A Lenda de Ishi: A Filha do Nilo
Adoro viajar, mas não gosto de atravessar o tempo. Amo cogumelos, só não gosto de príncipes. Não sou Carroll, nem uma viajante do Nilo. Sou uma mulher que viaja no tempo, mas não do jeito que você ima
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In 2012, Tengchong County, Gaoligong Mountain, on the China–Myanmar border.
A Mitsubishi Pajero off-road vehicle stood parked on the liveliest street in the county town. Its dark green body was coated in a thick layer of mud and dust, making it plain to anyone with eyes that it had endured more than its share of rough roads. Even so, an imported four-wheel-drive vehicle was still considered a luxury means of mountain transport in Yunnan, and it attracted no small amount of attention.
When the doors opened, a thin cloud of dust rose into the air. Yet it was not the vehicle itself that secretly delighted the villagers of this remote border town, but the passengers who climbed out.
Two men and a woman emerged first, wearing matching windbreakers in different colors. They opened the trunk, took out several black waist-pack backpacks, and began slowly gearing themselves up.
The Tibetan driver, wearing sunglasses, got out as well and asked in accented Mandarin, “My home is nearby. I’ll drive back and sleep there tonight, then come pick you up tomorrow morning. We’ll go straight to the Pima border crossing.”
The tallest of the three men, with a dark, weathered face, readily agreed. “All right. We’ll settle half the fare first, so you’ll remember to come on time tomorrow.”
Tibetans liked straightforward Han Chinese best. Getting part of the money in advance was ideal, and it meant he could go home without worrying about his wife nagging him. The driver, Gombo, patted the man on the shoulder and laughed.
“You Han people a