China began to dilute as the mountains became steeper. We fled in a jeep, with the anxiety of a fugitive in the open. Gone were the excessive cities or the tourism of towns whose magic is sold in souvenir shops. Before us, Now we saw the valleys where the herds of yaks grazed and the horses trotted beside the lakes..
The villages were already, unequivocally, another thing. They had an ancient rhythm of life, with the pause that these solitudes generate. So, like on tiptoe, We reach a small village called Nixi. I had the opportunity to interview Iasi, an artisan who works with ceramics., like his father and his father and so on until he could remember. And the man spoke without nostalgia for those times, Well, they were still Tibetans., with its goats in a small stable and its facades decorated with simple geometries. The main room of his house was huge., with a stove to heat winters and ceramics in the shape of jugs, vessels and ornaments that turned that hidden place into a museum.
Now we saw the valleys where the herds of yaks grazed and the horses trotted beside the lakes..
When we leave town, a huge billboard proudly announced the imminent construction of a housing development, showing a drawing of a town or city, I couldn't say, with shiny asphalt highways completing the picture of prosperity in an environment of people who ignore the world's urgency to continue growing.
We keep moving forward, Unknowingly seeking refuge in the villages of northern Yunnan, an excuse to reconcile with China. We had crossed too many crowds, overwhelmed by the noise of a society that gives in to the delirium of unbridled capitalism. We wanted to shelter in the echo of the mountains, ascend roads, breathe the frozen air where the Buddhist stupas stand. Some cyclists were looking, with much more eagerness, the same feeling.
We wanted to shelter in the echo of the mountains, ascend roads, breathe the frozen air where the Buddhist stupas stand.
The profiles of the Meri Snow Mountain suddenly appeared, so white that they looked like limbo. In a large fabric store, several cyclists were drinking a hot soup that must have rewarded them for the hours of pedaling., such was the gesture of happiness they had looking at the mountains. Next to the tent they hung from a stupa, the colored fabrics in the wind, with fragments of Buddhist philosophy. The features of the locals had changed. They had brown skin, sunburned, the wrinkled brow but the kind gesture.
We still had a marathon of curves that dodged valleys.. The ride became silent, soft, with no other company than that of a sharp and vertical landscape. Chou stopped the car in front of a precarious hostel in the town of Fei Lai Si, showing maps of Tibet at the reception. My room lacked hot water and a coat of paint but there were plenty of mountains from the window.. Front, The clouds tried to hide the mountain range but the top of Mount Kawakarpo stood out from time to time through the mist. Nobody has managed to trample their 6.740 meters and legend says that a Tibetan warrior lives there, He also says that it is a holy place foreign to the passage of men.
This place is one of those endings that wild routes reserve, a prize for the audacity to move forward aimlessly.
Some backpackers were wandering around the town's hostels with a somewhat mystical look next to the stupas that point to the mountains.. This place is one of those endings that wild routes reserve, a prize for the audacity to move forward aimlessly. We however, we wanted to sneak between the cracks of everyday life, look for stories of those who live among the Meri Snow Mountain and providence wanted a yak herder to cross our path with his flock ascending hills. The cattle seemed lighter and less hairy than those we saw in the southern valleys. The shepherd who agreed to let us follow him. We chase him, climbing a mountain more than 3.500 meters high carrying the equipment. We had to run to film the yaks from the front, we had to surround the animals with our cameras. Out of breath, we planted the tripods and the interview with the pastor began..
-Is it hard to have to take care of a herd of yaks??
-what yaks?- the shepherd answered.
-How what yaks?
-These are cows.
-Ah.
We collected the equipment, we descended the mountain, we take a breath and continue on our way.
