Beautiful Bhutan

In the "Land of the Thunder Dragon," clouds caress the jagged peaks of the Himalayas, sculptured fields of rice crawl up the sides of hills, prayer flags flutter in the breeze, smoke from huge incense urns dissipates in the crisp air, stupas dot the landscape and perhaps Yeti roams the jade forests that account for about 64 percent of the land.

The Buddhist kingdom of Bhutan, or Druk Yul, as it is called by locals, is a country so picturesque that it's as if you've wandered into an immense work of art. At 17,954 square miles, it is less than half the size of Tennessee, but it is huge in faith, ritual, legends and stunning natural beauty. Perhaps it's the altitude, although we never went above 10,000 feet, but there is a feeling as if you're floating in this not-quite-real land.

It was a grueling journey of 22 hours from Hilo to Honolulu to Tokyo to Bangkok, where I stayed for a few days before a six-hour flight into Paro, Bhutan, with a stop in Calcutta, India, on Drukair, the Royal Bhutan airline, the only one that flies into the country. After our two-engine jet landed, we walked down the stairs onto the tarmac, which harked back to a bygone era. The plane had a dragon logo on the tail fin, the first of hundreds of dragon images we would see throughout Bhutan.

Ours was the only plane at the only airport in the country. The quiet was deafening.

I joined a group of 10 for my Bhutan adventure, plus our two young guides, Penjor and Palden, and our driver, Gurula, the most masterful manipulator of a minibus I have ever seen. And that is no easy feat, as the narrow, wickedly curvy road has a sheer drop on one side and a wall of mountain on the other, and must be shared by any oncoming vehicles, plus cows, yaks, kids, dogs and an occasional burro or horse, all of which are savvy enough to walk in single file on the sides of the road.

Most of the houses are made of mud, with wooden frames and vibrant decor. Many have hundreds of red chilies drying on the rooftops and phallic symbols painted on the fronts or sides, signaling that in Bhutan, fertility and virility are prized. Some homes have dozens of rocks holding down tin roofs against the wind. But in November there was little wind. The monsoons had passed, the rice had been harvested and people were preparing for winter.

"Dzongs" (pronounced "zongs"), which are monasteries that share space with government offices, are part castle, part fortress, part temple, all exquisitely decorated, some with elaborate murals covering every wall and unique designs covering the ceilings, columns and arches. Buddhist images and images of animals and dragons ("druk" means "dragon") are everywhere.

Visitors may stroll in the courtyards, where young monks do chores and humble dogs hope for bits of food. Shoes must be removed and cameras put away to enter the sacred interior of the monasteries, which can entail climbing steep, uneven, curving stairs in near dark. Visitors are not permitted in the administrative wing.

Most dzongs perch on hilltops or cling to the sides of mountains, giving them an aura of mystery. Their altars are heaped with offerings, from money, food and water to intricate butter carvings and butter candles. We happened upon one dzong when the monks were conducting a ritual of singing, chanting, playing musical instruments and circling the sacred images. We were delighted when they invited us to join them.

Prayer flags wave all over the country, and there are many at the dzongs. They come in blue, white, red, green and yellow, colors that represent the elements of space, water, fire, air and earth. Prayers, mantras and protective animals are printed on the flags, which are mounted on tall poles so the wind can unleash their power. We came across a flag-raising, where about 20 men were laboring to get a tall, heavy pole upright and into the ground.

Other common sights at dzongs are prayer wheels. There might be a single huge one or many smaller ones, but like everything in this artistic country, they are shiny gold or painted in an array of designs. Always spin them clockwise, just as you must always walk clockwise around the sacred shrines.

Men wear the colorful "gho" (pronounced "go"), and women the beautiful "kira." The gho looks like a kilt with a blousy top, but it is one piece that has to be carefully wrapped and tied or pinned, somewhat like a kimono. Penjor, amid much fanfare, and in between singing some lilting Bhutanese melodies, demonstrated one evening how to get it in place. It is worn with a white shirt underneath, with wide cuffs folded onto the outside, and also with knee socks. The kira consists of a long skirt and a short jacket, and comes in bright colors and patterns, which can match or contrast.

We traveled the high, perilous roads through the country, stopping for "pit stops" -- as the guides called our forays into the woods, made necessary by the lack of any public toilets on the roads or in the towns -- and would eventually reach our destination: a restaurant perched on a hill and a dzong or a lodge where we would spend the night. We didn't come across many people until we descended into the valleys where the towns are located. But everyone we saw was friendly, and we exchanged smiles and waves.

ELECTRICITY IS SPREADING rapidly, but with that luxury come the unsightly poles and wires marring the scenery. The candles and matches in the lodge rooms indicated power failures were to be expected, and we had a few. Hot water was iffy. One lodge at a higher elevation had wood-burning stoves in the bedrooms, with a stack of firewood in the corner, a jar of kerosene and a box of matches. At another, the lumpy thing under the covers turned out to be a hot-water bottle.

The food is healthy and tasty. The staples are red rice (like brown rice, but with a slight red tint), cheese, buckwheat, maize and chilies. "Emadatse," the national dish, comprises eye-popping hot chilies with cheese. The people here use a lot of cheese and mushrooms in cooking, and the Indian influence is evident in various curries. Residents also create amazing dishes with ordinary vegetables, most of which they grow. What they can't grow, they buy from India.

To quench thirst, Bhutanese tea, called butter tea, is served, but it's seasoned with salt instead of sugar.

Inn keepers also put out at least one chicken or meat dish for visitors, but when asked how often they eat meat, one answered "once a week," another said "once a day" and one responded "never."

You have to love a country that has little crime (I never felt so safe in my life), no lawyers, no traffic lights, no high-rises, no freeways, no department stores and no fast-food outlets. One official said, however, that crime has increased with the introduction of cable TV in 1999. Bhutan also has no mortuaries, although each village has a crematory.

Foreigners have only been allowed in the country since 1974, and they aren't allowed to own property. There is no limit on visitors, but the requirement that each person spend a minimum of $200 a day is self-limiting. One official said they want to avoid a hippie culture such as exists in neighboring Tibet. A driver and a guide are essential, whether you go on a mountain trek or a cultural visit because there are no rental cars in Bhutan, so $200 seems cheap for three meals a day, a hotel room and two (or with a larger group, three) escorts.

ACCORDING TO ITS Statistical Bureau, Bhutan had 6,261 tourists in 2004, with most of them from Europe, and just 2,025 from America. The bureau shows the population at 752,700, equally divided between males and females. The median age is 19.4 and the life expectancy is 66.

This tiny kingdom, nestled between Tibet and India, boasts beauty so remarkable that a slight turn of the head reveals yet another dazzling spectacle, making it easy to see why it hypes "gross national happiness" as its most important product.

Once, I walked from a lodge to town to feed dogs, and on the way, I passed a cow and calf grazing on one side of the road, across from little shacks of beehives under apple orchards. Beneath a deep blue sky, a dzong blended into a cliff on my right, as the river churned under the quaint bridge on my left.

When we got off the bus to do a bit of walking in the countryside, we came across some yak herders, who had pitched flimsy tents for the night en route to greener pastures. I hung out with the yaks (male) and the "dris" (female) and a cute little boy yak herder, while some of the women bought purses and Gurula bought an insect chaser from a woman herder, who made all the items from yak hair.

Bhutan's currency is the "ngultrum," called the "nu." It has the same value as the rupee, so it is not unusual to get part of your change in rupees.

We spent some time at the colorful weekend market in Thimphu, Bhutan's capital, lost in the sights, smells and sounds. Among the items for sale are many beautiful but expensive woven goods, religious items and unique items such as the singing bowl I bought, which emits a clear, sharp sound when a small wooden mallet is dragged around the top. We also went to the handicraft and textile factories and the national museum, which is cavelike, with dark, winding stairs. Stairs are everywhere in Bhutan because elevators do not exist.

The king, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, who has four wives, all sisters, has earned such respect from the people that they are resisting his attempts to introduce a constitution. He took the throne at age 17, and now, at age 50, he wants a plan so the country will continue to run smoothly after he retires at age 65. One man said, "The king is our living constitution."

People speak of Wangchuck with pride oozing from their pores, especially when they talk about his campaign to drive out the Indian rebels who set up camps in Bhutan's jungles. The king and his son led the troops.

The people of Bhutan have direct access to Wangchuck, whether it is to ask him for more land or to ask for a pardon or for help with a problem. He sees about 10,000 individuals each year.

Bhutanese practice Mahayana Buddhism, which is rich in ritual, and their faith is evident in every aspect of life. Besides all the dzongs and the 6,000 monks in the country, homes, too, have altars and religious decor, statues and symbols. But Bhutanese are also fun-loving people who are good at archery, their national sport. Penjor's mother competed in the 1984 Olympics in archery.

At the Dochula Pass, where there are 108 stupas, or shrines that contain sacred relics, we went upstairs to the main stupa and watched dancers, singers and musicians perform in traditional costumes with the snow-capped Himalayas as a backdrop. It was mind-numbingly magnificent.

The king is trying to bring Bhutan into the modern world without losing the country's rich heritage, a daunting task. You can see the future easing in, with Indian workers constructing roads and buildings and putting up power lines. Bhutanese are farmers, and the young people want white-collar jobs, not construction work, we were told. More lodges are going up to accommodate visitors, but in a nod toward the scaffolds and ramps at these construction projects are a maze of heavy bamboo poles lashed together.

We were fortunate to meet Kunzang Choden, the first published female Himalayan author. She told us fascinating folk tales and about various ways food fits into so many of the rituals. She stressed how important storytelling is in Bhutan. There are no books in the national language, Dzongkha, so all schools use English textbooks. But the people are determined to keep their language alive through the oral tradition.

Not all is perfect in this ethereal land, however. You can't talk about Bhutan without talking about the dogs. I once saw a documentary that said in Bhutan, dogs are treated like people.

Being a canine aficionado, I had to see such a wondrous place. I was not prepared for the multitude of homeless, ill, injured, starving dogs, a sight that will break the heart of any dog lover. No one harms them but the country is overwhelmed. It's said the dogs sleep all day so they can bark at night to chase evil spirits, but they probably sleep to escape hunger pangs. I spent much of my time buying food to feed hundreds of dogs. People started calling me the Pied Piper because the dogs followed me around.

So, for me, this turned into a bittersweet journey. I will always remember the awesome beauty of Bhutan, but I can never forget the heartbreaking plight of the dogs.

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