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Dramatically perched on a ridge above the town of Jakar, yet still
thousands of feet below the towering Himalayas beyond. Darkly
sinister in the late afternoon light, almost prison-like within the
inner courtyards, one for the monks the other for the government
officials. If you ever watch Lost Horizon, you may
notice the musical white doves, wheeling romantically around the
gleaming white monastery which is their paradisiacal prison; here it
is a murder of crows, cawing threateningly in the fading light.
We saw the young monks practicing their dance
moves and realised there was more to it than simply staggering
around like a drunken Glaswegian in fancy dress. Other less
privileged members of their community were left to fetch and carry.
Having huffed and puffed my weary way up to the monastery from the
valley below carrying little more than my rather heavy camera, I
rather pitied the poor souls required to carry great rucksacks full
of rice, propane cylinders and all the other basics of life.
Excellent defensive position, zero out of ten for logistic planning. |
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