A private joke I have with myself when visiting a new country is identifying all the ways in which its airport is a reflection of its character. Busy cities, like Singapore, have even busier airports, with massive digital billboards touting luxury perfumes at every turn. An island like Koh Samui, meanwhile, has an airport that feels like a temporal resort, with boutiques sitting along an open boardwalk lined with palm trees swaying in the ocean breeze.
When I arrive in Bhutan, the first thing I notice about its airport is the absence of any advertisements. There are no wall wraps, no billboards, not even a banner stuck to the back of a trolley. Instead, the walls are covered with intricate murals and local art—created by over 60 Bhutanese artists, as I find out—and interesting architectural features modelled after the country’s landscape.
As beautiful as it is, Paro International Airport’s reputation precedes it. One of the highest airports in the world, with an altitude of 7,300ft above sea level, it is surrounded by high mountain peaks, which makes it notoriously challenging for pilots to land at. I don’t suffer from flight anxiety in general, but I hardly notice when we land—perhaps it’s because I’m engrossed in Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen, but also owing to the pilot’s expertise. I hear from a local guide later on that there are maybe only 25 pilots in the world who are qualified to land on that narrow runway. Most of them fly for Drukair, Bhutan’s first national airline and the same one I took.
The airport transitions from an art gallery to a sculpture garden as we step outside. The cool Himalayan air is wonderfully refreshing. Even in the summer months, the temperature in Paro rarely rises above 16 or 17 degrees. Near the exit is a beautiful water fountain—atop which stands a towering statue of Choepi Lhamo, the Buddhist goddess of offering.
Here, I meet two key Bhutanese locals who would go on to intimately shape my stay. Yeshi, my guide, and Namgay, my driver, rush over to help me with my bags, greeting me cheerfully.
Since it first opened to global tourism in 1974, Bhutan has required tourists to engage state-certified guides and drivers when they visit. While most attractions and tours in Bhutan still require the accompaniment of local guides, visitors can now apply for visas, purchase flights, book accommodation and pay the sustainable development fee (US$100 per day, per adult) on their own. Of course, it is easier and more seamless for your guide to do it for you.
Tourists are not allowed to drive in Bhutan, making a designated driver who travels with your group indispensable. There is a good reason for this which I understand immediately once we hit the roads. Winding and narrow, Bhutan’s roads snake up and down the sides of mountains and valleys—incredibly intimidating to a city driver, but second nature to locals who effortlessly navigate even the trickiest of terrain.
If you are looking to visit several towns and cities during your trip to Bhutan (which you definitely should), a good chunk of your time will be spent on these scenic drives. My first commences as we make our way to Thimphu, Bhutan’s capital and the closest thing it has to an urban city.
But don’t mistake these drives for filler time. As mandated in its constitution, 60 percent of Bhutan’s land is conserved under forest cover. This means that as you wind up and down the country’s many mountains, you are surrounded on all sides by staggeringly picturesque views of lush nature: dense thickets of forest, majestic rock faces and glittering rivers. It’s difficult to do justice to these sights with words; existential emotions swell up within me as I take in the sheer expanse of the natural beauty.
Thimphu
As a scattering of concrete buildings come into view on our way to Thimphu, I ask Yeshi about the slow, but certainly real, modernisation of Bhutan. He shares that especially in Thimphu, increasing development has led to the emergence of malls and other urban fixtures. These may look different from traditional Bhutanese buildings, but they still have to follow a strict set of sustainable construction standards.
Yeshi also takes this opportunity to tell me about another modern development in Bhutan: female monks. While monasteries have long been the solitary domain of men, a growing movement of female nunneries and monasteries in Bhutan have led to more women being ordained as monks. “I think this is a wonderful thing!” he exclaims.
Before I can ask him more, we arrive at Amankora, my first accommodation on this trip. For a small nation that controls its tourism numbers tightly, Bhutan has found itself home to a staggering number of luxury—and ultra-luxury—hotels. This is partly due to its immense natural beauty, which offers the perfect backdrop to these design-forward properties. Another reason, I believe, is the fact that tourism in Bhutan is so extraordinarily exclusive.
With five lodges across its central and western valleys, Amankora has had a presence in Bhutan for nearly 20 years. I am staying in the 16-suite lodge in Thimphu, which is set in the upper reaches of the Motithang area and is built in the style of a traditional dzong fortress. Inspired by traditional Bhutanese forms, shapes and colours but filtered through Aman’s minimalist lens, the lodge hugs you in a mixture of warm golden-hued timbers and wood panelling, timber floors and terrazzo-lined bathrooms. It strikes me that it’s in a place like Bhutan where a brand like Aman finds its truest expression.
It is also at Amankora’s Thimphu lodge that I have my first taste of Bhutanese food. The cuisine is known for its richness in butter, cream and cheese. Chilli, another mainstay, is used like a vegetable and not a seasoning. In fact, it’s a key component of Bhutan’s national dish: Ema Datshi, a heady amalgamation of molten cheese and cooked chillies. Funky local cheeses are traditionally used, but even with Aman’s milder variation, the combination of salty, umami cheese and intense spiciness from the chilli is delightfully bold on all levels.
Dried and spiced yak meat, pork momos (Bhutanese cuisine shares a little in common with its Indian neighbours) and peppery lentil soup form the other staples on the dinner table. The carbohydrate of choice is local organic red rice—served warm and fluffy and pairing wonderfully with the flavoursome dishes. It’s at lunch the next day that I notice the prevalence of mushrooms—including exceptional varieties, such as chanterelles, corals and matsutake—in Bhutanese cuisine. We are with Bleu Dorji, a local chef and restaurateur who runs a handful of restaurants in Bhutan, sitting in one of her restaurants, Phangu. Serving traditional Bhutanese dishes made with high-quality ingredients in an elevated setting, Dorji’s goal is to put her native cuisine on the map.
I compliment a particularly tasty plate of caramelised, stir-fried mushrooms, and she tells me it’s made entirely with local species, which are seasonally abundant. I ask if there is a huge exportation business for native mushrooms from Bhutan, but she shrugs. “I can’t tell you for sure. But what I can tell you is that that’s not the mentality here. When it comes to our natural produce, Bhutanese people are mindful to conserve rather than over-harvest.”
It’s a throwaway comment but it confirms to me that the way of life in Bhutan is different from anything I have known. It’s unsullied, to a large extent, by the pervasive grip of capitalist overconsumption—the endless cycle of more, more, more. Instead of human pleasure, nature and the ardent protection of it are at the centre of existence in Bhutan. No development can happen at the cost of the land. The way of life here is built on the fundamental tenet of mutual respect between humans and other species, and is a startling glimpse into what a symbiotic relationship with our planet could look like.
Gangtey and Punakha
I spend the next couple of days in the smaller villages of Gangtey and Punakha, staying in two Six Senses lodges—one in each town. Rustic and luxurious at the same time, both properties showcase the same elevated farmhouse design style, but each comes with unique features.
In Punakha, the lodge is known for its striking ‘floating’ structure, offering sweeping views of the valley filled with rice paddy fields and dotted with traditional farm houses. The suites in Gangtey, meanwhile, face the Phobjikha Valley, revealing panoramic views for birdwatching. Visit in November and you’ll catch sight of majestic Black-Necked Cranes, a conserved species and winter visitors to Bhutan.
In Bhutan, it feels like you could walk for hours without getting tired. Part of it is the pleasant weather, but a much, much larger part is the spectacular sightseeing. One of my stops is at Dochula Pass, a mountain crossing on the road from Thimphu to Punakha which is home to 108 memorial stupas built by the royal family. Located at an elevation of 3,100m, it offers a scenic vantage point with a clear view of the snow-clad mountain peaks of the Himalayas as well as a comfortable trek through the surrounding botanical gardens.
Monasteries and temples are, of course, must-visits. Not only for the deeply spiritual ambience and look into daily Bhutanese routine that they offer, but for the astonishing architecture and ornamentation each of them display. I see Gangtey Monastery, a beautiful yet simple 17th-century relic; Punakha Dzong, a fortified monastery with a scenic bridge walk leading into it; and perhaps most intriguing, Chimi Lhakhang. Famously known as the temple of fertility, Chimi Lhakhang is marked with phallic art and filled with phallic sculptures, drawing devotees from all around Bhutan.
I also visit a homestay in Punakha, which is a rustic guesthouse that preserves the form of a traditional Bhutanese home. Often, the owners still occupy part of the home and whip up daily meals for the guests. I am treated warmly to one of these delicious homestyle meals, featuring some of the Bhutanese dishes I had become familiar with at this point, but also new entrants such as an incredible creamed potato and a milky spinach soup. I sip on butter tea, an almost savoury traditional drink made by mixing black tea with cream and butter. I’m slightly apprehensive before my first sip, but by the end of my trip, it’s a treat I look forward to.
The first real challenge I face during my visit is the Punakha Suspension Bridge, a roughly 520ft-long bridge stretching across the Tsang Chu river. As one of the longest suspension bridges in Bhutan, it takes everything in me to step across gingerly on shaking legs even as I’m transfixed on the incredible views that hug me from all sides. It’s an exhilarating experience and the bridge sways slightly under my feet with each step I take. Meanwhile, Yeshi is comfortably pacing back and forth, even munching on a snack of cold cucumber slices and offering me a piece.
Paro
Paro, not quite a city like Thimpu but a more vibrant town than Gangtey or Punakha, is a happy middle ground where I spend the last few days of my stay in Bhutan. The town centre has a cluster of local boutiques that are great for souvenir shopping; I pick up two beautiful scarves woven from yak’s wool.
Here, I get to experience authentic Bhutanese culture at a local hotel known as Rema Resort. Like their way of life, the hospitality bears no sign of overt frills or artifice. The rooms are cosy, nightly meals at the restaurant are nourishing, and I have one of the best massages of my life here.
In Paro, I also meet my ultimate test: the infamous hike to Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Perched precariously on a cliffside 3,000m above the Paro valley, this famous landmark was built in the late 17th century, today becoming one of the defining images of Bhutan’s natural landscape.
My hike starts bright and early at 7:30am as I begin the vertical ascent, carved wooden sticks in hand. I find myself out of breath quickly, not only because of the terrain but also the unfamiliar altitude. Three hours of climbing later—with regular stops along the way to catch my breath—I eventually make it to the halfway point, where a cafe and rest stop await.
It’s here, sipping a cup of tea as the crisp wind dries the sweat off my back, gazing into the deep gorges and valleys that surround me, that a thought about what Bhutanese culture is really like crystallises in my mind.
In our common idea of Bhutan as the land of happiness, we often come to expect it to be a country of all smiles. But that comes from misunderstanding what their definition of happiness really is. It might surprise you to hear that instead of overt extroversion, the people of Bhutan have a stable stoicism about them. Rather than gleeful joy, happiness takes shape here as true contentment—less fleeting and, arguably, more real.
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