Camels with tinkling bells no longer shuffle through; nor do mules with their red tufts; nor shepherds with their flocks. Yanan is now a small north Chinatown, its main street traffic controlled by two stop lights. It boasts cigarette factories, woolen mills, an opera house, a modern hotel. Only the yellow Song pagoda marks the village where history once happened.
For ten years this cleft in the hills was the cradle of China's revolution. Now its few visitors (6,000 all last year) come like pilgrims to Jerusalem to see where it began—or to remember....
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