THE STUFF OF LEGENDS

The Himalayas of northwestern Bhutan are peaks of such otherworldly beauty, locals believe them to be home to spirits. In the remote village of Laya, an annual highland festival celebrates their earthly inhabitants — but don't be surprised if you come across a strange creature or two

- WORDS: ANGELA LOCATELLI.

The Buddhist charms hanging from the rear-view mirror tremble, and I worry our luck has left us. The car jolts its way up a road dug from the mountain as if with a shovel, raising dust and passing boulders that would look impressive if they weren't quite so close. Every scattered rock sends me bumping against the side window, the headrest, once even the roof; I reach for the grab handle, but my strongest grip isn’t enough to hold me steady. The driver says something in the local Dzongkha language, though I can’t quite make out the words over the gasping engine: it’s either “Goley, goley” (‘Slowly, slowly’) or “Jogay, jogay” (‘Let's go’).

Taking your time, hurrying up; it's my second day in Bhutan, a small kingdom wedged between India and Tibet in South Asia, and already the dichotomy has come to define my time here. For while I've been on the road nonstop except to sleep, the journey ahead is still long. I'm heading to Laya, the country’s highest-altitude permanent settlement at 3,820 metres (12,533 feet) and one of its most remote, for the Royal Highland Festival, a celebration of mountain communities held for two days every October. Reaching it involves a six-hour drive from the western city of Paro to the northern town of Gasa; a three-hour 4WD ride on dirt tracks to the base camp of Taktsimakha; and a five-hour hike to the village.