There’s something very special about seeing the Tiger’s Nest Monastery for the first time, after having seen it everywhere on the internet and in travel magazines about Bhutan throughout my life. It has popped up in many different instances, as the picturesque first impression of a country that is still so ‘mysterious’ to the Western world.
Even after seeing the photos, nothing quite prepares you for the way it clings to the cliffside, in a seemingly impossible position, perched above the valley.
Our hike up was on a Sunday, mid-January. Contrary to what people would expect, it was beautifully warm. The sky was a clear, uninterrupted blue, and the sun stayed with us the entire way up. I had brought a thin fleece with me, convinced it would be cold in the mountains, but within minutes it was tied around my waist – and there it stayed for the rest of the way.
We’re quite used to hiking, so we kept a steady, quick pace. The trail was quite lively due to it being a Sunday afternoon. Wee passed a number of groups making their way up and down, sharing short moments of camaraderie; the same feelings of effort and anticipation of seeing the monastery reveal itself between the foliage on the side of the winding forest path. I should add that this is where we found out about the Clematis vitalba, or the Old Man’s Beard, as it’s commonly called due to its wispy appearance. A plant that our guide told us is said to grow only in areas of very clean air,and here it was, lining the tree branches all around us!
The most challenging part (or, shall I say, the only challenging part) of the hike came near the end: the long staircase down into the gorge, only to climb back up again toward the temple entrance. It’s the kind of stretch that makes your legs question your life choices for a moment. Especially with the sun generously warming us up, we had to stop a couple of times to catch our breath. And then, all of a sudden, you look up, and you’re there.
Inside the Monastery, shoes have to come off. The temperature shifts instantly. The stone floors, carved into the mountainside, were cold. While exploring the different (gorgeous, hand-painted) rooms, and listening to our guide explain the stories, symbolism, and Buddhist history behind each space, I kept quietly stepping into small patches of sunlight streaming through the windows, warming my feet for a few seconds at a time. It became a little ritual: we’d walk in, onto the cold stone, I’d find the warm light beams, and we’d stand there listening to the whispered explanations of the ancient roots of each building.
You are only allowed to enter the Monastery, when you are accompanied by a Bhutanese guide, which makes all the difference. This could have been simply a beautiful viewpoint, and the Buddha statues in each room would have grasped our attention nonetheless, but this way they became a living story of Guru Rinpoche, of meditative monks, of faith and devotion woven into this fantastic display of architecture.
And then, as quickly as we had climbed, we made our way back down; much faster this time, energised by the descent and very motivated by the thought of lunch waiting for us below.
It kept lingering with me that this was all happening mid-January, when I’m used to gloomy weather elsewhere. Bhutan in winter is not harsh or gray, but bright, crisp, and just very pleasant. The sunshine, the clear mountain air that fills your lungs, and the quiet hum of pilgrims and hikers made it all seem like the perfect day to come see this magical place for the first time.