Point Me to the Escalator

Departing the hotel yesterday in air-conditioned comfort, my expectations for visiting the Great Wall of China were along the lines of a Team Canada trade mission where we all posed leisurely for publicity shots and then spent a relaxing hour sauntering the Wall before jumping back in the van. I imagined visiting the Starbucks that is now stationed at the Wall, even buying a cold beer or two from vendors whose English vocabulary is limited to “Hello – water, coke, beer”. I did not anticipate repeated near-death experiences at 1200 meters.


Now, those of you who have been with me skiing, canoeing, to Canada’s Wonderland, to a darkened movie theatre, or to Milwaukee, know that I am a big chicken and will assume that I am exaggerating. I am not. Perhaps I should have been suspicious about the text message that Leo, our guide (more on him another day), sent to us at dinner on Tuesday reminding us to wear hiking boots. Maybe I should have clued in when Leo appeared to bribe a gatekeeper to just let us near the Wall. Doubtless, I should have clung to the earth and thrown a tantrum when I read the sign, “The Great Wall Closed for Reconstruction”, that was clearly posted at the spot where we left the van. It seems, however, that the abundance of extreme caution that governs my life on every other day called in sick yesterday and I ignorantly bounded up a mountain, the top of which I could not see.


It took us an hour reach the summit, my lungs burning as though I’d finished a marathon (alright, the 100 meters) and my legs shaking like the paint machine at the hardware store. At this point, a quick survey of my surroundings suggested this would be a fairly brief visit because, in either direction, I could not detect any possible way to travel. There are parts of the Great Wall that the Chinese Government has spent a fortune restoring and walking it is like taking a stroll on a boardwalk. This is not one of those places. I don’t think the Chinese government cares very much about the psychopaths that attempt to travel on this part of the Wall. It’s telling that in a country with one billion people and many tourists, we did not see another human being for the next seven hours.


The section of the Wall that we followed is called Jiankou, for its resemblance to a bow, and it is the most blood chilling place on earth that I have been. Entire sections of the Wall have eroded and crumbled into the valleys below. At times, we would be climbing a steep incline with nothing to either side except sky. The Great Wall traces mountain ridges, and many of the dozen or so peaks we crossed required the use of both hands and feet to ascend an earthen wall or nerves of steel to gingerly shuffle down crumbling granular that gave way under foot like marbles on ceramic tile. At one point the Wall became impassible, forcing us to descend a 70-degree incline along its side using apricot trees as belays.


Terror aside, each foot of the Wall left me in awe. I can say this because I took the it one foot at a time, too petrified to look beyond. The Wall itself is obviously an impressive work of architecture and engineering, the bricks held together in many places with a mortar made from sticky rice. Even from my white-knuckle vantage point, the view from the Wall is breathtaking in every direction, and it was especially so as the sun dipped low on the horizon, bringing each contour of the Wall and its enveloping valleys into focus in the softer light.


After four hours of exhausting climbing (and in my case, clinging), we reached our final peak and the steepness and the heavy thicket that had sliced our shins and tugged at our clothes gave way to a reasonably relaxing walk. The presence of actual wall to both sides allowed me to resume breathing. As the sun set, we left the Wall, descending to Xiang, a dried reservoir, where we were an easy (and flat) walk to a primitive guest house in a village called Shuihu.