The day was filled with such randomness that my dehydrated self wondered if I had, in fact, stumbled into an alternate world.
This world had me judging a mastiff competition and riding a yak. It had me breathing thin air, as women in funny hats sold their goods under prayer flags. There was the singing. And the dancing. And the men in orange suits feeding the masses boiled eggs and rice.
You could not rip the smile off my face.
This, despite the thirty-six hours prior, when a stomach bug rendered my warmest thermals unusable and sent me packing to the home of one of our horsemen for a night of convalescence. The bug had depleted my body, but not my spirit. We hadn’t even hit the trail yet, and already I’d seen glimpses of an alleged Shangri-La.
You may know it as the tiny Himalayan kingdom of Bhutan. Or perhaps you’re unfamiliar? Either way, tuck in. This is a story worth sharing.
Watch the Film, In Search of Happiness: Hiking Bhutan's Snowman Trek
What on Earth Brought Me to Bhutan?
I was there to shoot a documentary with friend and filmmaker Kendra Slagter. We’d taken up the task of redefining western society’s ideals of Happiness and Success in a country that seemed to have it all figured out.
Bhutan measures itself not on GDP, but something it calls GNH. Gross National Happiness informs the country’s policies with the holistic goal of balancing material and non-material values. In other words: the government genuinely cares about its people. Conversely, the people not only care about their leaders, they revere them.
(Imagine?!)
Whether or not we’d find ourselves in some otherworldly nirvana, I didn’t know. The real kicker would be our hike. Our film would take us along Bhutan’s famed twenty-two day Snowman Trek, widely considered one of the toughest on the planet.
Would we find renewed definitions of happiness? Mental health on this side of the world has been plummeting. Were the people of Bhutan less stressed? What would we discover in the middle of nowhere at sustained altitudes of 15,000 ft and more? Maybe we were nuts to do this.
It didn’t matter.
We were here for it—the good times and bad, the crazy and sane, the planned and unexpected. As two women obsessed with hiking, we knew the whole thing spelled adventure. Besides, a healthy dose of serendipity had found its way into my orbit, and when serendipity comes knocking, you answer.
As it turned out, 2024 would be the magical year of ‘50.’ Not only had I become a woman of a certain age—insert furrowed brow, or wait, better not— Bhutan was also celebrating a 50th. It was 1974 when this mysterious country first allowed any outsiders in. And, drum roll please, this same year marked the birth of the company who happens to make my fave outdoor packs.
All signs were pointing me in the direction of Bhutan!
After sharing our idea for the film with Osprey, they jumped on board as lead sponsor. Make no mistake, I’d not have line danced in Bhutan’s remote highlands. Kendra would not have met his Majesty King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck. And we’d not be editing this film with our myriad epiphanies were it not for the generosity of Osprey.
Happiness in the Sweeping
I’m not talking the accidental meditative state you can find yourself in while using a broom. This was ‘sweeping’ of another kind—a concept I’d not heard of but certainly experienced.
I’m a slow hiker at the best of times. It’s partly my body’s natural pace and partly a desire to stay at the back of the pack where I’m free to lollygag. I am the turtle! Eventually, I get there. And it really doesn’t bother me to stroll into camp last.
Ahem. Re: that violent illness I referenced?
As luck would have it, well, it lingered for days. Sure, I soaked up the thrill of yak riding at Laya’s Royal Highland Festival the day before our hike had begun. But I did not have the stamina to tackle 3,000 ft in elevation gain and eight hours of hiking up bouldery terrain on Day One of our trek.
Gawd.
I’d seriously considered quitting. A fellow hiker had already tapped out just steps before our big ascent. “I should put myself out of this misery,” was my most coherent thought.
It was humbling to find myself the ‘Weakest Link’ in our group of fifteen trekkers; I’d already monopolized significant guide resources just making it to the trailhead. (Truthbomb: Sam is flopped onto an emergency horse and manhandled all the way up to Laya, babysat by three out of six guides.)
Whatever.
I had to get it together; we had a film to shoot! And that meant shelving my fragile ego and taking my usual spot at the back. I’d be glued to guide Lopsang, a thirty-six-year-old professional who carried my pack and walked that same turtle pace directly behind me. I insisted he go in front—not a fan of holding anyone back—but he resisted.
“Sam, I’m the Sweeper. It’s my duty to stay at the back. And this is where I’m happiest.”
“I’m sorry, you’re the what now?” I’d asked.
“The Sweeper. We all take turns looking after the last hiker, and I like it back here. I’m enjoying talking to you. And helping you.”
His toothy grin said everything. He was serious! His English was impeccable, so there was nothing lost in translation. I tried to relax as I watched the distance widen between us and the rest of the team widen. Lopsang was unfazed. Surely, I should be?
As things tend to go when challenged, there’s always a silver lining. Had I not been the turtle—a compromised one, at that—it’s possible I wouldn’t have engaged in such deep conversation with Lopsang. I seized the opportunity to ask him about his own happiness.
Was he happy? And if so, why?
Lopsang spoke of feeling content. He loved his life of guiding. He loved “nature and feeling the peace of his country” and the cool, mountain air on his cheeks. He spoke of not being “overly worried” about tomorrow. He was present-moment focussed, a trait held by most practising Bhuddhists. Meanwhile, I was stewing about getting through another night of forecasted stomach pain.
This whole ‘sweeping’ thing taught me so much about myself—notably, the need to swallow my pride and accept help—and showed me an enduring version of Happy. Happiness is not about being fast. It’s not about getting there first or even walking a journey without suffering.
Happiness is in the moment. Happiness is in the helping. Happiness is accepting our vulnerability as human beings.
I witnessed more with fellow guide Kinley, who had his own opportunity to ‘sweep’ me a few days later when that godforsaken bug returned for more good times. (Ask me how many offerings I left on the side of the trail and I will tell you it was less than twelve but more than ten!)
Kinley’s gentle but playful personality got me through another vile day, and he did it by insisting we allow time for unabashed photo sessions. Near the village of Thanza, we’d been falling behind the others when the terrain morphed abruptly from its usual bouldery craziness to—wait for it—sand!?
There we were, in the middle of the Himalaya, prime Snow Leopard territory surrounding us, traipsing through rippled pools of powder. How weird! We stopped for a full blown photo sesh, after which Kinley shared his apple juice and chips with me.
I can confirm that it was the best snack I have ever had. Such a simple, kind gesture, and yet. The combination of the sweetness in the juice and the salt in those Lays Spicy Tomato chips seemed to perk me right up. That was the last of my sickness for the remaining days of our hike!
Proof of Lower Stress Levels
For context, I run like a chicken at home, despite my claims of turtle-status. (That pace is reserved for the trail.) I’m probably a lot like you—inundated with the dings and pings of my phone, while chasing carrots on life’s incessant treadmill. My running has been the direct result of conflating western society’s ideas of Success and Happiness, a trap that’s led to multiple burnouts and three career changes since I was twenty-seven.
Needless to say, I recognize stress when I see it. Hiking, on the other hand, is my prescription for solace.
Even in my weakened state, I could feel my body’s fight-or-flight status dissipate. I’d slipped into the comforting rhythm of rising with the sun, walking seven to eight hours, and eating three square meals a day. Healthy meals, might I add. (Think hearty soups, think mushrooms and peppers and rice, and you’d be bang on.) There wasn’t a hint of having to wolf something down for fear of running out of time. Short of the uncertainty of the weather each day, there was nothing to worry about.
Naturally, I found myself searching for clues in the locals we’d meet along the way. What of their stress levels? How did they balance family and work? What pressures did they feel, if any?
Our first Rest Day was slated for the high-altitude village of Lhedi (12,600 ft). Tents were set-up on the town's only archery field, where community yaks wandered by in confusion over the sudden arrival of outsiders. Fun fact: Bhutan issued just sixty permits for its Snowman Trek this year; our group nabbed sixteen of them. Further fun fact: archery is the country’s national sport!
My first clue as to how the Bhutanese handle stress hit me upside the head at the local clinic. We were invited to tour the rudimentary facility, led by the region’s only physician.
He’d been there ten years already, having walked hours in all directions to provide care to the eight hundred odd residents living in the remote Lunana area. I was in awe of his passion and even more so of a sign that seemed to sum up Bhutan’s GNH philosophy in one pointed statement:
"The life is uncertain. Living and dying is the prerequisite for the wholesome life. A nation with invalid and sickly people is not a happy nation."
Although the clinic was modest in its offerings, we were impressed with their systems. Ditto, their stats! Tears rolled down the cheek of one of our trekkers—a naturopathic doctor— as she listened to the physician fire off the top medical concerns of the year: colds, headaches, gastritis and toothaches.
No heart attacks. No cancer. No stroke. No debilitating illnesses to speak of. And something that shocked me: no suicides in ten years. Let that sink in— mental health appeared stable even up here. In the cold. In an area cut-off from the bulk of society! Had we found our elusive Shangri-La at 12,600 ft?
Issues I’d assumed would make life difficult all had an answer. Like, how they fared in the winter at such altitudes…
Simple: villagers in these isolated areas of Northern Bhutan would shore up their lives and make the five-days-on-foot journey south to the city of Punakha (4,179 ft) for the duration of the winter. Just like that. I mean, not an easy task. Far from it. But something they’d adapted to and accepted over the years.
I was suspicious of this apparent lack of stress when further evidence of Happiness greeted me in the form of shy smiles, yak cheese and ‘ara’—Bhutan’s traditional alcoholic drink—which is sure to put hair on your chest!
Hospitality and Happiness—One and the Same?
Still in Lhedi on our Rest Day, a dozen of us had piled into the home of a local family. It appeared this was a spontaneous arrangement, and my immediate thought was: “No way would I be down with twelve strangers showing up on my doorstep without notice!”
But in Bhutan, visitors are not just visitors. They are treated like guests! The notion was referenced time and again so why would this day be any different? I’m certain they had other things to tend to—like most families living this far north—mushrooms to harvest, yaks to herd, that sort of thing. After all, the inevitable hands of winter’s clock were ticking, so life had to be busy.
Not too busy for unannounced hospitality, it seems?
Unlike many of us in the West’s productivity-driven society, this family dropped everything to welcome us into their bucolic home. The lady of the house, a barefoot and statuesque mom about forty-five-years-old, greeted us warmly, rolling out literal red carpets for us to sit on.
I watched with a sense of kindred familiarity as her young daughter appeared out of nowhere, all dance-y and prance-y in pig-tails, picking up the family cat with her tiny hands. The living room was bright and cheery, with sunlight streaming in from the traditional Bhutanese windows. No nails in the wood-board floors, I noted… another telltale sign of Bhutan’s legendary carpentry skills.
A man I assumed to be her husband stoked the fire in the iron stove while she doled out oddly-shaped pieces of something called ‘chugo.’
And after learning all about this strange cheese—considered the hardest in the world, as confirmed by those of us who tried more than an hour to break it down!—a bowl of booze was placed in my hands. The family’s ‘ara’ was made from fermented grains and about the strongest liquor I’d ever tasted. Not wanting to be rude, I sipped as long as I could then donated the rest to my salivating friend.
The family did not speak English, but we learned through our guides that they are “content” with their lives (their word). Some of their kids had already left the home to pursue jobs in larger cities, while they were happier in their peaceful Himalayan setting up north.
I couldn’t blame them. (How often have you wanted to run for the so-called hills?) Out here, life appeared wholesome, if not taxing. Surely it wasn’t easy living off the land at such altitudes. But there they were—legit smiles. Kindness, next level. While just a small sample of polled Bhutanese, my collection of Happiness proof was expanding.
Happiness in Hypoxic Laughter and High-Altitude Passes
You can’t write a piece on Himalayan Shangri-La without mentioning the nights of hypoxic laughter with your tent-mate. I’d not expected Kendra and I would get along so well. I mean, sure. She’s a cool human, so why wouldn’t we?
But there’s that classic ‘elephant in the room’ situation. Kendra was twenty-seven at the time. And you know me: already middle-aged. (Old enough to be her mom, that’s for damn sure!) I wondered if this difference would present any challenges in our chemistry.
Nope.
Our mutual passion for hiking and the outdoors, accompanied by our shared film project, were more than enough to seal the bond right from the get-go. And remember, our first night in a tent began with my putrid initiation into Bhutan, making things super ‘up close’ and ‘personal’ from Day One!
So, after bearing witness to all those bodily fluids, nothing was off limits in the convo department.
On one particular night above 16,000 ft, the effects of thinner air hit us hard in the form of rampant giggling. Kendra was regaling me of her past online dating experiences, throwing the two of us into stitches for hours! But it wasn’t just that. The silliest minutiae would trigger our fits of laughter—from her crowded sleeping bag (it housed all camera gear and at least six spare power banks!) to the sounds of horse grunting right outside our tent.
We simply could not ‘deal,’ and in every way possible, we were thriving.
These are the joys that come from pushing your comfort zone limits. Altitude, sharing a confined space for weeks at a time, getting and staying grungy on the trail—it all makes for hilarity at the end of each day.
Similarly, our arrival to those high-altitude mountain passes would elicit hugs, tears, laughter, and “can’t even’s!” As seasoned hikers, we didn’t expect to be challenged so physically. Our guides would downplay the approach to the passes in our nightly briefs, even describing one such ascent as “little recurring bumps.” In the words of a fellow teammate, those ‘bumps’ were more like “a series of lung-searing, quad-ripping mountains!”
When we reached the highest pass of our Bhutan Snowman Trek (Rinchen Zoe La, 17,470 ft), a rush of emotion bowled us over. We felt the culmination of a year’s worth of dreaming, planning and executing. We were humbled by the physicality of the trek itself. We were inspired by the peace and harmony of the country. We both had grown in ways we’d not anticipated.
That particular hug said everything.
On reflection—and, if you’re spiritual in nature—it can be said that Bhutan must have wanted us to undertake this mission. Typically, this trek is fraught with inclement weather, making the already tricky terrain that much trickier. (So much mud, so many rocks to navigate!) But our experience seemed divinely ordered. We faced just one difficult day of snow/sleet/rain and often arrived atop those high passes to bright blue skies.
Think about that for a moment: how did we score such a hall pass?!
Every day we’d walk in gratitude, thankful to our guides who’d prayed each morning and night for our safe passage, and thankful to the Gods for the opportunity to search for a different version of Happy.
Had Bhutan become the Shangri-La Kendra and I hoped it would be? Unequivocally.
We’d bonded with each other, with our beautiful local support team, and the expansive majesty of those Himalayan peaks. Oddly, the skin on my face had begun to flake off in a kind of aligned exfoliation, revealing something fresh and new.
I’d decided that I could incorporate some of this newness into my world at home. I could walk a little slower in my everyday life. I could seek out opportunities to ‘sweep’ others. I could spend more time in gratitude.
I could accept that Happy for me is waking up each day to a new chance to ‘be.’ On my own terms. I could cultivate some of that Bhutanese Shangri-La feeling right here in my own backyard.
Photo Credit: Kendra Slagter
