someones shangri-la

this is taken from my journal.
i wrote it while on an early morning bus ride leaving the city of the famous shangri-la.

i can see its beauty, shangri-la.
a valley. low hanging morning fog.
dipping itself over the hillside in the foreground.
the mountains, an idilic background for a novel. for someones shangri-la.
but it is no longer just a beautiful landscape. 
it is tourists and trucks. dust from construction, concrete housing surrounding the small somewhat preserved old town. 
look at it while walking at dusk or squint your eyes while you ride past in a taxi. taking in only the types of trees, or the way the land lifts and falls. 
my friend christopher reminds me to look up. always look up. look up and you will see blue skies, clouds rolling. just like the hillside they are painted a top of. 
people talk of the national park. 20 km outside of town. they talk about the temple on the outskirts of the city. nothing about the town itself. no streets, no building, land or people holding attention.
nothing about the town possesses the beauty it once did. 
the beauty we all believe it to have.
it has become another niagra falls. another 'it' island off the coast of thailand. that in a few years becomes populated by tired locals selling postcards and backpackers seeking a cheap getaway. an escape from their lives. forgetting quickly that their escape is the everyday for those people whose homes they rent for two dollars a night, whose food they eat with chopsticks, an exotic culinary appendage. 
the road taking me away from shangri-la talks.