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we have is necessary, but it has been only a new form of mandarin dictatorship masking beneath the name of communism."
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Aboard a Chinese-flown Soviet twin propeller plane flying low into Chungking, there is a landscape much like Virginia's Piedmont— but far more ponds and a more intensive mosaic of rice green farms—every inch planted for the coming harvest.
Shangri-La At Last
1 have never cared much for old ruins of any kind. Virginian or Chinese. But out of family concern for my cultural upbringing, I try occasionally to visit a few such places, and sometimes have walked into childhood dreams.
For many, from the day we sat by a radio listening to Lowell Thomas, such a dream lies in the mists of a place called Shangri-La. Tibet.
Before anyone leaves this mortal earth, he should come to this roof of the world to climb the steps, even smell the awful Buddhist yakbutter incense, of the Dalai Lama's Red Palace, the Potala, and go to be in the safe presence of 6.000 armed warriors and horses, sculptured out. painted and buried in an Emperor's tomb 2,000 years ago at Xian. No man can be so hardened or jaded by life's experiences as to walk away not dumbstruck by this recent discovery in China. It is as to have the rarely wondrous love affair, where long anticipation and the walk up the steps is not greater than the final act itself. On the road to Lhasa, life goes on pretty much as I imagine it always has in the ancient rites of hand-tomouth existence from the soil. In the wide green valley
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