Penises and Perspective: Not What I Expected when Travelling in Bhutan

I didn’t realise how tightly wound I’d become until I was standing in front of a wooden penis, laughing like an idiot with a group of travellers I barely knew.

It certainly wasn’t what I expected when I explored Bhutan as part of a tour group. 

Bhutan, known for its focus on happiness and growth, is a beautiful country steeped in tradition and culture…with a little quirk. 

The love of the phallus - painted on houses, drawn on postcards, adorned as statues, or via wooden hanging dicks.

They’re said to symbolise fertility and prosperity and to apparently stop gossip (still unclear how that works). 

The more realistic the penises, the better.

So as we stood in front of an ornately decorated phallus, my group of 50-something, mature travellers from all over the world, lost it.  

Not exactly what I expected when I got to Bhutan.

Doubled over, puns-a-plenty, snort laughing. Practically pee yourself, laughing until you can’t breathe. 

Laughing like kids. 

And something in me just…loosened. 

At the time, I didn’t realise how much I needed that. 

Before Bhutan, everything seemed….fine. I enjoyed my job, even though it was full on. 

As a single mum and as a daughter to elderly parents, I found myself pulled in so many directions. 

But still, I approached what life threw at me with a “just get on with it and get shit done” attitude.

Nothing was wrong, but I was always tired.

Something just felt off. 

Travelling to Bhutan isn’t cheap, and I almost talked myself out of it a few times. 

How could I justify a trip like this? How could I leave my kid, dog, and home for almost a month?

Giving myself permission to leave was harder than I thought. 

But in the end, I just did it. Organised life around travelling - I had my dog minded, organised the kiddo to be with his dad, and just left. 

And it was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. 

Getting away from everyday life gave me space that I didn’t realise I needed. 

Being somewhere else broke the rhythm of my everyday life. Travelling gave me perspective.

And that alone changed how everything felt.

Not only was I surrounded by beauty, nature and like-minded people, but I felt I could breathe again. Everything felt lighter.

So, at the ripe old age of 50-something, I finally learned you don’t always need a big, life-changing moment to feel different.

Definitely not a snowman

Sometimes it’s just standing somewhere unfamiliar, laughing at something ridiculous, and realising you don’t have to hold everything so tightly.

Or crossing a snow-covered pass at 3,400m, watching two boys build what you think is a snowman…

And realising it’s not a snowman.