And so we ventured east, further into the more rural part of Bhutan; it's time to head to the more remote regions to see the countryside, explore some dzongs (old fortresses that were built over 400 years ago to repel the invading Tibetans) and hike up some mountains to see ancient monasteries, colourful temples and golden topped stupas.

Everywhere we drive there are rows of brightly coloured prayer flags fluttering in the wind, sending out millions upon millions of prayers to all the corners of the earth. Some are long, tall and white - they're memorial flags for people who have died. The red, blue, yellow and green ones cluster together in long multi-coloured strings, like tendrils of washing blown almost off the line. They are quite often placed at the top of high roads or on the sides of a mountain where the wind will be at its strongest and send the prayers the farthest.

Although the road to Punakha is narrow and takes us around and over quite a few mountains and we have to cling quite scarily to the side of road when we encounter a large painted beast of a truck coming in the opposite direction, the sight of some prayer flags up ahead is more than welcome, it usually indicates that we have reached the crest of this particular mountain and it's time to head back down the other side. It also means a chance to stop, stretch our legs, take some photos, admire the view and hope that one of those gaily printed bits of fabric is doing its job and the next truck we meet will stick firmly to his side of the road.

The architecture here is really distinctive. The windows of the houses are a work of art, intricately painted and carved, whilst the rest of the house is usually painted white, with more decoration around the eaves. On the outside the walls are decorated with figures, usually scary looking gods or ferocious animals intended to frighten off demons. There is a custom of painting large erect phalluses too, as a sign of abundant, ferocious manliness apparently. But it does look more like some teenage boy has gone mad with a marker pen to my eyes, I'm obviously missing something.

Punakha is the old capital of Bhutan and is home to the oldest dzong in the country (which is where our new chums the King and Queen of Bhutan got married). We climbed a steep hill to a temple that was filled with more grotesque statues of demons and evil spirits, the idea being that they will scare away any malevolent immigrant forces and protect the country. I think the climb to the top will just about see off those lazy devils. It certainly nearly did for us.

During the day the streets are littered with sleeping dogs. It's only when we got to bed that we discovered why they are so tired and what they have been saving their energy for - copious barking. Barking and a-howling all night long. Honestly you'd think they would get sore throats, no wonder they are zonked during the daytime. The guide book recommends bringing ear plugs - they aren't joking.

Bhutan is, of course, Buddhist, as is our guide, so we are learning lots about the Lotus born Buddha, Guru Rinpoche who flew here from Tibet on a tiger (landing at the Tiger's Nest monastery that is perched on the side of a mountain and where we are climbing to on Christmas Day), and a bloke called Shaptung who founded modern Bhutan by firing an arrow an awfully long way. We even have a cd playing in the car occasionally, with a sonorous voice telling us all about the four noble truths, which we try to absorb, particularly the bit about 'the earthly enjoyment of sexual pleasures' without becoming all English and self conscious of course, but it's after lunch, the road is long and winding and the voice is silky and repetitive so before long we are fast asleep and the wisdom of the ages has, yet again, passed us by. Not for the first time remarks Brian drily, at least I think it's the ancient knowledge he's referring to.

Our hotels tend to be big on service, but not quite as good at the ongoing maintenance, so rooms are a little shabby and sometimes cold (freezing in the bathrooms where even the strongest of fan heaters cannot compete with the acres of floor or ceiling tiling). And the dining rooms are as cold as the rest of the hotel, except for a few lonely heaters scattered around - we try to get to the restaurant early so we can appropriate one and kick it under our table without anyone noticing, but as Brian has an aversion to leaving home without having triple-checked his belongings, hat perkily perched on right side of head, iron not left on, small puppy fed, plants watered, note for the milkman etc, that rarely happens.

Service at dinner is a little too eager, waiters bound over with undisguised enthusiasm to show us to our table, pull out our chairs, flamboyantly flourish our napkins and offer us a range of delicious beverages. They then gallop off to the kitchen and reappear moments later with our drinks and a slightly self-satisfied smirk. Although a lot of the food is delicious (notwithstanding the dominance of carbohydrates in each and every meal), it is mostly cooling by the time it reaches our table, lukewarm by the first mouthful, tepid by the second, stone cold by the third.

Meanwhile those ever keen waiters circle like guards operating spotlights in a prison yard; at the first sign of possible discontent or the slightest indication that a request for something may be forthcoming or even the merest hint of a dislodged salt cellar, they rush over, fussing and smoothing desperate to be of help and yet making us too nervous to make any sudden movements in case we get mobbed by a bevy of exuberant waiting staff.

Maybe we should start putting up our own prayer flags and wishing for some central heating and some plate warmers, or then again perhaps we should stop whining, put some more clothes on and appreciate what a marvellous time we are having here. I think that Buddhism lark might be rubbing off on me.

Om Mani Padme Hum, indeedio and a very merry Hare Krishna to all