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 not fond of camping or sleeping in sleeping bags, this time I even brought a moisture-proof pad, determined to see Lake Ramoche for myself, 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. Excited, 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 lay before me. I didn’t want to work—I wanted to escape. I missed the sun and grasslands of northwestern Sichuan last autumn, the vast blue sky and herds of sheep, the fragrance of incense in the temples. Almost unable to contain myself. Reason told me, "The May Day holiday is only these ten days long. Where should I go?" Tibet, perhaps. To revisit the warm and prosperous Shannan, to see the beloved Yongbulakang, to pay homage to the sacred Lake Ramoche, and to seek Dachen and Deqin at Sangye Ch?np?. I wanted to go to Tibet alone. I 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 was going to pay homage to the sacred lake that could reveal the future. I wanted to know our future. I also wanted to visit the hermits, to find the answer to the eternal happiness of the soul.
The delayed flight didn’t arrive in Chengdu until midnight. Exhausted, I was enveloped in the warm, humid air of Chengdu, too tired to recall the scene from last year’s stopover in Chengdu and fell into a deep 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. Hou’s car took a winding route into what looked like a factory gate, only to reveal an airport inside. Taiping Temple Airport, the air force’s airport in Chengdu. Most passengers on the military flight were migrant workers or business travelers, 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—almost like a breathing exercise for the highlands.
From the waiting area to the plane, I had to walk on my 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. It was 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, breathtakingly beautiful. Sometimes, one peak would stand out prominently among the others—it must be an 8,000-meter-high mountain. The flight altitude was only a few thousand meters above sea level, so those around 4,000 meters seemed very close, their beauty dazzling. 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...