Munduk and Punakha are named and closed. A place becomes safe to think in once it is understood, and in both valleys that understanding is still being gathered: a year of weather, a soil record, the names of the people already farming the ridge, and an honest account of what the water does in the dry months.
Arriving before that work is finished means bringing an answer to a question the valley was never asked. A century of decisions rests on getting the first one right, so these two wait. They will be written up here when there is something true to write.
