Walking the Wall

In the first two provinces we traveled through, Gansu and Ningxia, our experiences with people were overwhelmingly positive. There were the inevitable problems of traveling in China – cultural and linguistic misunderstandings, being overcharged, being stared at. But these weren’t as common as we’d expected, and the friendliness and generosity of the people we met far outweighed any minor hassles.

Things changed in Shaanxi. In central Shaanxi, where we spent most of January and early February, this was mostly due to poverty. There, the areas that we walked through were much different from what we’d encountered in the irrigation country of Gansu and Ningxia. People were not dressed as well, they were considerably shorter and less healthy, and they looked less happy. They rarely invited us into their homes, and understandably so – people had nothing to spare. On several occasions we were turned away from homes when looking for water – not because they didn’t have water, but because they seemed afraid of us. While we couldn’t possibly blame people who had nothing for being reluctant to take us in, as precious and petty as it may seem to say so, inevitably this affected our mood.

In the northern Shaanxi coal country things got a bit nastier. Though the people were better off than in central Shaanxi, they were also less than kind to us with some regularity. For example, normally people call us wai guo ren, meaning simply “foreigners,” or even wai guo pengyoumen, meaning “foreign friends.” In northern Shaanxi, for the first time in the trip, we were routinely called laowai, a term whose meaning ranges from a neutral though not especially polite term for foreigners, to a derogatory slur. When it’s shouted in your face from five feet away – Laowai! Laowai!!! Hey, LAOWAI!!!! – it’s not tough to figure out which meaning is intended.

In Shaanxi our Wall Angels were more important to us than ever, not just because of what they gave us directly, which was plenty, but also because they sustained us through the most difficult part of our trip (things have been much more positive in recent weeks). When it seemed that everyone was either afraid of us or unfriendly, they reminded us that the large majority of our encounters with people, even in Shaanxi, have been happy ones. When we were becoming suspicious and short-tempered, our Wall Angels replenished our emotional reserves.

Gong Zhi Yang

Mr Gong was one of the few people who approached us in the poor and remote hill country southeast of Anbian, and for Brendan’s sake, he came along at just the right moment. At that time, we were still doing short days and short weeks to rehab the foot, and we had come to the end of the distance we’d allotted for that section.

The problem was, we were miles short of the town where we’d hoped to have a rest day. The hills were getting steeper, and the canyons deeper. To top it all off, Emma was starting to whine.

When we saw a paved road in the distance, the first for days, we thought we had it made – paved roads usually mean buses, and buses mean towns and guesthouses. But those hopes soon faded – after watching the road for two hours as we descended the mountain, we saw all of two cars. The only thing we could think of to do when we made it to the village was argue.

Enter Mr Gong. He strolled out of his courtyard with a huge smile on his face, whether it was from watching us squabble or just friendliness we’ll never know. When we asked if we could catch a bus from this village, he said no, but not to worry, his son was a driver. Next thing we knew we were sitting in his cave dwelling, sipping tea, and chatting with Mr Gong, his daughter-in-law and son, who eventually took us to the next town.

Mr Gong and family

It turns out that, like many trail angels in the States (see Wall Angels, Gansu Province for an explanation), Mr Jia had a history of helping hikers. Some years before he had hosted another wall walker, a New Zealander, who almost certainly was Nathan Gray.

It’s funny to think that there must be a whole team of people in villages across China who see, at least once or twice a year, a backpack-laden hiker stumble into their courtyard looking for water or a ride. The wonderful thing is that these people rarely hesitate in offering one or the other. In the case of Mr Gong, he offered both.

Liu Wan Yuan

A few weeks after Mr Gong rescued us, we found ourselves in a similar fix – at the end of a hiking week, further away from town than we wanted, low on food and out of water.

We spotted a small shack that looked like a temporary worker’s house near a road next to the wall and decided to ask for water, just enough so we could then think and decide how to get in to Yulin given we were still far from the highway.

It’s not uncommon that stopping in for water turns into an hour-long process that involves many cups of tea. But stopping in for water at Mr Liu’s took more than an hour, mostly because we could actually understand each other and were enjoying having a conversation with someone other than ourselves. We had been having a really hard time deciphering the Shaanxi dialect with people we met, but talking with Mr Liu was just like talking with someone from Beijing.

It turned out that he was a notary by training (he still carried his books in his hut) but was currently working on the oil line that was going in around Yulin.

Liu Wan Yuan

There was something very kind about him – maybe it was because he too was living away from his family, in a small hut barely big enough for one person. He saw to our transport, knew quite a bit about the wall, and kept on pressing food and tea into our hands.

When we returned a few days later to resume hiking, we stopped in and gave him a present. He was embarrassed but when we told him it was for his wife he accepted. On showing us to the wall, he took us to the beacon tower nearest to his hut and took Brendan up to show him the view. Apparently it had been a favourite sunrise spot for foreign photographers and he thought we would like it.

Surveying the desert with Mr Liu

He Xiao Hu

In Shaanxi we were so often quoted exorbitant prices for cab rides there wasn’t even any point in haggling. When you’re quoted a price three times the going rate for locals, the cabbie’s not trying for a good price, he’s trying to rip you off. Anyway, it may take a while, but there’s always someone who will take you for a fair price. And who’s almost certain to be better company.

He Xiao Hu was that guy. After a break day in Shenmu we needed to get back to the wall, only 20 kms away. The first taxi driver said it would cost 100 yuan, so we politely closed the door and walked away. Mr He pulled over and, with a huge smile, said it would cost 1 yuan a kilometre. Now that’s what we like to hear.

He Xiao Hu

With not much wall around Shenmu, we had to do a lot of walking on roads. This meant finding a good driver was paramount. He Xiao Hu was good – fun, smiley and safe. And he was on a mission to teach his three-year-old boy English and learn a bit himself. So, whenever we were in the car, he plugged in a children’s tape, which gave very simple lessons in English greetings, names for animals, family members and so forth, The lessons were set to catchy little children’s tunes and used the tried-and-true Chinese instructional method of endless repetition – “Zaoshang hao, good morning, good morning, good morning; Xiao zhu yi yang Pig, pig pig.” If the songs stick in his three-year-old’s mind like they did in ours, the boy will be fluent in no time.