Monks – Mystery, fantasy and romance at the dangerous ends of the earth

Bhutan: Monks and Monasteries, Nuns and Nunneries

By Karen Abrahamson | November 5, 2019

Monk at Trongsa Dzong. Copyright karen Abrahamson.

One of the images I will always remember of Bhutan is of the tall white walls and ornate carved lintels of the many monasteries and nunneries that dot Bhutan’s landscape. It seemed that beyond the mighty Dzong fortresses (that usually included a monastery), Bhutan’s landscape was littered with the gleaming roofs and walls of temples, monasteries and nunneries. Okay, that impression may have been added to by the prevalence of stupa and chorten (stone Buddhist monument, often containing religious relics) as well as smaller, white stone/clay structures found at homes, temples, monasteries etc. where people burn cypress or pine branches to purify the air. But within these glittering walls awaited the true jewels—the people.

On a personal level I can only imagine how invasive it must be to have camera-laden foreigners invading your place of quiet contemplation and snapping away. It must be even more so, when EVERYONE wants an image of a red-robed monk against a white wall. I can’t blame some of the monks for literally waving tourists away—heck, I’d most likely be doing a lot more to protect my privacy—but that wasn’t my experience with the monks and nuns of Bhutan.

Our first visit to a monastery was at Jakar Dzong. We arrived late in the afternoon after most tourists had come and gone. Not surprisingly, late in the afternoon was also when the monks ventured out, but I was surprised at how welcoming they were. Young monks posed for us, and one of the senior monks (he happened to be an adopted relation of our guide) invited us into his chambers to share a glass of arra, a powerful liquor distilled from rice, and some puffed rice. With all of us (seven photographers and two guides) crowded into his room and seated on the floor, our host proceeded to spend over an hour with us answering questions about Buddhism and monastic life.

Young Monks at Jakar Dzong. Copyright karen Abrahamson.

That alone, was a gift, but he also invited us to an early morning ceremony at the temple so we were up and at the temple by 6 am—about 3 hours after the preparations had begun. There we sat at the end of the room while the monks chanted, blew long horns and beat ornate drums, while here and there the poor young monks would doze off for a few minutes before jerking awake again. I cannot convey to you the bone-deep vibration of the chanting and the soft yellow gutter of the butter lamps that illuminated the room.

Morning Ceremony, Jakar Dzong. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

On another occasion we visited a nunnery set on a hilltop a long way off the main roads. When we arrived most of the young nuns were too shy to allow us to photograph them, but with a little cajoling and a lot of laughter we finally broke through. The ‘hit’ of the day was a small polaroid camera that allowed us to take photos for the nuns to keep. It was wonderful and the smiles were beatific.

Nuns at Pema Chopin Nunnery. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

Maybe it was the time we took, instead of just swiftly touring around and snapping photos like so often happens with tourists, but it was nice to see the monks and nuns wave back when it was time for us to go.

The ubiquitous Monk on a smart phone. Jakar Dzong. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

It was nice to have two young monks get into the photograph at Trongsa Dzong. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

Bhutan: How to Host a Festival

By Karen Abrahamson | November 3, 2019

Gangte Goemba in full festival. Copyright Karen Abrahamson

I’ve been to festivals here in North America and elsewhere in the world. I’ve stumbled through religious and nonreligious festivities in Peru, Myanmar, Bali, Portugal and elsewhere in Europe as well as here in North America. All were colorful and all had excitement—the pageantry of a Jesus effigy led through the streets; the golden offerings of Bali; the color of Canada Day; or the raucous parties of the Fourth of July of my American friends. Not to mention the fireworks.

Dancers awaiting the Black Hat dance at Tashing Goemba, Dakar, Bhutan. Copyright, Karen Abrahamson.

None of them have anything on Bhutanese Buddhist Monastic Festivals and I didn’t even attend the country’s biggest festivals in Thimpu or Paro, but these were the biggest, brightest, friendliest, boldest events I’ve ever been to. Think something like a major PRIDE parade on steroids.

Dancers (multiple exposure) at Tashing Goemba, Jakar, Bhutan. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

Don’t get me wrong—there aren’t skimpily clad people running around –the Bhutanese are always chastely attired in their traditional Gho and Kira. But, well, there are plenty of phalluses. You see, because of its association with a Lama, the phallus is protective symbol in Bhutan and so you see them everywhere. Carved ones hang off the corners of homes, painted phallus adorn exterior building walls and more carved ones are set prominently above shop doors and windows. So, if you are shy of the human male member, don’t go to Bhutan. You’ll kill yourself blushing.

Bhutanese home with traditional art work. Haa Valley, Bhutan. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

The phallus is also plenty visible at monastery festivals. Monk dancers spin around the open courtyards of these huge white strongholds, but around their edges, taunting and teasing the crowds are the ‘clowns’ (actually the most senior and best of dancers) carrying phalluses and teasing the crowds. Women and children giggle and hurry away. Men joke with these supreme joksters. At one point, one of my photographer companions was down on one knee taking a series of panning shots with his camera. The next thing he knew, he had a clown beside him, using the phallus to point as his camera, mimicking my friend’s actions. The clown got his reaction and my friend could only laugh in response.

Beyond phalluses, the Bhutanese were wonderful at welcoming a motley group of photographers into their midst. Monks and local villagers usually agreed to a photo and would pose for us. At one festival we were even allowed to enter the antechamber where monks prepared for their dances and to photograph the intense preparations they went through.

Some new friends. One little girl even used my camera! Gangte Goemba, Bhutan. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

A lovely mother and child, Gangte Goemba, Bhutan. Copyright Karen Abrahamson.

Best of all, though, were the lovely people who had come on pilgrimage to the festival and invited me to join them on their mats where they shared tea and roasted rice. Lovely and very tasty and they even tried to explain the characters of the various dances. It reminded me of other places and times and of the camaraderie of being seated on the earth and enjoying the company of the kind people you meet at festivals of this kind. It’s a chance to breathe in the spirit of a place.