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When a child is born in Bhutan, they are visited by an elder monk who triangulates their astrological chart: a detailed reading of past lives and future fates intended to serve as a guide on their journey through life.
It felt fitting, then, that on my first day in Bhutan—as my journey began—my guide, Sonam, escorted me down to a private lounge at the first lodge in Thimphu, the capital city, to have my own astrological chart deciphered and read. Excited to hear about my previous incarnations and what the next decades of my life have in store, I eagerly offered up my birthdate, exact time, and location to an old man wrapped in vermillion robes. His smile faded to something more serious as he studied a tome of swirling Tibetan script.
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Then, his grin returned, evidently pleased with the results of his calculations: “You have no past lives,” he said, firmly. After seeing the confusion on my face, the elder monk proceeded to explain that, according to his scriptures, I was from another realm. I had come down to Earth to understand the human condition, and, at the end of my life—once I leave this plane of existence—I will venture home to share my findings, never to return again. “You are visiting Earth to understand suffering,” he added, succinctly.
Parts of his reading rang true—my unflagging curiosity about the world had led me to a career as a travel writer—but, having majored in art history at university, I had always assumed that my desire for truth stemmed from a study of beauty, not pain. “Where there is beauty, there is suffering,” Sonam posited softly, as we left to get ready for a busy day of sightseeing. As I came to learn, maybe he was right.
I had often considered the relationship between beauty and suffering during my travels, whether taking a wretchedly long flight to see an incredible, untouched part of our planet or hiking through punishing verticality to reach an unmissable vista. But suffering in Buddhism is a wholly separate conceit—less a corporeal infliction and more a condition of the mind. To covet beauty was to invoke desire, and the act of wanting was the root of all suffering.
Buddhism reached Bhutan in the seventh century, its arrival documented through myths of flying tigers, shapeshifting prophets, and the slaying of demons that spawned the first temples a hundred years later. And since then—for well over a millennium—the impossible topography of this nation of crags and ridges has allowed Buddhism to continue flourishing in private while repelling the inevitable encroachment of globalization.
It was only in 2020 that the country issued its first business license to foreign investors, and Aman, arguably the world’s most respected luxury hospitality company, was invited to build an outpost of its brand. Predating even the arrival of Coca-Cola in Bhutan, Aman began its ambitious creation of Amankora, refocusing the Land of the Thunder Dragon, as locals often dub it, through its distinctive luxury lens—“Bhutan by Aman”—as part of an ambitious plan to become a low-volume, high-quality destination for travelers. With only 780,000 inhabitants, the country would be easily overwhelmed if the floodgates of mass tourism were ever opened.
Today, Amankora consists of five captivating lodges sited in distinctive valleys across the country’s western and central mountainscapes. And the name is apt—“Aman” means “peace” in Sanskrit, and “kora,” in the local Dzongkha dialect means “journey”—but in a land long famous for measuring Gross National Happiness instead of its economic output, I should have known even before my astrological seance that this journey would ultimately be a cerebral one.
Sonam would be my guide for the next ten days (two nights at each station on the Amankora circuit), working in tandem with the high-end travel planning service Black Tomato, whose fingers extend to almost every destination around the globe. Beyond the capital, the volume of vehicles quickly thinned as we took a snaking road that carved its way through the perilous mountain passes, heading east. I pulled out my notebook to share a shortlist of sights with Sonam that I had been hoping to see—destinations captured in saturated colors on Instagram—including the country’s many dzong, or striking monasteries.
Each of Bhutan’s regional hubs features one of these prominent fortresses with an administrative complex and a dedicated monk body inside, and the dzong at Punakha, a couple of hours beyond Thimphu, is arguably the most stunning. But our visit was brief, as the crowd of visitors had thickened. “Come, I want to show you something else instead,” Sonam whispered. “Something you can enjoy without anyone else around.”
We promptly headed to the next lodge on the route. The Amankora Punakha is a favorite holiday hangout of Bhutan’s royal family, and, several years prior, one of the Queen Mothers had built a stupa along the edge of a cliff nearby. Sonam walked three steps ahead of me through the chaff of the surrounding rice fields, confirming with different farmers that we were heading in the right direction. When we arrived at the top of the shrine, the entire gorge had opened itself wide, the little dzong in the distance dwarfed by the granite spires of the surrounding mountains.
Gangtey, further on, was even more rural than Punakha; a marshy hamlet dotted with the nests of migrating black cranes. Sonam and I trekked the length of valley at his suggestion, passing lonely farmhouses and gilded prayer wheels that spun like windmills in the rushing riverbeds underneath. The next day we walked the same circular path from the lodge, but in the opposite direction. I had hoped to visit a nearby mountain pass reachable only by a near-vertical hike; “but why would we do that,” Sonam wondered, “when no two days are ever the same down here in the comfort of the dell.” The clouds had rolled in, and our steps were slower this time as we listened to birdsong in the brume.
By the time we reached Amankora Bumthang, the most easterly of the five lodges, it had begun to rain; one last monsoon before the end of the year, born in the tropics of India. “None of the other travelers are going to make it,” explained the lodge’s chef as I sat down to dinner alone. The roads were too rutty for the other guests to complete their transit, and the storm clouds above had stopped all domestic air transfers as well.
“Since you’re the only one here tonight, I’m going to cook a special dinner for you!” Before I could even signal my agreement, the chef had zipped back into the kitchen, pots clanging. Mealtime was always an agonizing exercise, deciding between Western courses made from produce grown nearby, or tangy Bhutanese curries tinged with chilies and served over red rice harvested a few villages over. Out came an eclectic assortment of delicious Chinese and Indian dishes—flavors that have influenced local cuisine—served in beautiful brass bowls.
In the morning, I had hoped to burn off my dinner’s calories and follow a trailhead for a full-day hike up to a photogenic viewpoint, but with the drizzle unabating, Sonam shifted our plans once again, foregoing our miserable, muddy trek to take me to what seemed at first like an unassuming place of worship. In fact, Jambey Lhakhang was in fact the oldest Buddhist temple in the entire country—according to legend it was constructed in a single day, along with 107 other sanctuaries across the Himalayas, to subdue a giant demon. In the courtyard, young men and women rehearsed the graceful movements of a dance that would soon be performed at a local festival. The afternoon showers plinked the shingled roofing overhead, and the roar of the thunder dragon broke the silence in the quaking hollow.
My grin furrowed like the elder monk studying his astrological tome as I studied my unfulfilled bucket list scrawled in my pocket notebook. I tore the page out and threw it away—I didn’t need it anymore. I hadn’t needed it in the first place.
Sonam did humor my propensity for planning, however, and kept the country’s one truly unmissable experience for the very last day of my trip—a journey up to the Tiger’s Nest. As the legend goes, Guru Rinpoche, one of the key figures in the dissemination of Buddhism across the Himalayas, rode on the back of a flying tigress to a rocky perch where he proceeded to meditate. The site was consecrated with a compound of shrines in the late seventeenth century, and is today one of the most stunning feats of architecture in the country, and possibly the world; its white turreted frame seemingly floating above Paro’s fields of red rice some 3,000 feet below.
Visitors begin the upward march shortly after sunrise, but Sonam had a surprise—a chopper at first light to take us up and over the sanctuary for a unique walk down to the craggy ledge. From up above, amid the colorful prayer flags fluttering in the alpine wind, I could see the pilgrims gathering below, breathless after their upward slog. Some were devotees coming to make a wish deep within the temples’ inner sanctums. The others were brandishing their iPhones, furiously snapping photos for their Instagrams. My sentiments were admittedly caught somewhere in between.
Upon my return to the lodge, my hosts had arranged for one more traditional Bhutanese experience—a hot stone bath. As I slid into the large tub—a wooden basin filled with river water, bushels of healing khempa (artemisia) herb, and glowing stones warmed over a fire—and the quiet of night, soaking my limbs after a long day out, I finally understood the true nature of the Amankora journey: beauty without suffering.
Everything you need to know about planning a trip to Bhutan
We live in an era of one-click bookings, but a travel planning service is an essential commodity when sorting out a trip to Bhutan, as visas and convoluted flight plans can be tricky for DIYers. A favorite partner of Aman, Black Tomato is the choice provider of mind-expanding holidays, regularly staking their sterling reputation on each epic journey they curate around the globe for their coterie of A-lister clients.
Flights into Bhutan are operated by the national carrier, Druk Air, or Royal Bhutan Airlines, which does not codeshare with other airlines. The Himalayan nation currently receives inbound planes from only two airports: Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport (BKK), and New Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport (DEL).
Entry into Bhutan for almost all foreign nationalities requires a $40 one-time visa fee, plus a $200 Sustainable Development Fee per day (yes, per day) that safeguards against over-tourism and ensures that places of worship retain their sanctity. Additionally, road permits for cross-country passage will need to be sourced by your tour operator. While the capital city Thimphu is a full-fledged city in its own right with restaurants, markets, shops, and bars, smaller towns have significantly more limited infrastructure.
A stop on the way to Bhutan is unavoidable. Due to flight timing—and the need for breathing room should delays occur—it’s best to build out your layovers in Bangkok and/or New Delhi into proper vacation codas rather than painful interstitial one-nighters.
Summers in Bhutan are monsoon season and should be avoided. The ideal time to visit is in October and November when the weather is dry and generally sunny; mornings are chilly, but t-shirts can be worn at midday. March and April are popular as well for clear skies, cool temperatures, and blooming alpine flowers.
The five Amankora lodges are organized as follows from west to east: Paro, Thimphu, Punkha, Gangtey, and Bumthang. International flights land at Paro, and it’s possible to take a domestic flight from Paro to Bumthang to cut some of the overland driving time between the farthest lodges. For those with a limited amount of time, it may be tempting to focus one’s brief visit on Paro and Thimphu as they are the easiest to reach, but it’s well worth venturing deeper into the central part of the country where tourist numbers dwindle and the temples and landscapes feel even more hallowed.
Each regional capital is punctuated by an audacious dzong: a fortress that doubles as a monastic complex, dramatically situated along rivers and gorges. The dzong at Punakha is a photogenic favorite, but make sure to earmark a day in Paro to climb up to the Tiger’s Nest, a profoundly stunning temple complex that easily earns its place alongside Angkor Wat or the Taj Mahal as one of the most captivating architectural creations of a bygone world.
The recently organized Trans Bhutan Trail connects a network of paths and passages used for centuries by nomads and traders to move between settlements. Elements of the trail can certainly be incorporated into an Aman journey, but, as my guide pointed out, practically every walk in the country promises beautiful mountain vistas—many much more wondrous than these. The upshot of the trail is that it’s new, so the circuit is well maintained, but it’s not necessarily a bucket list itinerary.
Most locals possess two sets of clothing—Western attire for their casual time (sweatshirts and jeans etc), and traditional formalwear for attending work or visiting places of worship. Beautiful robe-like apparel—called go for men, and kira for women—are stitched together from vibrant, multicolor patterns; your guide will be donning one as they escort you around the country.
Tourists aren’t expected to wear local garb (though it’s well worth trying it on during your stay to appreciate its warmth and the intricate way it’s assembled and worn), but great care should be taken when selecting clothing for one’s temple and fortress visits. Bodies should be completely covered from the neck down, and as go and kira are more free-flowing garments, overly tight attire is discouraged as well—swap your yoga pants for a jogger that goes all the way to your ankles. Also, keep in mind that you’ll have to remove your shoes when entering a shrine, so you’ll want versatile footwear for hard and soft terrain that’s a cinch to slip on and off.
For general sightseeing, go with layers—the altitude means cool evenings and mornings, but strong sunshine in the middle of the day. Pack two of everything when it comes to your daywear and not much more, as complimentary laundry is provided at all of the Amankora lodges. Monk’s robes and the swatches of formal attire are commonly red, orange, and burgundy—consider prioritizing those colors on your outermost layer if you’re keen to blend in.
Rice and spice. If you’re going to try one traditional Bhutanese dish, make it ema datshi (pronounced ‘emma dot-say’): a stew-like curry made of chillies, yak’s milk cheese, onions, and tomatoes, served over local red rice. And do be warned that the local peppers are eye-wateringly hot! Momo—dumplings—will be more familiar; in Bhutan, they are pockets usually stuffed with pork mince, cabbage, ginger, and garlic.
Colorful masks depicting deities and demons are commonly used in festival dances; they make for unique keepsakes, but pricing is rather opaque, with widely varying costs depending on the quality and materials. For unique textile design, check out CDK, across the street from Le Meridien in central Thimphu. A favorite among the women of the royal family, the shop sells designer kira modernized for international consumption, as well as local fabrics repurposed into compelling homewares, like pillow covers.