Brandishing a graphic, over-sized wooden phallus, a young man dressed much like a clown ambles across the courtyard and mischievously waves it at the crowd. A second appears waving another which he slaps repeatedly against his palm. The crowd — children, parents and grandparents — titter gleefully at the sheer bawdiness, and the show goes on.
I am in the Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan, or Land of the Thunder Dragon, perhaps the last word in remote destinations and the world's only proponent of 'gross national happiness' over gross national product. Wedged between India and Tibet, this tiny country is different. Its king abdicated voluntarily in 2006 to kick-start democracy, national dress is obligatory for citizens on formal occasions or visiting monasteries, and tourism is tightly regulated.
Mystique aside, most foreign tourists are drawn to the country's distinct Buddhist culture and spectacular dzongs, or fortress monasteries, as well as the impressive mountain scenery. Bhutan's dinky capital Thimphu occupies the valley floor of the Wang Chu River. There are, famously, no traffic lights but a pair of white-gloved traffic policemen and an innate calmness seem to keep cars moving sensibly.
Topping the list of Bhutan's tourist calendar is the annual tsechu, or festival, held in Thimphu from the tenth day of the eighth lunar month, usually September or October. Tsechus occur year round but Thimphu's is the largest. Thousands of Bhutanese throng a large open courtyard fronting the imposing Trashi Chhoe Dzong. Four days of dancing and socialising peppered with a dash of humour prevail, but at its heart this remains a profoundly spiritual event. Mere attendance traditionally brings merit.
Dating back to the 1670s, the festival primarily celebrates the life and teachings of Guru Rinpoche, the superheroic Indian sage who brought Buddhism to Bhutan in the eighth and ninth centuries. His pivotal role here and in Tibet has never been forgotten but Bhutan has elevated his memory into a fine excuse for morality-play-meets-spiritual-instruction-meets-social-gathering.
Like the hundreds of Bhutanese making their way on foot to the Trashi Chhoe Dzong, we had to fulfil a certain dress code — no T-shirts, tank-tops, sandals and shorts. Yet our sober efforts paled beside the locals who wore a kaleidoscopic array of colours: the men inghos (knee-length robes), the women in tight-fitting kiras (long dresses, with blouses and short jackets).
It's such a visual feast — the clothes and colour set against the backdrop of a medieval monastery cradled by forested hills — that even the faintest understanding of proceedings renders it accessible.
We arrived to find the place filled with an expectant crowd. Dignitaries and lamas gazed down from the dzong's high verandah, while an orchestra of monks armed with gongs, cymbals and horns sat to the side.
There were interludes of folk dancing where troupes of men and women swayed and gyrated gently in gleaming silk costumes. Occasionally clowns cavorted and frolicked, robustly admonishing sections of the crowd rather like a pantomime.
Yet mostly it was the cham dances that held our attention. Performed by monks or dancers from Bhutan's Royal Academy of Performing Arts, they're a spectacular sight of masks of animals and grotesque demons worn over billowing costumes of silk brocade.
Some of the dances have names reminiscent of a gothic horror movie — Dance of the Lords of the Cremation Grounds or Dance of the Terrifying Deities — but all recount significant episodes in the lives of Buddhist teachers and elements of theology. As you sit back and relax, the Black Hat dancers' complex rituals — every hand gesture and footfall, each tassel and accoutrement loaded with meaning — get on with the serious business of taming malevolent spirits.
KE Adventure Travel (keadventure.com) organises trips to Bhutan. BA flies to Delhi from London Heathrow. Druk Air flies from Delhi to Bhutan. Visit ba.com.
