Walking the Wall

On long-distance walking trails in the US, people who help out hikers are known as “trail angels.” A trail angel might be someone who gives you food, a ride, a place to stay or just a bit of encouragement.

Trail angels always seem to show up just when hikers need them most, and they can be the difference between hikers quitting at a tough moment or pushing on. A few years ago on the John Muir Trail in California, we had given up and were heading out of the mountains after spending a morning trying to make our way over a 3500-meter pass through a blanket of fresh, wet snow, when a Dutch couple in their 60s gave us a Three Musketeers chocolate bar.

That little bit of fuel and a few kind words were enough to get us to turn around and accompany the couple over the pass (well, that and we weren’t going to let a couple of hikers old enough to be our parents show us up).

Here in China we get help on a daily, often an hourly basis. It’s hard to sit down at a corner shop without being offered a cup of tea or a plate of watermelon. People are constantly giving us directions – they’re completely wrong about three-quarters of the time, but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

Wall Angel No. 1 was the wonderful Mr Hou, replenishing us after a rough day in the hot Gobi Desert (see Mr Hou). Since then, Wall Angels have crossed our paths for a matter of minutes or for a whole night. Below are just a few of the people who gave us a boost when we really needed it.

Lily and her family

One evening we had collapsed by the side of a road, watching thick, grey clouds brewing up a thunderstorm in the distance and wondering where we were going to camp. As the first drops started to fall, an elderly married couple trudged out of the corn fields with spades over one shoulder and grass for their goats over another. In rapid-fire, Gansu-afflicted Chinese (of which we understood very little) they asked (in the Chinese way of asking, which is more like ordering) if we would like to stay at their house for the night. It was only up the road and they had room enough for us.

Fan Li Ling and Mrs Fan

The main room of the courtyard house was small, a brick bed (called a kang) running the length of one wall, a table, TV and cabinet making up the other half. The elderly couple had three grandsons and they all seemed to sleep in the same room.

They gave us bread to nibble on and tea to drink, topped up regularly by one of the ultra-polite grandsons. Just as the conversation started to run dry, a pretty 20-year-old girl called Lily came in. Her English was flawless. She lived across the road and seemed to be related, ie. she called all three boys her brothers but a different boy entirely was her actual brother.

Mrs Fan, Lily and Emma

Brendan (what’s up with the cap?), Lily’s brother and Fan Li Ling

After the women of the house had made everyone a bowl of noodles (we got two bowls, despite our protestations) which were eaten on laps, Lily asked if we would like to sleep at her house. We were given a room to ourselves while Lily’s younger sister served us a plate of watermelon and her younger brother brought us a tub of warm water to wash our feet.

After that we were invited to her parents’ living room to “meet the people of the village.” She wasn’t joking. Crammed in one small room were about 50 adults and 20 kids, all talking at once, asking us questions, laughing at us and laughing at images of themselves on our digital cameras.

Friends of the family

Gao Jia and her family

We came across Gao Jia in the town of Tumen, where we arrived one evening by bus in order to spend a night at a hotel. The town’s hotel consisted of three rooms above a row of shops. Word quickly got around that some wai guo ren (foreigners) were in town.

Gao Jia (left of Emma) and family

When we slipped out of our room to find a restaurant, 17-year-old Gao Jia came running up to us, saying her grandmother had cooked us dinner and we were to come over right away. Gao Jia’s English was also extremely good and she wanted to become a teacher. She lined up her three younger siblings and made them introduce themselves to us. Stuck around the main room of the house were bits of paper with English words on them: “mirror,” “television,” “door.” Her first task as budding teacher was to educate her siblings in English.

We sat down with her father and grandfather and ate dinner while Gao Jia, her mother and grandmother served the food. Gao Jia eventually sat with us and acted as translator. We talked about Australia, their life in rural China, and what we had seen on our trip.

Gao Jia; her father, Gao Lan Shan; her grandfather, Guo Sheng Tang; and Brendan

Emma, Gao Lan Shan and Guo Sheng Tang

The meal was bigger and better than anything we would have ordered in a restaurant, and Brendan washed his down with some hard liquor pressed on him by the men of the family. Fortunately, the drinking session wasn’t a test of manliness and ended after only a few cups.

We were asked back for breakfast at 6:30am the next morning. Apparently, grandma had got up much earlier to cook for us. We gave them a gift before we left and took a round of family photos. Gao Jia and her father drove us back to where we had left the wall the day before and waved us off as we headed on our way.

Gao Jia and Gao Lan Shan

Old Man with Watermelons

And we’re not talking manboobs. We mean real watermelons, the sweet, crunchy, juicy kind. Summer in Northern China is hot, so watermelons become a staple part of the diet.

To cut a long story short, we had reached the Yellow River and found its banks too steep to walk over. (We’ve probably already mentioned this, but Chinese maps don’t show trivial things like mountain ranges and canyons.) This meant we had to retrace our steps for, oh, only about 18kms. We had taken lots of water, but not enough for half a day’s detour.

The following day we could see the town we were aiming for but were struggling to get there through all the canyons that kept appearing over every rise. The temperature was rising, we had no water, and Emma, big wuss that she is, was starting to complain. We decided to leave our packs where we were and head for town with nothing more than some money and our empty water bags.

When we got to the nearest road we hitched a ride to a shop, only the shop wasn’t a shop, it was an old guy’s house. It looked like he lived there with his wife and son, who was walking around on a drip. Emma didn’t really care that it wasn’t a shop, so she sat down outside their front door. The old man took pity on her and brought her some tea, half a watermelon and a spoon. Guess what Emma’s new favourite fruit is?