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China: The Great Wall

September 2017

By Kelsi

Despite being considered one of those typical touristy things you do in China, the Great Wall was one of the absolute highlights of my two weeks here.

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There are two ways to experience The Wall:

One option is through the restored sections, which have been preserved to reflect what the wall would have looked like centuries ago. The other is to visit the untouched portions. These pieces of the wall have not been maintained; rather time has taken over. They are crumbling, overgrown, and typically more challenging to get to.

We chose the untouched.

Our adventure began with a two-hour drive to a small village outside of Beijing. Our group consisted of 14 people: the four Brusens and me (Amanda was on her own Great Wall adventure), two middle-aged German siblings, a Russian couple and their tween daughter, and a family of Australians... with their six-month-old baby girl < insert your reaction emoji of choice here >.

After we comfortably tucked ourselves into the off-white, 20-seater travel van, we hit the road. The Brusens (minus Robin) and I had been in China for barely over 12 hours, and (not-so-subtle) reminders sprinkled themselves throughout our drive, confirming that: this wasn’t a dream, we were in China, and we were thousands of miles from home — stoic military presence, security checkpoints, clusters of weathered apartment high-rises in the distance, and more amazing traffic (this time in daylight).

I first saw The Wall through the van’s slightly smudgy windows as we sped down a generic and uninspired stretch of car-cluttered highway.

Very unromantic.

But regardless of the unromantic circumstances, my first glimpse of The Wall is a moment I hope to never forget. I was stunned. Awe-struck. Perhaps both by The Wall and my surprisingly strong reaction to it. Because even as it stood perched atop hills in the distance both fragmented and dissolving, it was ominous and imposing. I felt like it was looking down in judgement on the world through its heavy, thousand-year-old eyes.

The farther out of Beijing’s heart we went, the more frequently we saw pieces of the wall cascading down the tree-covered hills. It felt like the wall was following us, flanking us; the beige stones dusty remnants of an ancient dragon tail coiling its way across the landscape.

At one point in our drive, we passed a large parking lot alongside a freeway exit. About 100 yards away from it was a section of the restored wall. Its convenience and accessibility confirmed why the restored part of the wall was so popular with tourists. And though architecturally impressive and beautiful... on we went.

Our trek was broken into two parts: the two-hour drive, and then a 15-minute one. Separating the drives was lunch at a nearby village where we ate at a small, family-run establishment that looked like someone's living room.

Three men occupied a table in the corner, the smoke from their cigarettes climbing in tendrils up the walls of faded scrolls and peeling maps. I sat by a refrigerator, whose underbelly revealed stalactites of dust. A trivial thing to notice perhaps, but as we prepared to leave after the meal, this same underbelly became the unexpected shelter of a simmering cigarette butt, cavalierly dropped by one of the men. I stared at that ember, begging it not to ignite.

Plates and plates of vibrant, delicious food were filling the table's lazy Susan. At the time, I had little idea of what was being served to us; this was our first true Chinese meal in China – and it was incredible. We sat, ate, and enjoyed what would be the prologue of our hike.

The 15-minute drive to follow our meal was up a thin, sinewy dirt road. When the van stopped, we were surprised to be told we were at the trailhead. There were no markers, no signs – nothing. It seemed like the driver just decided he was sick of driving and felt that this was a good place to stop.

We oozed out of the van and back into the hot, thick air. Around us were distant hills, tree-covered mountains even farther out, and a mix of dirt and loose gravel under our feet.

The sun was high and hot, and to our surprise, the “hike” quickly became bushwhacking. Up and up we went, weaving past and through sticky branches and leafy bushes, taking quick breaks to stay together and keep cool in the occasional shade provided by cliff sides. After close to an hour of steady incline and bushwhacking, we reached The Wall.

After reaching it, we climbed it. We walked along its top, up the hilly landscape. As we ascended, and each time we stopped, the view somehow became more breathtaking. Everything around us was blanketed in a thick layer of green trees. We were completely alone. No crowds, no other tour groups, no other sounds. All we could hear were the symphony of cicadas and the very welcome (and rare) breezes in our ears. The only color besides the green trees and blue sky was the clay scar that ran between the two; a once-defensive spine of a country.

And as we walked this layered ridge, I talked with Chloe, one of our two guides. She and I spoke about our past and recent travels, and she shared with me that she is half Mongolian and half Chinese.

It was awkward, surreal, and sobering to be an American in 2017 standing on The Great Wall of China.

To be standing on a relic that proves that divisions crumble over time. And to be standing next to a woman whose mere existence also confirms this.

The Great Wall is a marvel: an engineering feat that took hundreds of years and hundreds of lives to build; people died constructing this wall – without food, water, and care, helping to construct something they believed best for their country, their villages, their families. And while all of those things may have been true in their minds, The Wall is also proof that it will not last, and that time is the bridge that both breaks down differences and mends us together. And that there’s the potential for something much more rich and potent to fill its space and flourish in its wake.