Mustang epitomizes the dilemma of modernization. Though it is part of Nepal, Mustang is a living museum of Tibetan culture more pristine even than in Tibet–where Chinese rule has stamped out many of the old ways. Lo Manthang lacks the hospitals and schools that the Chinese have built since occupying Tibet in 1959, but it still has Buddhist temples largely untouched since the 15th century. The king worries that a road would open Mustang to the influx of mainly Chinese commerce and development–including brothels and karaoke bars–that is transforming Tibet. Already, swaggering peddlers in ill-fitting Western suits stand out in a sea of Tibetan garb on the streets of Lo Manthang. The new road “might bring thieves, or consumer goods the people cannot afford,” frets the king.
Mustang’s opening to tourism in 1992, on the other hand, has stirred Western philanthropists’ interest in saving the ancient culture. Once a staging ground for Tibetan rebel attacks on China, Mustang had kept its borders closed for security reasons. The thousand-odd tourists who now visit each year have found the kingdom in a state of picturesque but advanced decay. In 1998, British conservationist John Sanday proposed a rescue plan. With money from the San Francisco-based American Himalayan Foundation and the Nepalese government, Sanday is trying to save the crumbling Thubchen gompa, or royal monastery.
Sanday found the roof of the monastery so weak it threatened to collapse onto Buddhist statues on the altar below. Sanday had helicopters fly in sheets of marine plywood to shelter the Buddhas while the intricate roof structures were repaired. He is employing 65 laborers and three art conservators from Italy to fix the frescoes–mostly 3.5-meter-tall seated depictions of the Buddha Shakyamuni. They use hypodermic needles to inject glue and resin to shore up flaking walls. Removing centuries of grime revealed reds and golds so dazzling that even some local VIPs told Sanday they thought they were looking at “wonderful new paintings.”
In all, Sanday is advising Mustang on eight projects, including a second monastery, Tibetan monuments known as chortens and private residences. His aim is to teach the people of Mustang to protect their treasures by and for themselves. “I hope the road to Tibet never comes,” Sanday says. But he wants Mustang to be prepared if it does.
The king knows what to expect. He visited the United States in 1995 and saw skyscrapers and the ocean for the first time. Even he hasn’t entirely resisted the influx of outside influences. His own reception room is draped with vibrant Chinese fabric. And he knows that for many of his subjects, a new road to the outside world would be a welcome sign of progress. No wonder he has such a headache.
