From the moment my Drukair flight touches down at Paro, the sole international airport in this remote, landlocked Himalayan kingdom, I quickly realise I have flown into a uniquely different, magical country. Surrounded by soaring emerald-green mountains and air noticeably fresher and purer (reflecting this carbon neutral, eco-committed nation), I walk from the plane to a traditionally-built stone building, decorated with hand-painted tiles and carved woods and fronted by a giant billboard of Bhutan’s beloved king and queen.

Where else would newly arrived passengers frantically start taking photographs of an airport terminal? My Bhutanese guide, attired in the male national costume of a skirt and tunic top (gho) welcomes me outside the small arrivals hall, with traditional greetings of “Kuzuzompo la!” (hello!) and draping a white silk scarf around my neck.  

I’m on a seven-day trip to Bhutan – or Druk  Yül, Land of the Thunder Dragon – but like every visitor to this Buddhist Kingdom, I’m part of an organised group and all-inclusive, pre-arranged tour that is mandatory to visit here. As if blessed by the Gods, however, the travel companions I’m thrown together with, a Belarus-born marketing executive, Katya and our guide, Lhawang – a walking history book yet arguably the coolest dude in Bhutan – are like-minded folk, balancing a voracious appetite for the Kingdom’s rich culture with a ridiculously silly sense of humour.

Hours spent together in a four-wheel drive car exploring Bhutan’s more familiar western region turns into one long, awesome road trip, filled with endless laughter. Although it is August and the monsoon season, the weather is unusually sunny and hot for most of the duration. And this short assignment turns into a non-stop adventure of new and evocative sights and sounds, mystical cultural heritage and breath-taking topography bombarding my senses from breakfast to bedtime.

The ‘Last Shangri-La on Earth’

For the first couple of days, we are based in endearing Thimphu, apparently the world’s only capital that doesn’t use traffic lights; rather, policemen stand in decorated booths on a handful of major intersections using hand signals to direct what traffic there is. Highlights here include one of the world’s largest Buddha statues, the general post office that transforms my photo image into personalised postage stamps and a public archery competition on grounds where Royals (including British) have aimed their arrows.

Outside Thimphu, we trek through fragrant pine forests, up a steep path edged with wild mountain flowers to Tango Goemba, a monastic college and Bhutan’s highest centre of Buddhist learning, secluded high in the Himalayan foothills. In Tango’s centuries-old prayer temple, where swirling smoke from incense sticks and butter oil lamps temporarily blinds me, we meet a young spirited monk, who speaks good English. After politely answering Katya’s barrage of Buddhism-related questions, he turns to me and asks matter-of-factly, “Are you on Facebook?” I nearly fall over backwards; even I’m not on Facebook. The monk gleefully explains that he receives a better Internet reception when on retreat in India. I couldn’t make this up.

We drive over Dochula Pass, elevated at 3,050-metres, revealing panoramic views of cloud-capped valleys and 108 hillside chortens, then down into idyllic Lobesa Valley. In the afternoon sunshine, we hike through verdant rice fields to Chhimi Lhakhang, a fertility temple founded by the ‘Divine Mad Monk’ that has rested peacefully on a hill since the 15th century. The fertility part explains why many of the quaint village houses have decorative phallic symbols painted across their walls as pink as my blushes – these, ancient symbols of fertility are warding off evil spirits.

At dusk, we descend into lower-altitude Punakha, Bhutan’s ancient capital. Hewn into the hillside, our elevated stone-clad hotel presents a spectacular view of Punakha Valley, with terraced rice fields backed by jade-green mountains and a historic dzong standing directly below at the confluence of two rivers. This bucolic splendour is bathed in a full moon glow at night-time and dazzling sunshine early morning, savoured from the hotel’s restaurant garden patio. It doesn’t get much better than this, but this being Bhutan, it does.

Like many of Bhutan’s dzongs, Punakha Dzong is a well-preserved and exquisitely decorated 17th century fortress-monastery,  but this one is also regarded as one of the nation’s loveliest and largest, entered via a steep flight of worn stone steps, overhung with beehives. Dragonflies darting across the vast outer courtyard almost outnumber the visitors; seems we have this magnificent complex almost to ourselves, save for the Buddhist monks residing here. The majestic Kuenray, or Coronation Hall, has witnessed generations of Bhutanese kings crowned here.

In the small town of Paro, hotel staff help me slip into the Bhutanese ladies’ national costume, (kira) for unsurpassed photo opportunities at Paro Dzong – so impressive, directors filmed scenes for the film, ‘Little Buddha’ here. Then onwards to Chelela Pass, Bhutan’s highest road pass, reached by a winding mountain route. At 3,988 metres high, temperatures here are noticeably cooler, which is why, after yet more photo opportunities, I wisely change into my fleece and waterproof trousers.

As if by magic, our guide and driver once again conjure up a mouth-watering picnic lunch, this time, served on a cliff-edge perch, perfect for surveying mountain peaks stretching ad infinitum. We hike up a desolate hill where countless, multi-coloured Buddhist prayer flags flutter in the unforgiving wind and intertwined amongst these, tie our own flags, purchased at Thimphu’s Farmer’s Market.

The rain now falls relentlessly, almost accentuating this hill’s melancholia. I’m told that once my prayer flags are secured, I should pray and make a wish, but instead, stand under my umbrella mentally reeling off a laundry list of “I-wants.”  These prayer flags will remain here until taken down and burnt, making way for other new flags, reflecting the natural order of things here.

Afterwards, we embark on another of our enjoyable hikes, this time up to remote Kila Goemba, one of Bhutan’s oldest nunneries, nestled on a craggy mountainside ledge near to Chelela Pass, where our visit coincides with afternoon prayers.

The Height of Spirituality

Our final day comes around too soon, but perhaps saving the best for last: an epic trek up to Tiger’s Nest Monastery (Taktsang Lhakhang), Bhutan’s most iconic and jaw-dropping landmark and revered spiritual site.

Along with other guide-led tour groups, we follow a well-trodden route, from dirt tracks shaded by oaks and firs to clearly defined stone steps. Ascending more than 2,000 metres above Paro’s valley floor, my 50-something legs don’t let me down on the steep climb, but it is the high-altitude thin air piercing my lungs that makes me lag behind my younger companions. They patiently wait for me as I slowly catch up, breathing heavily. And well they would wait for me, as it is I who carries the assortment of snacks that we munch on during frequent rest breaks.

All these uphill exertions are, however, richly rewarded. Tiger’s Nest is continually omnipresent, a gravity-defying speck seemingly floating on flat rocks that eventually stands opposite me, at the ultimate selfie point. Resembling something from a fairy-tale, I almost believe the legend that this monastery is anchored to the 900-metre cliff-face by the hairs of female celestial beings who carried the building materials for the monastery up here on their backs. 

At the entrance of what is a surprisingly cavernous complex, we are greeted by the Head Lama. He and our guide seem to know each other and chat for several minutes before we are led inside to a cave-like inner temple.

As usual, Lhawang launches into an ever-impressive history lesson, about the significance of this ancient chamber and . . . I’m not really listening. Katya and I are far more intrigued about the Head Lama, who we notice is seated hunched over in a far corner, with his back to us. As we slowly inch nearer, pretending to admire the centuries-old thangkas, even in this hallowed spot, we discover the Head Lama scrolling through messages on his smartphone.

Our visit fortuitously coincides with an annual 15-day monks’ retreat, sponsored by the Bhutanese Queen Mother. With a special request granted (it helps to have friends in high places, literally), we are allowed to sit quietly in the main temple hall for an auspicious monks’ prayer service celebrating a 15th day festival. A rare event and with only two other tourists attending (all the other groups had long descended into the valley at lunchtime), I feel beyond privileged to be here.

The groups of monks’ hypnotic chanting, haunting sounds of the dungchen (long horns) and tangible spiritual force, added to the realisation that I’ve finally made it to one of the most venerated Buddhist monuments in the Himalayas, is overwhelming. That’s why, perhaps, I burst into tears and proceeded to snivel throughout the entire divine proceedings.

A sympathetic monk tries to calm me, offering an over-sized biscuit to nibble on, one of many offerings piled in front of an altar. This snack is jokingly eyed-up with envy by some of the other distracted and unusually long-haired monks as they chant their mantras. So much for trying to remain inconspicuous. Even atop a mountain in the company of monks, Bhutanese humour manages to shine through. 

Our guide then drags us off into the cliff face below the monastery and a sacred cave, which is not usually accessible, helping us slowly manoeuvre down two, rickety wooden ladders precariously balanced in a dark, almost vertical tunnel. Reaching the bottom with nerves shredded, we glimpse a candle-lit shrine denoting where in the 8th century, Guru Rinpoche, the ‘founder’ of Taktsang Lhakhang, allegedly first saw an apparition and meditated to subdue evil demons.

With rain clouds threatening above and the afternoon light fading, we are prompted to make our way down, enroute hanging-up another batch of Buddhist prayer flags from the trees. This incredible day – and most excellent trip – is rounded-off at a farmhouse in Paro Valley. At dusk, after a welcome of hot tea, the farmer’s wife leads us through apple orchards to a small rustic hut, where within, sunken tubs made from wooden slats have been prepared for a traditional hot stone bath.

The steaming water, heated by large river stones seared with fresh herbs placed in a raging bonfire, comes heaven-sent to loosen joints and release muscle tensions from the day’s endeavours. Afterwards, our farmer hosts spread bowls of simple but tasty home cooking across the kitchen floor. We toast our convivial company, which includes our guide and driver, sleepy young children and pet cats, with a small glass (or two) of rice wine – equally strong as the bowls of red chillies that are served each  meal in Bhutan.

The next day, we surprisingly have no aches or pains, no doubt thanks to Paro’s famed hot stone bath and most likely, the rice wine. The only problem with seven days in Bhutan is that I want another seven days, 14 days, or even longer, especially as my exceptional guide, Lhawang, suggests there is far more to discover beyond this more familiar, west section of the country, where all tourists first come.

As my Drukair flight carries this mere mortal from Bhutan to a land far, far away – the plane wings clipping dense clouds lodged above Paro – I vow to return. Back home, it seems like this Land of the Thunder Dragon was just a wondrous dream; my vivid photographs, the white silk scarf and Bhutanese prayer flags draped across my living room, remind me otherwise.    

Header image: © Samantha Coomber

The author’s travels were kindly sponsored by Druk Asia (www.DrukAsia.com), one of Bhutan’s leading tour operators and official representative and sales agent of the Bhutanese Royal Government's National Carrier, Drukair. However the views expressed in this article are entirely those of the author.