Prayers on the Wind ~ From the Paro Valley to Dochula Pass, Bhutan

Bhutan, that once-secretive, still-exotic, Himalayan Kingdom, is a sensory feast for the photographic enthusiast.

The story that tourist numbers are strictly limited is over-stated. But, they are self-limited by the fact that, other than Indian nationals, all foreigners need to arrive by air – and for a long time only Drukair flew in and out. Today Druk has five airplanes, but when I visited – back in September 2009 as part of a group with photographers Gavin Gough and Jackie Rado – they had only two A319 Airbuses.

This helps explain why our trip started with a long day inside Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport. We arrived for our group check-in at 4:20am, only to be told that our plane (one of the two at the time) had “technical problems” and there would be a “slight” delay as we waited for parts to come from France.

Flights into Paro, Bhutan’s only international airport, are by visual flight rules (VFR), meaning they are dependent on weather and daylight. Only a few aircraft, in the hands of skilled pilots, can fly through the angled mountain passes and land safely on the short runway. Landing or taking off in the dark is not an option.

So, as the “slight” delay extended past breakfast, and then past lunch, we sat in an airport coffee shop – eight photographers with over-sized carry-ons and laptop cables tangled towards every available wall outlet – waiting for word, and knowing that if we didn’t leave by early afternoon, we’d go nowhere until morning. Our plane finally left at 3:00pm.

The flight into the Paro Valley, with the Himalaya rising on all sides, was everything it was cracked up to be. Now that you no longer have to dip your wing to people eating dinner in their high-rise apartments in Hong Kong, there can’t be many international airports like Paro. We were blessed with sun and good visibility, and were therefore able to watch as the plane took two sharp turns through the tight valley and descended to the airport. The collective intake of breath as the left wing almost touched the mountainside was palpable, and the passengers burst into spontaneous applause when the wheels touched safely down on the runway.

Our first full day in the country was spent hiking to Tiger’s Nest, high over the Paro Valley. Then it was time to hop in a minibus, and cross some of the rugged countryside – under clear, sunny Autumn skies – in search of the famous Tibetan Buddhist festivals, or tsechus (Dzongkha: ཚེས་བཅུ།, literally “day ten”), where we would photograph the swirling and stomping dancers (e.g.: Wangduephodrang Dzongkhag Dzong Tshechu).

Getting there was part of the wonder. I absolutely loved the mountains, and I sat in the bus with my nose pressed to the glass for most of our journey from Paro to Wangduephodrang.

But it was the prayer flags that really entranced me: I couldn’t get enough of them.

 

The ever-present prayer flags, the chorten and stupa dotted around the countryside, and the prayer texts; all around Bhutan there are reminders to honour Buddhist practice.

Not a bad way to live!

‘Till next time.

Pictures: 25September2009