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This meal could be my last. This walk too. And if I go to sleep tonight, I might not wake up tomorrow. For many Bhutanese, memories of their impending demise are an integral part of their daily lives. Tsa-tsas – palm-sized cones formed by monks from the ashes of loved ones – are scattered in caves and roadsides to pray for the departed. White flags hoisted on poles wave on the mountain peaks, sending congratulations into the wind. In the country's many temples, flesh-eating demons, skulls and hellish monsters dance across the walls in old-fashioned Technicolor. Everyone is there to remind you: you will die.
Bhutanese folklore says that to be happy one must think about death five times a day. Only when you are aware of your limited time can you focus on what is important and let go of what is unimportant. And between its snow-capped mountains and swampy plains, this small Himalayan kingdom offers many opportunities to contemplate meeting your Creator. There's the descent into the armrests of Paro International Airport, with the plane's wings flying so close to hilltop farms that you can almost count the chillies drying on the corrugated iron roofs. Hairpin bends inch past dizzyingly deep valleys. There are confrontations with yaks, 2,000-pound behemoths of bulging muscle 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. The landscape exudes a radiant vitality: endless Himalayan peaks, forests shrouded in mist and covered in lichen (an indicator of clean air), rice terraces pouring over the slopes like acid-green molten lava. In between lie ancient villages with rammed earth walls, kaleidoscopic window frames and prayer flags, testament to hard work and human ingenuity. What many of their residents lack in ngultrum in the bank, they make up for in an excess of what we in the West would call simpler pleasures: every meal straight from the field; spiritual refuge in shrines on every corner; Lungs full of clean air scented with pinewood.
Here, the pursuit of happiness is an actual government policy: the famous Gross National Happiness (GNH), whose index prioritizes spiritual, social and environmental health over material wealth. In his documentary Agent of happinessPremiering at Sundance this year, Bhutan-born filmmaker Arun Bhattarai follows two census takers on a journey across the country as they determine the happiness quotient of Bhutanese in their everyday lives. As they go door to door, they encounter a teenager worried about her alcoholic mother and three women – all married to a self-centered patriarch – who find hope in their sisterhood.
Despite their misfortune (and in some cases tragically low happiness levels), the stories they tell demonstrate equanimity. “One of the biggest lessons I learned while making this film is acceptance of one’s current reality,” says Bhattarai. “I think the ability to acknowledge the present gives the people of Bhutan the strength to overcome adversity. We are all connected and our neighbors’ happiness is just as important as our own.”
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Another interviewee, a man mourning the death of his wife, finds comfort in the belief that she has been reincarnated as his granddaughter. Like most Buddhists, the Bhutanese always trust in a return to the earth, which could also explain why they are collectively so committed to preserving the natural environment. The forest is protected and valued as a living, breathing creature that nourishes the nation and its people. Plastic bags have been banned since 1999. The constitution enshrines the obligation to cover at least 60 percent of the land surface with trees. The bamboo and oak-covered valleys absorb more carbon dioxide than the country emits, making it the world's first – and currently only – carbon-negative country.
The more this once hermit kingdom opens up to global tourism, the less difficult it will be to visit. Earlier this year, national carrier Drukair launched new flights with Dubai, eliminating the need for an overnight stopover in Delhi or Kathmandu. The Sustainable Development Fee, a tourism tax that funnels money into conservation projects as well as citizens' health care and education, has been temporarily halved to $100 per person per night – a very small price to pay for a trip to a society that is demonstrably… Greed and competition are still untouched.
In a world racing against time, Bhutan offers a rare respite. You can find physical and mental solace in the gloomy forests, where you have only birds and countless ghosts for company on long, winding walks. It's in his Dzongswhitewashed fortresses that seem like portals to a bygone century; and in the temples, where shuffling pilgrims finger prayer beads and murmur incantations, leaving a pebble on the windowsill with each clockwise circuit.
In humanity's ongoing game of life, death and the spaces in between, Bhutanese culture feels both ancient and haunting, a reminder to savor the ephemeral. It forces, ever so gently, introspection and contemplation – be it through the Buddhist teachings that permeate daily life like incense, or through the purity of humanity one encounters, like signposts to a meaningful life along the way.
So if you have the means, go for it. And so forth. Because a Bhutanese would tell you that you can never be sure which walk will be your last.
