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to the north? It turned out to be neither of these, although weapons were certainly involved. What we had heard was an archery contest in progress. Archery is Bhutan's chief sport (although we were delighted to see some cricket being played once or twice.) The bows are made of two pieces of bamboo, lashed together, and the arrows are also of bamboo, with steel tips and plastic flights. The target is the size of cricket stumps and is aimed at from an incredible 150 yards away, or the equivalent of seven cricket pitches. About twelve young men were competing against each other. I have to say that the scoring system seemed particularly mean. The archer was awarded one point for landing his arrow near the target, and a measly two points if he hit it. I would have thought an audience with the king and a pension for life would have been a more fitting reward. For the 20 minutes or so that I was watching, not one arrow hit the target. Once an archer had shot his arrow, he rushed to the target end of the pitch, where there were already a couple of umpires, the better to see where his fellows' arrows were landing. ‘See' is an interesting word in this context. Not one of us visitors could see anything at all until we heard the thunk of an arrow hitting the ground - and this was usually within a foot of the feet of the encouraging crowd of archers. Although not understanding a word of Bhutanese, we knew that the shouts of encouragement were along the lines of: 'I say, Jack, you were a tad off target there,' or perhaps some colourful local equivalent.
Surfeited with excitement, and dodging the missiles, we had a half-hour's walk, over a wobbly bridge, to visit the 17th Century Tamshing Monastery. Although again beautiful, placid and very atmospheric, I was getting to the stage of not being able to tell t'other from which.
How now brown cow?
Back on the 'bus, the guide pointed out in the adjacent fields a herd of Swiss brown cows. 'How now?' we thought. The herd is a present from Switzerland and is used to make cheese. This was available for sale in a nearby shop and was excellent. But we must not eat too much, though, as lunch was waiting for us down the road, courtesy once more of Mr Fresco. The usual long table and chairs had been set up on the grounds of a deserted royal palace, the Wangdichholing Palace. This rather cute but still impressive building dates from 1856 and is the
206
to the north? It turned out to be neither of these, although weapons were certainly involved. What we had heard was an archery contest in progress. Archery is Bhutan's chief sport (although we were delighted to see some cricket being played once or twice.) The bows are made of two pieces of bamboo, lashed together, and the arrows are also of bamboo, with steel tips and plastics flights. The target is the size of cricket stumps and is aimed at from an incredible 150 yards away, or the equivalent of seven cricket pitches. About twelve young men were competing against each other. I have to say that the scoring system seemed particularly mean. The archer was awarded one point for landing his arrow near the target, and a measly two points if he hit it. I would have thought an audience with the king and a pension for life would have been a more fitting reward. For the 20 minutes or so that I was watching, not one arrow hit the target. Once an archer had shot his arrow, he rushed to the target end of the pitch, where there were already a couple of umpires, the better to see where his fellows' arrows were landing. ‘See' is an interesting word in this context. Not one of us visitors could see anything at all until we heard the thunk of an arrow hitting the ground - and this was usually within a foot of the feet of the encouraging crowd of archers. Although not understanding a word of Bhutanese, we knew that the shouts of encouragement were along the lines of: 'I say, Jack, you were a tad off target there,' or perhaps some colourful local equivalent.
Surfeited with excitement, and dodging the missiles, we had a half-hour's walk, over a wobbly bridge, to visit the 17th Century Tamshing Monastery. Although again beautiful, placid and very atmospheric, I was getting to the stage of not being able to tell t'other from which.
How now brown cow?
Back on the 'bus, the guide pointed out in the adjacent fields a herd of Swiss brown cows. 'How now?' we thought. The herd is a present from Switzerland and is used to make cheese. This was available for sale in a nearby shop and was excellent. But we must not eat too much, though, as lunch was waiting for us down the road, courtesy once more of Mr Fresco. The usual long table and chairs had been set up on the grounds of a deserted royal palace, the Wangdichholing Palace. This rather cute but still impressive building dates from 1856 and is the
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