ABOUT 20 years ago I went to Bhutan to visit an architect friend who was working there. It was quite the most extraordinary trip; as close as I’ll ever get to the society of the early modern period here. This was, I may say, before the place opened up to tourists. I visited a mountain farm where the family had never seen Europeans nor anyone in modern dress and where the girls couldn’t stop tittering at the sight of us and where I sat on a snow leopard rug by a glassless window to drink (revolting) yak butter tea.
If I were Mrs May, I’d be keen on keeping on good terms with God
Melanie McDonagh's Notebook
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