The Great Wall Caper

Before the Wall

My girlfriend and fellow journalist Bijani and I, along with our guide Tony, headed by van to a secluded section of Great Wall. Tony said it would be cold, but having just arrived in China from the Mongolian winter, I figured we could handle it.

Bijani had no jacket, so I gave her mine, convinced a light coat and fast walking would keep me warm. Wind and morning shade made for a cold first 400 meters, but after we had paid a gatekeeper, and walked past a small farmhouse, the adventure seemed more manageable.
A steep path wound us up a valley side, toward the high-ridge where we would ascend the Wall itself. After a few minutes of hiking, we turned to look behind us. The pale land below— with its small farmsteads and icy lake—and the rutted mountains opposite stretched into a panoramic. Our trip would be beautiful, but the trail in front of us displayed why no one chooses this spot for leisurely excursions.

Bijani and I clambered over rocks on a narrow track as Tony led us toward our destination. We stopped often along the way to catch our breath, including once in a dark, but very warm cave. Tony told us that chains of soldiers had passed stones up this same trail to construct the Wall. It could have been worse, but the trip was already harder than I bargained for.

Tower of Dour

Half an hour later, however, that didn’t matter. We rounded a corner to see a guard tower looming above the brush. With no modern restorations, this section of the Wall gave the impression that we’d stumbled on something lost for hundreds of years. A pile of gray stones had tumbled into a makeshift stairway leading to the brick structure, and I whipped off my gloves, climbing to the top for a view. It was the last time I was happy for two days.

A perch atop the tower afforded a magnificent view, but I’m embarrassed to say I only appreciated it for five seconds. The Wall plunges and rises along peaks that divide two sweeping valleys, but all I could think while standing on perhaps the world’s greatest man made barrier was how badly I wanted shelter in the tower from the wind ripping through the valleys. Maybe it’s nice in summer, but if I'd been emperor of China, I would have given the Mongols and other hordes this place if they wanted it and built a wall further south.

We retreated into the tower for lunch. Tony had kindly brought us subway sandwiches, cookies, and some hot water, which we ate quietly in the brick enclosure's corners, that seemed to trap the cold, while allowing the wind a free pass. My sandwich tasted strange, but I didn’t care; I just wanted something in my bloodstream.

Wallk About

We packed up our trash and headed out, now along the walkways of the Wall. Wind pushed us toward gaps in the fortification, where chunks of stone had decayed. I kept my hands over my face, protecting them from the cold and my eyes from a thicket that had grown through the stones. We crept along the sheer path, but after 20 minutes, Bijani turned to Tony. “I think I need to turn around.” For the last hour, part of me hoped she’d say this.

“We’re half way there,” said Tony. “If we turn around, it’s just as long back.”
I remembered he said this was an eight kilometer hike. Then we were already dead. Cold is like fear in that it prevents clear thinking, so I composed myself, wondering how we could be rescued. Tony had a cell phone, and I waited for somebody to suggest using it. We kept going and I started to feel nauseous.

A Wall to Remember

Bijani and I had both brought cameras, but the batteries had frozen before we could take photos. Luckily Tony’s still worked, and we stopped a few times for a picture. “If we don’t get photos out of this,” Bijani whispered, “it’ll be our worst trip ever.”

Tony must have cut our journey short, because we got off the wall fairly quickly and headed back down the valley. We descended and the wind subsided, but I felt sicker and not much warmer. I had to relieve myself and needed Bijani’s help because I couldn’t close my fingers on the zipper.

We made it back to the waiting van. I wanted to ask Tony to take curves slowly on the way back, then decided not to. I managed to keep everything down on the windy road back to our apartment, but as soon as I was inside, I locked myself in the bathroom and told Bijani to leave me alone. I spent the evening throwing up my sandwich and cookie and some soda.

Rough Writers

It took another day to recover, but after some rest I felt ready to venture out onto the streets of Beijing. Bijani and I met up with our colleague Kirril and had a more successful experience at an exotic food court, where you can order pretty much anything you can think of, on a stick. Everything was deep fried, which meant it all just tasted crispy, but the meal felt like an accomplishment.

I’d wanted an adventure and I’d gotten it, and now I was in no hurry for another ‘big’ one. What I wanted was to go back to Ulaanbaatar and to my old journalist job, where I could resume writing, mostly about the exciting things other people do.