This Way to Shangri-La
(Page 4 of 5)
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Katherine Tanko Escape (www.escapemag.com)
'These are the stairs of heaven,' says a voice at my shoulder. I
turn to see a Chinese man pointing at the mountains above. 'And
those are the stairs of earth,' he adds, pointing at the rice
terraces.
Early the next morning I plunge into this scene with a guide,
taking the 20-mile hike to the Naxi village of Haba. 'You're
halfway there,' my guide announces after two hours of clambering.
'Just follow the road,' he says, referring to the dusty red streak
winding beneath our feet. Six long hours later, we're descending
into Haba, crossing into another world. If ever there was a model
for the Blue Moon valley of Hilton's Shangri-La, this is it. Before
me stretches a valley of rippling green fields crowned by the
16,000-foot white dome of Snowy Mountain, which towers over the
land like a brooding sentry.
It turns out to be 'ancestors day,' and the owner of the town's
only guest house is celebrating with a family picnic over in the
cemetery. Huge black pots filled with pork, chicken, tofu, potatoes
and cabbage bubble over an open wood fire next to gravestones. The
ancestors are served first. A small portion from every pot is
offered to the grave sites, while children are instructed in the
art of kowtowing before their forebears.
I continue on a seven-hour walk through lonely pine forests and
sprawling paddy fields to the small village of Daju. The trail
continues, but I've come to the end of my time travels.
On my way back to Lijiang I ponder my search for paradise. I had
found a highland realm of matriarchal tribes, snowbound mountains,
yak-butter-tea-serving monks and graveside dinner parties-glimpses
of Hilton's Shangri-La were everywhere, but so were shadows of
another utopia, Mao Tsetung's, hardly a paradise for the Naxi, and
Tibetans, since the Red Army arrived in 1949.
I'm reminded of that back in Lijiang in the person of Xuan Ke. I
meet Xuan at the Naxi Academy of Music. When he's not playing
literary detective, he runs a nonprofit organization that teaches
Naxi music, history and culture to students free of charge. It's a
labor of love for a man who spent 40 years watching Naxi culture
slowly being destroyed, 21 of them from a labor camp.
He invites me to a concert of Naxi music that evening that is
packed to the rafters. The Dayan Music Troupe, an ensemble of
white-bearded elderly men in elaborate gold brocade, sits on the
stage tuning ancient long-necked instruments. The men play music
that disappeared from China by the 13th century but has been kept
alive in Lijiang.
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