Encountering Shangri-La

What Are We Really Seeing When We Travel? In late March, I found myself alone in Shangri-La. Renting a car, I slowly drove towards Napahai Lake. - Recently, I heard the term "soul travel" on a podcast. It means that often, the journey exists within your heart, and you don't necessarily need to physically be at that destination. This offers a dialectical perspective, prompting us to ponder—why do we embark on all these journeys? This reminded me of another group of travelers who arrived in Shangri-La around the same time. Their impressions were completely opposite to mine. I often hear people say, "The place you visited isn't the same one I saw..." At that time, Napahai could be described as bleak in winter. Napahai has no sea, and the vast grasslands of Shangri-La were a grand display of withering, with branches that had endured a harsh winter yet to sprout new buds. The wind was strong, and the sun was surprisingly intense. But I dedicated a full day to circling the lake. Along the way, I encountered countless yaks, sheep, horses, and prayer flags (strictly speaking, colorful banners). At every possible stopping point, I got out to wander and observe. That sense of freedom, of shrinking myself into the boundless expanse of nature, reopened my understanding of the world. I didn't expect any particular scenery or seek any specific outcome—I simply enjoyed the feeling of being on the road, the curiosity it sparked for more things, and the broadened perspective it gave me to comprehend the world's logic. So, it circles back to that question: "Why do we set out?" A line from the podcast beautifully explains it: "What you're seeing isn't the journey itself—it's your own feelings and state of mind during the journey. Through travel, you come to know yourself better, or even discover a new version of yourself." - After my last encounter with Lismaran in Wenhai Village, Lijiang, our reunion this time at Napahai felt like a warm continuation of memories from last year. Stepping from the 0°C outdoors into the cozy, pre-warmed wooden cabin, my feet touching the aged wooden floor, my body instantly warmed up. The view outside the floor-to-ceiling windows unfolded before me: snow-capped mountains, the lake, meadows, trees, fences, cabins, sheep... It was as if every beautiful thing a poet could imagine had materialized at once. At that moment, I thought, even staying solely in the lodge would be immense happiness: Lazing on comfortable linen bedding; sitting on a recliner under a tree, enjoying afternoon tea and sunlight; or conversing with the divine in the presence of Shika Snow Mountain. - On the morning of my departure, I woke to find everything outside the cabin blanketed in snow. With everyone still asleep, I had this hidden paradise all to myself. "The silence in the snow is like a wordless symphony, intoxicating in its tranquility and mystery." This line comes to mind every time I stand in a snowy landscape. From now on, every snowfall will remind me of Lismaran at Napahai. I’ll repeat what I said when I left last time: "Until we meet again." And look—we really did meet.