:: One People, Many Cultures ::



::Living Together in Respect and Friendship::

Yesterday, I went in to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to submit a visa application for Big Dave, who’ll come to visit in September. It was the 3rd time I’d been for the same request and this morning the woman flicked through all the documents she’d told me I needed, saying ‘yes, yes, yes.’ I was about to walk out when she added, ‘but you need a letter to state he’ll be your guest.

‘It’s there,’ I said, pointing out the Personal Guest Application Form that she’d added to the list on my last visit. ‘Yes, yes, but you need a letter addressed to the Chief of Protocol as well. Come back when you’ve got that.’

I held back my rage and demanded that she give me the full list of requirements this time. She assured me that it was everything, but a Bhutanese tour guide next to me whispered that I’d need to submit 3 copies of the Visa Application Form.

So, I came home, write the letter, waited for Marie to get home to sign it, then rushed back to the Foreign Ministry. A sign on the door says that submissions are only taken from 9:00 to 12:00, but you only see that when the door is shut. I poked my head into the next office and the lady I spoke to that morning says that the COP is now in a meeting. Come back tomorrow. I was about to demand that she take it and submit it for me, but somehow I got the feeling that when I went to pick it up next week, the real COP would say that she’d never recieved it.

Today, the COP accepted the application, but I remain in fear. The person in line before me was picking up a visa for their friend and wasn’t happy with the results. ‘This is for August, but my friend comes in September.’

Marriage is a relatively new concept in Bhutan. In the rural areas, couples form and create families and, presumably, many live happily ever after. But those families can also break apart with a word. I haven’t yet delved enough into the details to know what form a dowry takes, if any, or what the implications of a broken relationship might mean to that payment. Given that there is no formal marriage, one might expect that there’s no dowry either, in which case no one loses.

Courtship is also a bit unusual. People from the town talk of the ‘living legend’ of night hunting. This is the sport of young single men who prowl the villages looking for open windows of young maidens. Once the couple has taken their pleasure, the man moves on looking for another window. The girls can similarly entertain a few men in a night, which makes it unlikely that pregnancy is the driver for ‘commitment.’ I can only assume that commitment comes when a girl entices a man to stay for the full night.

In the cities, night hunting is a legend and many people choose to have their relationship formalised, but it can apparently also be broken with a word. Nor is the formal marriage a closed relationship. We recently learned that our rock climbing buddies, who seem to be out carousing and chasing girls every evening, have wives and children. “You don’t act like you’re married,” accused Marie, while I was starting up the cliff.

“Life doesn’t stop just because you’re married,” they countered. “We’re MBA. Married But Available.”

“I’d hate to be your wife.” Marie was referring to the unenviable life of staying home to mind the children while the husband is out enjoying the modern equivalent of night hunting.

“Why?” they ask, unable to see the problem.

By now I was halfway up the cliff and didn’t want Marie distracted from supporting me. “Because she’s taken!” All of them looked up and laughed.

“Keep climbing. You’re not part of this conversation.”

Perhaps it’s not all one-sided. According to a French friend who married a Bhutanese man, both sexes arrange their own gambling nights with entertainment provided by the opposite sex.

But marriage is primarily a rich person’s privilege. The poorer people of Thimphu don’t bother with formalising their relationships. And the king has shown his wealth by formally married four sisters. I can’t help but wonder if it was a night hunt gone wrong.