Capital: Thimphu … 786,385 People … 38,394 km² 
The Country
Nestled in the eastern Himalayas between India and China, Bhutan is a remote and mountainous country known for its deep-rooted traditions and natural beauty. With dense forests, high mountain passes and cliffside monasteries, Bhutanese life is closely tied to Buddhist beliefs; visible in the country's temples, prayer flags and festivals. While modernization is slowly making its way in, Bhutan remains focused on preserving its cultural identity, offering visitors a rare glimpse into a way of life that has remained largely unchanged for centuries.
Fun Facts
Bhutan measures national success through Gross National Happiness, focusing on well-being over economic output.
Bhutan is only country in the world that is carbon-negative, absorbing more carbon dioxide than it emits.
Bhutan was the first country to ban tobacco sales.
My Experience
Day 1
After a few incredible weeks in India and Nepal, I found myself back at another airport, this time in Kathmandu, ready to continue my journey to Bhutan. With all the chaos and colour of the past few weeks, the calmness of Bhutan was going to be incredibly welcoming.
At the gate, the crowd was small. A mix of tourists and locals, most carrying lightweight backpacks and cameras. The plane was smaller than typical commercial jets, but it was clean, modern and painted with Bhutan’s national colours. A few people stopped to take pictures before boarding, posing in front of the dragon emblem on the tail.
Within minutes after taking off, we were cruising over the Himalayas. After about 30 minutes flight attendants made their way throughout the aisles naming mountains that came into view. The pilot then made a calm announcement that Mount Everest would soon be visible on the left side of the aircraft. Passengers on that side shifted and craned their necks to get a view. I was lucky enough to be sitting by the window on the left side.
Everest appeared surprisingly close to the plane, rising slightly above the rest of jagged peaks. Seeing it from the air was completely different from any photo. It looked both powerful and completely still. Knowing that Everest stands at 29,032 feet, and realizing that our plane wasn’t above it, but more or less level with it, was a completely surreal experience.
The flight itself was short, under an hour, but the descent into Bhutan was unforgettable. As we got closer to Paro the scenery started to change. We weren’t descending in a straight line like usual. Instead, we started winding through sharp mountain valleys. You could feel the plane turning and banking more than any normal flight would.
Paro Airport is known as one of the most challenging airports in the world to land at, and only about 50 pilots certified to land there. There’s no radar-assisted landing, so pilots have to do it all visually; navigating between peaks and lining up the plane at the last second.
After a sharp right turn the runway appeared almost out of nowhere- a flat strip squeezed into a valley floor, surrounded by terrain on all sides. One moment there’s nothing but trees and mountains out the window, the next, a short runway appears. The landing was incredibly smooth, and there was a collective exhale as we came to a stop.
Stepping off the plane and directly onto the tarmac, the air was cool and clean. Mountains towered in every direction, and the airport looked more like a monastery than a terminal- wooden roofs, traditional designs, and no crowds. Inside was no different; beautiful artwork, cultural artifacts and a sense of calm radiated throughout the airport- where I was one people arriving at one of three gates.
Before 1974, Bhutan was closed to tourists, and those visiting after that date needed to be accompanied by a guide. Until recently, visiting meant you had to book everything through a government-approved tour operator, and you couldn’t explore without a licensed guide. Bhutan relaxed some of its rules after the COVID-19 pandemic, and now it’s technically possible to visit without a guide. But it’s still not exactly “open” in the typical backpacker sense, and you’re restricted on where you can go. So, while you can go it alone in theory, it’s not the most practical, or encouraged, way to experience Bhutan. A guide is still strongly recommended to get a full sense of what the country is like, which is why I arranged my trip through a local tour operator.
With my visa stamped and my bag in hand, I stepped out of the airport to a beautiful sunny day. For the first time in a while I could take a full breath of fresh air. My guide Tshechu, and driver, Chilly, welcomed me to the country and draped a white scarf over my shoulders. Known as a khadar, it’s a symbol of purity, respect and good intentions. It’s Bhutan’s way of wishing you well as you enter their country.
As we left the airport heading towards the capital, Thimphu, the immaculately clean road wound its way through the valley, hugging hillsides and following the river. The scenery was almost too perfect- steep pine-covered slopes on either side with clusters of traditional Bhutanese houses perched on the hills like something out of a painting.
There was barely any traffic, just a few other cars and some motorbikes; the antithesis of my time in India. The winding road was calm, and for most of the drive, we didn’t pass through any large towns. Just quiet stretches of forest, mountains, and farmland.
The natural beauty of Bhutan was immediately striking, and that’s very much intentional. Bhutan follows a tourism model known as “high value, low volume”. They deliberately keep visitor numbers low in order to protect their environment and culture. Because of this, visiting Bhutan isn’t cheap- there’s a daily sustainable development (SDF) fee that all foreign tourists must pay. Instead of a typical 90 or 120 day visa at a fixed cost, my visa for Bhutan was only valid for four days and cost $100 USD per day. The fee goes directly towards services like free education, healthcare, infrastructure, and environmental protection, though. Money well spent.
After about an hour on the road, we arrived in Thimphu. It was late morning, and the city was just starting to come to life (but not in the way most capitals do). There was no blaring traffic, no high-rise buildings, and not a single traffic light in sight. Instead, wide streets curved gently through low-rise buildings, all built in traditional Bhutanese style- whitewashed walls, wooden windows, and colourful hand-painted details. Even the busiest parts of the city felt calm.
We arrived at a restaurant overlooking the city for a quick bite to eat before we driving up to visit the Buddha Dordenma, one of Thimphu’s most iconic landmarks. The drive itself was short, maybe 15–20 minutes from the city centre, but it climbed steadily into the hills above the valley.
The Buddha Dordenma is massive, over 169 feet tall, and sits perched on a hilltop overlooking Thimphu. Built from bronze and gilded in gold, it shines brilliantly in the sunlight. It’s not just a landmark, it’s a symbol of peace, prosperity, and protection for the world.
Construction started in 2006 and was completed in 2015 to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the fourth King of Bhutan, Jigme Singye Wangchuck. But the idea of the shrine is tied to an ancient prophecy. A 20th-century spiritual master, Ngawang Tenzin, predicted that a large statue would be built in this exact spot to bring harmony to the world, and protect the region from conflict and negative forces.
My guide and I were the only visitors there at the time, and what struck me most when we reached the top, more than the size of the statue or the view of Thimphu, was how quiet it was. Despite being just a short drive from the city, it felt completely removed from the capital. The only sounds were the occasional chirping of birds, the breeze moving gently through the trees and the distant fluttering of prayer flags strung along the hillside. No traffic, no chatter, no phones ringing. Just silence in the best possible way.
I didn’t expect to be able to go inside the Buddha Dordenma, but you can, and it’s just as awe-inspiring as the outside (if not more). At the base of the statue there’s a discreet entrance that leads into a large meditation hall. My guide mentioned that anywhere we visit where we remove shoes, photos are not permitted. So I removed my shoes and covered my camera before entering.
Stepping inside, the space felt immediately sacred. Dimly lit, cool and incredibly quiet. The air smelled of incense and flowers. There was just a handful of people sitting or walking slowly in silence. Inside, the walls are lined with thousands of miniature golden Buddha statues: 125,000 in total. Some are small, about the size of your hand, while others are larger, each placed neatly in rows from floor to ceiling.
At the centre of the hall stood several larger statues of various Buddhas intricately detailed and surrounded by traditional murals and offerings: flowers, butter lamps, and bowls of saffron-infused water placed by visitors. Even though it’s a relatively new structure, the inside feels deeply spiritual, like it holds centuries of devotion. My guide explained that this isn’t just a monument; it’s an active place of worship, a space used for prayer, meditation and important ceremonies. We took a moment to pray before heading back down to Thimphu.
As we drove back down the mountain from Buddha Dordenma, I couldn’t help but notice every building in Thimphu had either a green or red roof. From above, it looked almost coordinated, like the city had been carefully colour-coded. I asked my guide about it, and he explained that it’s intentional. Buildings with green roofs are private residences or businesses, while those with red roofs belong to the government. It’s part of Bhutan’s unique approach to urban planning.
Back in Thimphu, we visited the National Memorial Chorten, one of the most prominent religious sites in the heart of the city. From the outside, it’s a striking white stupa with a golden spire, flanked by four smaller shrines at its corners, all set against a backdrop of rolling hills and blue sky. Locals were walking clockwise around it when we arrived, some spinning the large prayer wheels at the base, others simply murmuring mantras under their breath.
My guide explained that the chorten was built in 1974 in memory of the third King of Bhutan, Jigme Dorji Wangchuck, who is often referred to as the “Father of Modern Bhutan.” It’s not just a monument; it’s an active place of worship; a space for daily prayer, meditation, and quiet reflection. We joined the slow clockwise procession around the base (always to the right, never the left) before heading inside. Shoes off, cameras down.
The interior was dimly lit, with the smell of butter lamps and incense lingering in the air. Upstairs, we entered a series of small shrine rooms filled with statues, murals, and offerings. What stood out most were the vivid statues of wrathful deities, some of them standing or dancing on what looked like human figures. My guide explained that these weren’t evil gods, they were protector deities- part of the Mahayana Buddhist tradition representing the fierce energy needed to overcome ignorance and negative forces. The figures beneath them symbolized ego, attachment and obstacles. Not actual people, but the inner struggles we all carry.
Not far from the National Memorial Chorten we came across an open field where an archery competition was taking place. Two groups of five archers were standing opposite each other with a wooden target at an unbelievable distance from each other: 476 feet away, nearly double the distance in Olympic archery. A large crowd had formed on the sidelines watching the athletes take aim.
From where we stood, the target on the other end looked barely noticeable. It seemed impossible to hit something from that far away. But they did. Not every time of course, but often enough that showed the true talent of these archers. Each time someone hit the target, their teammates would break into song and dance, clapping and cheering in celebration. Archery here isn’t quiet or reserved- it’s loud, competitive, and deeply social. As the national sport of Bhutan, archery is taking very seriously, and the talent I was witnessing was truly incredible.
Arriving at my hotel to drop off my bags and have a quick rest, my room had an incredible view of the Tashichho Dzong: a massive monastery and fortress that serves as the seat of the Bhutanese government. There are twenty Dzongs across the country, one in each district, and each dzong serves a dual purpose: as the administrative centre of the district (housing government offices), and as the monastic headquarters for the local monk body.
That evening, just before sunset, we visited the Tashichho Dzong just in time for the flag lowering ceremony. As the late light cast a warm glow over the whitewashed walls and golden rooftops, a small group of soldiers from the Royal Bhutan Army marched into the courtyard with precise steps. They wore traditional uniforms: dark gho-style jackets with white cuffs, polished black boots, and the intense demeanour of a formal ceremony.
Everything about the moment felt quiet and respectful. No shouting or commands, just the soft sound of boots on stone and the slow movement of the Bhutanese flag fluttering in the breeze. The flagpole stood tall near the centre of the open courtyard, and as the soldiers approached, visitors, monks and staff stopped and stood still. One soldier stepped forward and began to slowly lower the flag while the others stood at attention. The Bhutanese flag, half yellow, half orange, with the white dragon (Druk) at the centre, came down gracefully, folding in the wind as it descended.
The entire ceremony lasted only a few minutes, but it was deeply symbolic. Once the flag was folded and carried away, the soldiers quietly exited the courtyard. There was no applause, no announcement, just a soft return to stillness. It was at this point we were allowed to enter the dzong and experience the interior for ourselves.
The main courtyard opens up to reveal tall, white walls layered by rows of ornately carved wooden windows painted in rich reds, golds, and greens. The woodwork is stunning. Each beam and pillar is decorated with traditional Bhutanese motifs: dragons, lotus flowers, and intricate geometric patterns. The craftsmanship is breathtaking and the colours were intense and vibrant.
Inside the prayer halls the air is thick with the scent of burning butter lamps and incense. The walls are adorned with thangkas (vivid religious paintings on silk) that tell stories of Buddhist teachings and Bhutanese history. Golden statues of Buddha sit on high altars surrounded by offerings of flowers and candles.
The sun set over the valley, and the Tashichho Dzong was lit in deep red and yellow lights. Back at my hotel, I settled onto the balcony, wrapped tightly against the Himalayan chill. Cold, quiet and at peace.
Bhutan had captured completely captured my heart.
Day 2
The sun began to emerge from the clouds over Thimphu, casting long shadows across the hills and warming the edges of the chilly morning. A light breeze lingered in the air- enough to keep my hands buried deep in my jacket pockets.
I had a quick breakfast, then met my guide outside the hotel for a walk through downtown Thimphu. The city was beginning to stir. Locals moved unhurriedly through the streets, many in traditional dress: gho for men, kira for women, on their way to work or school. There was no rush, no honking, no sense of urgency. Even downtown, Bhutan kept its steady, deliberate pace.
As we continued walking through Thimphu, my guide stopped at a small roadside stall. A woman behind the counter was preparing small green parcels with practiced speed. “This,” my guide said, picking up one of the bundles, “is doma. Very popular in Bhutan.” He bought a few and began to unwrap one for me, explaining as he worked.
Inside the green leaf was a slice of areca nut and a bit of lime paste. It’s all wrapped in a betel leaf and chewed like gum, giving off a bitter, peppery taste and, after a while, a bit of a buzz. “People chew it for the energy. Helps with the cold too,” he said, grinning. “But your mouth will go red—don’t be scared.” So, up for any adventure, I took the bundle and gave it a try. The taste was intense. Earthy, slightly spicy, and not exactly pleasant. But my guide watched with an amused look, clearly enjoying the moment.
“Careful,” he said, laughing. “It stains everything. That’s why you’ll see red streaks on the ground everywhere.” Sure enough, I noticed red splotches along the sidewalk- remnants of locals spitting out the juice. Small holes were in the ground for spit, and unlike the archers yesterday, my aim was atrocious.
It wasn’t something I’d rush to do again, but I appreciated the gesture. It felt like one of those small cultural exchanges you only get when you travel with a local. Slightly uncomfortable, slightly funny, but real. And ultimately, the cold didn’t feel quite as sharp afterward.
After some time exploring Thimphu with a red-stained mouth, we met up with our driver, Chilly, and headed west. Similar to my observation the day before, the roads are clean, the forests untouched, and there’s no sense of rush or crowding. No flashy ads, no chain stores, no overdevelopment. Bhutan has made a conscious choice to grow slowly and sustainably with traditional architecture.
On the road between Paro and Thimphu, we stopped at a small but striking temple called Tachog Lhakhang. It’s not a grand, towering dzong, and there are no massive courtyards or high fortress walls, but it has a kind of quiet power, perched on a hillside just above the rushing Paro Chhu River.
To reach it, we crossed by a narrow iron suspension bridge, said to have been built using chains laid by Thangtong Gyalpo, a 14th-century Tibetan saint, engineer, and bridge-builder. The original bridge was still standing, but a newer bridge was built beside it to handle daily foot traffic. The bridge swayed gently beneath our feet as we walked. The river roared below, and hundreds of colourful prayer flags flapped in the wind; strung across the cables like a cloud of colour. Past the bridge, we climbed up the hill towards the temple.
Along the way, my guide reached down and plucked a small leafy plant and invited me to take a sniff. Based on my reaction, he smiled, and said informed me that the plant I was holding, cannabis, grows everywhere in Bhutan. It’s actually more common than regular grass. And although it’s illegal to consume it, it is often used to feed pigs.
Tachog Lhakhang itself was built by in the 15th century by Thangtong Gyalpo after he had a vision of the spiritual horse deity Balaha at the site. The temple remains privately owned by his descendants and has a peaceful, personal feel. Inside it’s dark and simple. Low ceilings, aged murals and small statues that feel worn and loved. The scent of incense lingered in the air, and a lone butter lamp flickered near the altar. There were no crowds and no ticket booths, just a few monks praying and a few visitors in deep meditation. Many people pass by without stopping, but it's a place locals still visit for blessings, especially before long journeys. We stayed for a while before descending the hill and continuing on our own journey.
One thing I didn’t expect to see so often while driving through Bhutan: painted penises on the outside walls of homes and shops. Bold, colourful, and sometimes cartoonishly exaggerated, they were everywhere. Dangling from rooftops, painted beside doorways, even carved into wooden beams. My guide explained this is deeply rooted tradition, tied to Bhutanese folklore and the teachings of a 15th-century monk known as Drukpa Kunley, or the “Divine Madman.”
He used shock, humour and unorthodox methods (including sexual symbolism) to challenge religious hypocrisy and awaken people spiritually. The phallus is considered a symbol of protection meant to ward off evil spirits, jealousy and gossip. In Bhutan, it’s embraced openly as part of daily life and spiritual tradition.
Arriving back into Paro, my guide surprised me with a lighthearted suggestion: “Want to try on a gho for some photos?” I couldn’t say no. We ducked into a small clothing store tucked along the riverside. Nothing fancy, just neatly stacked shelves of traditional wear. He carefully chose a vibrant, striped gho for me, complete with the white cuffs and a belt (called a kera) to tie it all together.
The fabric was thick and warm, woven in bright earth tones that felt both bold and dignified. Getting it on took a bit of coaching; it’s part folding, part wrapping and part balancing act. But once everything was tucked in and tightened properly, I stood a little straighter. It felt surprisingly comfortable and oddly fitting, like I’d stepped into Bhutanese culture first-hand. We walked down to the riverside, the gho catching in the breeze, and took a few photos with Rinpung Dzong in the background- a place we would be stopping at shortly.
Nearby, we stopped for lunch to enjoy some traditional food. Flavourful chicken, noodles, zow (crunchy, roasted rice) and a cup of red butter tea; a salty, creamy drink made with strong tea, yak butter and a pinch of salt. It looked like a pink, milky chai at first glance, but tasted entirely different. Rich, savoury, and warming; it’s something I still crave on cold days.
After lunch we made the short drive up a steep hill overlooking the Paro valley to visit the National Museum of Bhutan, housed in an old circular watchtower called Ta Dzong. From the road, the building looked unusual- a round, stone structure perched high above Rinpung Dzong, almost like a miniature fortress with thick walls and narrow windows. It was originally built in the 17th century to guard the valley and was later converted into a museum.
The road wound upward, offering sweeping views of farms and traditional Bhutanese houses below. From the museum’s courtyard, I could see almost the entire valley- the Paro Chhu river glinting in the sunlight, and the sprawl of the town with the surrounding pine-covered mountains rising beyond it. It was easily one of the best viewpoints I’d come across in Bhutan.
The first room we entered was filled with masks- dozens of them, arranged on dark walls and in glass cases. These weren’t just decorative; they’re used in religious dances called “cham”, performed during tsechus (Bhutanese festivals). Each mask represents a deity, animal or spirit. Some were serene, and others wild and fierce with bulging eyes, horns, fangs and expressive features. My guide explained that these dances aren’t just performances, they’re meant to ward off evil, teach Buddhist lessons and bless the audience.
After taking in the exhibits in the main gallery, we walked to the original Ta Dzong. From the outside, it looks solid and imposing, but stepping inside was a different experience entirely. The museum winds upward in a spiral, floor by floor, with each level showcasing a different aspect of Bhutanese life: archaeology, textiles, weaponry, spiritual objects and natural history.
The walls are thick, the windows small, and the rooms surprisingly intimate. The building itself felt alive with history. Cool and quiet, but full of stories. Thick stone walls muffled any outside sound, and for a while, I was completely alone in the spiralling passageways.
There was something powerful about that solitude. Without other voices or the distraction of a camera, I could just take in the textures of the old wood, the soft light filtering through narrow windows and the faded colours of ancient scrolls and statues. It felt less like visiting a museum and more like wandering through a moment in time- a space that had seen centuries pass but hadn’t lost its soul. It was here that the concept of “high value, low impact” tourism really resonated. For the amount of cultural and historical artifacts that were surrounding me, in addition to the natural beauty just outside, it was incredible that I was able to experience it without being surrounded by crowds.
Below the museum, we then visited Rinpung Dzong, also known as Paro Dzong. As we entered, the sheer vibrancy of the fortress hit me. The walls were adorned with vivid murals, each telling a different Buddhist story. The scenes were so intricate, full of movement and emotion that I found myself lost in the details for longer than I expected.
I wandered through the courtyards, my footsteps echoing against the stone, and the peaceful silence of the place continued to wrap around me. There were a few monks scattered here and there, moving quietly between buildings, but for the most part xit was just me and the dzong.
I eventually found my way into a large prayer hall- a sacred, tranquil space with high ceilings and colourful prayer flags fluttering from the windows. The wind from the surrounding mountains gently carried the sound of the flags' fabric snapping against the air. I sat on the cool wooden floor for a while, meditating in the quiet, letting the cool mountain air move through the room.
While walking through the grounds of Rinpung Dzong, my guide pointed out a red fruit hanging from a tree nearby. At first glance, it looked like a strawberry- the same size and shape, but with a spiky exterior that made it stand out. He plucked one from the tree and handed it to me. It was a Cornus capitata, or Himalayan dogwood. The fruit had a tart sweetness, somewhat like a strawberry, but with an earthy richness. It was fantastic.
Back on the edge of the river, we wandered through the streets of Paro, strolling between local shops and a vegetable market. The town had an easy, slow-paced rhythm. Suddenly, a sleek black car drove by that noticeably stood out. It had a green license plate, something I hadn’t seen before. Noticing my curiosity, my guide explained, “The green plates mean it’s a government vehicle.” He went on to say that we likely just saw Euphelma Choden Wangchuck, the princess of Bhutan, going about her daily life. No visible security, no convoy, just a princess going out for a drive.
My guide took this opportunity to tell me that the royal family, especially King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, the current monarch, is incredibly loved and respected by the Bhutanese. Unlike many monarchies around the world, Bhutan’s king is deeply involved in the country’s development and conservation efforts.
My guide told me, “The king doesn’t just rule the country; he cares for it deeply. He will always look out for his people, especially in times of crisis or hardship.” He explained how the King and Queen are often seen traveling across the country, meeting with locals, listening to their concerns, and ensuring that Bhutan’s unique way of life is preserved amidst modern challenges.The King is seen as a protector, someone who actively seeks out the harmony between tradition and progress.
It was clear that in Bhutan, the King’s role goes beyond politics. It made me realize that while Bhutan’s monarchy is deeply respected, the country is also remarkably grounded. It was a brief moment, but one that made me appreciate Bhutan even more.
That evening I arrived at my hotel, a compound just outside of Paro. With a small bar and place to grab some food, it was an essential refuge away from the cold mountain air. Power wasn’t always consistent, with the heat and lights flickering more than once, but it made the night sky over the Himalayas well with it.
Day 3
Bright and early, the long awaited part of my trip to Bhutan had arrived. Packing my hiking bag and putting on some sturdy boots, I embarked with my guide on our hike to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery.
Perched on a cliffside 3,000 feet above the Paro Valley, the Tiger’s Nest Monastery is not just Bhutan’s most iconic landmark, it’s a deeply sacred site with roots reaching back over a thousand years. According to legend, Guru Rinpoche flew to this remote cliff on the back of a flying tiger. He meditated in a cave at the site for three months to subdue a local demon and consecrate the land. This sacred cave, known as the Taktsang Senge Samdup, is still part of the monastery complex and is considered one of the holiest pilgrimage sites in Bhutan.
After a short drive to the trailhead, we stepped out of the car and loosened up with a few quick stretches. The monastery was high above us, slightly obstructed with some clouds. A handful of small groups were also gathering; some tightening boot laces, others arranging for horses to carry them partway up the mountain.
We started the hike on a wide dirt trail that wound gently upward through a forest of towering pine trees The scent of damp earth hung in the air, and prayer flags fluttered between tree trunks and small shines, catching the breeze and offering their quiet blessings to every passerby. As we climbed, the forest grew thicker and the sounds of the valley faded behind us.
The trail steepened quickly, switching back through dusty gravel and exposed roots. Horses occasionally passed by, hooves clacking against stone, their handlers walking alongside them in practiced silence. Despite the effort, the hike was meditative. The trees offered shade and stillness, and every now and then, through a break in the foliage, the mountains opened up before us. Rolling green ridgelines giving a hint of the elevation we were gaining.
As we continued up the trail, I began to notice something unexpected: nearly everyone I passed was significantly older than me. I struck up a brief conversation with a gentleman from India who proudly told me he was in his seventies and had completed this hike before. Aside from a few local schoolchildren, I was easily the youngest person on the trail. When I mentioned this to my guide, he nodded knowingly. Bhutan’s reputation for safety, combined with its high visa fees, tends to attract more seasoned travellers.
As we climbed higher, I passed hikers in their fifties, sixties, and even seventies, all pacing themselves, trekking poles in hand, step by deliberate step. My guide shared a story about once accompanying a 90-year-old to the top- a hike that took 12 hours, but one she refused to quit. With a new goal in mind of being faster than this famed 90-year-old, I pushed on.
As we continued to rise, the clouds began to lift, slowly unraveling from the mountainside. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long, slanted beams across the trail. Then, through a gap in the pines, it appeared.
From a distance, it looked like part of the cliff- built right into the rock face. The white walls and golden roofs stood out clearly against the rugged mountain. It seemed both sturdy and remote, a small cluster of buildings perched high above the valley. Seeing it up close like this made the climb feel more real and definitely worth the effort ahead.
After nearly two hours of steady climbing, the forest began to thin, and the sound of distant chatter signalled that we were approaching the halfway point- a popular cafeteria and rest stop where most hikers take a break and grab a cup of tea. The smell of food drifted through the trees, and I caught a glimpse of hikers seated at shaded picnic tables, silently looking up at the monastery. A break could wait. We continued on.
Nearby, a large prayer wheel acompanied by some smaller wheels stood at a clearing providing an incredible view of the valley. Visitors spun the wheels before continuing on to the steepest part of the climb.
Months before coming to Bhutan, I was worried about the risk of altitude sickness. This hike specifically would be at the highest altitude I had ever hiked, and with such little days in Bhutan, I was fearful of missing any time being sick. I mentioned this to my guide, and he smiled saying “the gods bless those with good intentions. If you don’t get sick, it means you’re in their favour”. The pressure now was seriously on.
After several hours of steady climbing, we finally reached the top of the trail’s main ridge. From here, I looked across the valley and saw the Tiger’s Nest Monastery. Still perched on the cliffside, but we were now looking down on it. To reach the monastery itself, I had to descend a long series of stone stairs carved into the mountainside. The steps were steep and narrow in places, demanding careful footing.
At the bottom of the stairs, I crossed a stone bridge spanning a deep ravine, behind a steady waterfall. On the other side of the ravine, the final climb began. More stairs, more switchbacks, this time rising sharply up toward the monastery’s entrance. With each step, the buildings grew closer, their intricate wooden details clearer, the fluttering prayer flags more vivid. A few dogs joined us on the climb, clearly well fed from tourists coming and going. Proudly, much faster than the 90-year-old, we had reached the top. We removed our shoes, I stowed my camera, and we entered the monastery.
Just as we were entering, however, the guards had a quick word with my guide. Apparently, he was supposed to bring them some breakfast, as they were longtime friends- but he forgot. Disappointed, they still let us enter, but I swear I could hear their stomaches rumbling.
Inside the monastery, the atmosphere was cool, solemn and extremely powerful. Walking from room to room, each serving a different religious purpose, I felt I was connected with something much larger than myself. There was a large group of tourists nearby, but my guide ushered us around so we could find moments of peace.
Walking through Tiger’s Nest Monastery is like moving through a maze carved into the cliffside. The hallways are narrow and often dimly lit, with wooden floors that creak softly. As you step from one room to the next, you notice how the walls are decorated with vibrant murals telling stories from Buddhist history and mythology. Each room feels different. Some are small and quiet, used for meditation, with simple cushions and few decorations. Others are larger, filled with statues, prayer wheels, and shelves holding ancient texts. The air smells faintly of incense and old wood.
Doorways are low and sometimes uneven, reminding you that the building was constructed by hand in a challenging location. You have to watch your step and occasionally duck your head as you move along. Monks move quietly through the halls, chanting or performing rituals, adding to the sense of reverence. Despite the cramped spaces, the monastery feels peaceful and purposeful- a place built carefully over centuries for worship, study, and meditation.
In the heart of the monastery, the principal alter stands proudly, with small windows allowing cool mountain air to flow in. Kneeling on brightly coloured pillows, we were invited to sip saffron infused water and pray, meditate and find stillness. To this day, I still feel a profound sense of peace thinking about that moment.
I could have spent hours exploring the monastery, but we still had a long trek ahead. Heading back down (and then back up, and then down again) felt easier this time, the weight of anticipation lifted now that I’d finally seen it. I didn’t have to chase the view anymore. I saw it.
We stopped for a large meal at the halfway point in the shadow of the monastery, including some spicy noodles I was warned not to eat. Hey, I was feeling pretty invincible. And the noodles were delicious.
With a time of 6 hours, we arrived back at the trailhead. No horse needed. Carrying on with my last day in Bhutan, my guide thought it would be appropriate to give me an opprotunity to try Bhutan’s national sport for myself.
Nearby, at a local farm, I was handed a bow and invited to shoot at the target (not 476 feet away… more like 50 feet away). My guide, driver and I spent some time laughing and taking aim- and although they were much better than I was, I ended up hitting the board a few times. Not the target, persay, but definitely the board.
That evening, stopping back in Paro for another walk through the town, the three of us chatted over a cup of coffee in a small cafe, learning more about each-other’s background and way of life. It was here I learned about Bhutan’s plan to new city- to be known as the Gelephu Mindfulness City.
Once completed, this new city will span 1,000 km² (three times larger than Singapore), and be a hub for peacefulness, mindfulness and sustainability. With it will bring a new international airport, railway links and more. Tshechu mentioned that in the coming years, his family will likely relocate from Thimphu to the Mindfulness City for more job opportunities. He invited me back to Bhutan once the City is complete; an offer too enticing to turn down.
That evening, I stopped by my hotel’s bar to try a few types of Bhutanese beer- something local to end the day. The place was empty, except for a waitress loudly singing Taylor Swift songs to herself behind the counter. It was an unexpected soundtrack, but still entertaining. After the long hike and the still-fresh memory of the monastery, it was a strangely peaceful way to end the day.
Day 4
My time in Bhutan was short, but it left a lasting mark. In just three days I wandered the quiet calm of Thimphu, felt the stillness of Paro’s valleys, and stood at the edge of a cliff within the Tiger’s Nest- one of the most surreal places I’ve ever been. I arrived curious and left with something harder to name: a sense of stillness or clarity I didn’t know I was looking for.
I’ll admit, there’s so much I didn’t see. But somehow, it feels okay. Bhutan isn’t a place to rush through. It asks you to slow down, to breathe, to pay attention. And that’s what I’ll carry home with me. A word I heard often in Bhutan was “auspicious.” It was woven into most conversations and descriptions of things. In Bhutan, not much is seen as random. Timing, encounters, and even small events are often read as part of something larger, something meaningful. Auspicious reflects a deep cultural and spiritual belief that certain moments, places, or actions carry energy that aligns with the greater flow of life. Bhutanese people consult lunar calendars to find auspicious days for travel, ceremonies, or starting new ventures. A monk lighting a butter lamp at just the right moment, or clouds parting as you reach a mountaintop shrine, these are seen as signs. Encouragements. It gave me a new lens to see the trip through. Things didn’t just happen, they happened at the right time. Or at least, in a way that might make sense later.
In a place so deeply rooted in mindfulness and intention, it felt right to pay attention to those small, meaningful details. But, I never would have understood this without Tshechu and Chilly. Bhutan will always hold a special place in my heart, and when the Mindfulness City is built, I know I’ll be back.
More Photos of Bhutan