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This meal could be the last. This walk too. And when I go to sleep tonight, I may not wake up tomorrow. For many Bhutanese, reminders of their imminent demise are woven into the fabric of daily life. Tsa-tsas (palm-sized cones molded by monks from the ashes of their loved ones) are scattered throughout caves and roadsides in prayers for the deceased. White flags hoisted on masts bristle on the tops of the mountains, sending good wishes to the wind. In the country’s many temples, flesh-eating demons, skulls, and infernal monsters dance along the walls in timeworn Technicolor. All there to remind you: you are going to die.
Bhutanese folklore holds that to be happy you have to contemplate death five times a day. Only by recognizing your limited time can you focus on what matters and let go of what doesn’t. And between its snow-capped mountains and swampy plains, this small Himalayan kingdom offers many opportunities to contemplate meeting its creator. There’s the arm-twisting descent toward Paro International Airport, the plane’s wings skirting hillside farms so close you can almost count the chiles drying on the corrugated tin roofs. Curvy roads pass slowly through valleys of dizzying depths. There are showdowns with yaks, 2,000-pound behemoths of bulging muscles and fur that you really don’t want to catch in a bad mood.
But where there is death, there is life. In Bhutan this axiom retains its true meaning. A brilliant vitality radiates from its landscape: endless Himalayan peaks, forests shrouded in mist and covered in lichen (an indicator of clean air), rice terraces pouring over the hillsides like acid-green molten lava. Hidden among all this are ancient towns, all with rammed earth walls, kaleidoscopic window frames, and prayer flag bunting, testaments to backbreaking work and human ingenuity. What many of its inhabitants lack in ngultrum in the bank, they make up for with an overabundance of what in the West we might call simpler joys: every meal straight from the field; spiritual resource in sanctuaries on every corner; Lungs full of clean, pine-scented air.
Here the pursuit of happiness is a true government policy: the famous Gross National Happiness (GNH), whose index emphasizes spiritual, social and environmental health over material wealth. In his documentary agent of happinessWhich premiered at Sundance this year, Bhutanese-born filmmaker Arun Bhattarai follows two census workers on a journey across the country as they survey the happiness quotient of everyday Bhutanese. Going door to door, they meet a teenager worried about her alcoholic mother and three wives (all married to a self-absorbed patriarch) who find hope in their sisterhood.
Despite their misfortunes (and, in some cases, their tragically low happiness scores), there is equanimity in the stories they share. “One of the most important lessons I learned from making this film is acceptance of present reality,” says Bhattarai. “I believe that the ability to recognize the present gives Bhutanese people the strength to overcome adversity. “We are all interconnected and the happiness of our neighbors is as important as our own.”
Another interviewee, a man mourning the death of his wife, finds comfort in believing that she has been reborn as his granddaughter. Like most Buddhists, the Bhutanese rely time and again on returning to the Earth, which might also explain why they are collectively so deeply dedicated to preserving the natural environment. The forest is protected and cherished as a living, breathing being that sustains the nation and its people. Plastic bags have been banned since 1999. Its constitution includes a commitment to keep at least 60 percent of the earth’s surface covered with trees. Valleys filled with bamboo and oak trees absorb more carbon dioxide than the country emits, making it the first (and currently the only) carbon-negative nation in the world.
As this once-hermitage kingdom becomes more open to global tourism, visiting becomes less and less arduous. Earlier this year, the national airline, Drukairlaunched new flight connections to Dubai, eliminating the need for an overnight stopover in Delhi or Kathmandu. The Sustainable Development Levy, a tourism tax used to channel funds towards nature conservation projects and citizens’ health and educational care, has been temporarily cut in half, to $100 per person per night, a very small price to pay for a trip to a society that is still demonstrably pollution-free. greed and competition.
In a world racing against time, Bhutan offers a rare pause. Physical and spiritual solace is found in the dark forests, where on long, winding walks, you will have only birds and a myriad of spirits for company. is in his dzongswhitewashed fortresses that seem like portals to a bygone century; and in the temples where pilgrims shuffle and touch rosaries and murmur incantations, leaving a pebble on the windowsill for each clockwise circumnavigation.
In humanity’s continuous play of life, death, and the in-between spaces, Bhutanese culture feels both ancient and urgent, a reminder to savor the fleeting. It imposes, ever so gently, introspection and contemplation, whether through the Buddhist teachings that infuse daily life like incense, or the purity of humanity you encounter, as signposts toward a meaningful life, along the way.
So if you have the means, go. Etc. Because a Bhutanese would tell you that you can never be sure what your last ride will be.