Women on the Road - A Diary Carved by Wheels

Author: Li Yan
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: On April 27-28, 2004, I bid farewell to the bustling Beijing in a state of confusion, passing through Chengdu and taking a military flight to Tibet. Without time to sort out my messy feelings, I carried a simple yet heavy backpack and arrived in Shannan, an area at an altitude of 3,500 meters, within 24 hours. Usually, I don’t enjoy camping or sleeping in a sleeping bag, but this time, I even brought a moisture-proof pad just to catch a glimpse of Namtso Lake, even if it meant sleeping on the floor. My love for Yongbulakang made me forget the taboos to be observed upon arriving in a high-altitude area. Excitedly, I climbed the small hill where Yongbulakang is located—perhaps this is fate!
April 27, 2004, Beijing—Chengdu
Mood Index: Melancholy
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I didn’t want to face what was before me. I didn’t want to work—I wanted to escape. I missed the sun and grasslands of northern Sichuan last autumn, the vast blue sky and flocks of sheep. I longed for the fragrance of incense burning in the temples. Almost unable to control myself. Reason told me, "The May Day holiday is only this short break. Where should I go? To Tibet, to visit the warm and prosperous Shannan again, to see my beloved Yongbulakang, to worship the sacred Namtso Lake, and to seek Dachen and Deqin at Sangye Ch?np?. I want to go to Tibet alone." I specifically bought a late-night flight to Chengdu. Aoguang dropped me off at the airport. There were no more words as we parted; he just said, "Be careful." I looked at his lifeless eyes and my heart trembled slightly. I wanted to worship the sacred lake that could reveal the future—I wanted to know our future. I also wanted to visit the hermits and find the answer to eternal happiness for the soul.
The delayed flight didn’t arrive in Chengdu until midnight. Exhausted people, wrapped in the warm and humid air of Chengdu, didn’t have time to recall the scene of stopping in Chengdu last year before falling into a drowsy sleep.
April 28, 2004, Chengdu—Zedang
Mood Index: Slightly Excited
I was woken up early in the morning by Director Hou. It wasn’t fully light outside, and many birds were singing. Director Hou’s car took a winding route and entered what looked like a factory gate, only to find that it was actually the airport. Taiping Temple Airport, the airport of the Air Force in Chengdu. Most passengers on the military flight were migrant workers or those going on business, so the airport was as chaotic as a slow train station. During security checks, you had to take off your shoes, which was quite an ordeal. Fortunately, the process wasn’t long, and I could consider it a breathing exercise for the high-altitude journey.
From the waiting area to the plane, you had to walk on your own. There were two planes on the runway—one was a Tu-154, and the other looked like a bird, with a pointed nose bending downward—it must be an Ilyushin, clearly a cargo plane, as everyone boarded from the rear. Cargo flights were 100 yuan cheaper than passenger flights, and the ticket to Lhasa cost 800 yuan. The military pilots were amazing—takeoffs and landings were very smooth.
As we entered western Sichuan, large swathes of snow-capped mountains appeared, exceptionally beautiful. Sometimes, one peak would stand out prominently among the others—it must be an 8,000-meter-high mountain, given that the flight altitude was only a few thousand meters. Therefore, the nearby 4,000-meter-high mountains looked dazzlingly beautiful. I love snow-capped mountains. From three years ago, when I flew along the Himalayas in Nepal to admire the world’s highest peaks, to a few months later when I was in Meili...