I stood on a hill overlooking a wintry landscape of dry fields stretching as far as the eye could see. All around me were stone jars. Enormous stone jars. Some stood six feet high. Some were no longer upright but tilted precariously. Others lay flat on the ground. My husband, Paul, moved from one jar to the next, standing on tiptoe to peer inside, hoping to discover. . . bones, ashes, undiscovered treasure?
Kham, our guide, told us, “This is called the Hill of Big Jars. As...
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