Sitting pensive amidst a teal river in Bumthang, Bhutan

 On a hike in Bumthang, Bhutan, Instagram

On a hike in Bumthang, Bhutan, Instagram

Bhutan in the winter energizes the hunger for discovery that's resident in children lucky enough to be young. It would take a dark closet for decades to produce this contrast anywhere else, the specialness clear with every sip of cold mountain air or gentle exchange. I can't say this is what travel should always be, because it's only through their unique set of occurrences that yielded such an outcome. But what they have set up, from my effortless post, has a wonderful effect. Wool is nowhere near our eyes, and we are learning individual lessons from the backgrounds we brought. I almost feel inclined to state I'm not an affiliate, but I did not buy this experience. One should take my musings with this factor in mind. If I didn't earn my place in this country, does that make my words as weightless and discardable as crow feathers? Certainly not as constant as a prayer flag, whose words are established and worthy of fame.

I think we've been reset. Winter. New starts. Distillation of enthusiasm. I wonder if we have become a group energized to learn on the road, a band of international brethren, one capable of taking an engaging experiment and making it result in great things. Maybe it's just the rarity of Bhutan bringing the special and the beautiful out of complex beings. In the mountain air, we've become primal and receptive to the cleansing powers of the new.

Written in between temple visits on a hike in Bumthang, Bhutan while traveling and working.