Too Many Flutes (1): Three folk instruments I can't play

Here's a pan pipe. My daughter bought it for me in Peru, and it's a good one, not a product for tourists, but I find that playing it is frustrating. Just getting a decent sound out of any one of the tubes is fairly difficult, but then leaping from tube to tube with your mouth to make melodies is too challenging for me.
I imagine this was the first kind of flute that people made, when they got the idea of playing different notes on reeds that they blew across, before they figured out that you can change the pitch by making holes in the pipe and opening and closing them.
I don't mind that I can't play it. I'm glad to have it. A friend of mine, Professor Jeremy Montagu, professor emeritus of music at Oxford, amassed a huge and varied collection of musical instruments and wrote several learned books on the subject. His collection is museum quality. Mine, maybe 100th the size of his, is essentially composed of souvenirs thrown together without much of a plan.
A few years after my daughter came back from Peru with the pan pipe, we went to Peru ourselves, and I bought a quena, another kind of flute, which I find hard to get a sound out of, though recently I've been able to produce a decent tone - occasionally.

To get a sound out of the pan pipe, you just blow across the top of one of the bamboo tubes, the way you blow over a soda bottle. To get a sound out of the quena, you have to press the instrument against your chin and direct a thin stream of air onto the notch in the mouthpiece. Essentially it's a recorder without the structure on the top end to direct the air. When you blow into a recorder, you can't miss. You always produce a sound. When you blow into a quena, you have to find the right angle.
The quena in the picture is a sophisticated model, with a bone mouthpiece and a body made of hollowed out wood. The simpler ones are fashioned of bamboo. Once a visitor to our home, not a friend, but a man who showed up for some event, noticed my quena, tried it, played amazingly well on it, and offered to buy it on the spot for much more than I paid for it. I absolutely refused.
I've seen and heard Peruvian musicians playing these instruments with facility that astonishes me.
As much as I love them and enjoy owning them, I'm not adept at playing folk instruments. I know how to play modern Western instruments with elaborate systems of keys and pads, and that's the kind of instrument I feel comfortable with.

Here in the Middle East musicians play the ney, a tube with finger holes in it, and no mouthpiece at all. Neys are usually made of bamboo, I think, though people also make them out of pvc. Once on a trip to Turkey I bought a related instrument, a kaval. It's long piece of caved cherry wood, light and delicate, and, for me, hard to play. I'm pleased when I manage to get a sound out of it at all, and always impressed when I hear musicians playing the ney in concerts of Middle Eastern music, getting a rich, breathy sound. Played into a microphone, it carries over all the other instruments.
To master any of these three folk instruments, I would have to invest long hours of practice, and I'd also have to play the kind of music they're intended for. I enjoy hearing that music, but it's not what I listen to frequently. Owning the instruments isn't, for me, a commitment to playing the music they were made for, but more a tribute to the human desire to make instruments and extend our voices.