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Bhutan, a developing county, aims for nonmaterial satisfaction.
Landlocked Bhutan, sandwiched between China and India, glows with serenity like a mountain sunset. The postcard-perfect Himalayas stretch from east to west. Butter lamps flicker and juniper incense burns in temples. Thimphu, the nation’s largest city with about 115,000 residents, is one of two capitals in the world without a traffic light. Uniformed police officers direct oncoming cars with hand signals.
What sets this kingdom of about 800,000 people apart from other nations is that it measures its progress not by how much money its people make, but by how happy they are.
My friend David Edgerton, of Erie, and I visited Bhutan last year before the novel coronavirus began plaguing the world. We toured cities and the countryside alike and spoke with native Bhutanese, who our guide, Indra Hang, translated.
“We are satisfied with what we have,” Mr. Hang said. “That is the source of happiness.”
Happiness indexed
In 1974, Bhutan opened its borders to tourists, and the king established a National Happiness Index. The government conducts an extensive survey of residents every five years to monitor their happiness.
In 2015, 91% of Bhutanese expressed varying degrees of happiness. About 8% said they were “deeply happy”; 35%, “extensively happy”; 48%, “narrowly happy”; and 9%, “unhappy.”
Joseph Alter, director of the Asian Studies Center at the University of Pittsburgh, said the survey shows “the vast majority are not jumping up and down and grinning all the time.”
But he said the Bhutanese have a deep sense of satisfaction, equanimity and harmony with nature, which he related to the state religion: Buddhism.
Indeed, people in Bhutan spoke softly and projected a sense of calm. Their friendliness seemed genuine, not commercial.
Though Bhutan is striving toward modernity, the kingdom respects its past. People wore traditional clothes: men, a belted, bathrobe-like garb called a gho, and women, a long dress called a kira.
Mr. Hang said the government gives residents water, electricity, health care, education and up to 5 acres, depending on the size of their family.
Bhutan also has promoted happiness around the world. The United Nations has launched an International Day of Happiness, celebrated each March 20, and conducts its own survey on the subject.
Bhutan does not fare as well on these polls. The World Happiness Report 2019 ranked Finland first
and Bhutan 95th among 156 countries. Mr. Hang attributed that to Bhutan being a developing country while higher-ranked nations are already developed.
In addition, youth unemployment in Bhutan is 15.7%, according to a January article in Kuensel, the country’s national newspaper.
Mr. Alter and others doubt that Bhutan’s general sense of well-being applies to the nation’s Nepalispeaking and Hindu-worshipping southerners, the Lhotshampa.
“I do appreciate the [happiness] initiative of the government of Bhutan, but that is not inclusive of all those 130,000-plus people who were forced to leave the country like me,” said Khara Timsina, executive director of the Bhutanese Community Association of Pittsburgh.
His Brentwood-based group offers cultural programs and helps about 6,000 Nepali-speaking Bhutanese in the area adjust to life in the United States.
Mr.Timsina said he was forced to move to a refugee camp in Nepal in 1992 because his family, not he, had protested government discrimination of the Lhotshampa. He immigratedto the United States in 2009.
Married and with two children, he said, “I’m still struggling, but if I compare my life to that of my life in the refugee camp in Nepal, life here in the United States is way better.”
Sports cheer
Thunk!
An arrow struck a target shaped like an Old West tombstone, quivering.
At a range in Thimphu, we watched a team practice archery. Nothing quite enthralls the Bhutanese like their national sport.
Spectators and players at a regular competition raucously cheer their team and taunt opponents. Archers drink and gamble. But this practice was tame.
Traditionally, Bhutanese archers use a bamboo bow. This team shot with compound bows imported from the U.S. At first, the archers appeared rusty, but they eventually zeroed in with growing accuracy.
Phub Dorji, 41, owns the construction company that sponsors the team. I asked him what he thinks about when he shoots.
“That,” he said, stooping and pointing at the target one-and-ahalf football fields away. “I just aim at the target.”
Culture shock
We also visited the village of Chimi Lhakhang and the Fertility Temple. The temple honors Drukpa Kunley, a 15th-century
monk known as the Divine Madman. He popularized Buddhism with his “earthy” behavior.
In homage to him, Bhutan culture developed a fondness for phalluses.
David and I walked on a narrow path between rice fields in the village. In the village, paintings of 5foot male genitalia flanked doorways of houses, restaurants and other businesses.
“That is to ward off all kinds of negative energy and to bring happiness,” Mr. Hang explained.
Mr. Alter, an expert on Eastern religions and sexuality, said the phallus paintings have nothing to do with pornography or eroticism. “It’s meant to acknowledge the procreative power of sex, which is the reality of life,” he said.
Later, midway in our trip, David grew wan and quiet. Grimacing, he felt stomach pains, lightheadedness and nausea. A retired naval officer, David used to compete in a Tough Mudder, an obstacle course in which contestants get jolted with 10,000-volt shocks.
He’s tough, so I knew I would have a hard time convincing him to see a doctor. He eventually relented. After a curvy drive of two hours, we reached a hospital. A doctor said he thought David had food poisoning.
After rest, intravenous fluids and some antibiotics, he started to feel a little better. His bill for an emergency room visit and meds: $0.
That would make anyone happy.
Tiger’s Nest
The next day, we hiked a couple of miles to the Paro Taktsang Monastery, better known as the Tiger’s Nest, the national icon of Bhutan. The monastery was built in 1692, destroyed by fire and restored. At an elevation of 10,232 feet, this complex of temples and monk residences overlooks the Paro Valley 3,000 feet below. From afar, the Tiger’s Nest appears almost slapped onto a granite cliff.
Saddled horses rest at the bottom, waiting to transport visitors to the sacred site. But the best things in life require effort.
We walked, hiking 1,700 vertical feet on a dirt path through a forest of blue pines, magnolias and mosscovered brown oaks. Prayer flags hung from trees, and prayer wheels sometimes lined the path. Tourists and pilgrims with walking sticks lumbered up the steep trail.
Within sight of the monastery, a waterfall spills over the rock face. Outside the inner sanctum, we removed our shoes and left our cameras — photography is forbidden here — before padding inside.
A Buddhist monk, Wangchuk, stood near a throne next to a photograph of the 69th abbot of the monastery. Wangchuk, in maroon robes with shortly cropped hair, is one of four caretakers.
Among his duties, he performs water offerings, burns butter lamps and cleans the buildings. He also prays about eight hours a day — that alone, a full-time job for Westerners.
“I pray for all the sentient things and all the visitors who come here,” he said.
We returned downhill, this time an easy two-hour descent. We stopped first at an overlook for photos and final views that encompassed the entire scene.
I felt a minor sense of accomplishment in hiking to the monastery. Standing there, I embraced the beauty and peacefulness of the Tiger’s Nest.
And I felt happy.