Reflections on Bhutan and the Journey Along the Mekong River

Bhutan had been on my bucket list for years, one of those dream destinations that felt both mystical and deeply grounding. I longed to experience the country famed for its Gross National Happiness, to see a society that measures wealth not by money but by contentment and purpose. When I finally arrived, the views felt almost surreal, as if I had stepped into a living painting.

The people were everything I had imagined and more: kind, humble, and generous, yet dignified and deeply proud of their culture. There is a warmth and grace in how they carry themselves, a sense of quiet confidence that comes from being connected to something larger, with faith, community, and a profound respect for their king and traditions.

The King of Bhutan himself embodies this delicate balance between tradition and progress. He is leading the country gently into the 21st century without compromising its soul. Yet, as tourism and social media gain influence, I noticed subtle shifts, especially among the youth. While it was refreshing not to see young people glued to their phones, one could sense the tension between the allure of the modern world and the wisdom of the old ways.

Food in Bhutan was another revelation, nourishing, flavourful, and honest. Every meal felt balanced: red rice accompanied by a variety of vegetables and meat dishes, with butter, cheese, and chillies making frequent appearances. Even their tea, known as butter tea, reflects their philosophy, simple yet rich, sustaining, and made with care.

Everywhere I went, the spiritual undercurrent of Buddhism was palpable, from the fluttering prayer flags to the quiet strength of monasteries and nunneries. People live by the virtues of faith, respect, and simplicity. There is a collective understanding that life’s purpose lies not in wanting more, but in being present and grateful. Peace, tranquillity, and a path of non-resistance define daily life. Yet, even in this land of harmony, modern challenges are emerging: rising suicide rates, divorce, and the creeping dissatisfaction that comes with comparison and consumerism. The balance, though fragile, remains beautiful, but I sense it will take great mindfulness to sustain it.

Having my own private tour allowed me the freedom to explore Bhutan in my own rhythm, eating where locals eat, wandering through nunneries, conversing with nuns, and learning about traditional healing systems. I attended archery competitions, picnicked in the mountains, and took in two vibrant festivals in different provinces. After travelling through three other countries that demanded constant planning and attention, Bhutan was a balm. Once I arrived, my soul could finally breathe. The air was fresh and pure, my eyes bathed in endless green, and my body relaxed into stillness. For the first time in a long while, I could simply be rather than constantly do. It was a reminder that this, this ease of being, is how life is meant to feel.

As I write this reflection aboard a river cruise in Laos, drifting along the Mekong River, I am again reminded of the beauty of slow travel. The cruise lasts two days, with an overnight stay on land. Some cruises allow passengers to sleep on board, but mine offered the comfort of a hotel in between. I travelled with Shompoo, one of the more reputable companies offering this route, slightly more expensive but with wonderful service. There is also the local people’s boat, a more affordable option, though without meals, sightseeing stops, or much space to move around.

Our crew of five, a guide, cook, captain, and two crew members, worked in perfect harmony. The boat itself was thoughtfully designed, with four areas to sit: the front deck, a lounge, the dining area, and a quiet section at the back. Two clean bathrooms with Western toilets and all amenities made the journey comfortable. Meals were served buffet-style, and special requests were happily accommodated. Fresh fruit, coffee, tea, and water were available throughout the day, while cold drinks, snacks, and alcohol could be purchased on board.

With space for up to 40 passengers but only eight on our journey, there was room to stretch out, reflect, or simply be silent. Shoes are not worn on the boat, which somehow adds to the sense of calm. Passengers spend their time watching the ever-changing view, chatting, reading, playing games, taking photographs, or drifting into naps as the river hums softly beneath.

Along the way, the Mekong offers a tapestry of life: farmers thrashing rice, fishermen casting nets, water buffalo cooling off, and children laughing in the shallows. Occasionally, we passed men mining for gold or spotted elephants moving through the greenery. We stopped at small villages to meet indigenous communities and explored sacred caves, each moment a glimpse into a world still tied to rhythm, nature, and simplicity.

Bhutan and Laos have reminded me that the richest journeys are not about luxury or pace, but about presence. When we slow down, when we breathe, observe, and connect, the world unfolds with quiet wisdom.

In Bhutan, my soul learned to breathe.

In Laos, it continues to flow.

Gail Hughes