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High Altitude Sickness μŒ¹áÁ‹¹éíÒâ¢§ “ÍÒ¡ÒÃÃÑ¡” º¹·ÕèÊÙ§ ¨Õ¹äÁ‹ “ËÂØ´ÊÃŒÒ§à¢×èÍ¹”
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The lost horizon found Seeking more than Shangri-la The mountain’s lesson The Lancang’s shifting mood The trance of the Snow Mountain History’s headwaters Dai in deep water My Three Precious àº×éÍ§ËÅÑ§¡ÒÃ¶‹ÒÂ·íÒ
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143 ปแลว พ.ศ. 2409 (ค.ศ.1866) ณ เมืองตาลี่ อาณาจักรนานเจาในอดีตพันป คณะสำรวจชาวฝรั่งเศส “กลุมคลั่งแมน้ำโขง” หยุดการสำรวจแมโขงลงที่เมืองตาลี่ มณฑลยูนนาน หัวหนาคณะสำรวจตองฝงทิ้งรางไวที่ริมแมน้ำโขง
ทิ้งศพหัวหนา ตัด “หัวใจ” กลับฝรั่งเศส
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We stood in the thin air 3,800 metres above sea level, surveying three rivers running in parallel: the Salween (the Nu, in Chinese) flowing to Burma, the Yangtze and, there in the distance, the Mekong - or Lancang as the Chinese know it. I couldnâ€™t wait for a closer view of the goal.
Each stage of our journey so far had meant planning for a step up in altitude and a drop in temperature. We had come from Bangkok, which lies five metres above sea level, to southern Chinaâ€™s Kunming, a jump of 1,800 metres. Then we headed for Dali at 2,400 metres before climbing to the 3,270-metre highlands of Shangri-la in Zhongdian county. Our destination in the peaks of Qinghai soared to over 5,005 metres.
The temperature in Shangri-la when we arrived last November was minus-2 degrees celsius during the day, falling to minus-9 at night. From Zhongdian, we navigated a route through the mountains, taking dirt tracks that clung to the cliff tops. What lay ahead was snow, ice, whipping winds and dazzling sunshine. Considered by the locals as the gateway to the source of the Mekong, Shangri-la is caught in the jaws formed by the sacred Meili Snow Mountain Range. Each of its 13 sacred peaks soars above anything Thailand has to offer - once youâ€™ve seen these mountains, the molehills back home quickly lose their attraction. Entering Shangri-la, we made our way through hillside villages surrounded by rice paddies and lakes. The locals dry their produce - vegetables, fruit and rice - on the thatched roofs of their homes as a traditional way of preserving the food. Five hours into the journey, we began to smell the fresh tang of a big river. But it wasnâ€™t the Mekong. We
were at the foot of the snow-capped White Horse Mountain whose summit towered over us at 5,460 metres and whose flanks are wrapped by not one but two mighty rivers, the Salween and the Yangtze, known locally as the Golden Sands River. Our journey was made easier by the network of dirt roads that offer easy access to the villages up in the hills. Running alongside them were power poles and telephone lines, piping in the modern world to these remote settlements. Almost every house we passed had a satellite dish and a telephone. Trekking into a village tucked deep in the mountains, we were surprised to discover we could check our e-mails on the available Internet service. The Chinese government, it seems, know the value of modernity.
The mountain’s lesson
owering over northern Tibet, the peak called Khabadkar - po tolerates no humans at its summit. The TV series co-hosted by Suthichai Yoon marches on. We pushed north towards Dechen, the northernmost Tibetan town in Yunnan, a town of some 20,000 people in the embrace of a mountain’s folds. Right in front of us was the Meili range, which the Tibetans call the Khabadkars. Its highest peak, Khabadkar - po - Kawa Karpo to the Chinese - rises to 6,740 metres above sea level and is one of 13 prominent summits in the range. Khabadkar-po remains unclimbed despite a series of attempts by local and foreign climbers since 1902. A bid in 1991 by a Japanese - Chinese team ended in tragedy: All 17 team members were killed in a huge avalanche.
There are now 17 cement stupas on the mountain, erected as memorials. Local people in the villages nearby interpret this tragedy as the mountain gods’ revenge against intruders. For Tibetans, who regard it as a sacred mountain, these unsuccessful climbing attempts are explained by a local belief that the mountain is guarded by gods who wish to maintain its virginity. The Chinese government has banned further attempts. Many Tibetans at least once in their lives try to visit two sacred places. One is the Jokhang in Lhasa, “the St Peter’s Basilica of Tibetan Buddhism”. The other is Khabadkar-po, where most are content to make a pilgrimage on foot around its lower circumference. They come once every 12 years, during the Year of the Sheep, to pray to the gods of the mountains.
The pilgrims take between 10 and 14 days to circumnavigate the mountainâ€™s girth, following a well-trodden trail and camping each evening in the snow. Some even crawl the distance on hands and knees. Near Khabadkar-po is the Lancang River, as the Chinese call the Mekong. The locals call its five sweeping turns of direction the Crescent Bends.
You see the snow-capped peaks above and the Lancang below and begin to realise that the river comes from those mountains, where the ice and snow melt to create a little stream that grows into a mighty river. Next to the highest peak is the Lady peak, known as Miancimu, shooting to 6,054 metres and considered Khabadkar-poâ€™s majestic wife.
We were just journalists trying to understand the local ways and convey some insights to our readers and viewers. We were stunned by what is a fact of life here: Man can never conquer everything in nature - it is nature that controls our survival. Man needs to adapt to survive in nature.
Beyond we saw two other rivers, the Jinsha, otherwise known as the Yangtze, and the Nu - the Salween, flowing to Burma. The three rivers come together in parallel before branching out in different directions to serve the needs of millions of people further downstream. The 13 peaks are their guardians. The Tibetans call them â€œthe 13 princessesâ€?, protecting the three rivers for the benefit of the masses. Standing here, I felt that the mountains were unconquerable, symbolic of the mighty power of Mother Nature.
The Lancangâ€™s shifting mood
ur team continued apace in northern Yunnan, near the Tibetan border, coming to a mountain summit 3,000 metres above sea level. Seeing the Lancang below, I wondered what, if the river could speak, it would tell me. I could hear its voice, the furious gushing of the current. It seemed to me that the river could continue flowing forever to nourish the millions of mortals downstream. I asked myself whether the Lancang might be able to send out a message of sharing and unity to those people. If it managed to get that notion across, maybe people of different opinions could see the importance of making the best of
the river, so that it might be used for the benefit of all mankind, not just any one individual country. If the river could speak of peace, ethnic reconciliation and respect for the spirit of humanity, there should be no problems along its course. I imagined the Lancang might want to say this: All of humanity flows from the same stream, from holy Mother Nature. So why not protect Nature, to ensure that the river is of use to all parties, so that we can avoid using political turmoil to achieve our ends? I sincerely hoped just such a message might be carried all the way along the Lancangâ€™s length.
n this part of the Tibetan Plateau, which is itself the source of the three great rivers - the Yangtze, Lancang and Salween - there’s an ominous sign of water sources under threat. Over the past 10 years global warming has contributed to the gradual depletion of ice fields. In the next 12 years, it’s believed half of the existing ice will disappear. In 25 years the water source might just dry up. This has never happened in the past century. Certainly the main culprit is climate change. As if by magic, all these rivers come from the same source. It’s a modern calamity if this one source is in peril of evaporating. However, sitting by the Lancang on this moonlit evening, I could still see the snow-capped peaks and hear the river surging below. But then a pale shimmer of reflected moonshine on the water
ushered in a strangely warm and romantic shift in the night, despite an icy wind. It was easy to succumb to this mantra, fantasy - or self-delusion, if you like. Whatever it was, the Lancang on closer scrutiny was anything but calm. It was always furious with its raucous rapids and endlessly gushing undercurrents. It felt so different looking at the Mekong beneath a full moon back in Nong Khai, even though it was the same moon. Later it dawned on me that the river’s mood swayed from day to night. By day the roaring current seems uncontrollable. Come darkness and the river won’t give too much of itself away. Looks can be deceptive, and you need to feel the river’s flow first-hand to realise its true identity. The Lancang was expressing the dual moods on the Chinese and Tibetan sides.
To the Chinese, it is Lancang, but there’s confusion about the name’s origins - does it mean “land of a million elephants” or refer to an ancient kingdom in Laos? In truth Lanna and Lancang are references to the old kingdoms that centred on Chiang Mai and Luang Prabang (or Xieng Thong). Chiang Mai, Xieng Thong and Chiang Rung share the same cultural, religious and linguistic heritage. But in Chiang Rung the Mekong is more than just a river. Flowing from the north and dividing Xishuangbanna into western and eastern halves, the mighty current is called the nam mae by locals (a reversal of the Thai mae nam), or the “mother of water”. Considered the origin of life, it’s a source of water to drink and to wash with, a trade route and the waterway that irrigates rice paddies, fruit orchards and vegetable farms. It also teems with fish making their way downstream to lay eggs in Burma, Thailand, Laos and Vietnam. These days Chiang Rung has emerged as a new commercial hub, with its own electricityproducing dam and a deep-water harbour for ships. But while it seems that all roads lead to
Xishuangbanna, progress may have come at a cost to its much-prized ecological diversity. I saw several holes cut out of the surrounding forests, ready to be planted with rubber or coconut trees. Meanwhile, tourism is reshaping the cultural landscape. To mop up more tourist dollars, Songkran is being distorted and abused. Traditionally held to celebrate the Dai New Year, these days water is being thrown around every day as part of cultural performances. Outsiders - mainly Han Chinese - dress up in local garb to play the part of revellers. Other changes have a positive side. Though temples that were once free now charge an entrance fee, I was glad to discover that my money was going to help restore their old glory. The Dai’s most sacred temple is Wat Ratchakhan, whose grounds dotted with coconut and palm trees would be familiar to any Thai. The oldest, however, is Wat Pathep Tawana Aram, famed for its magnificent columns. The general impression I got, though, is that the profits from Xishuangbanna’s tourism boom are being reaped by the newcomers, not the Dai. Signs that Tai Lu culture is under threat were everywhere.
Y Three Precious
Apa, the sun is rising did the moon go home? -- Emmm,right Stars comes out where is the sun? -- he is in the sky Why I can’t find him? -- Because he went home Sun, stars and moon are a happy family Ama, when the leaves turns green how the flower goes out? -- She’s waiting for summer Flower turns red can I pick up the fruits? -- Waiting for the fall Fruit in the soil can she Germinates? -- It will grow up Flower leaf fruit are a happy family Baby -- Ah? Papa shines Mama like the sunshine -- Then what about Mama? Mama serves as contrast of Papa like leaf to flower -- Then what about me? You will grow up like a little seed -- Ahhahaha We three are a fortunate happy family 146
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