It’s Day 03 of our ride, and we’ve still not hit the halfway mark. The journey through Bhutan is slower than expected—but not in a bad way. Everyday brings new experiences and memories to keep for a long time. 

We rolled out of Punakha early this morning, reluctantly packing up after an indulgent night at our resort. Mornings in Punakha are crisp and golden, and today was no exception. The eastern ridges were catching the first blush of sun as we strapped on our gear. The bikes hummed to life one by one, the air alive with the promise of yet another winding, wondrous ride.

The day’s destination: Gangtey, tucked deep within the wide bowl of Phobjikha Valley—one of the most isolated and serene places in Bhutan.

I couldn’t stop smiling under my helmet. It was one of those rare, perfect mornings—where the road stretches ahead like a promise and the world feels wide and quiet.

Almost immediately, we began to climb. It’s along this road that I spot the perfect place for an impromptu photoshoot against an incredible backdrop. What a stunning backdrop for a book cover.

The road to Gangtey rose steadily, winding its way through dense alpine forests. Towering pine trees lined both sides, their trunks thick and straight, their needles glistening with dew. The forest smelled incredible—pine sap so strong that I truly felt like I was riding through Christmas. Every turn revealed a fresh slice of untouched wilderness. And unlike the chaotic roads of many countries, Bhutan’s were a dream—smooth, well-maintained, and blissfully empty.

We were riding at elevations approaching 3,300 meters (10,800 feet), and you could feel it—the air a bit thinner, the wind cooler, sharper. I found myself adjusting my breathing every so often, taking long, deliberate inhales. And today, miracle of miracles, my butt wasn’t complaining to me. I’d finally broken into my bike seat. The soreness from the first few days had ebbed away, thankfully. It felt good to ride.

Partway up, we stopped at a tiny roadside stall perched on a bend with a panoramic view of the valley below. A young woman greeted us with a shy smile and showed us her handwoven yak wool scarves—soft to the touch, with earthy hues of grey, ochre, and rust. I think we all ended up buying some souvenir from these stalls, whilst Tarique enjoyed these breaks to smoke a cigarette.  

Then came the climb over Lawala Pass, at an altitude of 3,360 meters (11,020 feet). This is the third high-altitude pass we’ve conquered on this journey so far—and each one feels like a small pilgrimage in itself.

The pine forests gave way to wide, open slopes with thousands of prayer flags lining the road, their colors faded from sun and snow, flapping furiously in the wind. Each one carried mantras printed in Tibetan script, sending prayers into the sky with every gust. We parked the bikes and stood for a few moments, letting the wind rush past our ears. It was cold, wild, and deeply spiritual.

As we descended into Phobjikha Valley, the landscape changed once again. The valley opened wide—bowl-shaped and silent, surrounded by low, gentle hills. No power lines. No modern clutter. Just open grasslands, wooden farmhouses, and yaks grazing like they owned the place. It felt like stepping back in time.

Rising above the valley was the graceful Gangtey Monastery (Gangtey Goemba), our next stop. Perched on a low hill, it looked like a palace of peace. Built in the 17th century by Gyalse Pema Thinley, the grandson of Bhutan’s great treasure revealer, the monastery is one of the most important Nyingma monasteries in the country. It’s been restored lovingly over the years, but it hasn’t lost its soul.

We walked through its tall wooden doors into the main courtyard, where the stone slabs still bore the wear of generations. Inside, the monastery was dimly lit by butter lamps, their golden flicker casting long shadows on the centuries-old murals. Gigantic statues of Guru Rinpoche, Buddha, and other deities looked down on us in serene silence. The scent of incense and melted butter hung in the air—soothing, sacred. It was hard not to be moved. And sadly, no photographs are allowed inside. 

While we were taking a tour of the monastery, Onyalie had joined a group of young monks playing badminton in the open courtyard. It was such a beautiful moment—joyful, innocent, and completely unscripted.

Hungry and happy, we made our way downhill to Nubding, a small cluster of homes and shops tucked into the hillside, where we stopped for lunch. It was a simple affair—hot rice, spicy ema datshi (Bhutan’s famous chili cheese dish), vegetable curry, and some steaming momos. But it was delicious. After hours on the bike, the heat of the food felt like it reached all the way to my toes.

At this point, Himal decided to take us on a detour across the valley which was actually a spectacular sight. 

But unfortunately, the ride had to be cut short as we had to rush back to the Black-Necked Crane Information Center, just outside Probjikha.

Though the cranes only arrive in winter (around late October), the center provided fascinating insight into these elegant birds and their sacred place in Bhutanese culture. The locals believe the cranes bring blessings with them, and their arrival is celebrated with dances and rituals. The wetlands around Phobjikha are protected just for them. Standing in the quiet of the center, looking out at the vast valley, I could imagine what it must feel like when the cranes arrive—hundreds of them, gliding in silence.

Inside a spacious outdoor aviary live Karma and Pema, two rescued black-necked cranes under care at the rehabilitation center. The facility has since become their safe haven, offering medical care and a peaceful environment as they heal.

But the real surprise came when Karma caught sight of Graeme. For reasons known only to him, the moment he locked eyes with Graeme, he burst into a joyful frenzy—flapping his wings, bobbing his head, and performing a rather enthusiastic crane dance. It was pure delight… right up until he got a little too carried away and took a rather ungraceful tumble. Clearly, Graeme’s fanbase is not restricted to starstruck cricketing enthusiasts! Or as we are to find out later, border control and airport staff. (await those stories)

We reached Kichu Resorts (the final of this hospitable chain of resorts) in the late afternoon, the light already beginning to turn golden.

The resort sits just on the edge of the valley—modest, warm, and welcoming. After checking in, most of the group headed off to rest or unpack.

But Krishni has other plans for me. So we laced up our boots and set off on a spontaneous 2km uphill walk behind the resort. The trail was narrow and winding, flanked by pine trees and beautiful wild flowers. The forest was completely still, except for the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional bird call. As we climbed higher, the valley slowly unfolded behind us—green fields, snow covered mountains, the monastery in the distance glowing in the last light.

Back at the resort, the evening ended like most others…lots of local brew tasting and Bhutanese cuisine. 

There are moments in travel that don’t need commentary—only presence. And this evening in Gangtey was one of them.

Total Distance: 60 km | Total Time: 8 hours | Altitude: 3,360m