We set off into Bhutan with a philosopher who can’t stop talking at 4,000 meters, a guide who doesn’t like tourists, and a horseman brandishing a wooden phallus. Between demon-wrestling monks, beer that tastes like wet socks, and our collective inability to follow instructions, this trek was doomed from the start. What we lacked in altitude gain we made up for in bad decisions, cultural insensitivity, and hangovers impressive enough to be considered spiritual experiences.