THE ROAD TO AGRA: RECCE FOR THE MYSTIC KINGDOMS 2026
- Scott Bannister
- May 19
- 32 min read
Updated: May 22
23/03/2025 – KOLKATA
Our journey kicks off in Kolkata—an explosive blend of energy, chaos, and vibrant spirit. As we step into Bengal’s cultural heart, the thick scent of incense and diesel fills the air, and a symphony of car horns rises in chaotic harmony to greet us. Yellow Hindustan Ambassador taxis, once the pride of Indian roads, weave through traffic alongside rickety buses groaning under the weight of passengers, their roofs sometimes stacked with sacks of rice or crates of chickens. Vintage trams trundle by on iron rails, their bells ringing a nostalgic note amidst the relentless city din.
Kolkata's streets are alive with motion—pedestrians, street vendors, cyclists, honking scooters, and the occasional holy cow jostle for space in a colourful, chaotic dance. It's a sensory overload and utterly captivating.
Our first stop is a guided tour of the Victoria Memorial, where its stunning ivory dome stands out against the expansive blue Bengal sky. Pigeons take flight in frenzied flurries from the vast lawns, and horse-drawn carriages trot by as if the clock has turned back a hundred years. The tranquillity of the memorial’s gardens provides a gentle contrast to Kolkata's bustling rhythm.
From here, we take a short drive and plunge into the labyrinth of Kumartuli, the potter's quarter, where artisans shape gods from river mud with reverence and precision. Each turn reveals a clay deity mid-creation—Durga, Shiva, Saraswati—sunlight casting soft shadows across their half-formed faces. Something is humbling about witnessing divinity born from dirt and straw.
Later, we lose ourselves in the kaleidoscope of the Mullick Ghat Flower Market. Garlands of marigolds spill from every corner, lotus buds sit in stacked bowls like sacred offerings, and vendors holler cheerfully over the thunder of the nearby trains. Towering above us is the Howrah Bridge, a magnificent steel structure pulsating with energy and life. It serves not merely as a crossing but as a living artery of the city.
As the sun sets, we retreat to the Pareshnath Jain Temple. Inside, mirrored ceilings and intricate mosaics catch the last light of day, scattering it across the floor like stars. The chaos of the city fades, replaced by the almost eerie silence of this sacred place.
Our final stop for the evening is the stately Taj Bengal. In this luxurious five-star hotel, cool marble floors, jasmine-scented towels, and exquisite Bengali cuisine provide a welcoming reprieve after a day of thrilling exploration. Today, Kolkata has dazzled, confounded, and welcomed us with open arms—its heartbeat echoing in every tram bell, every honking bus, and every turn of a well-worn Ambassador wheel.
24/03/2025 – KOLKATA TO MALDA
As we leave the opulent serenity of the Taj, the city is already awake and buzzing. Morning breaks over Kolkata in a rush of colour and sound. Rickshaws weave between honking buses, Fruit sellers lay out their wares—bananas, guavas, jackfruit, and glowing papayas—and the air carries the scent of frying puris and the spicy sweetness of masala chai.
Navigating Kolkata’s morning traffic feels like solving a living, breathing puzzle. Pedestrians flow into the road with quiet confidence, as if protected by some invisible right of way. Horns are constant—not in frustration, but in conversation, a complex code of intention and courtesy - like a language all its own. Amid the roar, clatter, and colour, the city pulses with unmistakable rhythm.
Eventually, we break free from the urban sprawl. Route 12 stretches ahead, bordered by flooded rice paddies glinting in the early sun. Banana palms sway in the breeze, and herons stand poised like statues in shallow waters. We pass through Phulia, the heart of Bengal’s weaving tradition, where brilliant new saris in fuchsia, saffron, and teal flutter on long lines—drying in the sunlight like festive flags.
Traffic slows occasionally, not because of congestion, but because rural Bengal refuses to be rushed. A wedding procession spills into the road—drummers thumping, dancers twirling in flashes of red and gold. A herd of goats shuffles past, bells tinkling around their necks, unwilling to cede their place in the road. Tractors haul teetering towers of hay and potatoes, and we wave to children darting barefoot along the roadside.
By late afternoon, the landscape shifts as we near Malda. Mango orchards roll endlessly across the horizon, their blossoms perfuming the warm breeze.
We stop at Gour, the ancient capital of Bengal and a jewel of India’s forgotten empires. Here, the past lingers thick in the air. Crumbling stone minarets rise from grassy clearings, with moss and lichen clinging to weathered walls. We wander through the great gateway of Dakhil Darwaza, once a fortified entrance for sultans, now weathered and silent. The Bara Sona Mosque, with its thirteen domes, exudes quiet reverence—its terracotta decorations still vivid with floral and geometric patterns centuries later. The Firoz Minar stands dark and stoic, a sentinel among wildflowers and towering banyan trees. This forgotten kingdom unveils itself piece by piece: a fragment of a palace here, an ancient mosque there, or an inscription carved on a hidden stone. Gour is a ghost of grandeur, quietly magnificent and hauntingly beautiful, especially as the setting sun bathes it in gold.
As twilight sets in, we check into the welcoming BM Grand Hotel and enjoy a warm meal featuring Malda’s famous mango chutney, buttered chicken and steaming rice. While savouring our well-deserved drink, we reflect on our unforgettable journey from the vibrant heart of Kolkata to the timeless beauty of Gour.
25/03/2025 – MALDA TO CHALSA
We set off early, with the morning mist still clinging to the fields. Our wheels hum northward, away from the flat plains of Malda toward the folds of the eastern Himalayas. The road is an ever-changing ribbon—smooth tarmac one moment, rustic dust the next—but the scenery never falters.
Tata trucks and Ashok Leyland lorries roll past, adorned like travelling temples with hand-painted deities, tassels, and slogans like "Horn OK Please" in bright Hindi script. We pause for chai beside roadside fruit vendors whose carts groan under the weight of jackfruit, bananas, and mountains of oranges.
As the road climbs, the land transforms. Forests close in, cool and dense. The sun breaks through in shimmering beams as we wind along ridges and past river valleys. We stop at the Hornbill Nest and Deck for coffee—an oasis tucked into the roadside, surrounded by sprawling plantations and the music of birdsong.
Crossing the Testa River, its milky waters churn below us, we press on into the Dooars region—where tea plantations roll like green oceans and mist clings to the tips of pine trees. By afternoon, we arrive in Chalsa, a sleepy hill town cradled by lush hills.
At the Sinclairs Retreat Dooars, time seems to slow. We sit on the veranda, sipping hot Darjeeling tea as cicadas strike up their twilight chorus. Dinner is a feast of flavours—poppy seed fish curry, sautéed greens, lentils tempered with mustard oil. We fall asleep to the sound of the jungle, excited about the adventure ahead.
26/03/2025 – CHALSA TO PARO
The morning mist clings to the tea leaves as we roll out of Chalsa, our journey slicing through corridors of dense forest and endless green plantations. Our route winds through the Dooars, where the wildness of the land hums with life. Elephants are rumoured to roam these jungles, and bright yellow roadside signs loom with bold warnings, making us glance hopefully into the shadows. The forest exhales around us, cool and damp, with shafts of sunlight occasionally slicing through the canopy, illuminating the undergrowth in a stained glass glow.
As we descend toward the border, the scenery gradually shifts—tea plantations give way to villages, and villages transform into bustling towns. Our path leads us through lively outposts and wide stretches lined with mango groves and Sal trees. Roadside vendors offer spicy snacks, pineapples, and woven baskets. Children wave from under banyan trees, and the scent of woodsmoke drifts from open hearths.
By midday, we arrive in Jaigaon, India’s chaotic border town. It’s a jumble of honking rickshaws, overloaded trucks, and a kaleidoscope of shopfronts—selling everything from mobile SIMs and monsoon umbrellas to momos steaming on roadside grills. The streets are alive with the buzz of commerce and conversation, embodying the restless energy of a town perched between nations.
Just a few steps away lies Phuentsholing, Bhutan’s serene southern gateway—and the contrast is immediate. As we pass under the ornately carved border gate, the soundscape softens. The wild honks and restless flow of India dissolve into Bhutan’s quiet order. The streets are clean, and the traffic is calm. Policemen in traditional attire manage intersections with silent gestures, while elegant wooden buildings rise along wide, tidy avenues, their façades painted with auspicious symbols and bordered by rows of prayer flags fluttering gently in the mountain breeze.
Crossing into Bhutan is smooth but ceremonious. At the Border Check Post, our passports and permits are inspected with polite precision. We then make our way to the Immigration Office, where visas and route permits are verified and stamped. The process feels more like a warm welcome than a mere formality. Continuing inland, we stop at several checkpoints, each manned by courteous officials who ensure our journey aligns with Bhutan’s careful stewardship of its land and visitors.
Our vehicles begin the long, gradual ascent to the Kingdom’s heart. The road winds through towering pine forests and river valleys, past whitewashed chortens and cliffside shrines where prayer wheels turn slowly in the mountain breeze. The air grows cooler and thinner as the horizon expands, revealing terraced fields, grazing yaks, and waterfalls cascading down mossy cliffs. Villages emerge like quiet dreams—clusters of traditional houses with intricately carved balconies, well-kept vegetable gardens, and children playing beneath the watchful gaze of shadowy mountain peaks.
At one scenic bend, we pause for tea—ginger-scented and steaming—sipping it beside a roadside altar embellished with offerings of rice and flowers under a fluttering canopy of flags. Here, a deep, unspoken stillness pervades the air, carried on the wind and nestled in the land.
By late afternoon, Paro unfolds before us like a secret whispered into a valley. A scattering of ochre and crimson houses nestles among fields of buckwheat and barley, all beneath the watchful eyes of forested ridges. High above, ancient monasteries cling to the cliffs like timeless sentinels.
We arrive at Le Méridien Paro, where we are greeted with warm smiles and welcoming ginger tea. The hotel integrates seamlessly into its surroundings, featuring Bhutanese architecture of carved timbers and soft stone, with wide windows framing views of the river and hills beyond. After settling in, we stroll down Paro’s main street, more a peaceful lane than a thoroughfare, lined with traditional shops, prayer wheels, and the scent of butter lamps burning in quiet alcoves.
As evening descends, a gentle silence envelops the town. Prayer flags overhead whisper in the mountain breeze, and the sky deepens to indigo as we gather around a cozy open fire to savour our first taste of Bhutanese cuisine.
27/03/2025 – PARO
After several days on the road, we wake to a well-deserved rest day in the tranquil surroundings of Paro. The morning greets us with crisp mountain air and a hearty buffet breakfast that comforts and satisfies—fluffy scrambled eggs, steaming porridge, warm pastries, and fresh fruit from the valley.
We set off early, with the sun still lingering behind the peaks, casting long shadows through the pine forests. The hike to Taktsang Monastery, commonly known as Tiger’s Nest, is both revered and challenging—a 6-kilometre round trip involving an elevation gain of over 600 meters, climbing to a dizzying 3,120 meters above sea level. The air noticeably thins as we ascend; every breath seems heavier, each step echoing in the mountain stillness.
The trail begins gently beneath a canopy of blue pines, the ground soft with fallen needles and silence. Horses adorned with bright saddles pass us, carrying less adventurous pilgrims up the trail, their hooves making a meditative rhythm. But we climb—step by step—drawn not just by the stunning views but by a deeper spiritual pull.
The scent of juniper and pine fills the air. With every turn, the valley drops further away, unveiling sweeping views of misty ridges and winding rivers. We pass prayer flags fluttering between trees, their once vibrant colours faded by the sun but whispering like echoes of ancient prayers. Stone steps begin to appear, uneven and timeworn as the trail narrows and continues upwards.
About halfway up, we reach a teahouse that seems to be perched at the edge of the world. Here, we take a moment to catch our breath and sip hot ginger tea while soaking in our first proper view of the monastery. The Tiger’s Nest clings to the cliff face, 900 meters above the valley floor, as if held aloft by magic. It is both surreal and awe-inspiring—an architectural marvel nestled in the clouds.
The final stretch becomes steep, a mix of stairs and switchbacks carved into the mountainside. At times, our only company is our shallow breathing, which quickens with the altitude. Yet, with each step, our anticipation grows. We cross a narrow footbridge over a cascading waterfall, where white silk prayer scarves flutter beside rows of spinning prayer wheels.
Finally, we arrive at the gateway to the Tiger's Nest. After leaving our boots at the entrance, we step gently into the sacred space of Taktsang. Inside, the air is thick with incense, history, and reverence. Butter lamps flicker in golden alcoves, casting a warm glow on ancient murals and statues of Padmasambhava—the Guru Rinpoche, who, according to legend, flew here on the back of his tigress wife. The soft chants of monks drift through the air, merging with the sounds of distant prayer wheels turning on the mountain path.
Time seems to stand still here. The vast drop outside the windows serves as a reminder of how far we have come—not just in altitude, but in our journey of experiences. It’s a moment that humbles and uplifts all at once.
By late afternoon, we make our way back to Paro, our legs weary but our spirits buoyant. We visit the Paro Dzong, its imposing stone walls and red-ochre roofs rising above the valley like a sentinel from another time. Inside, monks in flowing crimson robes move through sunlit courtyards, and ancient murals look on with their serene, knowing gazes.
As night falls, we gather for dinner—a Bhutanese feast that warms both body and soul. We enjoy spicy ema datshi, the national dish of chilli and cheese, served with buckwheat pancakes, steaming vegetable momos, and hearty red rice. Butter tea—salty, rich, and unlike anything we've tasted before—makes its rounds, sparking lively conversation and mixed reactions, yet leaving everyone feeling a bit more Bhutanese in spirit.
Outside, the stars over Paro shine cold and bright, impossibly close in the thin mountain air. We drift off to sleep with the scent of pine in our hair and the memories of cliffs, prayers, and breathtaking stillness in our hearts.
28/03/2025 – PARO TO PUNAKHA
We leave Paro after sunrise, the valley still shrouded in morning mist, as we weave slowly through narrow mountain roads that seem to hang between earth and sky. As we ascend, the air grows thinner and colder, and the forest thickens into a dreamscape of hemlock, fir, and rhododendron.
Our route takes us to one of Bhutan’s most iconic landmarks: the Dochu La Pass, perched at 3,100 metres (10,171 feet) above sea level. We reach the summit just as the clouds begin to lift, revealing a breathtaking panorama of the eastern Himalayas. On a clear day, peaks like Masang Gang, Tsendagang, and even the sacred Gangkar Puensum—Bhutan’s highest mountain—stand like silent gods on the horizon.
But the true soul of Dochu La lies in its spiritual tribute: 108 chortens, or stupas, known as the Druk Wangyal Chortens. Rising from the earth in concentric circles, each one is a monument to Bhutanese soldiers who died in service, and a symbol of peace and remembrance. There is a sacred stillness here, despite the altitude’s chill—a pause in the journey, both literal and spiritual.
After warming ourselves with spiced tea and red rice crackers at the nearby café, we descend toward the fertile valleys of central Bhutan. The road snakes through terraced fields and hillside villages, the landscape slowly softening into warmer tones. We follow the course of the Pho Chhu and Mo Chhu rivers, their icy waters glinting like threads of silver through the trees.
By early afternoon, we arrive at one of Bhutan’s crown jewels: the Punakha Dzong, also known as the Palace of Great Happiness. Built in 1637 at the confluence of two rivers, it is widely considered the most beautiful dzong in the kingdom. Its whitewashed walls, red-gold tiered roofs, and richly carved wooden windows seem to float just above the riverbank.
Crossing the traditional cantilever bridge to enter the dzong is like stepping into a living time capsule. Inside, vast courtyards echo with the soft shuffle of monks’ robes. Towering murals depict scenes from the life of the Buddha, while golden statues sit serene in candlelit halls. The smell of incense and polished wood fills the air. This dzong is not just an architectural wonder; it is the spiritual and political heart of Bhutan, once serving as the seat of government and still the site of royal ceremonies.
We take our time exploring the maze of passageways, shrines, and temples, pausing by the Bodhi tree in the central courtyard and listening to the river’s constant murmur. From one of the upper balconies, the view sweeps across emerald fields and distant hills—a reminder of how seamlessly Bhutan blends nature, spirituality, and artisan craftwork.
As dusk settles over Punakha, the dzong glows softly in the golden light, its reflection dancing on the river’s surface. We check into our nearby lodge, where the evening ends with a traditional Bhutanese dinner beside a crackling fire—moments of comfort, calm, and quiet gratitude after a day spent in the clouds.
29/03/2025 – PUNAKHA TO PHOBJIKHA
We leave behind the gentle warmth of Punakha’s fertile river valley as our convoy winds upward once more into the tranquil embrace of the mountains. The air becomes cooler and thinner as we ascend, and the road twists like a ribbon across the ridges. Pines give way to towering firs and groves of dwarf bamboo, their leaves whispering in the wind. Our conversation in the vehicles fades; there is a hush in this part of Bhutan as if the mountains themselves are listening.
With every hairpin turn, the landscape grows more otherworldly. As we approach the Lawala Pass, the mist rolls across the road in slow waves, cloaking the forest in soft greys and silvers. Clouds drift low, brushing across the treetops like fingers across the fur. And then, out of the mist: yaks, sturdy and unbothered, their long black coats swaying as they graze along the roadside.
And then, just as suddenly, the mountains part—and the Phobjikha Valley unfolds before us, vast, unexpected, and utterly serene. This glacial valley stretches wide, the land swaddled in golden grasses and edged by thick forest. There’s a softness to the light here, a pale sun breaking through high clouds. The valley feels untouched, suspended in time. This is sacred ground—home each winter to the black-necked cranes that travel thousands of kilometres from Tibet to feed and rest here.
We are lucky. In the distance, we spot a few—tall, elegant, almost statuesque as they move through the marshy fields. Their presence adds to the serenity of the valley.
At the valley’s edge sits Gangtey, a quiet cluster of homes and farms built in traditional Bhutanese style—timber frames, painted windows, prayer flags flapping at every turn. Dominating the village is the serene and striking Gangtey Monastery, its golden rooftops glowing faintly beneath the cloudy sky.
Our lodge sits perched within the valley, built from the same wood that surrounds it—smooth pine beams and wide glass windows with unobstructed views of the vast open plain. There’s a scent of earth and woodsmoke in the lodge and a feeling of deep calm. Our rooms are homely and very welcoming, with a fire crackling in our stoves and traditional yak hair blankets covering our beds.
As night falls, the wind picks up across the valley, carrying the scent of pine and wood smoke. We gather for dinner by candlelight, our laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the murmur of stories. Outside, the stars begin to prick the sky—sharp, cold, and startlingly bright. Inside, we are spoilt by the wonderful food and warm welcoming hospitality of our hosts, grateful for this quiet pause on our journey.
30/03/2025 – PHOBJIKA TO THIMPHU
Morning in the Phobjikha Valley arrives like a whispered blessing—quiet, silver-grey, and wrapped in mist. The wetlands are veiled in clouds, softening every contour of the landscape. Cranes call in the distance, their silhouettes gliding across the sky with ghost-like grace. We linger over mugs of hot ginger tea, watching as the world slowly wakes around us.
Reluctantly, we leave this sacred valley and begin our westward journey. The road ascends in slow, winding coils, threading back through the Black Mountains. The landscape is a living painting—pine-covered ridges stretch out like dragon spines, and pink rhododendron buds begin to hint at spring’s arrival. Yaks graze quietly along the roadside, their handlers bundled in heavy robes, while children in striped ghos and kiras wave shyly from hillside homes.
Just above the valley, we make one last stop at Gangtey Monastery. Perched high on a forested knoll, it seems to hover between earth and sky. Founded in the 17th century, this revered seat of the Nyingma school of Buddhism is both a centre of spiritual practice and a beacon over the valley. Its gilded rooftop glints against the morning cloud as we walk beneath elaborately carved eaves into the courtyard, where young monks sweep the stone floor with twig brooms. Inside the main lhakhang, the air is thick with incense and the soft flicker of butter lamps. Faded thangkas line the walls, and colourful silks wrap the massive wooden pillars. Deep, resonant chanting hums through the room—steady, grounding, timeless. We linger longer than intended, reluctant to leave the monastery’s embrace.
As the road stretches onward, we journey west, climbing and descending through Bhutan’s ever-shifting landscapes. The road undulates along deep river valleys and cuts through mountain passes, where prayer flags whip in the wind like threads tying earth to sky. We pass chortens standing vigil beside the road, and waterfalls spilling from the cliffs in silver streams. The terrain alternates between dense evergreen forests and wide-open hillsides dotted with grazing cattle.
By late afternoon, the highlands soften, and the outline of Thimphu begins to emerge. Nestled in a wide river valley, Bhutan’s capital is a curious blend of tradition and change. Whitewashed buildings with carved wooden windows stack gracefully along the slopes, framed by pine and prayer flags. There are no traffic lights here—just a lone traffic officer in a small booth, directing cars with theatrical, white-gloved flourishes. Somehow, it all works.
At the Le Méridien Thimphu, warm towels and chilled fruit juice greet us like old friends. The hotel is calm and elegant, with soft lighting, handwoven textiles, and a distinctly Bhutanese sense of design—earthy, balanced, and quietly luxurious. It’s a gentle contrast to the wild roads we’ve travelled.
As twilight settles over the city, we step out for an evening walk through central Thimphu. The streets are lively but never frantic. We pass the famous Clock Tower Square, a central gathering spot where locals mingle beneath colourful murals and rotating prayer wheels. Nearby, the scent of grilled meats and steaming momos drifts from street stalls. Craftsmen sit in open workshops hammering copper and shaping silver, their hands steady and sure. Prayer flags flutter from every rooftop, and shopfronts glow with warm light as the evening deepens.
We wander into a café tucked beside a bookstore, where local beer and hot butter tea are served with equal pride. The conversation flows as easily as the drinks and the laughter of Bhutanese students mixes with the hum of traditional music drifting from a radio behind the counter.
As night folds in, the city glows under a soft hush. We find ourselves reflecting—not just on the journey from valley to capital, but on the subtle rhythm of Bhutan itself. Thimphu may be called a capital, but “city” feels too loud a word. It moves at its own pace, deeply rooted, quietly modern, and full of heart.
Bhutan continues to reveal its spirit, not just through temples and mountains, but in the spaces in between—in the silence, the smiles, and the gentleness of everyday moments. Bhutan continues to surprise and delight us, not only with its breathtaking scenery and incredible architecture - but in the space in between - in the silence, serenity, and the warmth and kindness of our hosts.
31/03/2025 – THIMPHU TO PHUENTSHOLING
We rise early on our final day in Bhutan. After a hearty buffet breakfast, we head out for a guided tour of Thimphu. Our morning begins with a visit to the Buddha Dordenma, one of the most iconic symbols of modern Bhutan. Perched atop Kuinsephodrang Hill, this towering golden statue rises at 54 metres (177 feet)—one of the largest seated Buddha statues in the world. Built from bronze and gilded in gold, he sits cross-legged in serene meditation, gazing down over Thimphu with infinite calm.
Up close, the sheer scale is awe-inspiring. But it’s not just the size that stirs something in the soul—it’s the atmosphere. Within the body of the great statue are 125,000 smaller Buddhas—108,000 of them measuring eight inches and 25,000 standing at twelve inches—each cast in bronze and gilded like the master figure. The silence here is thick and reverent. As the sun rises, its light spills across the capital far below, touching prayer flags, temple roofs, and distant ridgelines. It’s a moment that feels sacred, personal, and vast all at once.
From this place of golden stillness, we descend into a completely different kind of sacred rhythm—the Centenary Farmers Market, Thimphu’s bustling heart of daily life. Spanning two floors beside the Wang Chhu River, the market is a kaleidoscope of colour, scent, and sound. Established in 2008 to celebrate 100 years of Bhutan’s monarchy, it’s not just a place to shop—it’s a living, breathing tapestry of Bhutanese culture.
Here, we wander through neat rows of stalls beneath a traditional timber roof. Piles of red rice, handwoven baskets of wild mushrooms, bundles of mustard greens, fresh chillies, and river ferns crowd the counters. The air is fragrant with turmeric, coriander, and incense. Alongside these are more curious offerings: yak cheese bricks—as dense as a stone and meant for long chewing—and cordyceps, the prized medicinal fungus gathered from high in the Himalayas.
Vendors greet us with bright smiles and the generous spirit that seems to permeate all of Bhutan. Cups of steaming suja, the traditional butter tea, are pressed into our hands. Nearby, hand-carved prayer wheels, local textiles, and hand-painted masks fill the artisan section of the market. This is where Bhutan's deep-rooted spirituality meets its everyday life—practical, purposeful, and entirely enchanting.
From the hum of the market, we begin our long descent toward the southern border. As the road leads us away from Thimphu, the landscape changes in slow, beautiful stages. The cool pine forests thin out and the air grows warmer, denser. Waterfalls ribbon down cliffsides, tumbling past bamboo groves and fields of cardamom. The road winds ever downward, clinging to hillsides, crossing bridges draped in prayer flags, curving through dense jungle where monkeys chatter in the canopy.
We stop often—sometimes to let a herd of goats pass, other times just to take in the view: a golden-roofed monastery tucked among trees, a roadside shrine adorned with wildflowers, a local farmer tending to orange orchards. The deeper we go, the more Bhutan feels like a dream slowly dissolving into the air.
By late afternoon, we arrive in Phuentsholing, Bhutan’s bustling gateway to the south. The altitude has dropped, and with it comes a rush of subtropical warmth. The air is rich with the scent of blooming trees, damp earth, and the faint tang of spice. Our final night is spent at the Tashi Namgay Grand, a peaceful lodge nestled beside a chattering river on the edge of the town. It feels like a quiet sanctuary, holding space for reflection before the border crossing.
01/04/2025 – PHUENTSHOLING TO ITAHARI
Morning breaks gently in Phuentsholing, with pale sunlight slipping between the folds of the surrounding mountains. We savour our final cup of Bhutanese tea on the veranda, the steam curling into the cool air as the river murmurs softly below. Around us, the town begins to stir—slowly, peacefully, as if reluctant to wake. There’s a hush in the air, a quiet sense of parting, as though even the land knows we’re about to say goodbye. It's a bittersweet moment—filled with gratitude, and touched by the melancholy of leaving a place that has quietly etched itself into our hearts.
Crossing the border into India is a step both literal and symbolic. On one side lies the order and serenity of Bhutan; on the other, the chaotic bureaucracy of India resumes in full colour. We pass through the Bhutan Gate, its intricate architecture a final flourish of Bhutanese design, and make our way through the border formalities. The difference is immediate and unmistakable: the quiet lanes of Phuentsholing give way to the animated energy of Jaigaon, where rickshaws weave between trucks and market stalls spill onto every corner.
From here, we continue by road, heading west across the foothills of the eastern Himalayas toward the Darjeeling region. The journey becomes a slow reveal of changing landscapes. The air warms, the forests grow denser, and tea plantations begin to unfurl across the hillsides in neat, green waves.
As we climb into the Darjeeling hills, the road winds through forests of sal and pine, coiling past quiet villages perched on steep slopes. The views stretch wide: emerald tea estates blanket the hills, their geometric precision broken only by the occasional tea picker in bright clothing. The scent of damp earth, eucalyptus, and woodsmoke drifts through the open windows as we pass roadside vendors selling chai in clay cups and snacks wrapped in newspaper.
Our final approach toward the Nepalese border near Kakarbhitta, just outside Siliguri, is marked by the gradual shift in air—warmer and heavy with jasmine and the low hum of life returning to full volume. The bustle of the Indo-Nepalese border town contrasts sharply with the remote silence of Bhutan, but there's beauty in this, too—the variety, the return to the world’s vibrant chaos.
We stop for lunch before crossing into Nepal. The table is full of familiar and comforting flavours—spiced lentils, biriyani, vegetable and paneer kebabs, and cold lime soda.
Crossing the border into Nepal is seamless—efficient and smooth and the transformation is immediate and striking. Where the roads through India were green and mountainous, dotted with vast plantations and framed by thick pine forests, our journey through the Terai plains of Nepal was a patchwork of mustard-yellow fields and waving sugarcane.
The scenery is wide and golden, lined with banana palms and the occasional flame tree bursting with orange-red blossoms. Small towns flash by—bustling hubs of motorbikes, auto rickshaws, sari shops, and makeshift stands stacked with pyramids of oranges, guavas, and lychees—bright jewels against dust-coated roads.
The highway is mostly smooth, occasionally disrupted by the joyful chaos of rural life. Herds of goats, sleepy cows, and the occasional buffalo lay claim to the tarmac. Tractors piled high with hay crawl along, while tuk-tuks decorated in neon lights and painted tigers dart through gaps that don’t seem to exist. The air is heavier now, rich with the smells of earth, incense, and deep-fried snacks sizzling by the roadside.
By late afternoon, the cityscape of Itahari begins to take shape on the horizon—unpretentious, lively, and full of colour. We roll into the Soaltee Westend Hotel, a modern, peaceful retreat nestled among manicured grounds. The staff welcomed us like old friends, and after settling in, we lounged in the shaded courtyard, watching the last light filter through blooming frangipani trees.
Dinner is a quiet affair—an elegant spread of Nepali thali, fragrant with lentils, spiced potatoes, and tangy pickles, served with steaming rice and warm roti. As dusk turns the sky to indigo and the hum of the town grows softer, we reflect on the contrast of the day. From Bhutan’s mountains to Nepal’s plains, we have journeyed across worlds. Tomorrow, we climb once more—into the fabled Kathmandu Valley.
02/04/2025 – ITAHARI TO KATHMANDU
We rise early in Itahari, the air still soft and cool, heavy with the scent of earth and dew before the heat of the plains begins to shimmer under the rising sun. There is a quiet energy in the air—today’s drive will be one of the most dramatic of the journey: from the flat, steamy lowlands of the Terai to the mythical heights of the Kathmandu Valley.
Leaving the city behind, the road quickly slips into the countryside. We pass through waking villages where life is unfolding in small, vivid gestures—women in colourful saris sweep courtyards in rhythmic arcs, men huddle on low stools sipping milky tea, and the smoke of cardamom-laced fires winds its way into the air. Chickens scurry across our path and buffalo lumber out of narrow alleys, unconcerned by the passing traffic.
Gradually, the terrain begins to change. The endless flatness of the Terai gives way to the rising ribs of the Himalayan foothills. Here, the road starts to tighten—winding through curves that trace ancient riverbeds and cliff edges. Golden fields and mustard and maize decorate the hillsides, while rice paddies, carved like green steps into the slopes, shimmer in the light. But beauty soon gives way to stark reality.
As we approach the hill sections, the scars of last year’s monsoon become impossible to ignore. Whole sections of the highway have vanished—washed away in landslides or collapsed into the river below. In places, the original road is now impassable, forcing us to drive directly through rocky, makeshift tracks carved into the riverbed. Dust clouds rise around us as tyres crunch over loose stone and through shallow streams. Twisted rebar juts from broken bridge pilings, and collapsed embankments reveal the raw power of water and time.
Progress is slow, demanding full concentration. Our vehicle lurches over jagged rocks and swerves around washed-out sections where the earth simply gave way. Occasionally, we pause to let oncoming trucks pass—a silent exchange of patience and nerve on this unspoken terrain. Yet even amidst the destruction, there’s a kind of majesty: waterfalls pour down sheer cliffs like silver threads, and deep gorges open suddenly beside us, framed by thick jungle and rising mist.
Eventually, as we crest the final ridgeline, Kathmandu reveals itself—unfurling in layers beneath the haze. A sprawling city of rooftops, prayer flags, ancient temples, and electric chaos. It is a living mosaic of history, humanity, and sacred rhythm, contained within a bowl of hills and crowned by Himalayan peaks beyond.
We descend into the capital’s embrace and arrive at the Soaltee Kathmandu—a grand hotel with sweeping lawns carved with wooden details, and the calm hush of old-world elegance. After a long, dusty day, the welcome is balm: cool towels, fragrant tea, and the familiar comfort of a warm shower.
That evening, we gather in the hotel’s refined restaurant for a celebration of Newari cuisine. Steaming momo dumplings, delicately pleated and filled with spiced meat; chiura, or beaten rice, dry and crisp against the soft textures of braised buffalo curry; tangy pickled radishes; and a succession of seasonal vegetables cooked with earthy Nepali spices. The food is bold and soulful, rooted in the traditions of the Kathmandu Valley, and every bite tells a story.
As night falls, the lights of Kathmandu flicker like stars caught in the fabric of the valley. The city hums with life beyond the hotel walls—temples echo with chanting, the scent of incense floats on the air, and the sounds of drums and laughter rise from narrow alleyways. We drift to sleep with full bellies and fuller hearts, the memory of riverbeds and ridgelines still vivid in our bones.
03/04/2025 – KATHMANDU TO CHITWAN
The morning light in Kathmandu is soft yet buzzing with energy, inviting us to leave the city's ancient pulse behind and head toward the wild heart of Nepal. After a hearty breakfast, we set off southwest, descending from the high valley into the lush embrace of Chitwan National Park.
As we leave the city, the road winds sharply, carving a path through the hills like a scar. The traffic is heavy—buses overloaded with passengers, honking Tata trucks adorned with gods and slogans, and motorcycles zipping through gaps like fish in a school. We settle into a comfortable rhythm, watching the landscape unfold in slow motion.
Terraced fields rise along the hillsides in perfect symmetry—vivid green with young rice or left fallow, glimmering in golden stubble. Farmhouses dot the ridges, each boasting its patch of drying chilies and fluttering prayer flags. Goats meander along the roadside, completely unfazed by the early morning traffic.
We follow the course of the Trishuli River, a glinting snake of water that accompanies us on our journey. At times, the road hugs it so closely that we can see rafters paddling through the rapids, their shouts bouncing off the canyon walls. The river seems to guide us downward, carving a route from the middle hills to the Terai lowlands.
There are moments when the highway narrows unexpectedly—sections worn away by rockslides or hastily patched with gravel. We drive cautiously through switchbacks that feel suspended in mid-air, the valley yawning below us. Landslide barriers and prayer stones mark the most precarious parts of the journey, reminders of both danger and resilience.
We make a brief stop at a roadside teahouse perched above the river—a cluster of plastic chairs under a tarpaulin roof, filled with the irresistible aroma of cardamom chai and fried pakoras. The breeze carries the songs of birds and the roar of the river, giving us a moment where time seems to stand still.
As we leave the hills behind, the landscape softens. The jungle thickens, and the air grows warmer and more humid. Trees tower above us, their trunks entwined with vines, while their canopies echo with the calls of hidden birds. The road flattens and straightens, revealing the Terai—Nepal's lowland heartland, where nature reigns and the forests feel ancient and mysterious.
By mid-afternoon, we reach Chitwan—an emerald world of elephant grass, sal trees, and dense jungle. The pace here is slower, more primal. Our lodge is nestled on the edge of the national park, shaded by trees, alive with the calls of hornbills and the distant barks of deer. A cool drink greets us, along with the warmth of the staff, who welcome us like old friends.
That evening, as the sun sinks low over the river and shadows from the jungle stretch out, we gather for dinner beneath the trees. Lanterns flicker, casting a soft glow on the table where platters of traditional Tharu food await—smoked river fish, mustard greens, spiced lentils, and warm flatbreads drizzled with wild honey. We dine slowly, immersed in the sounds of the jungle around us. There’s a stillness here that feels profound—different from the silence of the mountains, yet equally sacred. Tomorrow, we head into the jungle.
04/04/2025 – CHITWAN TO LUMBINI
The morning breaks slow and golden in Chitwan, the jungle still wrapped in mist and birdsong. By 6:30 a.m., we are climbing into our safari jeep, jackets zipped against the early chill, cameras ready, and hearts quietly thudding with anticipation. The rising sun spills amber light across the river, casting long shadows through the tall elephant grass and sal trees.
The nature reserve stirs life around us. A peacock, iridescent and imperial, perches high on a dead tree stump, surveying his kingdom with a slow, regal sweep of his tail. Monkeys leap through the canopy above, rustling the leaves in bursts of chaotic joy. We spot a marsh mugger crocodile basking at the water’s edge, its stillness deceptive, prehistoric eyes fixed on the slow-moving current.
Then—a hushed excitement ripples through the jeep. Rhino. Towering, armoured, and majestic, emerge from the undergrowth like spirits of the forest. We watch in awe as they cross the sunlit clearing, completely unbothered by our presence. A little further on, we catch sight of elephants—silent giants moving through the trees, their trunks swaying gently, their sheer presence humbling. The air smells of earth and damp leaves, and the jungle seems to pulse with life in every direction.
By 9:00 a.m., we return to the lodge, dusted with trail grit but glowing from the morning’s encounters. A hearty breakfast awaits—fresh fruit, eggs, toast, and endless cups of masala chai savoured slowly as we recount the morning's sights. It’s hard to leave, but the journey calls again.
We load up the car and set off southward, bound for Lumbini. At first, the road is smooth and open, winding past quiet fields and sun-dappled banana groves. But before long, we reach the Narayanghat–Butwal section of the H01—a stretch battered by last year’s monsoon rains and still recovering.
The Binayi Khola Bridge, once a vital link, lies damaged and half-usable. With traffic backed up and dust thick in the air, we’re diverted down into the riverbed itself—a makeshift bypass of stones, sand, and sheer improvisation. It feels more like driving through a forgotten canyon than a national highway. The dust hangs in heavy clouds, clinging to the car and filling the air with the scent of hot stone and diesel.
We crawl forward in a line of trucks, tractors, and jeeps, navigating the ruts and rocks with careful determination. It’s slow, it’s jarring, but it’s unforgettable—a gritty reminder of how Nepal’s terrain can change in an instant.
Eventually, the road climbs free of the riverbed and we rejoin the tarmac. The land begins to open again. As we near Lumbini, the birthplace of the Buddha, the atmosphere feels lighter, almost reverent. Rice paddies stretch out flat and wide, temples dot the horizon, and prayer flags ripple in the breeze.
By late afternoon, we arrive—dusty, tired, but deeply fulfilled. Another extraordinary chapter of this journey closes, and a new one begins tomorrow, in the place where peace itself was born.
05/04/2025 – LUMBINI TO LUCKNOW
We wake in the quiet elegance of Tiger Palace Hotel, just outside Lumbini. The soft morning light drapes the gardens in gold, casting gentle shadows on dew-kissed lawns. The stillness is broken only by the occasional call of a bird or the distant echo of temple bells—subtle reminders that we are near one of the most sacred places in the world. After a breakfast of Dosa and masala, we set off for a day that begins with reverence and ends in regal splendour.
The short drive to Lumbini is quiet and meditative. The flat plains stretch out beneath a boundless sky, dotted with sugar palms and grazing buffalo. We pass pilgrims walking the final miles barefoot, heads bowed in devotion. Their calm presence sets the tone as we enter the sprawling sacred zone—the spiritual heart of Buddhism, where Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, was born more than 2,500 years ago.
Our first stop is the Maya Devi Temple, which houses the exact spot of the Buddha’s birth. Inside, beneath a protective canopy of steel and glass, lie ancient ruins and a delicate stone marker that quietly marks this momentous place. Pilgrims from around the world—monks, families, travellers—kneel in silent prayer. Outside, the sacred Bodhi tree rustles in the breeze, its branches heavy with strands of colourful prayer flags, fluttering like whispered blessings.
We stroll slowly through the tranquil gardens and monastic zone, where each monastery is a world of its own: gilded Thai roofs, Tibetan murals, Korean pagodas, and Nepalese stupas. Our final stop is the World Peace Pagoda, a dazzling white dome built by Japanese monks, its reflection shimmering in a lotus pond nearby. We climb its steps in silence, pausing at the summit to take in the sweeping views of the flat Terai plains, rich with history and meaning. The golden Buddha gazes out across time, a serene symbol of compassion.
By midday, the stillness of Lumbini lingers with us as we cross the nearby border back into India. The shift is immediate and exhilarating—Nepal’s gentle hush gives way to the vivid rhythms of Uttar Pradesh.
We rejoin the highway, heading west toward Lucknow, the landscape changing with every mile. The road is smooth and broad, cutting through a patchwork of golden wheat fields, blooming mustard crops, and neat orchards heavy with ripe guava and pomegranates. The air is fragrant with earthy freshness and a faint sweetness from the wildflowers lining the roadside.
As we approach Lucknow, the landscape changes once more. Grand boulevards and Mughal domes rise from the horizon, the city unfurling like an embroidered tapestry. Known as the City of Nawabs, Lucknow greets us with an air of faded grandeur and lyrical grace. We check into the Taj Mahal Hotel, where carved wood, inlaid stone, and soft music welcome us like honoured guests. From our rooms, we can see the city shimmer in the soft evening light, the Gomti River catching the last rays of the sun.
But our day isn’t over yet. We head straight out to explore the city's storied heart. At the Bara Imambara, we marvel at the vast vaulted ceilings and wander the Bhulbhulaiya—its dizzying maze of corridors a playful test for curious minds. The air inside is cool and scented with time. Outside, beneath the towering Rumi Darwaza, we pause for photos and reflection, awed by its scale and elegance.
Later, we climb to a rooftop café for spiced chai and a final look over the city. The crescent moon hangs low over the Gomti, and the skyline of domes and minarets is bathed in a soft, silver glow. Music drifts up from the lanes below—part laughter, part tabla rhythm, part whispered story.
From sacred Lumbini to the regal pulse of Lucknow, this day has spanned centuries and worlds. And as we settle into our rooms, tired but deeply fulfilled, we carry with us the gentle silence of the Buddha’s birthplace and the rich tapestry of India’s cultural soul—woven together, vibrant, and utterly unforgettable.
06/04/2025 – LUCKNOW TO DELHI VIA AGRA
We leave Lucknow just as the sky begins to soften, first to lavender and then to gold. The road opens before us, drawing a clean line across the vast plains of Uttar Pradesh. This is the Yamuna Expressway, a feat of modern infrastructure that feels like a portal, guiding us from the history-rich Lucknow to the sublime beauty of Agra.
The journey is fluid and almost meditative. Fields of wheat and mustard stretch endlessly on either side, kissed by the sun and rippling in the morning breeze. Occasionally, we pass roadside vendors offering tiny cups of chai in clay pots or stacks of guavas and bananas neatly arranged on wooden carts. India's rhythm is present in every detail—in the kites flying above sugarcane fields, in the songs of birds echoing across canals, and in the timelessness of this land.
By midday, Agra rises on the horizon, crowned by a vision almost too perfect to be real: the Taj Mahal, gleaming white against a brilliant blue sky, as if summoned from a dream.
Our local guide meets us with a quiet reverence in his voice, his knowledge deep and his affection for this city profound. He leads us through the grand sandstone gateway, and as we pass through the vaulted arch, the Taj reveals itself in full, and time seems to stop.
No matter how many photos one has seen, nothing can prepare you for the moment. The Taj Mahal is not merely a building; it is a symphony in marble. Commissioned by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan in memory of his beloved wife Mumtaz Mahal, it took over 20 years and 20,000 artisans to complete. Every inch tells a story of devotion—pietra dura inlays of semi-precious stones, verses from the Quran exquisitely inscribed along the archways, lotus motifs, and delicate floral carvings that feel as though they could flutter away in the breeze.
We walk barefoot across the marble platform, the stone cool beneath our feet. The grand central dome rises above us, flanked by four minarets that lean ever so slightly outward—a subtle engineering feat designed to protect the tomb in case of collapse. The reflecting pool doubles the grandeur, creating the illusion of a floating palace. In this moment, it is not just architecture; it is emotion rendered in stone.
After lingering in the serenity of the gardens, we move on to Agra Fort, a massive fortress of red sandstone that once housed emperors, courtiers, and captives alike. Within its walls, we wander through history—the Diwan-i-Am, where public audiences were held; the elegant Musamman Burj, where Shah Jahan spent his final years gazing at the Taj; and the intricately decorated chambers that whisper of courtly intrigue and grandeur. Built by Emperor Akbar in 1565 and expanded by his grandson Shah Jahan, Agra Fort is both imposing and beautiful—part palace, part fortress. As we stroll along its ramparts, the view of the Yamuna River and the distant shimmer of the Taj Mahal remind us how tightly history and landscape are intertwined here.
By late afternoon, our stomachs are rumbling, and we stop at a local restaurant renowned for its biryani—fragrant basmati rice layered with tender spiced chicken, saffron, and caramelized onions. The flavours are rich and celebratory, the perfect final taste of this journey's culinary mosaic.
At 4:00 PM, we begin the final leg of the road trip, driving toward Delhi International Airport. The expressway offers a smooth ride, but our minds are full, turning inward now. Traffic builds as we near Delhi, and the modern world rushes back to meet us.
And so, the journey winds down—from the chaotic charm of Kolkata, through the mystical highlands of Bhutan, the steamy jungle plains of Chitwan, and the sacred stillness of Lumbini, across the storied ridges of Kathmandu, and through the regal elegance of Lucknow, to this final, unforgettable day in Agra.
What began as a recce quickly transformed into something deeper: a moving exploration of history, humanity, and the untamed thrill of the open road. Each bend, each border crossing, each conversation has helped shape the soul of the Mystic Kingdoms. Life is too short for boring roads and this is no ordinary driving adventure. It’s a journey through ancient kingdoms and living temples, mist-draped mountains and tiger-haunted jungles, timeless villages and royal cities—a route where every mile tells a story, and every detour leads to discovery.
We had an extraordinary time crafting this route and can’t wait to welcome you in August 2026, to experience the thrill of driving like never before.
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