Slow Travel in Sichuan and Tibet｜Experience the Mountain Tour: 15 hours of hiking on the plateau will change your life

I dreamed about Aden several times, and what I dreamed about was my own body, lying on the ground like a stalk of wheat, with blurred faces.

From an altitude of 2000 to an altitude of 4800, the total distance is 35 kilometers, and it takes a full 15 hours to walk with heavy weight.

Walking, walking, walking... I only do this one thing for 15 hours. After that, the original me has died, and I have been reborn with an unstoppable walk.

Along the way, there are hideous rotten trees and thousands of miles of wilderness. The heaven and earth are majestic, and the human body is as small as grass.

The climate of the plateau changes rapidly, from a sunny and warm 28 degrees Celsius to a sudden drop to zero, to snowy mountains, hail, thunder and lightning.

Hypoxia. The body reaches its limit and almost dies. It was like a dream, except for the dull pain in my temples, which was so real that it was numbing.

No horses or porters. You can only grit your teeth and close your eyes and move forward bravely. You can rest, but you can't give up, because you never have a way out.

You feel like you have fallen from heaven to hell and back to earth again.

But we can finally see clearly: How powerful is faith?

The five of us set out at six in the morning that day. It's still dark.

We found a guide who took us along the route that Tibetans use to climb mountains.

The guide uncle is a native Tibetan. He is in his fifties, has a dark red face, speaks limited Chinese, and always smiles innocently. He wore a camouflage military coat with an indistinguishable color, and carried a bedroll and dry rations in a bundle. He is very experienced on this road and told us that today will be very difficult and it will take more than ten hours until dark.

This is not an ordinary path.

Starting from Kas Village, we will pass through a canyon with dense virgin forest, which the locals call "Hell Valley".

Take another steep uphill "Paradise Road" to overlook the two sacred peaks of Yangmaiyong and Xiannairi.

Finally descend the mountain, arrive at Luorong Cattle Farm, and return to the "human world".

When the prayer flags at the entrance of the village disappeared from sight, the stream became the only signpost. The further we go, the more desolate it becomes. Scattered Mani piles and single-plank bridges by the water have become the only remaining relics of mankind.

I counted silently, and when I reached the single-plank bridge at about eleventh, we left the stream.

The uncle soaked the empty Coke bottle in the spring water and filled it up. There will be no more water in the mountains.

The fleece sweater is already soaked with sweat, and the steep slope that makes your legs weak has just begun.

The forest is dark. Feet covered with tree roots and slippery moss. Trees clinging to dodder will gradually die, and trees that die naturally will collapse and become the swaddling bodies of mushrooms and fungi. The hanging dodder resembles a witch with waist-length hair and a ferocious face.

This is Hell Valley. Just like the location of "Hundred Ghosts Walking at Night" written by Dream Pillow Tapir, behind every tree hole, there is a peeping eyeball hidden, and the cry of strange birds can be heard in the distance, which still makes people's backs shiver in broad daylight.

Initially, there was a break every 40 minutes. Later, the break intervals became shorter and shorter. When resting, I can stand but never sit, because I can’t stand up once I sit down.

My husband Cui Daoxue was born in sports and took the lead. Little girl Taozi is thin, but she and her boyfriend grew up climbing mountains, and they tied for second place. Only the little fat man and I were far behind, and we were like sisters and brothers. I am 16cm tall and weigh 45kg.

I can no longer ignore Director Cui’s urging. I walked like an old lady climbing stairs, taking small steps, talking less, drinking water in small sips, and using the abdominal breathing in yoga class to regulate my heart rate, keeping my heart rate under 140. When you really can’t walk, just recite the Heart Sutra silently and let go of distracting thoughts.

But it still feels too difficult. The thin oxygen tests the lung capacity, and breathing harder seems to burst the lungs in order to maintain basic mobility.

Without air, every movement becomes slow motion. Once you exert too much force, your temples will hurt like an explosion.

Throw away all the competitiveness and do not want to be a champion. I just want to be the person who reaches the finish line alive.

The forest came to an abrupt end, and at the end of a narrow path, the vision suddenly opened up.

The sun was as warm as a waterfall, pouring on my head, shaking me so much that I closed my eyes.

I feel so happy...very happy.

No wonder people say: This is a road to heaven. After experiencing the eerie and steep Hell Valley, my trembling legs seemed to be cheering for the gentle slopes. The altitude increased unconsciously.

In the green grassland, patches of pink, white and magenta rhododendrons dot the lonely valleys of cold gray and pine green. The clear sky is washed blue, the clouds are white without any impurities, and the soul seems to have been purified, becoming desireless and pure.

The white snowtop in the distance is Xiannairi, the head of the three sacred mountains in Daocheng, with an altitude of 6032 meters.

According to legend, three Bodhisattvas transformed themselves into three snowy mountains in order to save all sentient beings. Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva incarnates as Xiannairi, Manjushri Bodhisattva incarnates as Yangmaiyong, and Vajrapani Bodhisattva incarnates in Shanuoduoji Mountain.

On the plateau in June, the snow line has faded, but it has not completely melted. There is no vegetation above the snow line and the rocks are exposed. The rock contains a substance similar to mica, which can reflect silver or golden light. From a distance, it looks like mountains of gold and silver, dazzling.

She is so solemn and sacred. Standing at the foot of the snow-capped mountains, it is difficult not to feel admiration and an urge to worship her.

You can often see some small stone houses in the mountains, built with local materials and common shale sheets. It was a rest stop built by Tibetans themselves.

There is a stove in the house, as well as a metal kettle and utensils for making a fire. Oil paper is used to block the wind at the door, and there are two tree sticks. The uncle said that they are used to hold up the "door panel" at night to prevent wild beasts from intruding. .

There are many Tibetans who dig Cordyceps in the mountains, and Cordyceps is their main source of income. It only digs for two months a year. There are anywhere from three to five trees to more than a dozen trees every day. Based on the purchase price of 60 yuan per tree, the income can reach 40,000 to 60,000 yuan, which is much more than road construction and tourism reception.

Cordyceps is a gift from Bodhisattva, from which children’s school fees and women’s dowry come.

For 2 months, I ate dry food and lived in a simple stone house on the mountain without being able to see my family. The cordyceps are hidden under the grass and have the same color as the meadow, which is hard to see. Men, women and children, lying on the ground, scratching the turf with their hands, their noses pressed to the ground, searching inch by inch, even if there is only a small leaf, there is hope.

When they saw us visitors from outside the mountains, they showed simple smiles and said in broken Chinese: "Do you want Cordyceps? Buy one of the freshly dug Cordyceps!"

If you, sitting in a brightly lit office building, had not seen it with your own eyes, you would never be able to imagine the poverty and hardship of the plateau.

You, who have long surpassed your physiological needs, may not be able to imagine that working so hard has nothing to do with self-realization, but just to survive, have enough to eat, and go to school.

I have never thought about what these three words survive mean. Until one day I arrived at the Sky Burial Platform, the highest altitude place on Mount Everest, and listened to a lama talk about the owners of those relics: babies who died in infancy, young people who fell off the cliff, old people who died... People pass away in various ways, but... The uniform was stripped of its clothes and restored to the curled-up posture of a fetus, enduring the cleansing of blood and fire. The body is sacrificed to the goshawk, and the soul returns to the sky, leaving nothing behind. This is the plateau. Life and death are too common and ordinary, so we take them lightly.

I have also met people who migrated to the mountains. When they met, they smiled and said Tashi Delek. They nodded and still murmured scriptures. During the period of silent cultivation, some people do not speak, but only kowtow. Cultivation is the only light in limited life.

We found an unoccupied stone house at the foot of the sacred mountain and made a fire to have lunch.

The guide put the spring water on the fire, made butter tea to drink, and took out the steamed buns to nibble on. We also took out our own dry food and chewed it vigorously.

Outside the window is an abyss, rolling clouds, a beautiful scenery, and the dry food is not so hard to swallow.

I asked the uncle for a sip of tea. The dark brick tea was mixed with butter. It was salty and fishy. I couldn’t tell what the taste was, but I drank it like jade liquid and fine nectar.

After eating, I lay down to rest. I was put down by Sleepyhead almost instantly and fell asleep.

I slept for an hour. When I woke up, the world had changed color. I don’t know where the sun has gone, and Yang Maiyong’s crown has been completely hidden in the dark clouds.

The guide uncle urged us to leave quickly, as the weather was about to change.

I looked at the dark clouds that seemed to be collapsing in confusion, not knowing what the word "the sky changed" meant.

As we walked forward non-stop, the dark clouds became thicker and thicker, and the sky was so low that it was breathless. It's raining.

The rain in the south of the Yangtze River is soft, long, and pattering. It is very romantic even without an umbrella.

The rain on the plateau is like a whip, like a knife cutting flesh. It is cold and painful when it hits the face.

The little fat man who was laughing and laughing along the way finally couldn’t laugh anymore. He seemed to have caught a cold, had a slight fever, and almost didn't want to talk anymore. The five people moved forward at an extremely slow speed and were miserable.

But the bad weather has no sympathy for us. Soon, there was hail, and the big snow particles made a crackling sound on the jacket. Trembling all over, teeth chattering.

I met two tourists from Aden before and asked us which way leads to Daocheng. Dressed as a backpacker, without a guide. Looking at the weather, they still have to go through Hell Valley, which is really a sweat for them.

The rain falls and stops. Occasionally a ray of sunshine pulls out a few diagonal lines, but more often there is only cold rain and strong wind. The jacket was soaked in water, and my fingers were frozen stiff. Although the scenery was beautiful, I could resist my strong desire to take pictures, so I wrapped the camera in a plastic bag and put it in my bag, and went on my way with all my heart.

Suddenly, a blue lake appeared in front of them, and everyone was refreshed.

The Milk Sea has arrived.

This means that we are still one-third of the way to the camp.

It seemed that hot butter tea, a warm sleeping bag, and a bonfire were swaying in front of my eyes.

The sea is getting closer and closer. The thick glacier reflects the blue light of the lake, like a sapphire set in a silver ring.

Among the rugged rocks and meadows, the Gesang flower, which only blooms at altitudes above 4,000 meters, blooms. This flower is lavender in color and looks inconspicuous at first, like a pile of dry firewood sticks. Once it blooms in succession, it becomes a spectacular sight. The strange thing is that that kind of purple, no matter what camera is used to record it, is far less vivid and vivid than what is seen with the naked eye.

Kelsang flower is a symbol of the plateau. This flower is thorny and tenacious, just like the personality of Tibetan women who dare to love and hate. Tibetan women are not flowers in the greenhouse. They can be gentle and kind mothers, or they can be fierce and stubborn lovers.

Milk Sea is a valley surrounded by mountains. From the slope to the lake, it looks very close and only ten minutes away.

A large group of wild blue sheep grazed by the lake. They always carefully maintained a 200mm focal length distance, but this was the first time to see them face to face.

There is a large mani pile on the roadside, under an umbrella-shaped five-color flag, filled with stones brought by pilgrims and pilgrims from all over. There were pieces of paper scattered on the ground, and I picked up one with scriptures and a horse with wings printed on it. This is the wind horse paper scattered by people who climb mountains when they climb to the top. Legend has it that it can make people's wishes come true quickly.

I thought this piece of paper was very beautiful, so I just put it in my pocket and quickly forgot about it.

Can you not leave? I really want to stay and camp by the lake.

But we still had to feel camp before dark. Before leaving, I scanned the panoramic view of the mountains and rivers with my eyes for the last time, fixing this beautiful place in my memory inch by inch.

?

From Milk Sea to the final destination, Luorong Cattle Farm, it is basically a gentle descent and stone steps. As the altitude slowly dropped, the tinnitus felt slightly relieved.

But the rain was getting heavier and heavier, with no intention of stopping.

It is said that going up a mountain takes a lot of energy and going down a mountain takes a lot of legs. I can no longer feel the existence of my legs. I just walk mechanically and don't let myself fall. My memories of this section of the journey are fragmented. I can’t remember where I walked or what scenery I passed. I only remember that my clothes were cold and wet and clinging to my back. I was tired, hungry, and had a splitting headache. I was chanting Amitabha, don’t catch a cold. Don’t get altitude sickness and get home safely.

The bluestone steps were soaked in the rain and were extremely slippery. One side was a mountain and the other side was an unobstructed cliff. The narrowest place could only allow two people to pass side by side. The kind-hearted guide uncle grabbed the backpack strap on my shoulder and said, "Don't be afraid, I will take you with me. Don't be afraid."

He said several times to help you carry your backpack, help you carry your backpack. I said: "Uncle, you are as old as my father, how can I have the nerve to throw my luggage to you?" He smiled, and the wrinkles on his face stretched out: "Oh, oh! (Tibetan: OK) ”

This journey is indeed too hard. The uncle actually felt a little uncomfortable and had diarrhea after drinking raw cold spring water on the mountain. But he kept putting up with it, fearing that we would worry about him, and kept sending us to the camp. Only then did I realize that I quickly took out the norfloxacin in my bag and gave it to him, but he kept saying thank you.

I have received his kindness and care along the way, and I cannot say thank you a hundred times enough. When asked what gift he wanted, he didn't understand, but he still said "Oh, oh!" and smiled. After talking for a long time, he finally understood what I meant, but he didn’t want anything else, as long as I sent him a photo of the Bra Palace, so that he could enshrine it at home and worship from a distance every day...

Before dark , the final arduous trek is finally coming to an end. Where the mountains and rivers end, a green grassland gradually appears among the trees.

The winding river passes through the green meadows, and the river bed is filled with golden gravel and dark pebbles. The young shepherd girl leads the chestnut horse, forming a quiet and beautiful scene.

Such a scene has only appeared in dreams in the past. I once thought I was too tired and had hallucinations.

My lips are frozen, my legs are numb, my senses are failing a little bit, I can’t even feel the pain, but my ears haven’t disappeared yet.

A jingle of bells came closer and closer from a distance...

Director Cui raised his cell phone behind him and took a picture of my shaky back. , but I didn’t know it at the time. In the video, a group of horses came running towards me, happily separating from both sides of me, like a reef separating a rushing river. I stood blankly on the grassland, holding up my mobile phone, neither hiding nor talking, as if I was immersed in another silent world.

As the horses rushed toward me, I felt the ground shaking.

They opened their curious eyes, rushed straight towards me, then made a sharp turn and passed me.

I forgot to dodge. Maybe I simply know that they are saying with their eyes: No harm will happen between us.

Luorong Cattle Farm. Here we are. Finally arrived.

On a lonely journey, no matter how many people accompany you, you are alone when you struggle with fatigue, and you are alone when you reach the top of the mountain. My eyes felt sore and my throat felt tight. You ask me how touched I am? This is destined not to be enjoyed exclusively. It must be proven step by step. There is no shortcut.

I thought that all the self-abuse would end immediately when we arrived at Luorong Cattle Farm. But no.

There is still 12 kilometers to go from Luorong Cattle Farm to the campsite at the Visitor Center (Longlong Dam). Fortunately, they are all flat grasslands. The sun had already set, and everything around us was dyed deep indigo by the night. It wasn’t until nine o’clock in the evening that we walked to the visitor center.

The visitor center is still under renovation. This is why the scenic spot is closed.

The workers had finished get off work and gathered together to warm themselves by the fire. When they saw us all wet, they immediately gave up the best seats, dried our clothes and poured butter tea for us to drink.

These workers came from Sichuan, Henan and other places and were responsible for the reconstruction and construction of the scenic spots. They chatted with us all over the place.

When we came, the village chief said that we could set up tents at the visitor center to stay overnight. An elder sister said: In the past, tourists who were hiking would stay here, set up tents, or spread sleeping bags on a few benches for one night, and then go down the mountain the next day.

We had taken off our clothes to dry and laid out our sleeping bags. Suddenly, a scenic spot leader walked in outside the door and said that the place was not decorated and could not receive tourists, so he had to go down the mountain immediately.

The five people stared at each other, dumbfounded.

It was a dark night with heavy rain, and we didn’t even have the strength to speak. The little fat man is still running a fever, and his breathing is as difficult as blowing off a bellows. If he keeps going back and forth, he may develop pulmonary edema.

The guide uncle also helped us communicate with the leader. The two people spoke in Tibetan, but I couldn’t understand what they said.

The leader made several calls, and finally he told us that we could find a sightseeing battery car to take us out of the scenic area, find a family hotel to stay in, and return to Daocheng the next morning.

Although I didn’t want to move at all, and I had to pay for the battery car and hotel at my own expense, there was no other way. Having a place to live is much better than sleeping on a bench.

Sitting in a car with ventilation on all sides, the cold rain was ruthless, and the clothes that had just been dried got wet again.

There was a thunderclap above the head, and the lightning illuminated the surrounding pine trees tens of meters high, which was particularly ferocious.

Director Cui unbuttoned his only windproof shirt and wrapped me tightly in his arms. I shivered and reached into my pocket to keep warm. Suddenly I touched the wind horse paper I picked up during the day. Without hesitation, I reached out and threw it into the endless darkness outside the car——

Wherever you come from, go back to where you came from!

Goodbye! Daocheng...

Fan Qiqi, designer, travel photographer, self-media writer, founder of "Slow Travel". I like traveling at a slow pace and experiencing local life in depth. In the past three years, I have traveled to Southeast Asia, India, Sri Lanka and other places, following Xuanzang's footsteps, looking for the Buddha's holy places, and focusing on the meaning of life.