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Bhutan is not a country that is generally well known. If asked, most people might say that it lies somewhere in the Himalayas and is a bit hilly. If pressed, they might think of yaks and snow leopards and rhododendrons, or maybe know it as the land where development is measured in terms of Gross National Happiness rather than Gross Domestic Privation.

And in fact, this latter characteristic most fits with my experiences of this mountainous kingdom – the happiness of the people stands out a mile. In the short time that I was there I cannot recall a frown or a curse or even so much as a tiny disagreement. Even the use of the car horn is limited to polite little peeps or playful messages sent to pretty girls as they saunter along the pavement. It is such a gentle society.

It’s also an equal and an emancipated one. Women are first in line to inherit following the death of their parents; it is they who get the house and the property and the rights, not the son (whether he’s older or not). Women can have as many spouses as men. Women are very forthright when it comes to flirting: within a couple of hours at my first hotel I was invited to a dance that evening and asked if I wanted to marry one of the waitresses. I didn’t take advantage of either offer but, given the beauty of the women here, I was sorely tempted. They really are extremely lovely – slim and wiggly bodies, velvety black hair that never seems to grey, wonderful dimpled smiles, and eyes that just penetrate into the heart of you.

They seem to be a very sexually liberated lot (well, that’s one way of calling it). My guide, Kinlay, was forever talking about his girlfriends (even though he’s married with two sons), hanky-panky (but no spanky, perhaps that was pushing revelations a mite too far given that I’d only just met him), and jiggy-jiggy (or, in local parlance, ‘jeggy-jeggy’), or shouting, ‘Charimdumaray’ (‘You’re lovely’) through the window at any passing female. But then he’s very young, he’s in his thirties … Or maybe he’s just trying to live up to the reputation of his namesake, Lama Drukpa Kunley (1455-1529), aka ‘The Divine Madman’, a saint who had the MO of driving out demons by means of excessive drinking and fornication which sounds a perfectly valid and jolly method of exorcism to me. His signature, a big phallus , now adorns many buildings throughout the area – a sign to ward off evil and protect the household. I wonder how this would go down with the good citizens of Ayr?

Many people still revere His Mad Divineship / Holy Madness and consequently many people have been given his name (or that of the temple that was dedicated to him, ‘Chimey Lhakhang’). The first two people I met in Bhutan were called Kunley. Then the third (who was confusingly a woman ) turned out to be a Kunley too. And so was the fourth. I gave up asking after that.

Bhutan is now a constitutional monarchy since the present king relinquished absolute rule in 2008. Like a 21 year old with the keys to life, the new democracy is revelling in its liberation, independence and autonomy and is enjoying furnishing its own flat and buying its own clothes and food. But at the same time it looks up to the person who granted it its freedom, and the whole country remains loyal and truly affectionate towards the Royal Family.

The king (31, Pisces - they like such details here) married his young betrothed (21, Virgo ) on the 13th October. Every shop had photos of the couple posted outside and inside, decorated with ribbons in the colours of the Buddha – blue (for the sky), white (for the clouds), red (for fire), green (for water) and yellow (for the soil). Huge banners adorned hillsides and town gates. Radio programmes were filled with callers wishing the happy pair a long, fruitful, loving union. And as I watched the wedding in a restaurant in Paro , with the assembled masses in the crowds and in the organised dances that must have taken weeks to rehearse, and thought that there could not be a single person in the nation who was not either at the ceremony or who was not glued to the TV, it occurred to me that this was what it must have been like with QEII 50 years ago . How long will this state of innocent bliss last?

Maybe for a long time yet. Not only is this a peaceful society (I never once felt threatened) but it’s also relatively prosperous, well organised, and, crucially and in a real way, it actually is a society. It is not a collection of individuals out to benefit for themselves. This is one big nation of people (about 650 000 of them) who believe they are part of a larger community of family, friends and neighbours. The neighbours may be from the east of the country (300 miles away and effectively 2 days travelling) who speak another dialect and wear different clothes, but they are still part of the same community.

Free education for all plays an important role in levelling classes and bringing people together. The king (apparently) lives in a ‘cottage’ and he is certainly one who puts much effort in meeting and greeting. The ceremony he attended in Thimpu, after the wedding, lasted from 0900 to 1700 and for a lot of that time he was moving amongst the crowds, shaking hands and speaking with (not ‘to’ – I don’t think he’s a Charlie. ‘And what do you do?’ – probably isn’t his stock, opening gambit) virtually everyone there.

Communities work in unison to improve the environment and their own lives. They harvest the rice together, it’s a communal thing. Often I saw small congregations on the hillside, burning juniper as incense, intoning incantations, chanting with monks. Several times I saw parties of villagers or school children walking along the roadside picking up litter. The land is free of piles of rubbish. This is a clean country. The drains and rivers are not open sewers. Not once did I see a rat.

Smoking was banned recently. It’s an offence to smoke – you could be imprisoned. For grass it’s up to three years for possession and 9 years for dealing. This was the first country to outlaw plastic bags too. Unfortunately, however, for both fags and bags neither law is strictly enforced and both are commonly (if expensively for the former) available.

But Bhutan is not Shangri La. In 1999 TV was introduced for the first time. Now the two favourite programmes are World Federation Wrestling from the USA, and ‘Bhutan Idol’ (the third series) – it was this programme that Kinlay said would prevent me from watching any footie on TV in the bars. ‘Idol’ was that popular! Everyone now has a TV and there is a good link between the growth in its distribution and the incidence of crime in the country.

Mobile phones came in in 2003 (so my guide said) and they are now ubiquitous. Young people have adopted the global practice of meeting up and then spending all the time texting and / or phoning other friends elsewhere. That’s when they can stop blowing bubble gum for long enough to say anything. One person I met had a sophisticated ring tone system that alerted him to whoever was trying to contact him: his wife’s ring tone was his young son’s crying and gurgling; his mate’s tone was an extract from his favourite blue movie accompanied by the obligatory image of a busty brunette.

The people like to dress up for occasions (like the festival – Tseschu – in Thimpu) with their finest national gear: beautiful, iridescent, brightly coloured silk dresses for the women; rather more subdued but still unique skirts and knee-high stockings for the men. When visiting national monuments (such as museums, temples, dzongs ) or events they have to dress in national costume. But these days, for normal everyday wear, they tend far more towards the boring western norm of t-shirts and jeans and track-suits (usually with ‘Man Utd’ written on them. Damn their souls!). There was a great contrast between the clothes worn to the formal Tseschu festival and the far less formal singalong in Thimpu town square – colourful, vibrant, exciting of the exotic compared with the dull, drab, grey and black of the mundane (and the future).

Traditional sports seem to be holding their own against the overwhelming and inexorable influence of football . Archery is something the Bhutanese are especially good at having won medals of all colours at recent Olympics. These days they employ carbon composite bows for main competitions. Traditional bows of bamboo are still found and used but mainly to simply maintain the tradition. The target is a wooden board about 40cm high and usually 140m from the archer. No wonder they’re good at it.

Darts (not the UK variety) – about 15cm long consisting of a 3cm metal point, a wooden shaft and 5cm feathers – is also played at weekends. The ‘court’ is longer than a cricket pitch and the target is a 30cm wooden board with a bulls-eye near the top. A wall of earth or concrete backdrops the target, really just a sop to health and safety. They are not overly concerned with H&S, which is healthy.

For both archery and darts, the opposing team (all wearing fine traditional skirts ) line up alongside the target and watch intently as the projectile is released and heads towards them. The observers’ reaction time for the darts is far less than that for archery. I think I was happier watching the archery. When a dart or arrow actually hits the board it triggers a mediaeval ritual of chanting and dancing by both of the teams, in praise of the gods for such a blessing. If only our supporters and ‘sportsmen’ took win and loss in the same spirit.

There are cars in Bhutan as well. Not many of them because there aren’t that many people. They are in good condition and few of them send out blasts of poisonous black smoke. I saw my first privately-owned electric car here. They are generally new (the favourites being Hyundais and Toyota) and without any dents. Motorbikes are rare and tuc-tucs are entirely absent (which is such a relief!). Roads (maintained and built by Indians, and funded by the RoI government) are largely pothole-free and gloriously smooth. It still takes a long time to get anywhere because of the winding nature of the terrain, but at least it’s almost painless.

But, of course, this road system comes at a cost. Gangs of Indians, thousands of them, have been imported and have set up semi-permanent residence in Bhutan (without citizen rights, of course) and their sole employment, occupation and raison d’etre is road building and repair. They work very long hours (0600 to 1600 hrs) for a pittance. Their tools are mainly their hands: hauling large stones over cliffs or onto lorries. Primitive implements are provided: back bent double as they use pathetic brushes to sweep the road; women shovelling sand and gravel and throwing it through sieves. Some (men as well as women) actually break rocks with hammers, all day long, like a work detail from a ‘40s state penitentiary, a modern day chain-gang. These gangs have their own settlements and schools; they are separate from mainstream Bhutanese society. But they don’t seem to be discriminated or prejudiced against. There is, at least, no bigotry in Bhutan.

Except perhaps against the Nepalese. This is not talked about, but many Bhutanese who originated in Nepal (two or three or more generations back) were forcibly deported in the ‘90s (?) and now reside in refugee camps in Nepal. I met only one person whose ancestors came from Nepal but he seemed contented and calm. He might have said more but we’d been caught up in a delay caused by a landslide and the obstruction had just been removed so we had to move on. 11 days is not enough in Bhutan.

You might think that a Buddhist democracy consisting of less than three quarters of a million people might not need or, especially, want an army. How could they justify killing? And anyway, what could their paltry population hope to accomplish against the might of the Indians or Chinese if they chose to invade ? But it’s a career path to some (Kinlay considered it after university (in Chennai) if tourism didn’t work out), and for others the army really is a necessity.

Earlier in the noughties there was some trouble with Assamese rebels. They had occupied some of the forests of the duars in Bhutan (just across the border) and were causing problems (not with the locals – the Assamese were generous with their payment for goods – but with the (Indian?) politicians). Negotiations with the rebels were not successful and so the Bhutanese government sent in the troops. This resulted in the insurgents being ousted but at the cost of 12 Bhutanese soldiers being killed. The effects of this battle / war seems to have become deeply embedded within the psyche of the Bhutanese; a large memorial (at Dochu La consisting of 108 chortens) was established to commemorate the conflict and one of the on-going repercussions is that the army are more popular than ever. Not that it would ever sink to the depths of the Burmese army and become a junta. That would be unthinkable.

So the army is needed . But what about religious or moral objections, after all Costa Rica doesn’t have a standing army so surely a strict Buddhist nation could do without one? But then the Bhutanese love meat. They are devout devourers of pork and beef and, to a slightly lesser extent, chicken? So long as they don’t have to kill the animals themselves they are happy to consume flesh.

Do I hear calls of ‘Hypocracy’? Well, I’m not going to shout them down.

But all religions are institutionally hypocritical and Buddhism is no worse than any other. An army of a Buddhist nation sounds contradictory but religion has always been political, nations are essentially political beasts with artificial boundaries, politicians need to maintain and protect those boundaries as well as they can given limited resources, and armies are the main way of providing protection.

At least this army is not there to violate other nations or supress the population or support an unauthorised government. It provides comfort and a sense of security, a source of pride, and a life for many people. Who am I to criticise it?

The trekking in Bhutan was far better than in Nepal (although Nepal was good). Here it was proper camping, there it was in Guesthouses. Nepal is over-populated, there is no getting away from people; waves of trekkers (ramblers) met you head on along the Poon Hill circuit; football crowds gathered to catch the dawn view of Annapurna; dogs, locals, cows, agricultural terraces … they all swarm and cover the slopes of Nepal.

But in Bhutan … ah, it’s different. I met perhaps 10 other trekkers on my 5 day stint. Yes, there were monks and the occasional dog, but mainly it was me in the wild, in untouched, blue pine forests and stands of huge or dwarf rhodies and junipers and alpine meadows of the highest hills. Alongside the soft beats of the wings of the goshawk, and ‘glowps’ of ravens, and cheeky cawings of choughs there was the whisper of winds and ripple of drying leaves. No sounds of machinery. No barking . No drunken laughter . It was heaven.

Of course I was spoilt. Apart from the landscape, and the views, and the sky and the clouds, and the wildlife and the vegetation, I had a platoon of (for wont of a better word ) servants to look after my every needs. I had my own chef, and he had a helper. I had a guide who made sure I didn’t fall down a cliff or take the wrong path. I had a horseman who looked after the seven ponies that accompanied our small expedition. The only person I lacked was a masseur (which, incidentally, was what I really needed).

They erected my tent and decamped for me. They cooked me three meals a day and washed up after me. I was served at my table and they even ran off to buy beer for me . They set up my own private lav, provided loo paper, and filled the hole in after me. My guide even carried my water bottle. They did everything for me except tuck me in at night (for which I was grateful).

It was hard walking, some of the slopes were steep, and it was bloody cold at night. I met a couple of Aussies on the second day and, after I remarked how bloody cold it was the previous night (not that I was fixated or anything), they said, ‘Well, it gets colder. There was frost on the ground two nights ago.’ I said, ‘Great. Good job my sleeping bag isn’t as good as I thought it was (and the zip’s broken), and that I forgot my socks.’ They said, ‘You forgot your socks?! Are you mad?’ I didn’t say anything. ‘But you’re from Scotland, right?’ ‘Aye,’ I said, ‘You’ll be fine then.’ They were nice people but they could afford to be because they’d survived the ordeal and were now heading back to civilisation. They had had socks. Smug bastards. Nice people though.

Ten minutes later, as I was watching a huge thanka being unfolded by the Phajoding monks, the lady (to my shame I never did get to know her name) ran up to me and offered, like a true Buddhist using both hands, a pair of socks. ‘They’re a day and a half old,’ she said, ‘but they’ll save your life!’ I didn’t know what to say so I kept repeating, like the simpleton John Miles played in ‘Ryan’s Daughter’, ‘Thank you, thank you.’ I refrained from saying ‘God bless’, but I was genuinely touched (in more ways than one) and didn’t even have the sense to ask for their address so that I could send them back to Oz. Which was just as well. But I would have had them washed.

And the socks really were a Godsend. Never before have I held so much regard for footware. They (along with the extra blanket supplied by chef) actually made the next three nights bearable (just. There was still the issue of the bells and the thin mattress). Thanks Australia ;-)

Overall, you might think that a minimum of $200 a day to visit and exist in Bhutan is a lot of money. And it is. No argument. But … this money covers everything apart from incidentals such as snacks and souvenirs , and so, although it’s expensive, it’s not that expensive and is, actually, when it comes down to it, damned good value for money. Outside of Bhutan, how much would it cost to have what they provided me? A personal guide (just for little old me) who answers most of the inane and arcane questions I usually pose to myself or strangers (who aren’t good at responding. Either of them) and panders to almost my every whim My own transport (so I can say, ‘Why don’t we go down this wee road?’, ‘Can we just stop here for a minute to take a photo’, and ‘STOP! There’s a bird I haven’t seen, I’m sure of it. Might be new to science too. Come on, we’ll be famous!’ ) My your own private expeditionary force to conquer the Himalayas? The chance to stay in top class hotels (with clean, unstained sheets and electrics that work. Luxury). To have all your meals provided for you (most of them excellent). And to have the flexibility to be able to change itinerary and venues / hotels depending on how you feel … and all this amongst the beauty, serenity and unspoilt splendour of a country which is Bhutan …

Well, what can I say? It’s not a perfect country, but it comes damned close to it.

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SOME CLAIM THAT DEATH IS THE GREAT LEVELLER [I AM NOT TOTALLY CONVINCED]-113347 by William Murphy

It is claimed that Death is the great leveller because Death makes everyone equal, because it does not spare anyone, not even the wealthy, famous, or talented. A visit to a cemetery such as Glasnevin shows that this is not really true. It is true that no one can avoid death but some people certainly can show off their wealth even after their death. They or their family can announce to the world just how wonderful they were when they ware alive but those with less money may end up sharing an unmarked plot with a number of strangers.

Since 1832 the bodies of the rich were interred in fancy private tombs while those of the poor went into unmarked common ground. It really surprised me to discover that up to 75% of those buried in the cemetery are in unmarked shared graves. Special areas were also created for victims of the many epidemics or outbreaks (of smallpox (1871-2), cholera (1865-66) or typhoid (1846-49)) that occasionally killed off large numbers of Dubliners in short periods of time. The last such outbreak, the Influenza Epidemic of 1918, saw 240 funerals at Glasnevin Cemetery over an eight-day period. The norm would have been twelve or thirteen.

Since the first burial a register has been maintained. The register includes the full name and address of the deceased, cause, date and location of death. The exact location of the grave is also included in the register but that does not mean that there will be anything to see. During a previous visit I came across an American family who on finding the grave on their great grand father were very upset by the fact that there was nothing to identify the grave or to indicate who was buried there. They got really annoyed with the official when he explained that it was a pauper’s grave and even more upset when they learned what that meant. The official eventually said to them I was not even born when your grandparents were buried so please don’t get annoyed with me.

Glasnevin Trust, which runs Glasnevin Cemetery, has operated a ‘pay later scheme’ for families who couldn’t afford graves at the time of burial. This would happen regularly, but in most cases people never repaid the money and the grave would be considered to be a pauper’s grave meaning that the grave was occupied but still owned by the trust. Today, these graves are known as “gone over graves” and are available for sale. Before any ‘gone over grave’ is sold, it is Glasnevin Trust’s policy to ensure that potential buyers are made fully aware of the grave’s history and the remains of the original occupants are not disturbed.

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