For two days and one night, I had a dream in Balagzong that I didn't want to wake up from

Number of days: 2 days
Time: April
Average cost: 300 yuan
With whom：parents and children
Updated: 2025.03.31

At 7 a.m., I woke up from my guesthouse in Dukezong Ancient Town, Shangri-La, to a text message from the driver who picked me up: "We've arrived at the inn. Oxygen and motion sickness medication are in the side door pockets." As I bundled up in my jacket and scrambled into the van, I hadn't yet realized the ensuing 48 hours would be a fantastical journey that would overturn my perceptions.

Day 1: A Dialogue with the Sacred Mountain

As the car spun out its 17th drift on one of 108 hairpin bends, the Tibetan driver, Tashi, suddenly rolled down the window. A biting wind blew in snowflakes, and the mist resembled torn cotton wool. A village suspended in the clouds darted into my eyes—this was Bala Village, a thousand-year-old village perched on a 3,000-meter cliff. After lunch, we drove to the summit of the Shambhala Pagoda Snow Mountain. Every time the altimeter ticked, my breathing became heavier. As we stumbled off the car at the 4,250-meter pass, we saw a tower-shaped peak piercing the sky through the clouds. The guide said it was a natural pagoda.

Looking down, the "Sky Road" was looming in the snow, and my heart was filled with awe and emotion. The zipline at the Whispering Wall was a hundred times more thrilling than I'd imagined. The moment I closed my eyes and leaped, the weightlessness made my stomach churn, and my screams echoed three times in the U-shaped canyon. As we landed, the Tibetan man smiled and said, "Last year, a couple proposed here, and the ring almost fell into the canyon."

Day 2: Reborn in Water and Fire

Awakened by the sound of birdsong, the digital clock read 07:30. As I slowly drew back the curtains of the Cliff Miracle Hotel, I finally understood what it meant to "live in the scenery." Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Gezong Snow Mountain was ablaze with rose gold, ignited by the first rays of sunlight.

The prayer wheels at Dolma Lhakhang are warm. Light a butter lamp: "Turn three times clockwise, three times counterclockwise, and your worries will be left at the 21 Taras Hall." Outside the hall, a wall of wishing boards, like countless unfulfilled wishes floating in the wind, are a relief.

Canyoning is more relaxing than ziplining. As the kayak turned the first bend, the boatman, Gesang, suddenly burst into song. Tibetan songs mingled with the roar of the rapids, echoing through the cliffs, making the scenery on both sides seem even more vibrant.

A thousand-year-old Bodhi tree—its thirty-meter-tall trunk twisted into the shape of a peacock's spread tail, its aerial roots piercing the rock face like blood vessels. I reached out and touched the "Buddha's hand" that had grown overnight, hoping it would bring me good luck.

The housekeeper said that everyone who leaves Balagzong secretly hides a stone. I fished out the rippled bluestone from my pocket—a code written by the canyon over thousands of years, waiting for the sudden pain in my palm in the office one day, reminding me of the warmth I once felt embraced by the snow-capped mountains.