Nestled between two gigantic neighbours, Bhutan is a majestic, serene, and beautiful Himalayan kingdom where prosperity is measured in smiles.
Emerging from the pint-sized terminal at Paro, Bhutan’s sole international airport, new arrivals are greeted by dazzling sun, crisp mountain air and most invitingly, a bevy of genuine smiles.
The warm welcome from assembled guides dressed, as many Bhutanese still do, in pristine national costume, brings colour back to the faces of air travellers who have just experienced one of the most nail-biting landings on the planet; only 12 pilots in the world are certified to land in Bhutan, as it requires a series of hair-raising turns as aircraft fly the length of the valley before landing, brightly-coloured houses whipping past on either side.
It’s my first visit to Bhutan, although the remote Himalayan Buddhist kingdom has been on my personal bucket list for a decade. I’ve always been intrigued by a destination that has remained so well fortified against the onslaught of modernity, that has retained an ancient (and well-loved) monarchy, and which measures its progress not in dollar signs or market points, but by happiness, literally.
Bhutan’s Gross National Happiness (GNH) index, a measurement of the collective contentment of the kingdom’s 740,000 citizens, is a remarkably progressive approach for a country named after a thunder dragon. Coined in 1972 by Bhutan’s fourth king, HM Jigme Singye Wangchuck, the idea has evolved into a socioeconomic development model recognised by the UN.
There’s no doubt Bhutan is a land of happiness and peace, and despite a complicated visa application process, mandatory guides, and a daily per diem of US$250 per person, which keeps tourist numbers low (in 2019 Bhutan welcomed 315,000 travellers, compared to North Korea which welcomed more than 250,000), an increasing number of well-heeled visitors are clinging to their airplane armrests in pursuit of their own little slice of Himalayan harmony.
Following the king’s mindset, luxury resort brands like Aman, Six Senses, Como and most recently andBeyond have quickly opened collections of rustic-chic lodges dotted across this mountainous destination, each dedicated to encapsulating Bhutanese culture and tradition. However, my own trip begins at Como Uma Paro, an intimate 29- room hideaway that, like virtually everything in this vertiginous nation, is perched on the side of a steep hill.
Here, the first stop of Como’s groundbreaking Scenic Heli-Adventure, it’s very easy to be happy; there are roaring fires, comfy beds and shy but attentive staff dressed in elegant, silken kira dresses. There’s the Como Shambala Retreat, home to Bhutanese-inspired massages and an indoor pool, and Bukhari, a restaurant serving healthy hand-ground buckwheat noodles, yak dumplings, and Como’s iconic juice blends.
The next morning I’m off to Bhutan’s capital, Thimpu, a serene little city nestled on the west bank of the Thimphu Chuu, making it the world’s third highest capital. At its centre, a police officer resplendent in his uniform and white gloves, directs traffic from a tiny hut decorated in bold reds and yellows. Bhutan has worked hard to improve its infrastructure, but when the country’s first traffic light was hoisted at the same intersection, so many accidents occurred that it was quietly lower ed again that very evening. I guess happiness is sometimes found in not fixing something that isn’t broken.
The quiet of the capital is only interrupted by the cries from the khuru field, where the national sport of archery is the biggest ticket in town most weekends. Players adorned in national dress aim for a tiny bullseye from some 150 metres downfield. Teams jostle and challenge each other across the length of the field in an artful tradition called kha shed, which involves verbal teasing adorned in rich literary language that’s meant to distract the competing archer.
When the arrow is finally loosened, all eyes turn to the sky, the bolt streaking through the sunshine and landing steps from leaping opponents. A missed shot is met with more polite taunts, but a successful strike leads to a respectful, traditional dance that blesses the target and acknowledges the talents of the archer. There are smiles, singing and dancing at both ends of the field before skills are praised, arrows bestowed, and friendly rivalries stoked with more than a few drops of local ara rice wine.
Atop the Dochula Pass, I visit the solemn Druk Wangyal Chortens, a memorial of 108 stupas, notably dedicated to both soldiers and rebels who fell during the Assamese uprising of 2003-04, the first military conflict ever for the Royal Bhutan Army. It is a telling monument to Bhutan’s respect for life and peace.
By dusk we’ve weaved our way through the farming hamlets of the verdant Punakha Valley, where rice paddies are being replanted and water buffalo slosh through the mud, and I’m in my spacious suite, one of 11 at Como Uma Punakha, a luxurious mountain retreat designed by architect Cheong Yew Kuan that overlooks the meandering Mo Chu River.
There’s timeless sheesham-wood furniture, a woodburning stove, and a deep-soak tub that’s perfect for Punakha’s frosty nights. Nearby the retreat’s dining room (a favourite with passing Bhutanese royalty), produces inspiring local fare from organic produce sourced from surrounding farms.
Sated and rested, I set out the next morning to explore the valley. We first climb to Chimmi Lhakhang, a 15th-century fertility temple dedicated to Drukpa Kuenley, a Buddhist saint who is said to have defeated evil spirits with his ‘Thunderbolt of Flaming Wisdom’, earning him the nickname the Divine Madman, and then explore the Pungtang Dechen Photrang Dzong, the valley’s ancient fortress, which dates from 1637.
Beyond, the fields are alive with colour as a thousand Buddhists assemble to hear a sermon by Trulku Jigme Chhoedra, the country’s religious leader. There are monks swathed in terracotta and tangerine kasayas; elders from the mountain villages in black ghos and white shawls with matching whiskers; giggling novices with freshly shaved heads; and wizened old women wrapped in silk scarfs the colour of glacier water.
With dawn I’m headed down the dusty road from Como Uma Punakha to a field beside the river where a modern helicopter awaits. In a pioneering partnership with the Royal Bhutan Helicopter Service (the kingdom’s fledging air ambulance fleet), well-heeled travellers staying at Como’s properties can now be among the first to visit some of the kingdom’ s most remote corners as part of a six-night scenic heli-adventure.
The itinerary includes two flights – from Paro to Punakha via the rarely-visited Laya Valley, and from Punakha to Paro via the Utsho Tsho, the Turquoise Lakes of the Labatama Valley – but I’ve managed to hitch a ride in the opposite direction, visiting Laya en route to Paro’s international airport.
With a roar from the turbines that reverberates off the mountain sides, British captain Nik Suddards pilots the new Airbus helicopter up Punakha Valley, offering a bird’s eye view of the Nalanda Monastery and the sacred peaks of Jigme Dorji National Park, home to snow and clouded leopards, Himalayan black bear, red pandas, and ancient glaciers. After 40 minutes in the air we circle the tiny village of Laya, the Kingdom’s highest settlement at 4,115 metres above sea level.
Located in one of the most remote and least developed parts of the country, Laya is home to the semi-nomadic Layap people, a r elatively affluent community that harvests cordyceps, a rare fungus used in Chinese and Tibetan traditional medicine. Their Bey-yul, or hidden paradise, is protected from mischievous spirits by an ancient gate at the village entrance.
Foreigners are extremely rare in Laya, as are helicopters, and after landing above the village, we’re greeted by curious locals including two young sisters – I am the first foreigner they’ve ever seen.
Our last day is spent climbing to the Taktsang Palphug Monastery, a prominent Himalayan Buddhist site also known as Tiger’s Nest, set on the side of a dramatic cliffside. Reaching the top is not as challenging as it was when it was built in 1692, when visitors had to risk life and limb on tiny footholds set into the rock, but it is still a minor feat with 700 steps down into the canyon and back up again to the monastery (which need to be repeated on the hike home).
Thankfully, once you make it to the shrine and take in the soaring views across the kingdom’s mountainous interior, you’re guaranteed your biggest Bhutanese smile yet.
