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they were a bit more accurate, and secondly, being faster, the trajectory of the arrows need not be so high. Arrows were whizzing past us at just about head height. It reminded me of the old line: 'Do people get killed here often?', to which the reply is: 'No sir, only once.'
The Wangdi Dzong was built in 1638, and that in Punakha in 1637. Both are massive structures and it can only be wondered at what effect all this building activity had on the local economy and employment market. Perhaps similar to the time in England when vast stone cathedrals were going up, many at the same time. More comparisons to mediaeval England and building methods were to follow, but first there was dinner and bed.
Day 9 brought us to what for me was the absolute highlight of the entire trip. So overwhelming were the sights and sounds that faced us that I knew neither what to write, nor how to write it. As I am afraid you will find out on the following pages, however, I soon found some words - although it is impossible to capture anything more than a few personal observations.
We knew already that the usual ‘no hats, no scarves, no cameras’ rule applied, and this was in many ways a blessing - we were indoors mostly, it was fairly warm, and the absence of a camera meant that I was not distracted by apertures and shutter speeds. Immediately inside the first courtyard, the atmosphere struck like a blow in the face. Red-robed monks standing about in twos and threes; a deep horn blowing its long steady notes somewhere off-stage; sounds of many heavy footsteps on bare wooden floors; a small crowd cheering somewhere from within a building; a stone mason chipping a hole in a flagstone; men carrying impossible loads of stone on their heads, on their backs or in their arms, up an equally impossibly steep flight of stairs into an inner sanctum (whether they were doing so to gain merit, or because they were contract Indian labour doing what Bhutanese chose not to do we did not manage to find out). Something was clearly happening. No - Something Was Clearly Happening.
This was, after all, the beginning of Day One of a four-day festival, one that has been going on for so many centuries that it is now by no means clear what it is all about. The triumph of the Bhutanese over the marauding Tibetans. The triumph of Buddhism over evil. Whatever it
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215
they were a bit more accurate, and secondly, being faster, the trajectory of the arrows need not be so high. Arrows were whizzing past us at just about head height. It reminded me of the old line: 'Do people get killed here often?', to which the reply is: 'No sir, only once."
The Wangdi Dzong was built in 1638, and that in Punakha in 1637. Both are massive structures and it can only be wondered at what effect all this building activity had on the local economy and employment market. Perhaps similar to the time in England when vast stone cathedrals were going up, many at the same time. More comparisons to mediaeval England and building methods were to follow, but first there was dinner and bed.
Day 9 brought us to what for me was the absolute highlight of the entire trip. So overwhelming were the sights and sounds that faced us that I knew neither what to write, nor how to write it. As I am afraid you will find out on the following pages, however, I soon found some words - although it is impossible to capture anything more than a few personal observations.
We knew already that the usual ‘no hats, no scarves, no cameras' rule applied, and this was in many ways a blessing - we were indoors mostly, it was fairly warm, and the absence of a camera meant that I was not distracted by apertures and shutter speeds. Immediately inside the first courtyard, the atmosphere struck like a blow in the face. Red- robed monks standing about in twos and threes; a deep horn blowing its long steady notes somewhere off-stage; sounds of many heavy footsteps on bare wooden floors; a small crowd cheering somewhere from within a building; a stone mason chipping a hole in a flagstone; men carrying impossible loads of stone on their heads, on their backs or in their arms, up an equally impossibly steep flight of stairs into an inner sanctum (whether they were doing so to gain merit, or because they were contract Indian labour doing what Bhutanese chose not to do we did not manage to find out). Something was clearly happening. No - Something Was Clearly Happening.
This was, after all, the beginning of Day One of a four-day festival, one that has been going on for so many centuries that it is now by no means clear what it is all about. The triumph of the Bhutanese over the marauding Tibetans. The triumph of Buddhism over evil. Whatever it
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