3. Badaling, ba da boom
In the early days of this millennium, I graduated university in England and set out for a new life in China. Here, I share the quiet stories of my journey, a chronicle of discovery and displacement, woven into the fabric of a land vast and unfathomable.
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The next morning, the bus carries us through a landscape that is still, as though the earth outside the city had held its breath. Beijing begins to fade behind us, replaced by stretches of muted fields, their outlines softened by the early mist. Li Mei, our guide, offers only brief words as we head toward the Great Wall. "Badaling," she says. "This part of the Great Wall is very famous and well-preserved. It is a good place to see the history and beauty."
The thought lingers in my mind, as we leave the city behind, that the Great Wall, as we know it today, is a monument of reconstruction. Badaling is not the wild, untamed wall that one might imagine - a jagged line cutting through the mountains like a dragon’s back - but a carefully manicured version, rebuilt, restored, and crowded with tourists. Even from the bus, I can see it: the endless serpent of stone climbing into the mist, its ancient form softened by the demands of modernity. This is a wall built not only of stone but of the expectations of those who come to climb it, who wish to touch history without truly feeling it.
I am not immune to this. As we arrive, our group is ushered towards the entrance, the air thick with the scent of street food and cheap souvenirs. The whole scene feels, somehow, too neat. The towering presence of the wall is there, but it is filtered through the lens of tourism, its ancient spirit tempered by the smiling faces of foreign visitors and the vendors calling out in broken English.
Yet there is something intoxicating about it - the idea that I am here, standing before something so colossal, so ancient, and so steeped in history. I am aware, too, that this experience is not entirely mine to own. The Great Wall has been commodified, but even so, I cannot help but marvel at its scale. It stretches up the mountainside, the stone steps uneven beneath my feet, the view opening up as I climb higher.
As we begin our ascent, I catch sight of a camel tethered to a post on the side of the path, its fur matted and worn, its eyes downcast in a look of quiet resignation. A sign beside it reads, Ride a Camel! 50 Yuan. The camel’s sad, weary expression makes me pause. There’s something unnerving about the way it waits by the relentless march of tourists, each one coming to pose with it, to climb the wall, to check off the item on their list of travel experiences. I feel a strange sorrow for the animal, its place in the spectacle reduced to an afterthought, another way to extract money from the stream of visitors who pass by without a second glance.
At the top of the wall, the atmosphere changes. The crowds thin out, the air growing cooler as we reach a higher point. From here, the views are truly spectacular - mountains rising like undulating waves on the horizon, the endless stone wall stretching out in both directions, winding through the land. There is something sublime in the distance, the realisation that this wall, built by countless hands, has stood for centuries, defying the weight of time and history.
Before long, a family approaches, their faces alight with the kind of excitement that only the Great Wall can inspire. They speak little English, but the gesture is universal. They would like a photograph with this foreign visitor. I find myself, not unwillingly, swept into their small drama. Without a word, I step into their frame, the unfamiliar role of a fleeting celebrity settling in me. They gather close, their smiles wide and expectant, and I stand, aware of the brief, curious connection we share.
To offer some balance to the moment, I request a snapshot in return, posing together again, this time for my own disposable camera. It feels right - an exchange, a shared piece of memory - before they move off.
I stand there, momentarily disoriented, considering the curious nature of it all. There is a strangeness in being a foreigner in this place, an uninvited participant in their story. I wonder if their home in an unknown provincial town will display my image - an accidental celebrity, captured in a moment of mutual curiosity. My face, no longer mine, framed above the mantelpiece. It is a fleeting, almost absurd connection, but it is also one of the strangest and most personal experiences of my journey.
The climb down is, predictably, faster. The weathered stone beneath my feet becomes slippery as we descend, and I hear the incessant chatter of others - the voices of people who, like me, are here but perhaps not entirely here. I pass another vendor selling t-shirts - I Climbed the Great Wall emblazoned in bold letters across the chest. There’s a moment of hesitation, but I purchase one, despite its cheapness, despite the fact that it is just another piece of mass-produced memorabilia. It feels oddly satisfying to wear it, to claim that I have climbed this iconic structure, even if only in the most touristy of ways.
As we make our way back to the bus, the weight of the day sits with me. The wall has been transformed in my mind, from a monumental, ancient structure to a symbol of something else entirely: of tourism, of fleeting moments, of the collision of history and present-day commerce. But I do not resent it. I have come to understand, in these brief hours, that there is a strange beauty in this very collision.
And so, as the bus carries us back towards Beijing, I sit back, knowing I Climbed the Great Wall. The Great Wall, I realise, is not just one thing. It is the sum of all the stories - ancient, modern, and absurd - that are woven into its fabric. And perhaps, in the end, that is what makes it truly great.
A Moment of Gratitude
If the words of Ill Grandeur have resonated with you, consider buying me a cup of tea. In China, tea is more than just a drink - it is a symbol of connection, warmth, and reflection. A one-off tea is a way of sharing in the journey, supporting the story, and keeping the spirit of discovery alive. Every cup helps bring the next chapter to life.
4. A city unlocked
By the time we arrive at the Forbidden City, Beijing has begun to feel like a grand theatre. Its streets and monuments perform their endless roles, and we, the audience, move like actors stepping into the history and spectacle of this ancient place. Yesterday, at the Great Wall,
I have been to that area of the Great Wall twice. I taught in Nanchang in the early 90s. Fun to read your article.
I went alone to the Great Wall in the heat of dummer and was adopted on the hike by a group of schoolgirls who were astonished that I needed to drink water!