As October came in the Spring City, our hearts began to yearn for fall. Where were the crunchy leaves scattered across the sidewalks? Where was the gold, the chestnut brown, the burnt orange of leaves and pumpkins and fields? We couldn’t quite ask the warm blue breeze blowing sunlight across our faces to leave, but it didn’t feel right anymore.
Over fall break, a group of six other students and I found escape from the eternally pleasant weather by means of travelling North, up, and toward the world’s real Shangrila; toward the bite in the air and vibrant colors that we all secretly needed. We began our trip in Lijiang (8,000ft,) hiking Tiger Leaping gorge before continuing up to Shangrila (10,000ft,) and then further up to Deqin (12,000ft) and Meili Snow Mountain – a National Park cradled against the ridges of Tibet.
The first hint of fall came when we left the heat of the gorge – the bus ride to Shangrila ran like a time-lapse between summer and fall. The leaves changed slowly as we rose higher and higher, but the sky remained crystal blue.
The moment we stepped off the bus in Shangrila, I unearthed my warm pants, hat, scarf and gloves and pulled each one on in turn between shivers. We strolled around the cobblestone streets as the sun went down, bringing out the twinkling lights that had been hiding from the daylight. I never expected to find Christmas village in Northwest Yunnan, but there it was!
The ride from Shangrila to Deqin then took us through a Martian world of photo negatives. I couldn’t put the yellow-orange pine trees, pink-blue mountains, and dark green and maroon circular patches of vegetation to any season. The moon hovered above us and the mountains, and our van bumped though the desolate landscape, the switch-backed road lifting us slowly toward the roof of the world.
The morning of our first day in the Yubeng, a tiny village down in Meili Snow Mountain Park’s valley, the first snowflakes of the year drifted down, contrasting the flaming fall colors of the trees, the rushing turquoise water of the Mekong, creating a wonderland. After an exploration of the area around the village, we returned to the hostel to warm up around the fire. We roasted birthday cake Oreos and Snickers and chatted with the Tibetan innkeepers. They offered us fried bread and warm drinks and sang along to the beach-party Tibetan CD that played from across the room.
The trek out through the valley the next day took us through lovely orchards, yak fields, and dappled forest along the ever-turqoise river that pounded its stones smooth and kept us on track. After several hours, we abruptly spilled out of the lush paradise into a smoky watercolor desert.
We traversed our way back from that last desert canyon through Mars, down to Shangrila, and then home to the suffocating comfort of our Spring City. Here the clouds are white and the sky is blue, but I won’t forget that nine-day spectrum of seasons.
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