Crane country

I was in magical Bhutan. After trawling the valleys of Thimphu, Paro, Punakha and Bumthang, I had landed up in Phobjikha, the valley of the black-necked crane. It was also the quietest valley I had visited in Bhutan, with good reason. They keep the decibel levels down here, so as to not disturb the endangered avians whose winter home it is. All day long, the only sounds that break the monotony are the calls of the cranes as they go about foraging all over the valley. The largest clutch of cranes roosts in the marshlands pat in the middle of the valley. The luxurious, yet utterly unpretentious, Amankora lodge, which was my home for a night, had a small bunch roosting just below it, perhaps in a nod to the resort’s exclusivity. When I left, they gave me these pretty pebbles, painted by a local artist with such feeling the cranes have come look alive. Priceless.