Introduction
Nestled in the embrace of the Himalayas lies the small Kingdom of Bhutan, where its capital Thimphu sits at an elevation of 2,320 meters, quietly balancing ancient Buddhist traditions with modern life. This city of just 150,000 inhabitants has not a single traffic light. Instead, white-gloved police officers gracefully direct traffic with elegant hand signals at intersections—a daily reminder that this is a place where time moves differently.
Bhutan stands alone as the world’s only nation to measure Gross National Happiness (GNH) rather than mere economic output, prioritizing spiritual well-being over material wealth. More than 70% of the country remains forested, with the constitution mandating at least 60% forest coverage—making it an environmental pioneer. People still wear traditional dress daily: ghos for men and kiras for women, while Buddhist teachings permeate every corner of daily life.
Perhaps I was drawn to this mystical kingdom because my spirit, weary from modern society’s relentless pace, yearned to understand what true prosperity might mean. These three days spent in the thin air and clear light, surrounded by people whose gentle smiles seem to hold ancient wisdom, would quietly challenge everything I thought I knew about happiness and success.
Day 1: Gateway to the Kingdom of Clouds
Landing at Paro Airport felt like threading through clouds themselves. Known as one of the world’s most challenging airports, the approach requires the aircraft to weave through deep valleys, descending between towering green mountains dotted with white houses that looked like illustrations from a fairytale book.
The drive from Paro to Thimphu offered breathtaking scenery. The winding road followed the Paro River, with colorful prayer flags—tarchos—fluttering in the mountain breeze. My driver, Pema, greeted me with fluent Japanese and a warm smile. He had studied in Japan a decade ago and now guides Japanese visitors, he explained. “In Bhutan, we wake each morning and pray, ‘May this be another blessed day,’” he shared as we climbed higher into the thin air that made my heart beat faster—a reminder that I had truly arrived somewhere special.
Entering Thimphu, I was immediately struck by the architectural harmony. Every building followed traditional Bhutanese design, adorned with vibrant decorative elements. Even in the city center, no high-rises pierced the sky. Instead, a timeless serenity seemed to hover over everything.
My accommodation was a boutique hotel that honored traditional architectural styles. The wooden structure radiated warmth, and the lobby displayed beautiful thangkas—Buddhist paintings—depicting intricate mandalas. After checking in and settling my luggage, I immediately set out to explore the streets.
In the gentle afternoon light, I made my way to Tashichho Dzong. This fortress-monastery, built in the 13th century, now serves as both government seat and monastic center. The contrast between white walls and deep crimson roofs was stunning, glowing almost divinely in the afternoon sun. Within the grounds, young monks in maroon robes walked quietly, their presence washing over me with a sense of purification.
In the central courtyard, an elderly monk was teaching younger disciples. Though I couldn’t understand the Dzongkha language, the gentle tone and the earnest expressions of the young listeners made me feel I was witnessing something precious being passed down through generations.
For dinner, I tried traditional cuisine at a local restaurant. Ema datshi—a stew of chilies and cheese—was far spicier than expected, making me sweat while simultaneously becoming addictive. The red rice had a texture similar to Japanese brown rice, growing sweeter with each chew. The restaurant owner, dressed in a beautiful kira, asked with concern if the food was “too spicy?” Her kindness immediately revealed the warmth of Bhutanese hospitality.
That night, opening my hotel room window, crisp mountain air caressed my face. The city’s lights were modest, allowing the star-filled sky to feel within arm’s reach. From the distance came the sound of chanting from a monastery—those deep, resonant voices carrying me into peaceful sleep.
Day 2: Embraced by Tradition and Nature
The morning air was surprisingly pure. Despite the high altitude, it felt refreshingly clean, as if each breath reached the depths of my lungs with crystalline clarity. The hotel offered both Bhutanese and continental breakfast options, and I chose the local fare without hesitation. Suja—butter tea—was salty and initially surprising, but I quickly understood its practicality for high-altitude living. Thukpa, a noodle soup, warmed both body and soul with its gentle flavor, providing energy for the day ahead.
The morning was spent at the National Folk Heritage Museum, which preserves and displays traditional Bhutanese lifestyles. Replicated rural buildings housed carefully curated collections of farming tools and household items. Most impressive were the handwoven textiles—the fabrics used for kiras and ghos, all hand-dyed with complex geometric patterns woven throughout. Learning that a single garment takes months to complete, I marveled at the vast time and skill behind such beauty.
In the museum courtyard, an elderly woman operated a traditional spinning wheel. Her experienced fingers moved deftly, transforming raw wool into beautiful thread before my eyes. Though we shared no common language, she smiled and invited me to try. As I fumbled with the unfamiliar technique, she laughed gently and guided my hands with her warm touch. That moment of intergenerational skill-sharing moved me deeply.
The afternoon took me to Memorial Chorten, built in 1974 to honor the third king and serving as a focal point for local devotion. Upon arrival, I found many people circumambulating the stupa clockwise. Young and old alike walked slowly, murmuring mantras as they moved.
I joined their circle. Initially awkward, I gradually found the rhythm natural, feeling my mind settle into stillness. The elderly woman ahead of me carried prayer beads, infusing each step with devotion. Her reverent figure conveyed decades of deep faith, inspiring me to naturally press my palms together in prayer.
Inside the stupa, vibrant Buddhist paintings filled every surface, while the soft glow of butter lamps illuminated the sacred space. Here I met Tshering, a university student studying Japanese. Though her Japanese was imperfect, she explained Bhutanese Buddhism with heartfelt earnestness. “For us, Buddhism isn’t something to study—it is life itself,” she said, her words resonating deeply.
In the evening, I visited the weekend market, open only on Saturdays, where local farmers brought fresh vegetables, spices, and handicrafts. Chilies alone came in numerous varieties, each with distinct heat levels and aromas. Yak cheese was rich and creamy, its luxurious taste filling my mouth during a generous tasting.
In one corner, an elderly craftsman sold handmade wooden items. His small Buddha sculptures, though simple, possessed profound character. Holding them revealed the wood’s warmth and the maker’s pride—years of experience embedded in each piece.
Through Pema’s introduction, I was invited to dine with a local family. The traditional three-story Bhutanese house used the ground floor for livestock, the second for living space, and the third for grain storage. The wooden living room on the second floor was warm and welcoming, with family photos and Buddha statues carefully arranged on the walls.
The family prepared an extraordinary feast: ema datshi, kewa datshi (potato and cheese stew), grilled pork, and fragrant butter tea. Each dish celebrated natural flavors with rustic, profound taste. While the family marveled at my chopstick skills, I admired their graceful way of eating with their hands.
During dinner, the grandfather shared stories of his youth, when cars didn’t exist and all travel was on foot. Yet everyone was happy then, he said, his eyes crinkling with contentment. His words made me ponder what true prosperity might mean. As I prepared to leave, the grandmother placed a handmade kata—white scarf—around my neck. “May you be blessed with happiness,” she whispered, and my heart swelled with emotion.
Day 3: An Eternal Symphony of Prayer
My final morning began on the hotel rooftop, gazing over the city. Thimphu emerged from morning mist like a city floating on clouds. Distant mountains gleamed golden in the sunrise while nearby buildings sent up wisps of cooking smoke. I stood there for a long while, trying to etch this beautiful scene into memory.
The morning was spent at Changankha Lhakhang, one of the city’s most important temples. Built in the 11th century, this ancient temple is famous for blessing children. After climbing the steep path, I found the small but majestic temple, its ancient Buddha statues radiating the weight of centuries.
There I encountered a young couple with their infant, seeking blessings for their child’s healthy growth. As the monk chanted mantras over the peacefully sleeping baby, I felt the profound sacredness of life. Though we shared no language, parental love transcends all boundaries, and their tender scene deeply moved me.
Leaving the temple, I visited the Handicrafts Bazaar for final shopping. Though tourist-oriented, it showcased beautiful crafts made by skilled artisans. Particularly striking were the intricate wood-carved Buddha statues and brilliantly colored thangkas. Shop owners explained that completing a single thangka could take months or even years.
At a small souvenir shop, I purchased handmade incense sachets. The shopkeeper explained, “This is juniper fragrance. Bhutanese families burn it each morning to purify their homes.” The scent filled my nostrils with forest freshness and subtle sweetness, once again connecting me to Bhutan’s natural abundance.
For lunch, wanting to taste ema datshi one final time, I returned to the same restaurant from my first day. The owner remembered me and asked, “How was Bhutan for you?” When I replied, “It’s a beautiful country. I was moved by the richness of people’s hearts,” she smiled with genuine pleasure. I savored this last meal slowly, reflecting on all my experiences.
Before heading to the airport, I made a final stop at Buddha Point. The massive Buddha statue atop the hill overlooking Thimphu stands 51.5 meters tall, seeming to watch over the entire city with gentle protection. From the statue’s base, the view of Thimphu allowed me to retrace my steps from the past two days.
Before the Buddha statue, many people offered quiet prayers. Tourists of various nationalities joined locals in pressing palms together, each carrying their own hopes and wishes. I naturally joined them, praying for the happiness of everyone I had met during this journey. The sound of tarchos fluttering in the wind seemed like blessings from heaven.
During the car ride to Paro Airport, Pema told me, “Please return to Bhutan again. They say anyone who truly loves Bhutan will always come back.” Though the scenery outside should have looked the same as when I arrived, somehow it appeared different—perhaps because something had taken root in my heart.
After completing departure procedures, while waiting to board, I reflected on these three days. The smiling faces of Bhutanese people, the clean air, the beautiful nature, and most importantly, the profound understanding of prosperity that transcends material wealth—all of this had settled deep in my heart.
As the plane lifted off, Bhutan’s mountains appeared and disappeared through the clouds, as if bidding a reluctant farewell. Pressing my forehead against the window, I quietly waved goodbye, my heart filled with gratitude for this beautiful kingdom.
Conclusion: What Felt Real in an Imagined Journey
This journey existed only in my imagination—a fantasy born from longing. Yet the beauty of Bhutan, the warmth of its people, and the profound lessons about happiness that transcends material prosperity feel as vivid as if I had actually walked that land, breathed that air, and embraced those souls.
The concept of Gross National Happiness, the constitutional mandate for 60% forest coverage, the preservation of traditional culture, and above all, the people’s serene and compassionate way of living—these are all real aspects of Bhutan that offer valuable lessons for those of us navigating modern society.
Though this was an imagined journey, the question I learned from Bhutan’s people—“What is true prosperity?"—will serve as an important guiding principle for the rest of my life. The sound of tarchos dancing in the wind, the salty taste of butter tea, the warm touch of handwoven kira, and the genuine smiles of the people—these memories will never fade from my heart.
When the day comes that I truly set foot on Bhutanese soil, I hope to experience as reality the warmth and wonder I felt in this imagined journey. Until then, these memories will continue to remind me that happiness, like the mountains of Bhutan, stands eternal and unshakeable, waiting for those who seek it with open hearts.
