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authority to this day. We could only enter on certain conditions: no hat (okay, we had become used to that), no cameras (ho hum), and no scarf! What?? I had become extremely attached to my white yak-wool scarf and to leave it in the 'bus was quite a wrench. Inside, the Dzong was suitably large and impressive, but a bit cold without a scarf.
Lunch was again provided by the catering crew who had gone ahead of us to Chendebji Chorten, the same site we had used on our way east. One was becoming somewhat blasé with all this looking after in such stunning settings.
The village of Gangtey Gompa in the Phubjikha Valley was where we were supposed to see the cranes. We did see some, but only at a great distance, apart from a squadron that flew in formation close overhead, practicing for the ceremonial re-entry to Tibet. The village was interesting for having an over-sized dzong in its midst that was being extensively renovated. Electricity is forbidden in this valley as it might upset the visiting cranes, so all work has to be done by hand and in daylight.
A dog's life
Not prone to doing things by daylight were the dogs. Throughout Bhutan it was remarkable that the dogs were extraordinarily docile. I could not imagine entering the average New Territories village and emerging with my four limbs intact. But in Bhutan a large group of strangers comes in from Mars, as it were, and the dogs just look, disdainfully, and resume their slumber. And then somebody pointed out the obvious: they are up all night yapping their silly heads off and are therefore exhausted by daybreak. But why do they do that? My theory is that they are trapped in a vicious cycle with no way out; they go to sleep in gentle morning sunshine but when they awake the sun has gone. All night, they are in a state of panic. Where has the sun gone? When at last it returns, even if in the opposite side of the sky, they can once more go to sleep and dream happily. I might be wrong in this analysis, however.
On leaving the village, I saw a sign that made me wonder if I had missed one of the attractions. Attached proudly to a post was a sign that read, 'AIDS IS DANGEROUS. AVOID MULTIPLE SEX
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authority to this day. We could only enter on certain conditions: no hat (okay, we had become used to that), no cameras (ho hum), and no scarf! What?? I had become extremely attached to my white yak- wool scarf and to leave it in the 'bus was quite a wrench. Inside, the Dzong was suitably large and impressive, but a bit cold without a scarf.
Lunch was again provided by the catering crew who had gone ahead of us to Chendebji Chorten, the same site we had used on our way east. One was becoming somewhat blasÇ with all this looking after in such stunning settings.
The village of Gangtey Gompa in the Phubjikha Valley was where we were supposed to see the cranes. We did see some, but only at a great distance, apart from a squadron that flew in formation close overhead, practicing for the ceremonial re-entry to Tibet. The village was interesting for having an over-sized dzong in its midst that was being extensively renovated. Electricity is forbidden in this valley as it might upset the visiting cranes, so all work has to be done by hand and in daylight.
A dog's life
Not prone to doing things by daylight were the dogs. Throughout Bhutan it was remarkable that the dogs were extraordinarily docile. I could not imagine entering the average New Territories village and emerging with my four limbs intact. But in Bhutan a large group of strangers comes in from Mars, as it were, and the dogs just look, disdainfully, and resume their slumber. And then somebody pointed out the obvious: they are up all night yapping their silly heads off and are therefore exhausted by daybreak. But why do they do that? My theory is that they are trapped in a vicious cycle with no way out; they go to sleep in gentle morning sunshine but when they awake the sun has gone. All night, they are in a state of panic. Where has the sun gone? When at last it returns, even if in the opposite side of the sky, they can once more go to sleep and dream happily. I might be wrong in this analysis, however.
On leaving the village, I saw a sign that made me wonder if I had missed one of the attractions. Attached proudly to a post was a sign that read, 'AIDS IS DANGEROUS. AVOID MULTIPLE SEX
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