The Soul of Bhutan
This post is called "The Soul of Bhutan", which might be a misnomer as I don't know much about Buddhism, is "soul" the correct term for the spirit of a person?
It does appear to me though that this is a different kind of Buddhism. Instead or worshipping just the teachings of Buddha, there are several gods, deities, demons and assorted mythical figures; just like Christianity adopted many local customs (such as Christmas), Buddhism has in Bhutan adopted many features of Bonism (the religion in Bhutab prior to Buddhism) under the guidance of Guru Rinpoche, the father of Buddhism in Bhutan. It makes it seem a lot like Christianity, individual guardians you can pray too for whatever you want, rain for the farmer and such, it's a very tangible religion, with relics for everyone, commoners too. Religion permeates everything, not just praying in temples, but chortenz all around the country, driving or walking left around holy buildings (sometimes a road will split in two around a holy building, so that no one has to drive right around). I'm not a fan of religion back home, but in Bhutan, it seems to take a much different approach, it's the praying, faith and suppory of the Christian church with peaceful approach of Buddhism. Can I really consider Buddhism peaceful in a country that struggled with civil strife for 200 years? Yes I think so, the battles were fought between rival kings, not in the name of religion.
When looking at the success of Bhutan, I find it very difficult not to look to their religion for part of the answer; the people here seem very calm and at peace, religion does not seem to be abused. True enough, some of the larger temples are quite extravegant, beautifully carved exteriors and interiors with beautiul statues but this is nothing like Catholic churches and cathedrals, while that is claiming that something is drier than water, these are still places of worship and unlike Abrahamic faiths, the gods here take physical form.
By adopting Bonism, Buddhism is very much in tune with the Bhutanese and their beliefs in spirits, it makes for a harmonious co-existance.
The Feel of Bhutan
Bhutan is someplace different, it's neither a developin or a developed country, it has managed to carve a niche for itself, demonstrated most visibly by their adoption of a target different from GDP (gross domestic product). In its place, Bhutan has gross national happiness (GNH), a metric they're attempting to use in order to work on what is important to them.
So how does it influence Bhutan? As I'm merely an observer I haven't looked into correlation or causation, but Bhutan is a happy and content place. Last year I visited Kenya, a country most people are familiar, a developing country an East Africa. There, you'll find malnourished people, beggars, thiefs, people in torn clothing, absurdly rich people in Nairobi, general corruption and a government so corrupt it almost has you in awe.
Bhutan on the other hand, seems devoid of these problems. Everyone looks well fed no matter their job, the only beggars are monks or retired people who spend their time meditating, most people wear the national clothes, the rest wear good clothing (nothing torn or worn down), you don't see disparities in wealth, even in Thimpu (the capital), I've seen no signs of corruption at all and the government? The king decreed that there should be a vote for democracy, the people came out, had the choice (a democratic election for democracy) and voted no (they preferred their immensely popular king). So in an undemocratic move, he instituted democracy anyway. Corruption...
But a country's soul is the people and they are the ones I interact with. I was just on Malta, a wonderful country with friendly and smiling people. The Bhutanese, take it to a whole new level. These people are smiling and waving, asking questions out of interest and curiosity, always forthcoming and with good intentions. As a photographer, I can tell you that most people say no or shy away from a camera if you ask whether or not you can take a person's picture. Not so here, not only will the Bhutanese smile and pose, they'll often ask their friends or children to step into the frame.
These people are a dream, not only do they look happy and well contented with their lives, they feel and act happy and well contented.
But is it just the national clothes and the GDH metric that ensures happiness? Hardly. Food is bountiful, the nature is beautiful and little work here is cause for stress, everything happens at a peaceful pace.
I'll look into it...
Southeast Malta
For pictures: http://photography.twaize.net/Travel/Malta/Southeastern-Malta/
Early bird catches the worm, right? Irrespective, one of Malta's most famed sights is the blue grotto, and guess which happy photographer wanted to beat the crowds? We set off early, my mother now firmly in control with driving on the wrong side of the road, we made good time. Of course, that term is looser on Malta than pretty much anywhere else. Few things are far away, the island is approx. 10 km wide and... 30 km long? Something like that.
There's a small fishing village dedicated to launching tours to the Blue Grotto, and at around 8.50, we were by far the first people on the spot, in fact we had to wait around. Breakfast, in the same village, was a BLT on toastbread. Something Malta has in common with certain parts of Sicily (former trip), is that the small towns and villages have no shops or places to eat. We had hoped to dine on the way, but hopes and dreams are so easily squashed.
The boat trip was spectacular, it isn't just the Blue Grotto, but a whole series of caves, each with different features and characteristics. Some were famed for the intense blue colour of the water, some for their orange corral, one for its magnificent purple line where the water met the rock, and the scarriest of all, famed for all the overhanging cliffs that looked like it was made of loose gravel and rocks, ready to collapse with no notice.The Blue Grotto itself though, is by far the most spectacular. It's most readily described as being shaped like a rainbow of rock, leaving the mainland and hitting the water in a bow, with clear blue water running under it... An arc really. Sailing underneath it, the massive scale and the unlikelihood of such a formation takes your breath away (not your finger of the shutter release though).
Going round the cliff the find these caves, locals were casting lines and greeting us. My experience with Maltesians so far has beens stellar. Everyone is very nice and forthcoming (except for the portier last night) and speak brilliant English (it's a former British colony after all). More often than not, people don't like tourists (or generally anyone) taking pictures of them, but here on Malta, things work a bit differently, these outward people don't seem to mind, or at least don't react. It makes for a very inviting place.
Close to the Blue Grotto, Hagar Qim and Mnajdra can be found. They are the oldest freestanding stone momument in the world, raised somewhere between 5000 and 6000 years ago. Who raised them? Why did they raise them? Where did those people go? There are no answers to any of those questions. And how did they all those years ago, maneuvre stones weighing up to 20 tons into places so accurate, that they can be used to measure solstice and equinox (for more on worshipping the sun, see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeSSwKffj9o, starts at 3:57). While they are cruder than the temples I saw on Sicily and the Inka villages in Peru (like Macchu Picchu), they are also much much older, and were built on a tiny island by a small civilization, long before the Romans on Sicily, the Inkas in Peru and the Egyptians in... Egypt. They're beautiful and very impressive. A point of criticism? While you don't have to, you're guided into a small cinema for a video presentation/tour of the ruins (it's without speech), it really does sort of spoil it when you're there. Not only does the video show all the most interesting parts in detail, but they of course filmed it on a day with the perfect weather conditions. It was a beautiful and wellmade video though.
Going on from there, we drove along the coast, first to Birzebbuga and then on to Marsaxlokk (you try and say it), a little fishing village with some 3000 inhabitants according to Lonely Planet.
Alright, let's get it out of the way. Travel guides try to sell places to you, they want you to get your hopes and dreams up. I know this, as will most people who've tried to travel by a guidebook that wasn't written in an objective style. The people who wrote the two guidebooks I've brought along are very much in love with the island.
Marsaxlokk is a beautiful place with nice traditional boats. But the groups of older men with weatheredfaces fixing their fishing nets etc. were nowhere to be found (speaking of these overly romantic descriptions in general, as you can see, I actually found a young man fixing his net). Instead we found Ir-Rizzu, and ate the most delicious squid and fish I've ever been near. That swordfish was so delicious, it might have been the one Monty Python was looking for http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Uvt83YWWWY. Really though, it was a very nice little restaurant, visited by Maltesians instead of tourists that served up the best seafood I remember ever having eaten.
Malta is apparently the poorest area on the island, both financially and sight wise, in half a day, we had exhausted the interesting places our guidebooks had to offer (all churches we came across were closed though), so we set to returning slowly to Sliema (where our hotel is), following the coastline. Lo and behold, the spirit of our Sicily GPS is back! The GPS I used on Sicily had no notion of speedlimit on roads or how they are ranked. So it just as happily chose bumpy gravelroads over asphalt roads. We got sent on something of a sideway through beautiful rural areas, toppling walls, a broken down beetle and a blue ocean on our right. At times, Malta really feels and looks like Sicily, which is a good thing, Sicily is one of my favourite places in Europe.
We had had a long day yesterday, we had gotten up early and it was a hot day (and by hot, I mean HOT!), so we drove the long way (who am I kidding, there's no such thing as a long way on Malta) back to hotel for a rest.
Valletta is Europe's smallest capital at 600x1000 metres. While everything is closed on Sundays, not so on Saturdays, or so I thought. We'll be coming back to Valletta, I don't want to miss St. John's co-Cathedral or the Grand Master's palace, both supposedly quite amazing. I did, however, get to eat dinner in the cool shade of the Grand Master's palace, at a terrific Italian restaurant (Malta's proximity to Italy and especially Sicily has had a very strong influence on everything, even under the reign of other nations). I'm quite a picky person, surprising my mother when I ordered squid for lunch earlier today, dinner was spaghetti with langostini, mussels and squid, quite a stretch for me. Ever wonder why you might not like something while other people do? Tastebuds will react negatively to anything it sees as a danger, the tastes we don't like are often seen as bitter, and true enough, many natural poisons are bitter. So how did I stop being picky? I closed my eyes and bit down on whatever came along. I'm now a fan of mussels and squid, although I still don't like langostini, shrimp and similars with my fingers, feels too messy.
Something these southern countries seem to never lack, even in the heavily touristed area where I loved in Spain (Costa del Sol), is character and a certain charm. I had had long glances at some of the old busses driving around the island, from the 60's by the look of them. Most were newer, but there were a few gems driving around, all of them beautiful, looking new. So my heart leapt and screamed for joy, when line 64 bound for Sliema rolled in, and was one of those beautiful gems; it just felt real and genuine; reminded me of the public busses in Ascunsion (Paraguy), intimitely known as the Kamikaze busses (the drivers don't stop to pick up passengers, the only slow down, lessso for gringos). It's a bit like the old double decker busses in London, coming as a visitor, it's part of an experience, something different and otherworldly. If I wanted to try an old but not old enough to be cool bus, I would have stayed at home, and driven around in the bland busses we have in Denmark. Leaving home, it's the new experiences, the new tastes,the new sights and the emotions that are normally hidden inside that we want to draw out. If a bus can do that, so much the better!
Before I end this day, I do have something rather uncomfortable I want to get out. Sliema is a dump. It's where the fancy hotels are, where the ritz and glamour is, and it's a terrible dump. It's filled with language exchange students, teenagers and people in their early twenties, who've come to Malta to get wasted and do that whole jig. It feels too much like Fuengirola, except with a nicer backdrop (Sliema is seperated from Valletta by a long natural inlet. Think of a horseshoe, with a spike driven through the top. You have Valletta on the spike, Sliema on the left and the three cities (names) on the right.But it's not just that, it's the family vacationers and tourist busses. Of course, I should just stay away, and yes, Malta still has the reputation of what Mallorca used to be like and what many of the Greek islands are still like, but I still think it's quite a shame. The rest of the island is so unspoiled, even though I've only been here for one day, getting thrown into that ruckus with loud obnoxious people aged 16-26(ish) and families with screaming children in sveltering heat... I'll have that ice cream now.
If I've come across as cross, I'm not, I absolutely love Malta. It's a beautiful and friendly place, I've had a wonderful day, and I look forward to more of them. While everything is closed tomorrow (Sunday), that just means a greater opportunity to enjoy the landscape and the physical sights, rather than visit places with entrances. You have to make the most of what you have. Which is why I'm not coming back to Sliema ;).
Ever notice how there's a lot of strife in Northern Africa? Well, not all refugees go to neighbouring countries. On our way to Marsaxlokk, we came past a fairly large, fenced, refugee camp, with people I assume come mainly from Libya, but also other countries experiencing unrest, or at least, the shelters seemed anything but permanent, even for a refugee camp. Malta is the southern most EU country north of Libya, making it a natural destination. Mostly, I was surprised, it wasn't that I didn't expect those camps to be there, I just hadn't thought about it.
Prologue: Malta
I wouldn’t call it an unmitigated disaster… A series of mishaps is probably a more appropriate term. As I was waiting for my mother to arrive home, we’re going to Malta today, she called me to say that the trains had broken down. I left for the airport with her luggage as she wouldn’t be coming home.She eventually made it to the airport, but not before I had had my name called over the PA after forgetting my passport at the self service check-in.It didn’t matter much though that we were late, because so was the plane, by quite a bit actually. None the less, the plane sauntered into the air towards Munich, our stopover.
Remember how the plane was late? 1,5 hours in Munich turned into a frenzied run towards gate G04, while people everywhere did nothing but get in the way. We made the connecting flight and were soon on our way to Malta. Malta, which is an old British colony, suddenly reminded as to what it meant being a former British colony. Left hand driving.
I didn't catch much of Malta on this first day (we touched down circa 22.10, and it was dark), but driving through the fancier ocean faced Sliema, reminded me of Fuengirola (Spain), not a positive comparison. I was hard pressed though, driving with my mother is always an adventure. Taking to driving left handed could be done cautiously, however, she takes caution with a side of John Wayne; asking the same timid questions (which is the inner lane in this system?), while barreling down the main street at quite a respectable pace, while at times firmly ignoring the GPS or not really listening to my directions.
So once the day was nearly over, we checked into our hotel, Hotel Windsor, with a grumpy middle aged male receptionist, who seemed like he had better things to do and was thoroughly bothered when I called down for help with the not so functional toilet. All in all, things work better than in Italy.
There’s No Place Like Home
Where and what is home? I've been giving this a lot of thought recently.
In 2008 I moved away from home (albeit after half a years travel), to the other end of Denmark, to Aarhus.
Growing up, home was the house of my parents, but why? I imagine it was because I saw it as a refuge. I was bullied hard in school, but when I was home, I was safe. And it meant I bonded strongly with the house. When my parents divorced, I had to move out, and it was tough, I loved that house.
Since then, calling anything home has been hard, very hard indeed. I lived a few years with my mother in Denmark, before I moved to Spain; and that house was nice, but it was never a shelter, I always felt exposed. Same at boarding school (1 year), I never found peace, moving from room to room, sharing rooms with people, that I didn't always get on with. My fathers house was constantly filled with people, my step siblings and their friends (one of whom I loathed, who was always there), not to mention that I never really lived there.
So my mother moved to Spain, and I joined her. The house was nice, very cold, but it was a good place to live. But I lived far away from my school, 50 km or so. It effectively isolated me, more than my inherent lack of social skills have always done. And as for living as a geek - for what else is there when you're so isolated - the internet connection was as good as non existant, it was slower than a slug in salt, and didn't work when it rained (whenever it rained, it rained heavily) or the wind was blowing hard, or when it just plain felt like it.
But there was always a strong difference between living in the house of my parent(s). It would be somewhere that I could relax, or just do everything on a back burner. Living on my own, coming home, is a chore. And as a result, I nearly spend more time in school, there I only have to read. Spending little time at home, means my room is messy, since I'm never home long enough to properly clean, but do so only once in a while.
But now that I'm grown up (according to some people), do I need a shelter? Shouldn't I stand up to whatever happens? Yes, and I do.
But I need somewhere to lie down and just relax, somewhere to feel... Well maybe indifferent to the world around me, just for a short while. But I never feel like I get that opportunity, my "home" is primarily a bed, and the place where I keep all my junk.
So what's home? Well to me, an ideal home, is somewhere that I can breathe deeply, before I have to back to the ruthless world outside. Not necessarily instant gratification, just somewhere to relax, and forget about the worries that are always pressing. But when I get home, I still think about all the homework I still have, about all the things I haven't done, and all the things I should do. I need some peace and tranquility, but does that mean I don't have a home?
I would argue that home is wherever any person feels safe and at ease, where worries don't press. For a lot of the people I study with, that means going home to their parents. But I also know people, who feel that way when they are bicycling, sailing or any other activity that puts whatever fears or worries they have, to rest. Does that mean it's their home? Well, why does home have to be a place? Wherever these emotions occur, it would at least make me, feel at home, and it could be why we grow attached to certain places. Why some people keep returning to the same place, when there's so much world about us.
A physically restricted home? Why? A house is a place to sleep, and a place to put all our junk. If you were happier outside your house, than at your house. Would you really spend all your time at house? I'm constantly reminded of the moral of Woody Allen's latest movie, Whatever Works. It's exactly that. A home is whatever works for you, if you can get away from all the evils by rock climbing in heavy rain, then good for you, that's more than most will achieve, more than I've had for a long time.
Is there a place where I feel at home? No. I've yet to find it again, and I don't think I'll be happy till I do.
I love travelling like nothing else, but no matter where I find myself, it seems that I'm never quite there.
Where do you feel at home?