It was a familiar refrain in my household — a small, chaos: “Mummy, mummy you’re not listening. Put your phone away.” But that Tuesday, it landed with more weight than usual. I didn’t like the way my son saw me: distracted, half-present, worn down. Between managing two businesses, solo parenting, older parents and squeezing in crumbs of exercise, I was stretched impossibly thin. And somewhere in that moment — burnt toast, inbox overflowing, child tugging at me, I realised I didn’t need a break. I needed to stop, before I broke. Never one to do things in halves, I booked a trip to Bhutan.
Bhutan isn’t an obvious choice for a midlife reset. It’s not “lounging in linen” or “sipping something green” at a silent retreat. But ever since I was a teenager, I’d been fascinated by this Himalayan kingdom that I’d heard existed in quiet defiance of everything the modern world holds dear. A country that measures success not by profit margins but by happiness.
Three weeks later, I was on a flight weaving precariously through the Himalayas toward Paro, Bhutan’s capital, and home to one of the world’s most dangerous runways. When we landed, instead of the usual baggage claim dash, every single passenger simply stood there — silent and wide-mouthed on the tarmac, encircled by the majestic mountain peaks. I’ve visited more than 40 countries but never experienced anything like this. And it was precisely in that moment that I knew that I was exactly where I needed to be.
Bhutan
Nestled between the economic and political powerhouses of China and India, with a population of just more than 760,000, Bhutan, a country never colonised, truly beats to its own drum. Thick lush forests blanket most of the land and it is the world’s first carbon-neutral country. You won’t find a single billboard, McDonald’s or even traffic lights disrupting their way of life. Foreign visitors were only permitted to arrive in the 1970s, and television and the internet were introduced in 1999.
I was determined to start the trip with an experience both wholesome and humbling: a night in a Buddhist monastery. I had imagined being driven, suitcase in hand, to the front gate. The reality was different. Dropped at the base of a steep mountain with only my backpack, my guide reassured me it’s an easy hike that locals do in an hour. It took me two and a half — a thunderstorm didn’t help, though it was mostly my fitness. We reached at twilight and out of the fading light, the Dodedrak Monastery appeared, glowing against the sky. Its sudden presence was breathtaking. Butter lamps in the 12th-century monastery glistening like stars on stone and the thick scent of incense welcomed me. I slipped into the temple in time for evening payers where dozens of burgundy-adorned monks chanted ancient scriptures in unison. The vibrations settled deep in my bones. Within minutes, my shoulders dropped, my breath slowed and I felt a calm I hadn’t known in years. That night gave me a glimpse of what Bhutan could teach me. But the moment that truly cut through my digi