Bhutan: Happiness is a Place

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“This is a dance about the stag and the hunter,” explains the young man beside me on the grounds of the Talo goemba (monastery), as spectacularly costumed dancers make their entrance at the monastery gates. “The deer will be making an appearance soon.”

Indeed, a pair of antlers distinguishes the next dancer that emerges onto the field, his body taut, his antlers darting nervously. With drums and cymbals marking his movement, he begins to unwind, nimbly balancing, twirling and leaping, layers of his costume creating kaleidescopes of colour with each turn. The hunt broadens as the stag takes flight down the field with hunter and

accompanying atsaras (masked clowns) in pursuit. The hunter’s dog appears and the ensemble moves toward the ‘profound temple’ at the end of the field, their graceful stylized ‘chase’ pixels of swirling colours from a distance.

“Each dance performed at these tsechus (festivals) tells a story,” my self-appointed guide tells me. “A story that means something to us, that tells us something about our history. Sometimes they are about our gods, sometimes our heroes, or demons.”

Happiness is a Tsechu

Tsechus, held annually to honour their Buddhist heritage and founder of their country, Guru Rinpoche, are integral to the religious and social calendars of the Bhutanese. While the grandest are held in the large cities – Paro, Thimpu, and Punakha – each district dzong (fort-monasteries) or goemba hosts its own annual tsechu. We are witnessing the homespun Talo tstchu, in a village set high in the mountains above the Punakha valley. Falling in step with the thousands who have made the pilgrimage up the mountain, laden with blankets and thermoses of rice, we gamely hoist ourselves up trails through hayfields and farmyards to reach the goemba’s sacred perch. The atmosphere is festive, with grounds festooned in colourful flags and banners, and Bhutanese adorned in their elaborate finery; special handwoven

embroidered ghos and kiras (national dress) and white kabneys (scarves for the men) and colourful rachus (sashes for the women). Luckily we were advised to wear our kiras and are saved the sense of exclusion other westerners, in their khaki trekking pants and gortex jackets, must feel.

Turns out our local connections make sure our day is an immersive one all round. Weaving our way through crowds to the goemba grounds, we are hijacked by a tiny sprite of a girl elegantly dressed in her best brocade and jewels. She recognizes us from the school we are volunteer teaching in, and is keen to share one of the songs she learned in kindergarten with me with her mother, who is hovering close by. Our audience includes two tourists from Scotland, who stop to praise Namjay’s rollicking rendition of The Ants Go Marchin’ In, performed with an ornate tiered goemba perched in the background. A man, sartorial in his kapney and colourful handspun gho, also recognizes us from the school and stops to invite us to lunch with his family later in the day. Our colleagues wave from across the field. They too have a host family waiting for them, theirs in the VIP tent overlooking the grounds.

The Stag and Hunter, The Dance of the Heroes, The Dance of the Wrathful Deities all grind to a halt by mid-afternoon to make way for that sacred ritual at tsetchus called lunch time. The mats are spread, the grandparents are made comfortable, and the children are round up in time to unpack the thermos, and lay out the smorgasbord: pork, rice, chili cheese, momos, spinach and wild greens, rice wine, avocados and papayas, The more bountiful the feast the more the sense of pride that they have produced something so life-sustaining. The rest matters not. We partake, we imbibe, we ask for seconds of the cheese chilis and eggs. The women shyly glance our way and an older Bhutanese man on one of the carpets near us chuffs us on the shoulder and raises a glass to us. Our hostess insists we have more papaya, her husband more ‘raki’ and a chance stroll the fairgrounds together. There are people he’d like us to meet, like the lawyer running for the senate in the upcoming election and the guide who remembers Father Mackey, the Canadian founder of the modern Bhutanese educational system.

Happiness is a Way of Life

Bhutan’s tsetchus, like the Takshang Monastery outside of Paro (established by Guru Rinpoche when we flew to the site on the back of a tigress) have visitors lining up to see Bhutan. But, to protect its ancient

practises and heritage and to avoid capitulation to the tourist industry as some Asian countries have done, Bhutan has been shrewd about its marketing strategies and goals. This is the not- colonized, not-changed-for-centuries Shangri-La where Buddhist belief determines political action, and where Gross National Happiness is considered the country’s measure of success and prosperity. It is of course the latter peculiarity – and possibly the best tagline in the history of the universe – that has attracted worldwide attention to Bhutan.

So what does that mean when all decisions prioritize its citizens’ happiness? Officially, this means that paramount to the country’s progress is whether development contributes to the country’s four pillars of GNH: sustainable development, preservation and conservation of culture, conservation of environment, and good governance. Achieving this in a country conscious of its need to ‘modernize’ (both its life

expectancy – 70 years – and GDP – $2,612US – are low by Western standards) while still honouring a highly developed cultural identity, is a challenge that faces Bhutanese policy makers (and parents!!) daily. Yes, the country is open for business, be it in the resource industry, the tourist industry, or the IT industry. Highway and transportation infrastructure are continually improving, schools welcome foreign teachers, and espouse a bilingual curriculum (English and Dzongka – their national language), health facilities are available in even the remotest mountain areas, and almost everyone has access to clean drinking water.

Protecting Happiness

But, wisely, to ensure that indiscriminate development and outside influence do not overwhelm the small sovereign kingdom, every innovation comes with an ‘enough’ button. For example, tourists are permitted in the country on a strict quota system, and only with licensed Bhutan travel operators. Low impact, high value practise in tourism has not only been immensely effective in preserving the culture and landscape that tourists have paid to experience, but has given the country a certain cache amongst ‘rare gem-seeking’ travellers. The main international airport is still restricted to national airlines and flights directly to and from Bhutan. Visas are strictly regulated, and travel through the country involves the successful negotiation of several

checkpoints, installed to deter petty smugglers and dealers that might have found their way into the country. Realizing that its forests are vital to the health of the nation, Bhutan has banned export logging and pledged to leave 60% of its country forested, now boasting a carbon negative eco-system (interestingly, these were facts that the students were well apprised of, leading them to ask whether Canada was doing the same for its forests!!). Management of health and education facilities, once overseen by foreigners, are now increasingly manned by Bhutanese graduates. With English instruction embedded in the school curriculum, Bhutanese students easily transfer to Western universities and training acquired overseas becomes a valuable commodity when they return home. While cable, cell and wifi service are available, streaming is selective (there is, for instance, no American programming). More dissolute influences from the west – such as provocative dress, smoking, drinking, pornography, guns, and promiscuity are also, if not officially forbidden (well, apparently, smoking is) socially outlawed.

Happiness in the Classroom and Beyond

So, given this careful mixology of the new with the old, one lands in Paro valley wondering how this will all play out. No doubt, through my experiences as a visiting teacher, I will see first-hand where happiness lies in the modern equation. It does not take long to discover it lies in the depth of joy and emotion that the Bhutanese bring to each task. Like when I attempt to teach English to five-year-olds and the Canadian national anthem to twelve-year olds. Or when I bring the school staff to their feet – to learn African and Hebrew circle dances – or teach an entire school body a song. The eyes that alight when I offer my confidance to grade 6&7 girls, play uno and frisbee with young boys eager for my company, serve as a peripatetic music teacher. The

applause I receive when I give a formal farewell speech (where a quote of Winston Churchill’s seems the only one appropriate), and the cards of farewell thrust towards me that begin: “Alas, it is time for us to say save journey, mam. You have been the biggest teacher ever.”

Curiosity compels me to explore this land of timeless happiness whenever my teaching duties allow. I hike to local nunneries, admire regional

dzongs, share tea with an abbotess, beer with a new cafe owner, am blessed by a seven-year-old

lama, master a Bhutanese folk dance, drink wine with 20 other women on International Women’s Day, chew doma ( a herb wrapped in betel juice and lime which is purported to aid digestion and get you a little

high!), catch fireflies with our hotel owner’s sons, and walk home from town hand in hand with one of them. In my zeal to participate, I learn how to pry my way to the front row of spectators at a tsechu and how to ‘spill my cookies’ politely at a staff dinner (on the street, behind a large Indian truck, dodging questionable looks from boys I taught on their way to soccer practise), step over countless sleeping dogs, and gleefully balance in a tuk-tuk out of control (ooops – wrong country – that was in Bangkok, Thailand)

Happiness is a Paradox

Did my experiences make evident I was in a country that values compassion and citizens’ well being over productivity and prosperity? Did the average person on the street look happy? Was their environment conducive to happiness, with green spaces, clean air, pedestrian-friendly streets, etc. What was the working wage? Could women count on childcare, child support and protection from domestic and sexual abuse?

Should these be pre-requisites to happiness, Bhutan, at first glance, would be unequivocally an unhappy place. Rampant development and construction in the capital city and hillsides of Punakha threaten to overwhelm these areas and degrade the landscape. Tin shacks that line the sides of the highways house labourers (most from the Assam region of India), that have been waved into Bhutan to fill the lower-paying jobs in the ever-growing construction and road-building industries. Clogged roads, with accompanying noise and air pollution, more dirt and concrete than flower beds, lack of green corridors or parks make the cities less than stroller-friendly. Employees endure long hours, difficult working conditions, and earn wages that cover expenses like food, water and their childrens’ education.. Even professionals, like teachers, cannot afford to buy their own home or car. Subsidized daycare is non-existent and just one small psychiatry clinic serves the entire country.

But, on second glance, despite the hardships and the growing pains, there is a prevailing sense of order and Bhudda-like calm to life in Bhutan. In the streets of Thimpbu, people quietly, contemplatively walk down the street as if strolling across a leafy green university campus. In a town hosting a tsechu, thousands can pour down the streets without a single horn being honked Road rage, petulant children, incensed customers, disenfranchised youth are uncommon ‘events’. The voices are gentle, the handshakes not more than a handtouch, and demeanors self-contained. As participants in the everyday life of the Bhutanese, we did come to know that beneath these facades were vivid senses of humour, and warm hearts. Kindness is rewarded in Buddhist culture; good deeds, virtue, prayer, pilgrimages are all are ‘merit-making’ practises which

accumulate the karma needed to earn enlightenment, and the desired form of reincarnation. Rather than viewing this cynically, one gains a respect for this the interconnectedness between belief and action in their culture.

Peeled to its core, the traditions of mehta (loving kindness) and pu (simplicity) remain firmly rooted in the Buddhist ways of the Bhutanese. And such ways aren’t just nestled ‘beyond earth and sky’ in the mountain villages and monasteries above them, as the marketing machine suggests, they are waiting to greet you where kindness and the King’s Highway intersect.