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The Road Less Traveled

Discovering Bhutan
by Anna Stewart

Schmoozing in the Smokies
by Sandy Summers

Spell of A River Town
by Diana Moes VandeHoef

Getting There Can Still Be Half the Fun
by Chandler Perdue

A Mystical Trip to Mexico
by Barbara Hilal

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The Road Less Traveled

Discovering Bhutan
by Anna Stewart

Inside Taktsang Monastery, perched on the very edge of a cliff about 10,000 feet high, a young boy sneaks away from his mother and reaches for my hand. "Please Madam, may I show you Guru Rimpoche's eye?" He brings me around the corner, where an eye is carved into the rock. He smiles at me. This is his turf.

We were in Bhutan; a tiny Buddhist nation perched on the eastern edge of the Himalayas. It holds a strategic place between India and China. Considered to be one of the least developed nations in the world, it is a country in which no citizen goes hungry.

The first king of Bhutan was crowned in the early 1900s. The present monarch, His Majesty King Jigme Singye Wangchuck opened Bhutan to the world in 1974. I first heard of Bhutan as the country where the king likes to play basketball. He allowed foreigners in the country so that he could shoot hoops with them. He doesn't play much anymore with all his royal duties, four wives, and struggles with retaining Bhutan's ethnic purity. That's the official explanation, but perhaps he just got tired of always winning.

The king, like his government, was educated abroad and speaks fluent English, but is fervently in favor of maintaining cultural traditions. The King and his classmates who run the nation want to protect Bhutan's culture, resources and way of life.

Travel in Bhutan is restricted to guided group travel. The minimum group size is six, we had seven. It's not cheap but it is possible to visit what many describe as the last Shangri-La. Bhutan once issued religious stamps so beautiful the Queen Mother bought them all, claiming they were too precious to be postage. Legal television is not permitted in Bhutan, but there is only one government-run newspaper.

In many ways, Guru Rimpoche was to be our guide and teacher during this visit to Bhutan. Guru Rimpoche is the most important figure in Bhutan's history, as he brought Buddhism to the country in the eighth century. He flew in on the back of a tigress, said to be one of his consorts who changed form for the occasion. They landed at what is now Taktsang (Tiger's Nest), Bhutan's most famous monastery. Burned down in 1998, it has been rebuilt but stays closed to tourists.

Thimpu, Bhutan's capital of 15,000 citizens, has no traffic lights, one gas station and policemen who direct traffic wearing white gloves. A Swiss clock stood in the town square displaying the wrong time. Groups of men talked and chewed betel nut, their legal drug of choice. Monks dozed in the sunlight.

In the chilly offices of the National Institute of Traditional Medicine, an Apple computer and a fax machine clashed with the mandalas and flowers painted on the lime green walls. The medical library had books on physiology in English and old texts bound in traditional fabric, written in Tibetan. In the afternoon sun, students hand rolled multi-vitamins made from 108 herbs and minerals.

At the School of Traditional Handicrafts, young boys (no girls) sat on the grass learning to replicate traditional Buddhist paintings. The boys meticulously copied Bhutan's national dragon symbol, along with other Buddhist symbols. In one cold and dark room, boys sat on the floor hunched over their identical headless clay Buddhas. The master sat in a chair and layered on clay to an exquisitely delicate hand. They worked in silence.That night we ate an Indian buffet meal at the Hotel Druk. Bhutan is not known for their culinary delights, but a favorite dish consists of hot chilies and yak cheese.

Driving in Bhutan can be quite an adventure. Only one road runs west to east. It was built and continues to be maintained by Indian laborers. They live in grass shacks at the edge of the road. They are not Bhutanese citizens, so they are not eligible for national education or health care. Some say these Indians make a better living than their cousins in Calcutta. Still, it is hard not to notice them struggling in a country that seems so prosperous.

It takes two days to travel to Bumthang at 20 kilometers an hour. Finally, after one last series of switchbacks, we enter a lush, green valley. The river is a translucent green. White houses with painted eves dot the open hills. Lights blink on as the sun sets. Dogs wander down the main street. A shopkeeper waves. We have followed Guru Rimpoche to a place where he meditated and left the imprint of his body on a rock. It is a sacred place.

We have come to Bumthang to experience the famous Tshechus, a festivals in honor of Guru Rimpoche. It is a prayer in the form of dances.

Night falls and the festival begins. Everyone is dressed in his or her best clothing. The woman are wearing colorful woven and embroidered fabrics wrapped around their bodies in the required fashion. Short jackets in Chinese brocades cover their arms. Daughters are dressed identically like their mothers. Sons resemble their fathers in a red-striped cloth that looks like a fancy bathrobe. Argyle socks and dress shoes complete the national dress code for the event. This is a religious ceremony as well as a social occasion.

A fire is lit in the center of the stage. A monk with a red hat beats a drum. The dancers in "The Dance of the Black Hats" wear beautiful robes of blue with bands of yellow and red. Huge flat black hats are adorned with peacock feathers, mirrors, incense and the auspicious Buddhist symbols. Barefoot, they stomp on the earth to drive out the evil spirits.

A single monk enters in the traditional maroon robe. There is a white scarf around his neck and another in his hand. He dances slowly, silently, deliberately. It is a form of meditation. He blesses what the Black Hats have prepared.

When he disappears, the crowd surges to the open field nearby. A huge wooden arch of juniper stands in the center. The monks chant. Whirling around the arch, four firebearers ignite the crowd. Then they light the arch. When the flames have taken the form of the arch, the crowd begins running through it. These lay Buddhists are gaining merit. The Fire Dance burns away the evil for everyone, preparing the village for the Tschechu to continue into the next morning.

Back in Paro, my husband and I drink vodka with Jigme, the Minister of the South, along with other government officials.

Although Bhutan is a monarchy, Jigme tells me, "in many ways we are more a democracy than many democratic nations. We ask the Bhutanese people in all the villages what they want. Everyone has a voice."

He believes the citizens unanimously agree about wanting to wear the same clothes, not carrying foreign currency, building only in a traditional style, practicing only Buddhism, and attending school only in Bhutan (unless you are government sponsored and wish to serve the country upon your return).

Despite this consensus to maintain traditions, I have seen the influence of the West. When I met one of our drivers, a young man named Tshering, he was wearing Nikes and listening to Guns 'n Roses on a Walkman. During the three-day trek, free from the eyes of fellow countrymen, our guides wore Western clothes. At the Tshechu, children saw me writing and begged me for pens and money. Pirated videos and illegal satellite dishes are becoming more common. Computers link Bhutan to the world.

Still, I can understand the spell that this country weaves around its visitors. There are only a few places to travel in the world where there is almost no crime, AIDS is unknown, the streets are clean and the rivers are still clear.

As I walked up the stairs to the same plane we arrived on, I looked once more at the liquid light of the afternoon. I wondered if Guru Rimpoche was still watching over me.

Anna Stewart has published over 200 travel and parenting articles, essays, and reviews. She weaves words and family from Boulder, CO.