As the afternoon light settles over Paro valley, cars begin to line the narrow road leading to the airport viewpoint. From the grassy hillside above Bhutan’s only international runway, families stand shoulder to shoulder, eyes fixed on the tarmac below. What was once a casual stop to watch planes land has become one of the country’s most emotionally charged places—a quiet stage for thousands of goodbyes.
Phones are everywhere. Some are held up, recording the slow movement of aircraft taxiing toward the runway. Others are pressed close to ears, carrying soft conversations between those on the hill and loved ones already inside the terminal. These are the final exchanges—last reminders, last jokes, last ordinary words spoken before distance takes over.
“In one way, this is a place of smiles,” said Lhakpa Duba, who has visited the viewpoint many times. “People come here to welcome loved ones home or to watch planes land and take off. But it is also a sad place, because this is where we watch our loved ones leave.” He added that there have even been cases where parents depart while leaving their infants behind.
The scenes unfolding on this hillside mirror a growing national trend. In the first six months of the 2024–2025 financial year, more than 2,500 Bhutanese were granted visas to Australia. According to figures from Australia’s Department of Home Affairs, 1,211 student visas and 1,451 dependent visas were approved during that period. The majority of those leaving—1,387 people—were young adults between the ages of 20 and 29, with many heading to Perth.
Statistics like these take on flesh and feeling at the Paro viewpoint.
“Children leave to build a better future for themselves and to serve the nation one day,” said Gyeltshen, watching the runway intently. “But as a parent, it is always painful to watch your children leave their elderly parents behind.”
From the hill, families search the crowds below, hoping for one last glimpse through terminal windows or near the boarding stairs. When the final passengers disappear inside and the aircraft doors close, the mood shifts. Engines begin to roar, lights blink, and conversations trail off into silence.
“They go with the hope of coming back someday to help their parents,” Gyeltshen said. “I’ve come here many times after dropping people off at the airport, and I’ve seen elderly parents saying goodbye to their children from this viewpoint again and again. That is always heartbreaking.”
As the plane rolls onto the runway, some people wave instinctively, others keep filming, and a few wipe away tears. Then the aircraft lifts, climbing steadily into the sky, shrinking into a distant speck before vanishing altogether.
For a while, no one moves. Eventually, families turn back toward their cars and drive away in silence. The hillside empties, waiting for the next gathering, the next departure.
And with each plane that disappears over the mountains, another farewell quietly leaves Bhutan with it.
