The fact that we had missed the last turn was not surprising and proved to be an advantage. With no obvious road signs since we turned off five kilometers back it was not hard to miss – just a simple fork in the road, with one staying high and the other dropping into the valley floor. From the high road we now had a slightly obstructed bird’s eye view of the 800 year old stone bridge spanning the small boulder filled river below. The new village, all soul less red brick and concrete boxes side by side straddling the high road is not a pretty sight. I peek into the valley but there is still no sign of the old village, only bamboo and bananas growing on the slopes above some small ploughed fields.
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