Hua Shan - Part 2
One of the quirks (and, to some, perks) of hiking up one of China’s most popular mountains is the amount of commerce provided for hikers. At each turn, literally, we would find a little hut selling instant noodles, fresh melon, tomatoes and cucumbers, warm drinks, including Coke and Red Bull, and a blaring television to keep the owners occupied throughout the day. Yishay also noted the well-paved path we were following and how it made you feel less like you were climbing a mountain and more like you were on a small road to somewhere. Even though the mountain was commercialized and it was rare to find a moment of peace and solitude, I liked the little communities along the way. It made me feel comforted, which was important for the challenges that lay ahead. Also, the tops of the ranges were much more secluded, though the paths were still well paved.
Once the climb became more grueling, and we were climbing hand over hand up narrow steps cut into the rock of the mountain, our talking subsided and we focused on our breathing and the sublime views just behind us. I started to see the landscapes of ancient Chinese ink painting come alive at every juncture. All the time that we climbed, men wearing next to nothing and either slippers or barefoot came clomping down the steps without handholds, carrying huge loads of recycling or trash or empty kerosene and gas canisters on flat bamboo shafts, a clump hanging from each side, with the middle of the shaft resting on one shoulder. These men were tiny and strong, muscles flexing and arching with each step. They smelled rough and of the mountain and their skin was smooth and dark, their faces calm and mirroring the grandeur of the stone peaks all around them. These men embody, to me, the sacred nature the Taoists hold dear.
The last forty minutes of our climb was steep and step after step after step. These steps weren’t paved or made of man-made material. They were smoothed from wear, narrow, angled down a bit, and roughly carved into solid rock. On each side of the steps, huge linked chains, rusted from all kinds of weather conditions, were bolted into the rock to give you something to hold while climbing up. The altitude change, the lack of food and the sheer vertical nature of our ascent all added up to a woozy feeling that made it difficult to look at anything other than the action of moving up the steps, for fear of losing my bearings, letting go and falling backwards. I had this sensation so often that I would climb more dizzying spots with my eyes closed. In fact, the guidebook suggested climbing in the middle of the night so as not to disorient oneself with the scenery. A bizarre concept to me beforehand, but one I completely understand now.
We made it to the North peak after four hours of hiking. As we turned the last stretch of path and found ourselves on top of a ridge, we were met with both a crowd of people and views that still stagger me. The wind was blowing hard on the North peak and we went from sweaty and hot to sweaty and shivering. I put on the sweater I had been cursing myself for bringing and was ever grateful for its presence. Thunder rolled in the distance and the sky threatened rain for a little while. My traveling companions and I sat on the top of a little swell that marked the high point of the North peak and reveled in our accomplishment. Most of the people running around us had taken the cable car up from the other side of the mountain and marveled at our haggard, sweaty appearance. We were absolutely still, soaking in the imposing silence of the mountains around us mixed with the hum of the crowd moving concentrically in our field of vision. My heart and mind were overwhelmed and I felt close to humanity, wanting to link hands with everyone around me. The mountain had so much presence and I was just one little ant crawling around on its back.
The boys had trains to catch the next day and were going to take the cable car down the other side of the mountain to head back to Xi’an. I would say goodbye to them there on the North peak and decide whether or not to ask for a bed in the hotel there at the North peak or press on towards the Eastern peak where the sunrise was most spectacular. I don’t know why I made the decision I made, but I’m forever grateful for choosing to move on. It turned out to be an incredibly lucky decision.
I had only known Karri and Yishay for five or so hours, but it was hard to say goodbye and I think all three of us felt much closer than the time together merited, given what we experienced together. As I walked away from them and up the ridge towards the Eastern peak, I felt a grand sense of accomplishment and though I was alone, I never once felt lonely.
The climb from the North peak up into the “foothills” – HA! – of the ascent to the Eastern peak was treacherous. There isn’t another word for it. Have you seen photos of men and women and camels crossing deserts on the ridges of sand dunes? Well, I felt like I was crossing a vertical sand dune ridge. Except that the ridge below my feet was made up of rock-carved steps instead of moving sand. The altitude gain was much more drastic here and to my left and right were sheer drop-offs to the broccoli-like trees in the valleys on either side of me. My mind started making up scenarios of how “fun” it would be to free-fall into the seeming softness of those broccoli tops. Luckily, I passed other people and more Taoist temples often enough to keep these thoughts at bay. It is amazing though, how the mind wants to force you to jump when you find yourself so close to the edge of the world. I also felt like I was falling even when my hands were securely wrapped around the chains to either side of me.
After about thirty minutes of climbing the vertical ridge, I found myself back in a forest with the regular steps up up up the mountain which had an ambling ascent compared to the unprotected ridge I had just climbed. One statistic I am curious about is the number of steps on the mountain. If you ask me, there were more than a million, but I’m pretty sure this is a huge over-estimate. Maybe someday I’ll return and count the steps of Hua Shan.
Turning a corner, I came across a group of five, taking a rest. As I was rounding the bend, their talking stopped and I heard a bit of whispering before all was silent when I came upon them. I recognized them from earlier in the day. We had all been climbing the stairs to the North Peak together. They had said it took them six hours to reach the point we were at which made the boys and I feel pretty good – having done the same amount of hiking in three hours. I said hello, was going to take a quick rest and move on when one of the girls in the group asked where my two companions were. I told her they had left and she started speaking quickly in Chinese to the other three girls, the fifth of their group being a Korean guy who was staring calmly off into the distance. After a brief deliberation, she asked me if I’d like to join their group. I was incredibly grateful and looking forward to navigating the rest of the mountain with people who could negotiate a room in a bind, say, in the middle of the night in pouring down rain.
Introductions commenced. The girl who asked me to join was hiking that day with her Korean friend, the male, and she met a pair of sisters from Beijing and a somewhat “wild child” of a girl who happens to be studying in Wuhan. The five of them banded together. The girl studying in Wuhan turned out to be quite passionate and a tad unusual. She kept disappearing after we found lodging for the night and kept asking me if I wanted to “live” on the mountain with her. She had this intense way of doing things and I had a hard time having a light conversation with her. When we parted ways the next day, she wrote out a long poem for the Korean guy and told him that she was the water of a river and he was the water of a sea and that they may never meet again, but maybe when they were taken up into the sky, their water would mingle as she wished they could in real life. I thought it was incredibly romantic and the younger of the two sisters blushed and giggled the whole time the girl was speaking. The Korean never cracked a smile but only responded that in looking back, they would both see the branches of the past and would smile fondly on their time together.
Once introductions were complete, we started walking again. More climbing up up up and then we found a hotel. It was about 7:30pm and we stopped so the girls could negotiate with the hotel staff for six beds. The posted sign said each bed was 60 kuai. As I listened to the negotiating, I heard the starting price at 40 kuai. The girls managed to work the staff down to 30 kuai, but grumbled because this was “expensive”. I kept my joyousness to myself at having met up with Chinese hikers. We were led to a large room with twenty or so bunk beds and the smell alone made me agree that 30 kuai was an outrage. Nevertheless, I was excited at the prospect of doing things the Chinese way. Dina, the girl who spoke flawless English, went out and bought some tomatoes and cucumbers for the rest of us. I only had gum to offer, and did so gladly. Everyone took a piece obligingly, somewhat disappointed, I’m sure, that that was all I had to give. For dinner, I bought a pack of instant noodles, which cost me a third of the bed rate. The girls were shocked at my extravagance and I felt shamed for not having brought provisions onto the ridiculously overpriced mountain. All six of us were on top bunks, one after the other, and we climbed up after a quick peek outside to see the setting sun. Dina, who chose Diner as her original English name but was told to change it by her English teacher, handed out cups of hot, brown water from a canteen that came with the price of three beds. We were allowed two canteens but opted out of the second one after seeing the water inside. I didn’t mind much, having drunk brown river water before. The younger of the sisters pooh-poohed the water, though, and seemed a little finicky about the mountain in general. That is, until the next day.
We exchanged email addresses, talked about how excited we were for the morning to come, made a plan to wake up at 3am to head to the Eastern peak for the sunrise and then went to sleep. There were ten or so other people in the room that night and most of them snored. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake up until the older sister tapped me at 3:10am. I won’t go into details, but the trip to the bathroom at the hotel was the worst I’ve ever experienced in my life. Going to the restroom in a tent full of flying cockroaches in the middle of the night in the depths of the Amazon was like being in a five-star hotel compared to this. All I have to say is this: the person required to clean these toilets must have done something unbelievably horrible in their past life because no one should have to come in contact with this kind of disgusting filth. In fact, the person whose job it was to clean these toilets obviously shirked their duty because I’ve really never seen anything like it. We were ready by 3:40am and right about then, the onslaught began.
As we climbed the trail up to the Eastern peak, hordes of people climbed up along with us. There were so many people walking by the light of their cell phones that we managed to walk along as if the sun had already risen. I couldn’t get away from the noise. If I stopped to let the fifteen people behind me pass, another thirty would fill in for them. At one point, a guy naked from the waist up came crashing through with a radio strapped to his hip playing really loud, cheesy Chinese love songs. I was incredibly annoyed with this guy for ruining the mystery of the night, but I had to remind myself that I wasn’t in the US. I was in China. Things are done differently here. I tried to find the music amusing, but I stopped to let him pass and the girls sang his song long after he was gone. The Korean felt the same as me and commented that the only things telling him he wasn’t on a busy street at 8am on a work day were the stairs cut into the side of a mountain, the trees to his left and right, and his watch telling him it was 4am.
