For the geographically challenged, I'm in the capitol city of the Kingdom of Bhutan, which is the world's only capitol without a traffic signal. "The dancing policeman" directs traffic from his tiny bandbox in the intersection, but not after 5 p.m. in winter for fear of him getting too cold. (I am in the eastern Himalayas, sandwiched between China to the north and India on three sides.)
This is a compassionate country whose king prizes gross national happiness over gross national profit. I have found everything here to be to my liking (well, except the lack of an Internet cafe within my hotel or walking distance; in that respect, Kathmandu and Lhasa really have this place beat).
It has been a very long day that included our car's warning light going on because it was running entirely out of oil. I'll bet the oil pan was a casualty of having to drive through some severe road construction yesterday. Our guide flagged down a passing tour bus of kind Swiss people who offered two empty seats to Carole and me while our driver stayed with the car for help. We were ferried to a chilly little restaurant atop a pass until another tour company car arrived to help us.
By the way, the Indian government provides road construction and maintenance to Bhutan as a form of aid. I have seen WOMEN and men slinging sledge hammers to break granite boulders into smaller rocks, then other people pounding those with smaller hammers to form the roadway base. No eye protection, by the way. Think about this the next time you want to say you don't like your job.
The road workers are all Indian nationals, and I have seen women nursing their babies next to a cement mixer or small children sitting by their parents as they work. I cannot imagine how destitute these families must be that they leave their homes to do hard physical labor in a foreign and cold place for what cannot be much pay. This also is how child labor starts: when the toddler can fetch a hammer or carry a pail ... it is a cycle of poverty through a lack of education to do something better.
The Kingdom of Bhutan is a very different place, in addition to the Gross National Happiness factor. Tobacco sales and smoking are outlawed (although I have seen tour guides surreptiously sucking down their cigarettes), and so are my white sneakers and jeans in temples and other important buildings. "Appropriate dress" can be rented from one's hotel, but fortunately I packed a long black skirt and some black shoes (the ones that DIDN'T get stolen from my suitcase violation when arriving at Kathmandu).
Tour guides must be in their national dress, called a go for men, which looks like a tailored bathrobe that ends at the knees, with black or coordinated knee socks and black shoes; the robe's long white cuffs must be showing, as well as a white collar that indicates the wearer is subservient to the king. When entering a temple, guides must wear an additional sash that is tied just so around the body and shoulders.
Well hey, that might be enough of a lesson on Bhutan, probably quadrupling the amount of Bhutan facts you previously knew. If you know any more, please enter them in the comments!
By the way, I met a 98-year-old man today who wanted to tell Carole and me the story of the temple we were visiting and his memories of the place. He sang a blessing to us for our safe return home. I have a wonderful photo of him that I'll post when I get home.
Stay tuned, as next time I will tell you about the many countryside homes I saw today with the most colorful murals on their walls: huge male genitals, complete with very hairy testicles and equally huge sperm happily spurting out the tip: a legacy of the Divine Madman monk whose famous member was supposedly as long as he was tall.
No wonder this a happy country. (The previous king also had four wives, all sisters.) But I digress ...
This is a compassionate country whose king prizes gross national happiness over gross national profit. I have found everything here to be to my liking (well, except the lack of an Internet cafe within my hotel or walking distance; in that respect, Kathmandu and Lhasa really have this place beat).
It has been a very long day that included our car's warning light going on because it was running entirely out of oil. I'll bet the oil pan was a casualty of having to drive through some severe road construction yesterday. Our guide flagged down a passing tour bus of kind Swiss people who offered two empty seats to Carole and me while our driver stayed with the car for help. We were ferried to a chilly little restaurant atop a pass until another tour company car arrived to help us.
By the way, the Indian government provides road construction and maintenance to Bhutan as a form of aid. I have seen WOMEN and men slinging sledge hammers to break granite boulders into smaller rocks, then other people pounding those with smaller hammers to form the roadway base. No eye protection, by the way. Think about this the next time you want to say you don't like your job.
The road workers are all Indian nationals, and I have seen women nursing their babies next to a cement mixer or small children sitting by their parents as they work. I cannot imagine how destitute these families must be that they leave their homes to do hard physical labor in a foreign and cold place for what cannot be much pay. This also is how child labor starts: when the toddler can fetch a hammer or carry a pail ... it is a cycle of poverty through a lack of education to do something better.
The Kingdom of Bhutan is a very different place, in addition to the Gross National Happiness factor. Tobacco sales and smoking are outlawed (although I have seen tour guides surreptiously sucking down their cigarettes), and so are my white sneakers and jeans in temples and other important buildings. "Appropriate dress" can be rented from one's hotel, but fortunately I packed a long black skirt and some black shoes (the ones that DIDN'T get stolen from my suitcase violation when arriving at Kathmandu).
Tour guides must be in their national dress, called a go for men, which looks like a tailored bathrobe that ends at the knees, with black or coordinated knee socks and black shoes; the robe's long white cuffs must be showing, as well as a white collar that indicates the wearer is subservient to the king. When entering a temple, guides must wear an additional sash that is tied just so around the body and shoulders.
Well hey, that might be enough of a lesson on Bhutan, probably quadrupling the amount of Bhutan facts you previously knew. If you know any more, please enter them in the comments!
By the way, I met a 98-year-old man today who wanted to tell Carole and me the story of the temple we were visiting and his memories of the place. He sang a blessing to us for our safe return home. I have a wonderful photo of him that I'll post when I get home.
Stay tuned, as next time I will tell you about the many countryside homes I saw today with the most colorful murals on their walls: huge male genitals, complete with very hairy testicles and equally huge sperm happily spurting out the tip: a legacy of the Divine Madman monk whose famous member was supposedly as long as he was tall.
No wonder this a happy country. (The previous king also had four wives, all sisters.) But I digress ...
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