I said, "It's dirty and tiring, but again, it's addictive.
He replied, "When you are lying in a cramped dormitory, you will miss the dirt and tiredness.
Later I remembered that on a summer afternoon, I was lying in my 7 square meter PhD dormitory, staring at the ceiling, with the air conditioner humming.
Suddenly I missed my 75L backpack, cold snow water, and a black beauty called Plum.
The first time I joined a tour, the first time I traveled with so many teachers, the first time I went to Western Sichuan.
I wasn't even sure I was ready.
The discussion in the group before always gave me a sense of unreality.
The day was getting closer and closer, and I chickened out.
I can say I know nothing about western Sichuan, those somewhat familiar names,
they never appear on my travel list.
I was domesticated to be mature, reserved, and full of skepticism about things.
So I said to myself, EASY EASY.
No exercise, no preparation, no tips, just pack light.
So many teachers, so many friends, so reliable plans, so experienced routes.
But it turns out I was dead wrong.
With the rain, the power outages, the motion sickness, and the food, I almost completely upended my confidence in the outdoors,
and even chose to stay in front of some of the beauty.
I think things have to be opened the right way.
But I recognized the right conclusions and ignored the path.
The right way to open things is just some kind of self-righteousness; it's just one way among many.
And each "opening" is unique, you don't know if there's a cat waiting for you inside.
When I got back, I started closed coding right away.
I had to pay back what I owed.
So when I looked back at the hundreds of fresh replies in the group after 8 hours of coding every day,
watching the small team go to Inaccessible Yading, watching the drone fly over the snowy plateau again,
watching the goddess teacher conquer the first peak of Europe,
the blur of all that summer started to become clearer and clearer, sprouting spikes of ice cream that glinted in the dark background.
I remember the occasional traffic jam on the road, but gave us an unexpected stop.
The sky was excessively blue, and the beekeeper across the driveway had the color of the sun in his skin.
The bees were fluttering around in a velvety way, and at one point you seemed to think it was more of a touch,
a tingle and an itch that poked out of your hair, out of your sweat.
We brought back a jar of goji berry honey, with the addictive fishy sweetness of noble rot,
but the sting at the base of our necks was sober and hard.
I also remember being at the foot of Four Girls' Mountain, my window facing the entrance to Haizigou, and the horsemen coming down the mountain in the morning.
Later I retraced my steps up that horse trail, which was muddy and narrow all the way.
Occasionally a horse comes charging down the opposite side, whistling down the steep road,
dumping mud spots all over you, leaving you unsteady on your feet and smelling like a horse.
But it was at that moment that I seemed to find something,
a savage, natural breath.
I remember, of course, the highway through the mountains of Kangding, the new town, the old town.
The moon was hiding in the thin clouds, unwilling to show its face.
The train was quiet for a while, only the love song that has been sung countless times has changed its tune,
Karen Mok hummed, "Love songs are still being sung, lovers are still wandering, like water slipping away from the time".
The koto strings are taut, and one note is like being hit by a bullet,
died in the battlefield, but also died in the love scene.
That bowl of the spiciest birthday noodles in this life was an overwhelming perceptual vacuum.
I still remember in Mugatso, the stone road to the end, suddenly have a feeling of the end of the world and cold wonderland.
So step on the dirt, rocks, moss, streams continue to go inside the hinterland.
Over a small hill, more horses, more woods.
At a fast-flowing estuary, I saw unoccupied peninsulas, abandoned boat ramps, and dead trees that looked like antlers.
They were as silent as if they were in some other time and place, not expecting to be found or posturing.
Your presence is neither a disturbance nor a welcome.
Just simply being there.
Time seems to be slow, and in an instant it goes fast.
Back to the point of departure, the hotel, the restaurant, the airport.
Everything about the city is familiar and taken for granted, and the air catches fire on the skin.
But it was not until the moment I got on the plane that I seemed to slow down:
Although there were a few days when breakfast was only sparse steamed buns with pickles,
but you can feel the taste buds open up for the purest taste;
Although the day sat up to 15 hours on the bus,
but we also gained the group of people who were sending out red packets to the soft hands;
Although the power went out that day, we were all wandering around like flies,
but in the darkness, it seemed to be able to reflect on the other side of the critique of modernity;
Although on the way, I also wrote "I want to turn off the tour guide,"
but in the end, listening to Juma's raspy voice, I felt so reluctant to part with it.
Back in the Magic City, the backpack did not have time to wash the clothes, shoes on the four girls mountain soil.
I picked up the rocks in the Xinduqiao River and brought back a branch that looked like an animal bone.
The film in the camera has not yet been developed, and the postcard I sent has not yet come.
But the teacher's "You Duowen" is already welcoming me,
And I also found that the time in western Sichuan, on the map, silently drew a capital C.
On the day of the autumn, I sat in a cab,
The radio played the "Anheqiao," and the summer was like a youth. Youth like can not come back.
Suddenly, I found that summer raging up:
It lingers in the craggy mountain tops in the cloudy haze and sunset glow,
It glides in the drone this goes to the snowy mountains up and down the heights of ten million weight,
It stops in the seven-color sea across the river opposite the white rocky Montenegro with a lowered eyebrow on the statue of Buddha,
It burns in the hot pot restaurant without air-conditioning and bare bladder in a hot sweat sauna. hot and sweaty sauna in a hot pot restaurant.
So, Chuanxi is only woke up to drink the flavor of the complex structure,
withstand aging, resistant to fine taste.
And when I'm stuck in the city, that's all I can do to honor you.