People often ask me what is the best trip I have taken and my standard answer is the most recent trip. In April 2002 I put together a group of six friends to go high altitude trekking in Bhutan. I didn’t know much about Bhutan until six months beforehand while reviewing a world atlas and became very curious. Five months later the trip or more accurately, the adventure, became a reality. I tend to travel solo or with my husband, so the thought of traveling with six people, although handpicked, made me plan the trip more thoroughly in hopes of making this event as a seamless as possible.

The last Kingdom of Bhutan, is located in the Himalayas, directly below Tibet, with Sikkim on the East and India bordering the South. It’s about the size of Switzerland with a population of 700,000 or so. To enter the country you must obtain a visa and have an in-country tour guide lined up and your trip prepaid. If you are flying to Bhutan (vs. driving from India) you will be enjoying a flight on the King’s airline, Druk Air that has limited morning flights from Bangkok, Calcutta, Delhi or Kathmandu. The only commercial airport is in Paro, which has the longest stretch of flat land in this extremely mountainous country.

I arrived in the Kingdom of Bhutan ahead of the others to do some scouting for a travel company I was working for at the time. I was ecstatic to finally arrive 30 hours later after three plane flights and long layovers. My pre-trip research didn’t capture the rugged beauty and mystique of the country I was just entering. The tranquil environment was meditative and every sense came alive. The air was fresh, crisp and clean, totally absent of any pollution or dilution of city smells. Flowers were in bloom, rice paddies were growing throughout the Paro valley and there was space – acreage between these unique multilevel homes that housed their animals, grains and three generations of family. In the distance were hills and snow peaked mountains that looked like snow cones. It was all a glorious sight.

After three days of business touring of scouting hotels, restaurants, sights and driving times, my five friends arrived. I was anxious to share my excitement and discoveries and start trekking. We took two days to acclimate in Paro, altitude 2,280 meters,  before heading off on our 8-day trek of the Jhomolhari loop. All treks are actual walking paths to mountain villages, as there are few roads and no other way in or out. Weeks of preparation including exercise and rounding up gear for a wide range of temperatures, 75 down to 0 degrees Fahrenheit, was going to pay off. 

The start of our trek was quite an unexpected sight. We became an entourage of six trekkers, one guide, one cook, 3 assistants, 13 ponies and two pony handlers. I knew this was a supported trek but none of us expected a small army of helpers. There was gear, baskets of food, lawn chairs, kerosene containers and tents tied onto the ponies. One ungeared pony was the “ambulance” pony, just in case…We all felt a bit pampered and oh what a wonderful feeling. My backpacking experiences have always been pack just the necessities which typically included freeze dried food, wine in a plastic water bottle to accompany dinner and using a rock as a backrest. Yeah baby! This was going to be quite a riot of a trek.

Our spirits were high and the sun was blissful. The first day was an easy five hours starting from 2,520 meters and ending at around 3,200 meters, much of the day spent following the Paro River. By the time we arrived in camp, our tents were setup, a mock coffee table and lawn chairs awaited us and tea and biscuits were brought. The cook was busy chopping and cooking while singing songs and talking up a storm with his crew. You have to love a happy crew! The horses had free-roam and were chomping on what little grass was around and dogs were arriving from who knows where. We soon learned that this was going to be what I fondly called the “dung dodge” trek. Dinner was served and yikes, lots of it. Somehow this crafty Bhutanese cook managed to prepare five courses garnished with tomato rosettes. I still, to this day, try to reproduce the dessert from this first evening that was called Butter Bread Pudding.

Every trekking day was completely different than the previous in regards to surroundings, temperature and degree of difficulty. The first two days were relatively easy – a teaser for what was to come. There’s no substitute for altitude acclimatization and my companions and I all live in sea level cities, so I can clearly state that the air does get noticeably thinner. On day three, one of my fellow trekkers, noted that one of the assistants carried a unique backpack that carried only eggs – he was then known as the smiling “egg man” for the rest of the trip, which also became one of the theme songs of the trek.

Every morning commenced with coffee or tea being delivered to your tent followed by a bowl of warm water to wash with – a definite welcome luxury on any trek. On the second day, we walked passed a yak herder’s home and stopped for a rest. The wife had a concerned look on her face and we learned that her baby rolled into the cooking fire a day earlier and had severe burns on her face. The mother told us she was unable to make the two day walk to the hospital until her husband came home from his yak herding trip which was two days away.

We all went through our various first aid kits (a MUST for all trekkers) and found burn cream and bandages with which to dress the baby’s face. The mother was so thankful that it was quite moving. (Four months after our trek, Loja our guide, stopped by to check on the baby who had only two minor burn scars. The mother told him she believes the medicine help came from the god and was sent through our trekking party.) The child’s name was Tashi, which means good luck in the national language of Dzongkha.

Continuing on, we were all anxious to catch a glimpse of the regal and holy 7,314 meter Jhomolhari peak. On the third day, it presented itself for a few short minutes before the clouds rolled in and obfuscated the view. That night, my husband and I woke up to a large animal circling our tent that tripped over one of the tent poles. All I could imagine was a 1,000 pound yak falling onto our tent and crushing us like a bug under a shoe. In the morning we found footprints that indicated the animal was a wild pig – I guess a few days without a proper shower was bringing in what I figured I smelled like at this point. Fair play!

A sampling of dinner consisted of a mushroom soup, rice, a spicy chicken dish, peas, cauliflower and asparagus with chilies on the side - very civilized and delicious. The weather got noticeably cooler and the chance for precipitation appeared high. We left the tree line behind and headed for two nights at Mt. Jhomolhari base camp, elevation 4,115 meters. My hair was in two braids, a perfect trekking “do”. We passed two women heading to their village who were quite fascinated with my hair and insist on pulling on it and then giggling. Perhaps I started a new trend.

Base camp was quite comfortable with unobstructed views of this awe-inspiring peak. There was an old yak herder’s hut in our campsite that we dined in when the rain came. We ate lunch and I joined the crew in adding many chilies to my noodle soup, which I come to regret later that night. We split into two groups to do an elevation gain hike to at least 4,500 meters for the main purpose of acclimatization. We’re all successful and elated that the altitude hasn’t been much of an issue – except for me a few hours later: My head pounded, breath became short, my stomach was in knots and I couldn’t stop shaking. My chest hurt and I swear I was having heart attack (which I came to the conclusion was bad heartburn from eating those chilies) – I couldn’t have felt more miserable and frightened. My faithful husband sat next to me reading about “signs of altitude sickness” while trying to smile to make the situation appear that all is fine. I take aspirin and milk of magnesia, drink lots of warm water and eventually fall asleep. The emergency pony wasn’t going to be of help in the dark and the heavy rain, so I had to sit it out. In the morning we unzip the frozen tent door and there, in all its glory, is that mystifying Jhomolhari peak. I am ecstatic to wake up after a rough night and feel good. 

At the base camp we exchanged the ponies for yaks. Ponies can’t handle the snowy passes while yaks are bred to handle this harsh weather and geography. They are much larger than I anticipated and a bit temperamental. The yak handlers carried rocks that they hurled at the yak’s head when they misbehave. The herders aim was as good as any professional baseball pitcher I have seen. We were the first group of the trekking season to hike this route that has two passes over 4,800 meters. The trek became a slower pace, but we were determined and our motto was “no whiner’s allowed.” The first pass was unbelievably windy and cold –we were pelted by hailstones. We got to the top of the saddle of Nyelela pass at 4,890 meters and prayer flags were there to welcome us. On our descent down the other side we pass an old woman going to the town of Paro, which is a four day walk. Here we are decked out in REI gear and she barely has shoes that cover her feet – I feel like a wimp, but a comfy one. We share some snacks with her and bid farewell.

Our next camp is located in a beautiful valley and has a herders hut into which we huddle. We soon learn that there was little ventilation after the fire was lit and the room became a cloudy mass of smoke. The choice was warm fire or breathing – most of us ran in between the two. When the yaks arrived they were quite temperamental. The yak herders had their challenges trying to get our gear off them as they ran around, snarled and bucked. The landscape is now moraine-like with an occasional grouping of Rhododendron trees, a variety very different than those found in my home city of Seattle. A lonely, but spectacular Dzong was on the far hilltop that our guide, Loja, and my husband summit. Loja did not bring his Kabney, a prayer scarf that is a mandatory custom for all Bhutanese to wear when entering any Dzong, so he got himself into some hot water with the local village head. They ended up hiking on to the village of Lingzhi to receive a verbal thrashing and ask for forgiveness. 

The second pass called Yalila at 4,820 meters is our challenge today – an eight hour trekking day. It is much steeper than the first with many inches of fresh snow cover, but not untenable. We pass another Rhododendron forest which is lovely. The egg man ran ahead and to prepare lunch for us. The weather is turning for the worse. Black billowy clouds, wind and a harsh rain falls upon us. It’s probably 33 degrees Fahrenheit and we are anxious to set up camp. Unfortunately there are no yak herder huts to keep us from the elements. Our first request was to find the bottle of scotch to indulge in – it was warming as it trickled down our throats. The weather worsened and camp was hastily set-up in the middle of a yak dung area that was on an angle. We didn’t care as we were all freezing and wet and the ice cold rain was not going to let up. This was when you really learn about the quality of your gear or in my case the lack of in the rain pants department.

The next morning was just as nasty. The tent door opened up like a piece of frozen cardboard. Moving was the only way to keep warm so we set out early to reach the next camp. We were ahead of the yaks today and following the river valley. We crossed eight manmade bridges and took in the exquisite beauty of more Rhododendrons, bamboo and the surrounding mountain peaks. Here comes the downpour, rain, rain and more rain. Loja disappeared and the yaks were nowhere to be seen. The six of us huddled under a rock overhang to attempt to stay dry while amusing ourselves with songs, jokes and stories for a couple of hours. Happiness was seeing the head yak come down the trail decorated with its ornate red head ornament. Our sprits were still high and there was a brief discussion of how wonderful a hot shower was going to feel. David, a member of our trekking party attempted to request that perhaps we could shave off a day of this trek and high tail back to town. The ultimate answer was no and the next day certainly proved why.

Woke up to yet another day of rain, but this was our eighth and final trekking day. hills were relentless, like Stairmaster in high gear. The views were magnificent and bamboo and Rhododendrons were everywhere. Hidden in the bamboo we could hear the call of the elusive Red Panda – never did actually see the little bugger. Six hours later was the welcome sight of our van and driver patiently waiting with sodas, beer and assorted snacks. The trek portion of our trip came to a close and I often reflect on how fine of a crew we had, those who worked so hard to make us comfortable after a long day of trekking and then effortlessly made camp and meals for us with a smile. I hold a very high regard for these wonderful Bhutanese crew members and toast them everytime I pull out my photos.

We drove less than 30 minutes into Thimphu, the capital city, and checked into the Druk Hotel. There was much exploring to be done in the next two days. King Wangchuck believes in keeping the Bhutanese tradition intact and mandates that during the day traditional garb is worn. Men wear a gho, a beautiful knee length robe-like garment that is held in place by a woven belt or kera, with knee socks and wingtip shoes. Women wear a long floor-length dress called a kira that is typically hand woven in bright colors. School children in uniform are running about carrying little round lunch boxes full of red rice and chilies and cheese. Buddhism is the prevalent religion and education is noticeably important in conversing with Bhutanese – they are quite worldly and outside of their national language, Dzongkha, many speak excellent English and Nepali. The Bhutanese people are some of the happiest, dearest and friendly people I have met anywhere and they steal your heart with kindness and generosity. 

Each city and village has a Dzong which is the center of both the religious and governing bodies. The Dzong in the capital city, Thimphu, is the largest and quite ornate - comparable in size to the Merchandise Mart in Chicago.  We toured the paper making factory, National Heritage Folk Museum, painting school, library, nunnery and a few local arts and crafts stores. Bhutan is not widely visited by outsiders, so there are few items to purchase as mementos. I had my heart set on finding a craftsman to make a prayer wheel for me and am successful with the help of Loja. It takes many weeks to make one so the challenge is getting the finished product to the United States, which is another story in itself.

The National Museum in Paro is located in a circular watch tower that was built in 1656 and renovated in 1968.  The collection includes Bhutanese artifacts, clothing, religious tapestries and Thangkas and a very unique stamp collection. The stamp collection dates back to the 1960s with designs of astronauts, Olympic events, old railroad and car series, 3D series, Warner Brothers cartoon characters and local plants and animals of Bhutan, etc. For a country that opened to outsiders in 1974, this collection was a surprise. The only National sport is archery and Bhutan has been competing in the Olympics since 1984. In the early morning you can see many men practice and they certainly don’t mind a few spectators.

It’s easy to fall in love with Bhutan and its people and I am hopeful that this magnificent country will never be spoiled as the infrastructure increases and “progress” such as a new Coca Cola plant is built. I keep in touch with Loja by email and letters and have offered to host him in the United States. Booking a trip to Bhutan is easy. The comforts may be simple but your memories will be five star.