Mary Peck's "Bhutan: Between Heaven and Earth": Book Review

From visits totaling seven months from 1999 to 2005 to this Himalayan kingdom, Mary Peck's fifty-six black-and-white photographs, each on its own right-hand page facing a blank left, command attention. Many have captions placed as endnotes; a few do not. This removal of words from image (except four brief poems, one by Gary Snyder, another by W.S. Merwin, and a pair of his translations from Muso Soseki) allows the reader to look at the landscapes, people, ceremonies, and architecture as if witnessed first-hand.

In her afterword, "Bhutan's Curve of Time," Peck relates how directions were given by Bhutanese. Each of her inquiries led to a local range of instructions--by a resident. "Just walk into that cloud." one man told her. (130) Beyond circumscribed limits, hemmed in by gorges or peaks, paths or landmarks, the estimates faded, and new ones emerged with the next encounter, the next person down the trail.

Karma Ura situates his nation within these same furrowed contours. As a distinguished civil servant charged with the think tank implementing the nation's evolving Gross National Happiness policy, Ura explains in his thoughtful forward the scope of GNH. He sums up the country, full of micro-climates from one valley to the next. He notes how "the food chain is more or less completed within one's own valley." (5) Therefore, the mythology, community, and the land are integrated over generations to support the people in a intimate, in-depth knowledge-- differing from the fragmented skills promoted today as a solution to education and modernization.

GNH philosophy, holistic, seeks value beyond quantification. Documents back to 1729, Ura reminds us, mention happiness as "the purpose of government." (8) If people are happier locally, their relationships thrive. Goods, houses, and money might not matter as much as personal and communal fulfillment. Certainly a fresh perspective, contrasted with the relentless, increasing, and often sole pursuit of economic growth posited in our own societies as the ultimate indicator of success.

With television approved only just before the millennium, and the Internet now making inroads as electrification accompanies roads into more of the previously remote interior where most Bhutanese still live, the challenges already faced in its rapidly expanding capital, Thimphu, may repeat in villages and hamlets. India and China trade exert enormous pressures on a region with a fragile ecology and strategic situation, combined with its agricultural, hydroelectric, and forested resources. "All that Bhutan has is a very long history of isolation," Ura observes. (11) It lacks "our own huge center of gravity," and its culture and traditions must not only be preserved, but kept integrated into everyday life. Not as trinkets or dances for tourists, but as decentralized, sustained, and relevant ways of living as arranged by those best suited to do so: the local people themselves.

Ura concludes with a reflective rationale for GNH. He registers the alleviation of poverty, the rights given both genders, and the control of environmental impacts. He argues against "a comfortable standard of living" measured by income or expenditure as the truest marker of well-being. Instead, he links the potential of his fellow citizens to "integrity, wisdom, and foresight." Perhaps surprisingly for readers of this book, Ura avers that such qualities may emerge even today from an historically "orally based culture" where the best and the brightest need not be literate to be community leaders. (13) For him, in the Buddhist perspective, this study via each person's "incipient" nature as a potential Buddha enables the Bhutanese to probe into understandings of the mind and perception, desire and its origins, which transcend the monetized frenzy of the rest of the world.

While a short read, this combination of Dr. Ura's essay with Mary Peck's photographs, enriched by a more eclectic reading list that goes beyond Bhutanese borders for regional eco-criticism, is recommended. For images in complementary tones, with a longer narrative that delves into similar issues, see (my Nov. 2012 review of) Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness by John Wehrheim.(Amazon US 12-17-12)

Nicole Grace's "Dreaming Bhutan": Book Review

How does this book, praised by nearly all previous [Amazon US] reviewers, compare with similar images paired with text? I've looked at (and reviewed recently) a few such pairings. Most of these have amassed far fewer reviews--even taken together--compared to Nicole Grace's "Dreaming Bhutan: Journey in the Land of the Thunder Dragon." I want to provide more context, given the paucity of most earlier and often effusive remarks as to its substance.

Substance itself may elude the reader wishing for information. Grace in her one-page introduction, however, tells her choice to eschew such detail found elsewhere. Rather, as if "waking from a rare, exquisite dream, and finding yourself reliving its charms in vivid flashes, I have attempted to capture a few precious moments." (15) This is her prerogative. But compared to other collections, how well does she do so?

She presents in "a brief glimpse" over forty photos on the right side, spare text which could fit on a postcard on the left, leaving lots of blank space. Perhaps the slightly blurred resolution of some of the photographs fits the title, as she in promotional material for this book explains how she wants to show "dreaming" not "of" but "Bhutan" itself--as a portal to enlightenment. A romanticized approach directs Grace's gaze. It prefers "a world of enchantment, ancient rituals and dress that seems not to have changed in hundreds of years."

This offers little commentary. The newcomer curious about this Himalayan constitutional monarchy, perusing these shots of Buddhist-themed and landscape-dominant subjects, will find little information. A couple of the vertiginous Taktsang cliffside iconic monastery are perhaps necessarily tilted away from the portrait to landscape settings, but this does not enhance their effect, and details of certain places and vistas are not sharply rendered or reproduced on the page. The large map cannot be discerned as to place names. The Royal Grandmother's forward takes two sentences. A few Dzongkha terms, endnotes, and an appreciation for her 2009 visit guided by an "Aide de Camp to the beloved fourth King" and also his family which enabled her access to some holy places supplements the main body, the photos and captions.

No bustling Thimphu of now a hundred thousand residents, no girls in jeans, no guys in sneakers, no cigarettes or traffic--even the eyeglasses on one shadowy monk are barely discerned. In "a cross between the mythical lands of Shangri-La and Brigadoon," if one wants to imagine a Buddhist Bhutan free of modern presence, this will satisfy your desire.

I liked the two quotes included from the country's notorious guru from centuries ago, the Divine Madman Drukpa Kinley. He's an apt rejoinder to pomposity. Overly earnest audiences might take heed of his subversive message--and the libertine style with which he conveyed it down to the phallic decorations on walls today in his memory.

In two photos on the road to Bumthang, two painted cave pictures of Padmasambhava and the Buddha and an inscribed encouragement from that latter figure appear. She notes how, old as they look, they were made for the set of a scene from Khyentse Norbu's "Travelers and Magicians" film--"NOV 2002/ Scene 112/TAKE 101" accompanies the prayer. That and a page to the 108 chortens on Dochu La to commemorate the national campaign against Indian militants are about the only references to the contemporary occurrences in this land, not as much a "Lost Horizon" as the dust jacket's quote may lead the captivated newcomer to assume about a fragile ecological, political, and cultural entity between China and India.

For those who want to explore in photos and text the challenges for this precariously perched realm, other volumes and media may be contrasted.  The Dragon Kingdom: Images of Bhutan by Blanche Christine Olschak (1984, with photography by Ursula Markus-Gansser and Augusto Gansser) covers similar Buddhist material but with a text attentive to its integration in culture and history. Bhutan: Fortress of the Mountain Gods by Christian Schicklgruber and Françoise Pommaret (1998) gives a hefty academic weight to the same, with scholarly chapters and images of artifacts.

If you want less weighty text than these but a bit more than Grace's brevity, begin with Bhutan: Kingdom of the Dragon by Robert Dompnier (1999); he entered monasteries and holy sites to show interiors more than she may have been able to do. A few years later, Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Last Himalayan Kingdom by Michael Hawley (2004 in smaller but still very large format than its 2003 museum showcase as the "biggest book in the world") balances an east-to-west journey (the opposite of the usual itinerary) with hundreds of digital photos. Finally, an updated look at the changing legacy of faith, custom, and globalization, a handsome treatment with sharp color photography is Bhutan Heartland by Libby Lloyd and Robert van Koesveld (2010).

Skillful black and white photography conveys its own suggestive appeal. See Bhutan: Between Heaven and Earth by Mary Peck (2011 with a valuable essay by Karma Ura on Gross National Happiness policy) and for more personal insights combined with a wider territorial range, Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness by John Wehrheim (2nd ed. 2011). Hawley, Lloyd + Van Koesfeld, Peck + Ura, and Wehrheim all include the more difficult, less evocative subjects missing from "Dreaming Bhutan."

Perhaps it's meant to be only a dream. But Bhutan's reality's worth investigating beyond the limits of these forty or so glimpses. Grace's book may whet the appetite; perhaps some of you will turn to more extensive presentations from this land. (Amazon US 12-20-12)

Grús nó Gé?

Nuair chuaigh go mo fhuinneoig thuas staighre inné, chonaic mé seo. Shíl mé go raibh mála plaisteach bán. Shéid an gaoth go leor ar na cnoic os cionn mo theach, go cinnte.

Chuir mé mo dhéshúiligh síos ó seilf ard. D'fheach mé níos dlúithe aríst. Anois, bhreathnaigh mé an éan ina ionad sin.

Bhí muineál fada agus comhlacht urrúnta air ann. Níl a fhios agam ach beagán eolas faoi cineálacha na n-éan. Mar sin, ní raibh mé cinnte má bhí sé grús nó gé.

Fhill mo mhac Niall ar ais go óna scoil. D'iarr mé air. D'fhreagair sé go mbeadh sé grús.

Rinne Niall an ghrianghraf seo. Tá muid i gcónaí ag imeall an cathair ar feadh i ngach ceann dár saol; nach bhfuil muid cinnte. B'fhéidir, tú ábalta insint freagra ceart dúinnsa.

Crane or goose? 

When I came to my window upstairs yesterday, I saw this. I thought it was a plastic bag. The wind blew a lot on these hills above my house, certainly.

I got my binoculars down from a high shelf. I looked more closely again. Now, I viewed a bird in its stead.

It had a long neck and a sturdy body. I have but a little knowledge about types of birds. Therefore, I was not sure if it was a crane or a goose.

My son Niall came back from his school. I asked him. He replied it might be a crane.

Niall took this photograph. We've lived for all of our lives around the city; we're not sure. Perhaps, you're able to tell us the right answer.

"Bhutan: Mountain Fortress of the Gods": Book Review

This folio-format study commemorates a Viennese exhibition at the Museum für Völkerkunde in 1997-98. While scholarly, and hefty in size and substance, it contributes more weightily to the knowledge we have of this Himalayan kingdom. I found it valuable as a corrective to the often more romanticized photo collections, easier to consult than more specialized if even drier monographs, or more balanced than necessarily more hurried summations in travel narratives by and for Westerners. As co-editor Christian Schicklgruber introduces the collection, it mirrors how a visitor would approach Bhutan. Visual impressions, "the lay of the land," flora and fauna, architecture, and regional peoples and their distinctive dress unfold.

Schicklgruber reminds us of the challenges a "mountain fortress" faces, given the fate of Buddhist enclaves in Ladakh, Mustang, Tibet, and Sikkim. He considers the demands of the Nepali and often Hindi populations on the southern borders, and the competing cultural and ethnic identities of the Buddhist majorities in the heartlands. He notes how modernization for the nation may not equate with conventional Western judgments, and attributes the royal stewardship for the decisions demanded as this small region deals with the pressures from India to the south and occupying China to the north.

Botanist Gerard Navara begins with a chapter on its landscape, while co-editor and Tibetologist [see my May 2012 review of her Bhutan: Himalayan Mountain Kingdom (Odyssey Guide)], Francoise Pommaret's linguistic and ethnographic survey documents the various peoples with cultural and ethnic allegiances. It (as other contributions) can be slow reading, but it sums up value--much remains to be learned about the array of languages and dialects in such a small country. Marc Dujardin, in an ambitious analysis of Rukubji in the central region, explains how it's "living architecture." As opposed to a Western understanding of monuments and concrete fixing a place's meaning, Dujardin assesses Bhutanese construction in its evolving context, sites placed by religious considerations where spirits may lurk, deities may abscond, and modern methods may undermine or support ancient ideas of how, say a farmhouse is to be rebuilt for every generation in the same family's spot.

Then, everyday life and religious worship comprise part two. I admired ethnologist Martin Brauen's "Dreamworld Tibet" (see my Feb. 2012 review) and his report from another, if unspecified, central community shows his knack for conveying the reality of life in the mountains and not myth. He relates how taxes and tasks must be achieved, and what happens when women own land and farms. 

This aligns well with Dujardin's chapter, and we see how women negotiate power and control, even as a significant percentage of the village consists of the landless families. Brauen here as in his other book cautions any Shangri-La expectations. Buddhism, more skeptical towards female energy, keeps its hold over the village and the mindsets of men and women, even as education beckons. For, the farm, if run by women, may expect girls not to stay in school, and for all there in such a village, the afterlife is still seen as more likely to reward a male than a female, regardless of her merit in this life.

"Zorig chusum" or the "thirteen crafts" have been passed down from parents to children for centuries. Barry Ison finds these exemplifying the material mixed with the spiritual out of the hardships and the diversity of Bhutan's situation. As its people cannot compete making cheap products for the globalized market, they can promote their heritage and expertise with wood, stone, painting, clay, bronze, metalwork, cane and bamboo, paper, tailoring, weaving. As in other sections, artifacts intersperse in photographs as evidence.

For the third section, Buddhism and the state being mutually supportive, Mynak Tulku as a "high cleric" interprets ritual. Although an aside, I found his paragraph on p. 140 intriguing: Buddhism may have entered Bhutan far earlier than the 7th c. AD, perhaps as early as 200-100 BC. 

Schicklgruber matches gods to sacred mountains, and applies its shamanistic origins to a religious interpretation of the striking, fabled landscape on multiple levels. "To put it rather crudely one can say that the Bhutanese do not fulfil Western demands for precise levels of classification." (161)  These gods, from folk tradition, harass or please humans, and Buddhism superseding their mythic rule, it tried to supplant or overpower them. Even the raven crown of the king may stem from this.

History, as nationhood (late for this realm), follows. Legends around the noble origins begin Pommaret's long treatment of sketchy or venerable sources transmitted from antiquity. Animism and even megaliths gave way to temples and Tibetans entered the "southern valleys of medicinal herbs" which gained fame with Guru Rinpoche's arrival in the eighth century CE. Drukpas and secondarily Nyingmapas gained pre-eminence in particular regions of the then-fragmented land. Pema Lingpa galvanized central and eastern regions as the "treasure revealer" (1450-1521). The first Shabdrung (visited by Portuguese Jesuits in 1627) repelled Tibetans to establish a western region under Drukpas. This ruler constructed dzongs in each valley to fortify then one unified theocratic-monastic kingdom.

She continues with the coming of the British (1772-1926) to use their records to compare with Bhutanese accounts. As India pushed north, Bhutan gave in, and as a trade route to Tibet, the Swiss-sized kingdom in the middle sought to stay independent internally. By the early 20th c, "Relations were excellent but distant" between the Raj and Bhutan's first king, Ugyen Wangchuck. There's a tremendous amount of information in these two chapters, full of rivalries and assassinations, but the data add up to much more than a non-specialist may want to sift through.

The final section features Karma Ura's perspective as a civil servant (and writer) on "tradition and development." He reminds us that most Bhutanese still live more than a day's walk from the "motor road," and the layout of settlement means mule tracks may endure for some as the ancient path. But, exposed as many in the capital and other towns on the road become to media and foreign goods, the elite crave more, and expectations rise faster than incomes, within a Buddhist-ruled system which cautions against excess. Globalization and development must be balanced against a precious and now rare combination of traditional values and ecological legacy. Village altruism weakens when impersonal cities beckon the young and ambitious. The lama may deserve a voice alongside the investment banker. Meanwhile, Ura's fellow intellectual, Kunzang Chöden, who wrote the first novel in English [The Circle of Karma] by a Bhutanese woman, offers five interviews from females in the capital that grows 7-10% annually. (Thimphu has now around triple the population it did when this chapter itself was drafted in the late 1990s, to prove the point.)

A glossary and list of objects illustrated end the volume. Not an exhibition catalogue in the usual sense, Bhutan: Mountain Fortress of the Gods instead presents an in-depth examination of the nation. While very factual in tone and heavily academic, the contributors serve as a cross-section of native and European scholars best able to explain this kingdom seriously to an audience for which fantasy and effusion seem to suffice given its dominant portrayal in the media as a happy hideaway.

(P.S. This book reincarnated as an award-winning 2001 Austrian website, but that's long defunct.)[11-29-12 to Amazon US]

Michael Hawley's "Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey": Book Review

This younger sibling to the world's biggest book continued raising funds for medical and educational projects "across the last Himalayan kingdom." Friendly Planet, a charity spinoff of M.I.T., raised money in an innovative fashion, as digital photography and bookbinding skill combined with high-tech expertise under a team led by Professor Michael Hawley, who ran the campus' Media Lab's special projects division. The big brother book, 5' by 7' and weighing 150 lbs., dwarfed the two Bhutanese schoolchildren the team "adopted" on their initial November 2001 visit, when displayed at Harry Winston's gallery in Manhattan. This 2003 book symbolized the meeting of high rollers with a worthy cause, and demonstrated how a $15,000 volume could further other schoolchildren and families in the remote areas of this region, reached only by trails, far from the touristed areas the book documents.

For the smaller companion, itself considerable at a foot by two feet and 15 lbs., this expands the original. It reproduces the immense photos and doubles their number, if in less stupendous manner, by explaining how the original was assembled, and how the team returned to Bhutan in 2003 to bring aid to villages and schools from the moneys raised by the big book. Now out-of-print, this follow-up 2004 volume also contributed its profits to Friendly Planet, and Hawley's text and captions, garnered from a cooperative of eleven photographers, conveys the appeal of the Buddhist kingdom and people.

Highlights include: David Macauley's handsome endpaper map; colorful masks, costumes, and dancers from a Trongsa "tsechu" or "ten-day" annual festival; shots of monastic celebrations normally forbidden to photograph; marvelous expanses from Jholmohari's snowy range bordering Tibet; and encounters with the Merak and Sakteng's Brokpa yak herders that conclude this elegant presentation. 

There's little about the history or current events beyond an itinerary following (if in reverse contrary to other versions) the sole east-west route dominating most travel narratives, understandably given the necessity to follow this to get across the mountainous domain, however slowly by jeep. It ventures off-road in two memorable sections, even as these may therefore romanticize portions of the experience, and the urbanizing and modernizing pressures on Thimphu the capital, or the demographic increases by both the southern bordering Nepali and Indian-backed peoples are barely glanced at. But readers wanting more can look elsewhere for such coverage. It's easy to get caught up in the marvels of a fabled place. The intention here is to provide visual splendor, and that goal is met. 

This volume may only be in a large library, for reference or in a rare-book room. (The big book is even rarer, naturally). It's worth spending a few hours with, to enjoy what a well-prepared text (despite a few typos--"abbot" is misspelled every time) and collection of images provide about a realm often mythologized by past and present visitors. This may prolong the myth-making, but it also addresses the practical shortcomings of everyday education and medical care too many still suffer.
(Amazon US 11-18-12)

Robert Dompnier's "Bhutan: Kingdom of the Dragon": Book Review

This offers a French photographer's array of images taken during many visits in the 1990s, emphasizing tradition and crafts. While short on text--the prefatory words are helpful but brief regarding Bhutan's history and each thematic chapter--it's handsomely arranged. The colors leap out and the size allows a map far larger than in most books on Bhutan--even if a tiny caption warns: "The borders as shown on this map are neither authentic or correct."

Originally published in 1999, this allows you to see more of the varied terrain and costumes, varied landscapes and faces. The natural range of tropical, hilly, mountainous, and valley settings covers nearly three-dozen pages of photos. Architecture of dzongs, houses, and shops follows, and the format allows you to peer into details. This also offers more examples from across the country than some other photographic collections.

The "great Punakha procession" with its symbolic commemoration of victory over the Tibetan invaders gains coverage. Next, the chapter on society takes you to markets, schools, looms, and hearths as well as the many historic dzongs, the district fortresses combining monastic control with administrative power. You see more of their interiors than usual, as other books tend to shoot their splendid exteriors atop dramatic, strategic positions. Dompnier's survey enters the walls, and reveals the monks and workers at their daily tasks.

More dances follow, and then it's off to very remote but truly captivating raw northern vistas of high Lunana, Laya, and the eastern lands of the Brokpa yak herders. A glossary of terms and a short reading list conclude this volume. The dimensions are not as overwhelming as, say, Michael Hawley's Friendly Planet Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Last Himalayan Kingdom from the early 2000s, but they are more comprehensive than the older The Dragon Kingdom: Images of Bhutan (1984) which cover similar ground and a similar time period.

This complements John Wehrheim's black-and-white photography and comprehensive narrative from 2011, Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness. Dompnier's color matches Wehrheim's focus on people inside the landscape, and both fit into a more human presentation. For more on artifacts and crafts, the Bhutan: Fortress of the Mountain Gods (1998) large, scholarly book treats in-depth the history and culture of this kingdom. (Amazon US 12-3-12)

"The Dragon Kingdom: Images of Bhutan": Book Review

This 1983 large-format book combines a Buddhist-infused commentary by Blanche Christine Olschak with photographs by Ursula Markus-Gansser and Augusto Gannser. The Swiss-based trio of scholars reports from the earlier stages of the kingdom's connections with the West, and the analysis is therefore very light on modernization, which had just begun in the period they visited. It can be perused in a sitting, as a quick introduction to the traditional mindset of the region.

You do get a sense of the vast landscapes and mountain vistas. The photos of Lunana prove, as the text by Gansser underlines, the haunted quality of the far-off frontiers. Olschak's comments on the dances and rituals that dramatize Bon and Buddhist overlaps of stories and ideals also match the images effectively. What you won't get a sense of are the people themselves, in conversation or close-ups in the text. More from a distance, this shows the sights. It's brief, but fine for those who do not require an in-depth study of the realm.

Chapters on the religious myths and culture (attending well to spiritual themes, as this book comes from Shambhala Press in English translation), the topography (lovely photos from remote areas and well as dzongs and folk artifacts), dance (good on symbolism), "the coronation of the youngest king in the world" in 1972, and a small overview of transitions into the wider world. By now it may feel dated. It may be consulted as more "lightweight" in heft and content by those wanting a less comprehensive, but academically based survey than the 1998 Shambhala Press edition of the 1997-98 Vienna museum exhibition with scholarship, Bhutan: Fortress of the Mountain Gods, eds. Christian Schicklgruber and Francoise Pommaret. (Amazon US 11-24-12)

"Bhutan: Taking the Middle Path to Happiness": Film Review

"Gross National Happiness" increasingly grows familiar as a catchphrase to sum up Bhutan's ambitions to orient its Himalayan fastness within harmonious precepts as taught by Buddhism and shared equitably among its peoples to assure mutual comfort, educational advancement, and spiritual progress. This project comprises this one-hour video produced by Thomas Vendetti and John Wehrheim. With Dr. Vendetti's experience with mental health outreach for the Hopi and now the residents of Maui, and Mr. Wehrheim's career as a hydroponics engineer who has worked in Hawai'i and Bhutan, one understands their professional connections that linked them to explore this kingdom's initiative under its benign monarchy to promote entry into the modern world while keeping traditional lifestyles, and as they are perched between a covetous China and a teeming India.

This geographical situation demands caution. Its ecological treasures require caretaking. Compared to the recent fate of other Buddhist realms, Tibet, Ladakh, Mustang, and Bhutan's neighbor, Sikkim, the need to preserve ancient wisdom, careful tourism, and economic growth makes this land a unique case study, the last jurisdiction where Tantric Buddhism enters into the governance of the nation.

Part 1 introduces the environmental imperative, and then segues into culture, water, and governance. The feel is very much what you'd see on public television or as an educational film. That is, there's no dramatization or re-enactments, no need to pump up an inherently worthy subject. The Prime Minister, Lyinpo Yeshey Zimba, and a musician-Performing Arts director, Jigme Drukpa, take turns narrating their country's plans. The Dalai Lama's prescriptions for happiness append this as a short feature. All agree: the pleasures of this world can be beneficial, but their best attainment is by that which limits greed and sustains nature.

I watched this prefaced by a bit of familiarity from books. (See my reviews of Radio Shangri-La by Lisa Napoli, Beyond the Sky and the Earth by Jamie Zeppa, So Close to Heaven: the Vanishing Buddhist Kingdoms of the Himalayas by Barbara Crossette, Bradley Mayhew's Lonely Planet and Francoise Pommaret's Bhutan: Himalayan Mountain Kingdom (Odyssey Guides) guidebook.) But like most Westerners, I lacked direct sight of this place. Color within native costumes, the architecture sustained in the old style for all new buildings, and the soft scenes of mist and scree all unfurled. Robert C. Stone's cinematography conveys some of the vastness of high peaks and narrow valleys, ravines and rivers cutting into sheer stone.

Out of this landscape, after learning of John Wehrheim's expertise (besides the script, he's written and photographed well his 1991-2006 stints there in "Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness"--some of its evocative black-and-white images enrich the film), I can better relate to why hydro-electric energy takes up part 3 of the running time. Its facilities largely out of sight underground and in narrow gorges, they now harness but 5% of the potential power. More than the zero of a few years ago, but far more could be used to sell off to India, neatly capturing the snowmelt and profiting the inhabitants of a land needing revenue with so little arable land in such a vertically dominant spot.

My wife wondered as she watched if there was more to Bhutan's story; she hinted it seemed too simple. Hints of tension arise elsewhere; part 2 mentions that the advent of television in 1999 sparked a rise in crime and strife, so this piqued my curiosity. It's natural not to want to highlight this in a film about the pursuit of happiness, but more might have been given to the problems that modernity brings, as well as the trap that Bhutan may feel as it's aiming for freedom while positioned between two superpowers bent on making this century their own in a globalized, more heartless, system.

The 2008 film ends in an open-ended manner. The four parts or "pillars" of the Happiness plan along the Middle Path of moderation preached by the Buddha organize it, and after each, some music is shown. Western musicians join in as a celebration for the King's birthday occurs, and this concludes the documentary. I was not sure why the film wrapped itself up when it did, but this may suggest the striving of the kingdom will always be softened by the chance for festivity and community, aspects again necessary along with electrification, healthcare, literacy, and education (delightful that birth control is often taught to villagers by monks--a great touch!) as must-haves on the four-part plan. (Amazon US, 10-24-12; film's website. See also his book of photos and narrative on "Taylor Camp")

John Wehrheim's "Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness": Book Review

Here's a deeper look into these pages. Previous {Amazon} reviewers laud John Wehrheim's evocative b/w photographs; these compliment his sensitive, lively, insightful text. A companion to the DVD he co-produced, "Bhutan: Taking the Middle Path to Happiness," about the modernization-by-moderation Gross National Happiness project in this Himalayan kingdom turning constitutional democracy, the last land ruled under a Tantric Buddhist ethos, this book--originally in hardcover 2008, but slightly revised for the better 2011 in paperback--transcends its coffee-table appearance.

That is, after fifteen years as a hydropower consultant working in Bhutan, 1991-2006, what he presents peers into the Bhutanese, many of whom he honors as "my friend" in the calm, steady narrative. As in his similar pairing of story and image, "Taylor Camp" from Kaua'i, the clash of the recent with the traditional underlies his perspective, allowing him to record patiently the varying reactions from the natives to a world that wants to barge in, attracted to an Asian area's remote charms and natural wonders. But this does not mean he romanticizes a place where television in 1999 brings unwelcome temptations, and advertising tempts people away from the Buddhist admonition to let go of desires.

Fittingly, after a deftly conveyed history of Bhutan and its context within Indian-fueled border struggles where the nation its novel way wins a recent war on terror, the geographically east-west path begins in Paro, where one lands at the airport. Wehrheim explores the Drukpa heartlands, in western and central regions, and treks follow drives into the northern interior near Tibet. A climb up to Taktshang doesn't seem to faze him. We learn of the Divine Madman and patron saint Drukpa Kinley, and the girl turned goddess Yeshe Tsogyal.

In the Thimphu chapter, we visit his hosts Jack and Karma; she relates her family's saga which shows the difficulties of many in this land where subsistence farming exacts its toll, and which in its abandonment the capital lures some young folks eager for civil service and bright lights. "TV ruined my life," laments a bumper sticker. Wehrheim as an engineer observes astutely how the modern buildings in traditional style gloss over concrete and steel the folk patterns but the structures cannot sustain the shapes that have evolved gracefully with organic materials.

In Punakha, Wangchu takes him into the forests. A yellow dog, one of the ubiquitous barkers, hassles him one night. A yelp is heard later. A leopard has taken off the cur, like a cat with a rat, the beast hanging limp in firm jaws.

Bhutan's predicament might be akin to that of small prey between big beasts. Glacial melts worsen conditions; the fate of Nepal and its deforestation, and of Tibet with the loss of its timber, overshadows this nation as it tries to balance sustainable growth with a reluctance or eagerness (the capitulation of Sikkim lingers as its doomed neighbor) to rule one's self. The central regions of Wangdi, Trongsa, and Bumthang give the author a chance to join a royal celebration, that goes on for weeks it seems. The king having abdicated at fifty for his son's reign, the son urges his people to further democracy. But, they fear the corruption and graft of their neighbors will infect the Bhutanese polity.

Before this event, my favorite chapters take us nearer the northwest frontier with Tibet. First, Wangchu and companions escort Wehrheim into Gasa. A hot spring, and elegant portraits of its bathers, enhance a bawdy set of exchanges, as if the Wife of Bath reincarnated. The territory of Laya and then rival Lunana follow. The Layap, more laid-back, exemplify a "hidden" people tucked away out of sight of the Tibetan trade routes, 12,000 feet up. Conical hats perched on the women and the forthright, practical attitude of the locals make them a memorable bunch. Their "night-hunting" custom of matchmaking seems a twist on my Lao or Hmong students' tales of similar "abduction" where all the family are complicit!

As with the Lunap, the people over in Lunana, they seem far removed from what we know as neighbors. The Lunap have practiced polyandry as the men are away so long and this kept the population low in a harsh terrain. A more reticent and gruff lot, they contrast with the Layap.

In a moonscape, Wehrheim, a water expert, knows that he cannot get sick from a "sacred spring" that high up. He drinks a cold draft. He gives in as his heart stops and energy invades his body. He relates a terrible and powerful afternoon spent coping with the aftereffects of the "naga."

Reading these encounters, the vivid and textured photography interspersed to often comment directly or subtly on the narrative, you learn about the sensibility of the people. Gradually, your own time and space retreat, as with the impact of the "naga's water," if not so dreadfully. Receding from our own surroundings, the harsh and gentle notes mingled in this account merge and rise.

Unlike more heavily promoted reports from Bhutan, falling into New Age rapture or (see my reviews of "Radio Shangri-La" by Lisa Napoli and Jamie Zeppa's "Beyond the Sky and the Earth" for a relevant pair) "I went there and fell in love" revelations, "Bhutan: Hidden Lands of Happiness" allows a longer gaze than a first-person voice, through the camera. While limited of course to his choice, the added visions open up the reader to become a viewer. He tells us in an afterword: "The words and events are true but not always in the order and sequence implied."

In Wehrheim's last chapter, in a bar in Thimphu Town, he tells an ambitious Indian who wishes to push Bhutan twenty years forward that such a jolt will leave it like Sikkim: invaded by immigrants, overrun by India, touristed and commodified. Forty years behind Bhutan may be, but better that than the fate of Tibet after that period. In a parallel conversation with a Tibetan-descended man, whose family in part escaped, Wehrheim sums up his subject jauntily. "Happy peasants in bountiful fields. A King who's too good to be true. The usual. I'm making photos, shooting video and collecting stories. Everybody in Bhutan's got a story--some of them might even be true." (Amazon US 11-1-12)

John Wehrheim's "Taylor Camp": Book Review

"Exotic locations with beautiful women" accurately captures much but not all of the charm of this handsome study. John Wehrheim's skillful black-and-white photography from the early 70s conveys the light and warmth he enjoyed on the North Shore of Kaua'i. Here, Elizabeth Taylor's brother Howard gave land to thirteen feckless hippies who'd been the harbinger of what would change that island from a sleepy place in the sunset of the plantation era of sugarcane and pineapple into today's tourist and surfing mecca--witness pricy Princeville near the setting of the seven cleared acres known as Taylor Camp near Hanalei Bay, on the site of an old Hawaiian settlement of taro groves and graves.

Taylor gave it out of spite (the county wanted the land for a park) to the campers, who had been jailed after settling in a another island park. They were very young mainlanders, often from California, often well-off, and in March 1969, they took possession. They tried to go native: treehouses, plastic sheeting, and a beachfront property. Food stamps, a garden, and cultivation of "pakalolo" (the last endearing them to a few otherwise wary locals) sufficed. An eclectic chapel, happily naked parents and kids cavorting on the sands, many smiles--these fill the pages along with recollections of the residents, decades later. I was impressed how satisfied and healthy, given what I reckoned would be conditions of squalor and sloth, they look.

Then, as Liz visited, the puka shell craze began, and Surfer Magazine featured the shore on a cover and lavish page spread, the idyll ended. At its height, three hundred hippies and other wanderers and beach-bums flocked to a place too fragile to endure.  The state in 1977 ordered Sam Lee to burn the camp, after evictions, although all left without resistance. The people are still waiting for their park on the site of the camp, even as other areas nearby get snapped up for development of condos and second homes. Let's hope it stays in the public domain.

And, as the mini-essays appended to the photos document (there's also a DVD released separately in 2008), the sunny smiles portrayed over and over in this well-designed book did not endure for all the campers. The jungle hid its own secrets among the treehouses by the end of the road. Paradise's costs took their toll. While many of those who came to stay there for a while or forever testify movingly, the young children raised there relate the difficulty to grow up so quickly, where few outsiders attended school or were accepted, and among the counter-cultural mores and casual relationships that tended to be the Camp lifestyle.

Suzanne "Bobo" Bollin, one of many examples, typifies the profile. She left San Diego after run-ins with the police over pot. She jumped probation and fled with her girls to Kaua'i. She partied, she indulged, and she inhaled. Yet she bemoans the changes that her own arrival accelerated: "Go watch the sunset. People are getting so far away from what God wants us to do, we really need to get back to nature, and I am hoping that this book will help people do that."

Vietnam sent some there for peace--Calvin Kuamo'o tells his story, raised on the Big Island, fighting as an Asian for America, coming back from hell; "Taylor Camp gave me heaven." Spirituality, sexuality, and a lack of materialism attracted many to the allure of this unfrequented hideaway. Many stayed, one reason the population is three times that in 1969 on the island. Most of those interviewed reside somewhere throughout Hawai'i, although some--showing the changes once upon a time--had left the Camp for the Big Island as back then land was cheaper. D. Keakealani Ham Young describes  conflicts between incomers and locals, how those around the Camp tended to keep their distance.

Many islanders tell of the passing of the old ways, the loss of respect for land passed down, as newcomers rushed in. They themselves often defend the island they have adopted: they respect the customs that their own enthusiastic presence has complicated by the entry of so many from elsewhere. Now, many whose roots are in the islands cannot afford to stay where their families raised them--I think of some of my own dorm mates back in college who had left O'ahu to study in L.A. I teach a few students now, in Southern California, who have since left that "rock" for the mainland, to find work and an affordable home.

John Wehrheim himself came to the islands in 1969, and married into a local family; his wife became mayor of the County of Kaua'i. Her opponent, also interviewed, lobbied for the hotels and houses that now dominate some of the island; she had wanted more farming. You can judge the results yourself.

His portrait, fair-minded and elegiac, begins with his deft survey of the squabbles and idealism that infused the Camp. His photos arrange towards "mauka" inland moving up from "makai," as he follows the pattern of sea to mountain. He shows us the residents living there near the end of the commune, 1976 or so in the village, as if on a guided tour. Photos and quotes comprise the main section. This then introduces the essays, from those who watched, battled, supported, and became Taylor Camp. The results stand as an eloquent picture of the hippie dream before it faded into the darkening ocean at twilight. (Amazon US 10-24-12; compare photos in Wehrheim's "Bhutan" book.)

Ulchabhán nó siogairlín?

Thug Léna dom seo ar feadh leathanta saoire faoi deireadh. Mheas mé go raibh a fheicéail chomh ulchabán. Ar ndóigh, mbeadh sé chomhtharlú ann.

D'inis sí orm go bhfuil é mona ó Bhútáin. Is cosúil é go deich bpingin. Tú ábalta a scrúdú a dhéanamh é ar beagán níos mó méid iarbhír ar dheis.

Maisith sé leis giotán ó choréil agus glasghorm/gormghlas/turcaid. Is cuimhne liom go raibh dá chomh clocha lómhara ag imeall Tibéid. Sílím go raibh choréil a thabhairt go An tÁigean Indiach go dtí na Himíleach.

D'fhóghlaim eolas ó suíomh ar an ghreasán na díoltóra. Tá sé faoi ina bosca chun cinn a choinneáil paidir nó briocht ann. Tá sé ar taispeáint mar sheoid go minic.

Tá sé ainmnithe bosca urnaí "Gau" i Tibéid. Thug sé beannacht mar is gnách. Mar sin féin, is maith liom a shamhlú chomhartha dathúil seo chomh ulchabhán ciallmhar beag "leis sochair i bhfolach"!

Owl or pendant? 

Layne gave me this during the holidays lately. I reckon that it may look like an owl. Of course, it may be a coincidence there.

She told me that it is a coin from Bhutan. It's similar to a tenpence. You are able to examine it at a little more than actual size at the right.

It's decorated with bits of coral and turquoise (green-blue/blue-green). I recall that both are like precious stones around Tibet. I think that coral is taken from the Indian Ocean to the Himalayas.

I learned information from the site on the web of the seller. It is a box to keep a prayer or amulet. It is displayed as jewelry often.

The prayer-box is called a "Gau" in Tibet. It carries a blessing, customarily. All the same, it pleases me to imagine this handsome token as a wise little owl "with hidden benefits"!

Siogairlín bosca paidir urnaí leis mona ó Bhútáin/ Bhutanese coin Ghau prayer-box pendant

"Brilliant Moon": Film Review

Narrated by Richard Gere, this documentary calmly relates the long life (1910-1991) of Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche, who fled Tibet for Bhutan. There, he taught the present Dalai Lama as well as Dzongsar Khyentse (aka the film director Khyentse Norbu), and Matthieu Ricard, who has served as a translator and exponent of Vajrayana Buddhism to the West from this same Himalayan kingdom. It's a very straightforward presentation, just under an hour.

I watched wondering about what motivates the appeal, expressed by all fervently in their on-camera testimony, of one said to be "perfect" and enlightened, who chooses to leave a life of potential retreat (and a family he later fathered if kept by a devout patriarch at seemingly somewhat of a distance) to sit before others and watch them pay him homage, as the transmitter of wisdom. During this hour, his dharma teachings remained simply expressed, if difficult to master. The tone of this film, reverent and in awe, is not be gainsayed, but it's more a respectful hagiography than a critical exploration of a Tibetan exemplar's evidently wide appeal and lasting impact.

Therefore, it may please those already committed to his influence, rather than convince those curious. I'd recommend Matthieu Ricard's 1998 film (reviewed by me Dec. 2012), "The Spirit of Tibet," which uses some of the same archival footage from the Rinpoche's 1985 visit and that of his cremation and reincarnation, but which conveys a deeper sense of the "spiritual energy" of the teacher, as the Dalai Lama sums it up, as well as the "boundless compassion" for all, enemies and friends, as the "dzogchen" message.

As with his audiobook reading (reviewed by me Oct. 2008) for "The Tibetan Book of the Dead," Richard Gere provides an assured narration. Lou Reed, by the way, is featured in credits, but from my ear, it seems he speaks only a couple of voiceovers for past Tibetan masters who testify to the Rinpoche's love and compassion. The soundtrack, none of it credited to Reed, remains a tasteful blend of East-West world music that stands for the meeting of cultures epitomized.

What stands out most: Branko Teslic's animation team. The guru's early years unfold in a folk-style Tibetan series of imagery that moves gently, as if a graphic novel's soft, pastel tones come to life. This drew me in most, and showed how a thoughtful application of technology can enhance a film's content. As I said, it's a very respectful homage to a teacher, but the secret of his pull over so many may remain, perhaps suitably if elusively on camera or in a script, subtle for those coming to this film without already being captivated by its subject. (Amazon US 12-13-12)

"The Spirit of Tibet": Film Review

This is one of two recent documentaries about the influential Tibetan teacher, Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche (1910-1991). He taught the present Dalai Lama, as well as the director and writer of this 1998 forty-five minute film, Matthieu Ricard. The Rinpoche fled Tibet for Bhutan, but was able to return to his homeland in 1985 to start the restoration of the realm's oldest monastery at Samyé, ruined by the communists.

Most of his life, divided between Tibet and Bhutan, was spent exemplifying "boundless compassion." The Dalai Lama explains how his teacher's "spiritual energy" continued as lamas reincarnate to shepherd others along the Buddhist path. Certainly, the crowds that flocked to the Rinpoche demonstrate his genial, unruffled appeal. True, it's not a critical investigation, made by Buddhists for the same, so within these limits, it may narrow the audience to those curious about him.

Lots of this film comprises him sitting before those bowing respectfully. Yet, it's a challenge to see how the acclaim he generates for the teaching of the Buddha he embodies comes through on camera. Within a short span of a few minutes, cinematic "glimpses," as the subtitle promises, may be its rationale.

For Westerners or those unfamiliar with his reputation, this provides a more contextual--arguably less hagiographical if still unfailingly reverential--perspective compared to the 2010 "Brilliant Moon" documentary (see my Dec. 2012 review). Both are narrated smoothly by Richard Gere, and some of the footage repeats, understandably, concerning the visit to Tibet, the cremation of the teacher, and the recognition ceremony for his reincarnation.

"The Spirit of Tibet" relates more basic background on Buddhism and its Vajrayana school popular throughout the Himalayas. It offers a wider perspective than "Brilliant Moon," so it may be viewed first as an overview. Still, "Spirit" may best be suited to those already convinced of this jovial, big, smiling lama's compelling message. If not, it may spark interest in this man's venerable example.
(YouTube in English; Amazon 12-13-12)

John O'Hanlon's "The Buddhist of Castleknock": Book Review

Guess who's coming for Christmas? This Irish tragicomedy of manners as culture clash, set in a changing Dublin, features Jim O'Hanlon's twist on this storyline. John returns from London to introduce his new girlfriend to his family, the Sullivans. Mother Edie and father Seán, brothers Edward and DJ, and sister Tara meet Rai, "English, of African extraction," as the notes of this play indicate, and as Tara repeats at one tense point in the dramatic tensions that ensue. Despite the initial set-up and the dustjacket blurb, it's not racism per se which kicks this play into high gear so much as the fear of what the multicultural couple's stance represents to the Irish Catholic family.

John, like Rai, has embraced Buddhism. So, their renunciation of meat, alcohol, and Midnight Mass adds up to perceived insults in the eyes of some of the Sullivans. This complicates the traditional celebrations the family clings to at the holiday. Over Christmas Eve, Christmas, and St. Stephen's Day, O'Hanlon's play shows the conflicts that result when customs are challenged by John and Rai.

Adding to this, Edie's sister, Kathleen, and her husband Jimmy arrive for their usual visit, although Rai's predicament introduces a not altogether unexpected plot complication--or perhaps setting up a tidy resolution--in the middle of the action. This did not surprise me much, and it seemed too standard a subplot, but it allows the domestic situation to unfold as DJ's machinations stir up more of this seasonal scuffling. O'Hanlon arranges parts of this similar to a situation comedy with a moral, and this style does not allow nuance.

I found Jimmy's patriotic barstool rebel defense also very predictably handled, far too stereotypical to allow much nuance, but perhaps on stage depth might emerge from what's unsaid on the page. Whatever counterargument might be given for the sustenance of Irish culture or its ancient language in the midst of unprecedented globalization and migration does not get its own say here, at least from the script in my hand. The play works best when it's more sensitive, as in a scene where Rai, John, Seán, and Edward try meditation under her guidance; Tara watches with a vodka bottle nearby, bemusedly.

O'Hanlon, whose British writing-directing credits include episodes of the venerable "Coronation Street," handles this play with expected verve. Premiered by Fishamble in Dublin, 2003, it was published by New Island in 2007. The book version moves neatly, hitting the beats in what appears dependable fashion. For all its comforting craft, it handles the Irish Tara coincidence with Tibetan Buddhism's manifestations of compassion, Green and White Tara, neatly as a fitting symbol of harmony that may unite the (post-)Catholic with the globalizing present and future of Ireland. (Amazon US, 12-10-12)

Michel Peissel's "Mustang: The Forbidden Kingdom": Book Review

As a child, I learned about this thumb-shaped projection of an independent, feudal principality in Nepal that stuck into the Chinese-occupied Tibetan frontier. Michel Peissel, a French-born, English-raised explorer, wrote for National Geographic his account, as the first Westerner allowed to visit this tiny realm in 1964. Since Mustang for me meant in the late 1960s the fantastic Ford model, and secondarily a horse as I grew up, I wondered about connections--there aren't any.

Mustang derives here from Lo Mantang, the walled capital of a thousand people that at this time (since Nepal's Maoists took over in 2008, it's no more) continued medieval European equivalents into the modern era. Peissel, the first European who slept within its confines, takes two months to wander the land, looking for clues as to the origins of its kings in neglected chronicles. It took him two weeks to hike to the kingdom of Lo from Nepal, and few of its intelligent but isolated inhabitants had ever seen a "long nose" foreigner before.

His colloquial Tibetan, gleaned from a grammar abroad and then years of study, affords this Oxford-educated, Harvard Business School dropout a chance to enter the country, after a prime minister's assassination in similarly cautious Bhutan (he wrote about trekking across it in 1970's "Lords and Lamas") foils his plan to stay there. He longs to go deeper into the peaks and plateaus. Lo sits in the "great Himalayan breach" north of Annapurna and Dhalulagiri ranges, facing the funneled winds that bake it up to 90 in the day but freeze it at night. Given Tibet's capitulation, he cannot enter that territory, but he comes as close as possible. Mustang itself, patrolled by Khampas fighting a guerrilla war (see Peissel's later "The Secret War in Tibet") against the communists, proves an edgy outpost.

Even though he does not mention he's a diplomat's son, his negotiations enable him to elude trouble. He and his Tibetan comrade, Tashi, manage to figure out the background of the dynasty that hosts them, and parallels between medieval mindsets of Peissel's ancestors and those of the Lobas he gets to know during his residence can be insightful. He tends as in his later books to boost the advantages of the primitive over the jet-set, but he offers a patient view of the advantages the rest of us forget.

"The fortlike appearance of Kag spoke of a more valiant and warlike race, expressing in the majesty of geometrical sturdiness a taste more robust and less over-richly refined." (69) This as he broaches the divide between Hindu Nepal's "sickly mystery" and enters "the land of Lamas and Buddhism." Later, he spends a restless sleep in a Khampa "samar" war camp, and after Tashi confides his beliefs in spirits, Peissel ruminates. His uneasiness dominates his reflections, with no distractions in the tent, and medieval devils at night seem as real as a similarly outmoded God might in the day to protect him from avalanches and robbers. The next morning, "I had learned the meaning of fear as a direct product of faith. The fear of God, the fear of demons, the fear of famine, of cold, of fire, and of war. In Tibet faith equals fear; this inspires hope and religion." (83)

He continues: "It is faith free of doubt and questioning, it is the capacity to believe in the supernatural as a reality that is the foundation stone of a society of the medieval type. In such a society the incredible is believed, the unusual is not questioned, and the amazing is regarded as commonplace. I was now in the world of the 1,086 Tibetan demons that haunt man and beast and that are realities to the peasants and to Tashi, as they would have to be for me if I was to share the life and culture of Mustang." (84)

Peissel does fall hard for this little enclave, and his affection infuses this account. While he tires at the elevation and fatigue seems to do him in on his later forays away from the capital into the caves (I wanted to learn more about them, as at Yara, and the villages he passed through rather abruptly), it's a valuable reminder of what we miss as we evolve. "In fact we in the modern world all become half blind and half deaf from necessity if we are to admire beauty." (225) He observes how the Taj Mahal so photogenic is next to a "monstrous steel bridge," and how only the careful camera can rescue some places we admire from, say, the fate of the Acropolis, seen by him behind a chicken-wire fence.

The book (subtitled in its 1992 reprint "A Lost Tibetan Kingdom" or "The Forbidden Kingdom" in the edition I read from 1967) tends to rush the latter portion of his stay. He must have taken enormous amounts of notes. For a month's stay and two weeks trek in, it's a substantial report, although the rest of Lo outside the walls of Lo Mantang gets rushed and Peissel's health and stamina may have weakened his attention. Like an earlier, multinational English resident-author in or near these mountains Marco Pallis in Peaks and Lamas (see my March 2011 review), Peissel undergoes a subtle but telling change by the end. He is given a Buddhist name by a lama, Shelkagari, in his fragile state, and his awareness for all his Westernized skepticism appears to alter, after the title he inherits "Crystal Clear Mountain." (11-30-12 to Amazon US)