clearest blue sky imagined.

view of National museum overlooking Rimpungzong	Kyichu Resort
The Lungten Zampa bridge is the entry into Thimpu	The Dangchu in Wangduephodrang that fringes the Kyichu Resort
Very quietly flows the Paro chu lined by willow trees	Locals at the Sunday market day in Paro
The National Museum or Ta Dzong in Paro	In fine weather the Mount Jhomolhari seen from Drukyel Dzong in Paro

Paro is historically and spiritually insightful, Guru Rimpoche is believed to have landed here in the 8th century on the back of a winged tigress. The monks that you're likely to mingle with at the Sunday market or on a mosey within a monastery (with prior permission) are reticent though eager to strike conversations with Indians. A daily ritual is the bonhomie gathering momentum at dusk, between women and children, along Paro's only commercial street, while their inebriated men-folk bandy slurred words over homespun moonshine called `ara.' Butter tea and cubes of hardened yak cheese grace our table as we chat with our guide Gurung, who is downright indiscreet, "I too hate the stuff!"

`Ara' is freely retailed across shop counters and in eateries and in Paro's fledgling night club there's even better stuff. The sturdy men-folk are equally fond of attaining bulls-eye in the Olympic archery contests, which they have consistently championed. Otherwise, women are far more visible here, working in various capacities, whilst their men-folk do the vanishing act for the day. However, Bhutanese life is almost all about gaining merits. Attending a `tshechu' or a religious festival is a sure shot way of acquiring these. Try doing so at the Thimpu festival and the Tangbi Mani fest in central Bhutan to honour Padmasambhava, the revered teacher, during the second week of September and Phobjikha Valley festival in November.

As our spluttering vehicle covers the distance between the two great cities of Paro and Thimpu, at river confluences, doorways to valleys and atop hills, we very often encounter a `dzong' or fortress. The only way to guess whether the edifice had a religious or administrative function is the presence of a wide red stripe running below the roof denoting it as a place of worship. The capital city of Thimpu at 7,700 feet unravels royal decrees in degrees. Most building architecture is compulsorily symbolic, with colours and pictures denoting some religious tenet of tantric Buddhism. Men and women in government premises and children in school are expected to wear the traditional knee length `gho' and ankle length `kira.' The architecture runs a common theme across Bhutan, boasting borrowed nuances from Tibet and even Persia, but having evolved a uniqueness central to its own natural character. Plenty of wood around the place and the result is half timbering with shingle roofs and wood framed windows.

Thimpu is ornately traditional: imagine dressed up police deftly guiding traffic cruising at 20 km/hr, with elaborate hand movements. Similarly, it's a treat to watch students at the painting school, Institute for Zorig Chusum, create works of `thangka' art and wooden sculpture. Thimpu's National Library stocks 7,000 books, 6,000 manuscripts and 9,000 printing blocks and each manuscript can contain 300-800 leaves. The youth in the city, however, present a disparate picture sporting Levi and Nike with aplomb and party hard. Men smarting under matriarchal laws (women are the property inheritors) spend their idle moments in all those women-manned fancy stores selecting `girlie’ stuff like nail varnish to please their women.

The easy camaraderie between King Jigme Singye Wangchuk, his family and the commoners appears to be an accepted social grace. At Thimpu's most popular shopping mall, we are surprised to see the youngest royal shopper, come with a governess and a posse of commandos in tow, her entourage as relaxed as can be. We leave royalty to its devices and wade through leafy pine forests and orange groves towards Wangduephodrang. Between March and May, the sensual assault from colour and fragrance is inescapable as brilliant flowers claim the land: daphnes and magnolias, rhododendrons (54 varieties at last count) and primulas, juxtaposing the tall colourful prayer flags. Between October and February the Dochula Pass, forty minutes out of Thimpu, offers a powerful reason to pit stop: the magnificent views of the peaks that have ritualised annual picnics amongst locals of Thimpu.

Wangdue is the divine culmination of our trip. The Kyichu property guarded by an alpine forest overlooks the chatty Dangchu, on whose bank we sit out our four days, content just watching jaunty birds frisk in the spray as it thunders down the mountainside. The last day finds us loath to leave this melodious river and remorseful at not having encountered a yeti. The snowman, the `mirgu,' is one of the protagonists that enlivens the ancient scriptures, says caretaker Jeevan. "Is he for real?" we probe. "Most certainly," whispers a village know-all, "You've simply got to see to believe."