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清晨,从昆明出发,乘车沿朝阳的轨迹向着梦中的香格里拉前行。虽早有听闻路途的颠簸,只是心中始终浮现香格里拉清澈得不着一丝污浊的蓝色天空,还有那辽无边际与天相接的草原,还有藏民粗犷的脸庞豪迈的歌声。道路飞速后退,昆明的阳光安静地放射温暖的光圈。我阖上双眼,轻轻啜一口阳光的味道。心,悄然飞出,飞向梦所在的地方——香格里拉。觅渡,觅渡,从起点出发,为的是到达。很久以前便羡慕与钦佩那些年轻的背包客。背上是大大小小鼓鼓囊囊的背包,他们从自己所在城市出发,沿着从山中开辟而出的蜿蜒公路,甚至在无路之处,向着他们梦中的圣地前行。西藏雪山的纯净,内蒙古草原的静谧,撒哈拉沙漠的热情,一一收入记忆的囊中。起点,已在身后;终点,就在眼前。沿途,寻找一串串风
Early morning, starting from Kunming, riding along the path of sunrise toward the dream of Shangri-La forward. Although it has long been heard bumpy road, but the hearts of Shangri-La has always been unable to trace a trace of filthy blue sky, as well as Liao boundless boundless grassland, as well as Tibetan rough face heroic singing. The road retreated rapidly, the warm sunshine of Kunming quietly radiates a warm aperture. I close my eyes and gently sip the sunshine. Heart, quietly fly out, fly to where the dream - Shangri-La. Find ferry, seek ferry, starting from the starting point, in order to arrive. A long time ago, I admired and admired those young backpackers. Backpacks are large and small bag backpack, they set off from their own city, along the winding road opened up from the mountains, and even in desperation, toward their holy dreams. The purity of the snow-capped mountains in Tibet, the quietness of the Inner Mongolia grasslands, the enthusiasm of the Sahara, eleven memories of income. Starting point, already behind; ending point, in front of us. Along the way, looking for a string of wind